Parents like Lucius and Narcissa, who spoil their children from time to time, would never miss any little gadgets on the market that could make their son cheer with joy—the latest sweets from Honeydukes, or the latest broomstick on the market, or even a whole dozen broomsticks.
On the thirty-first of July, after breakfast, Lucius gave Draco a Nimbus 2001, which was about to be released, as a birthday gift.
"This broomstick was originally scheduled to be released in mid-August this year. However, I know a friend who got me a finished one ahead of time." Lucius looked quite pleased with himself. "Draco, use it to practise and get used to the new broomstick. As for the others—the broomsticks donated to Slytherin—I have already ordered them and will pick them up in Diagon Alley in a few days."
Draco took the broom, eagerly unpacked it, and stroked his long-lost old friend with great nostalgia, a look of joy on his face.
"Draco, have you forgotten what I told you? Do not be so emotional," Lucius said in an affected tone, glancing at his silly son.
Draco quickly composed himself, stood obediently to the side with the broom in hand, and glanced at his mother with a feigned sense of grievance.
Instantly, Narcissa, who had been quietly drinking tea to the side, seemed to have had her "protective parent" switch flipped.
She immediately put down her teacup, a look of disapproval flashing in her beautiful blue eyes, and mercilessly exposed her husband's past, "Come on, Lucius, you were much more anxious than Draco when you were pulling strings to order this broom ahead of time the other day."
Lucius's carefully cultivated air of authority vanished instantly. He coughed, took a sip of tea to cover his embarrassment, and glanced at his son, who was feigning weakness to outmanoeuvre him. He felt he had fallen into some kind of trap.
The child always managed to use a pitiful expression to make Narcissa his strong shield. In this situation, any strict discipline he gave his son would ultimately backfire.
This boy is not stupid at all. He is a bit shrewd! Lucius suddenly had this thought.
He looked at Draco with suspicion, seeing his obedient and well-behaved demeanour, and wondered if he might be overthinking things. So he ignored his son and instead diligently poured tea for his wife, trying to dispel the flickering anger in Cissy's eyes.
Draco smiled inwardly.
Sure enough, although her mother seemed gentle and quiet, she was the key to keeping her father in check.
For many years in his past life, Draco had been ignoring his mother's power.
He always thought of her as just a gentle and kind mother, a proud noblewoman who doted on her son, who had once been the noble Black and was now the noble Malfoy, nothing more.
He was arrogant and ignorant, ignoring her dignity and skill as Mrs Malfoy.
He only admired his father, his strength, sharpness, or just-right tact, but rarely thought of admiring his mother. It was not until later that he discovered the weakness and helplessness hidden in his father's heart, and the unwavering will of his mother.
After her father went to prison, she stepped forward and took over everything.
Good things, bad things, and even more bad things... nothing is easy.
She worked hard, desperately, and with all her might to protect everything the Malfoy family owned.
Draco Malfoy was helpless.
He cannot betray his mother.
He could not let his mother face all of this alone.
He would stand by her and protect the Malfoy family, regardless of right or wrong.
In his past life, with this thought in mind, Draco stood beside his mother, almost abandoning all self-awareness.
Finally, his self-awareness awoke screaming in agony, and he realised he was terribly wrong.
It is not that they were wrong to protect their parents or the Malfoy family, but rather that the Malfoy family's initial beliefs and the side they chose were wrong.
They went wrong at the source, at the starting point, a point that dates back to before their parents were even born.
Father and Mother, they are nothing more than pitiful people shaped by the inheritance of old ideas.
You cannot blame anyone for this.
You can only proceed gradually, starting by changing yourself. Draco thought to himself.
Narcissa was unaware that her son was pondering such profound questions; she was simply enjoying her husband's attentiveness.
Now, she asked in a gentle tone, "Draco, how is your Quidditch practice going? Your father has already spoken with Severus, and they have arranged for you to participate in the selection trials next term, hoping to get you into the house team."
"I still want to rely on my own abilities, not just money." Draco was referring to "Lucius's plan to replace all the brooms on the house team."
Lucius could not help but chuckle when he heard his son's foolish words.
Now he was certain that Draco was still a simpleton, not a mischievous one.
"Do not be silly, child. Having connections does not mean you cannot have ability. I heard the Crabbe family also tried to use their connections to get their boy into the school team—I have seen the boy—it is ridiculous," Narcissa said dismissively. "Severus is not happy about the pressure the Crabbe family is putting on him. A few days ago, he came to Malfoy Manor specifically to ask your father for help. In the end, your father had to promise to donate a dozen or so broomsticks to shut the Crabbe family up—they cannot afford to do that."
"The Crabbe family can afford it if they grit their teeth. However, not everyone can order a dozen brooms in advance and donate them to the house before the start of term. According to my friend, orders for this broomstick are already booked until next year—it is currently in high demand but not available," Lucius said smugly, toying with his cane.
"To be honest, the Slytherin broomsticks are really old," Narcissa said.
"That is right. Slytherin's double defeat in the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup this year has made me lose face on the Board of Governors. Slytherin cannot afford another defeat." Lucius said, leaning back in his favourite armchair and rubbing his temples.
Draco could only nod silently.
He was still quite confident.
He believed that with his abilities, he could make it into the school team during the selection process at the start of term. This was true in his previous life, and his skills were now far superior to what they were then.
All he lacked was a ticket to participate in the selection process.
Unfortunately, not everyone will readily acknowledge Draco Malfoy's strength.
Once a person has the financial means to donate a dozen broomsticks effortlessly, their physical strength becomes less important.
In a way, his brilliance was overshadowed by his own shining Galleons.
He still remembered how others viewed his joining the Slytherin school team in his previous life.
The rumours never stopped, and for a long time, they made him very unhappy. Even his teammates were gossiping about him behind his back. He always knew it.
Although he put on an arrogant and nonchalant demeanour, he actually cared a lot.
A proud Malfoy craves praise and respect more than anyone else. He can only face sarcastic remarks with indifference and drive away sceptical gazes with an unyielding gait.
What other way could he possibly change other people's prejudices? He was at his wit's end, with no other options.
Later, inexplicably, spurred on by someone's sharp words, he rallied and gradually won back the respect of others.
Later on, people gradually recognised his Seeker skills and stopped mocking him.
Just as Draco was pondering this, Narcissa had already made her decision, "Draco, instead of hesitating, you should perform well and not disappoint your father."
Yes, there is nothing to complain about. It is not Draco's fault that the Malfoys are wealthy.
The brooms definitely need to be replaced, and the team must be recruited.
Those idle gossips are just repeating themselves.
He was no longer the arrogant and sensitive boy he was in his past life. Having experienced the harsh realities of life after his father's imprisonment, there was no pain he could not bear. This level of gossip was nothing more than a tickle to him.