novelraw Chapter 2: Silent Observation
Chapter 2: Silent Observation
Chapter Two: Silent Observation
A true Malfoy doesn't let his emotions show. He observes carefully before drawing conclusions, never letting anyone see his inner turmoil.
Draco is such a Malfoy now. Shaped by his long, dark memories, he's no longer the arrogant, willful boy he once was. He's become cautious. Discreet.
But this approach won't work with his parents. They're completely unaware of the dramatic changes within him and still see an 11-year-old boy. If their proud, willful son suddenly became quiet and withdrawn, they'd sense something was wrong immediately.
How would he explain it? He hadn't figured that out yet, and he didn't want to say anything sensational.
Draco had grown accustomed to distrusting everyone. He no longer harbored pathetic illusions that anyone would fully understand him—even his loving parents never truly had.
So when he appeared at the breakfast table, he displayed the lively attitude an 11-year-old should have, drawing on qualities gleaned from his long memory.
He succeeded. Lucius and Narcissa enjoyed their breakfast, unaware of anything amiss.
During the meal, Draco couldn't help stealing glances at them again and again.
They looked so young. Much younger than he remembered.
Father's face was wrinkle-free, without signs of fatigue or haggardness. He wore his favorite snakeskin suit, platinum blonde hair neatly styled and shimmering. Mother remained beautiful and elegant, her proud face revealing smiles only for her husband and son.
Draco became increasingly certain of his past life's authenticity. Lucius and Narcissa discussed the same estate affairs and Ministry secrets as before.
"Cornelius Fudge actually applied for the Order of Merlin, First Class, for himself and even wanted to award himself the medal..." Contempt crossed Lucius's face.
"A man obsessed with power and status," Narcissa said leisurely, sipping her tea. "We love these kinds of glamorous fools, don't we? Vain and weak, short-sighted and easily manipulated. Hopefully, he's as obsessed with money as he is with power..."
Lucius nodded in agreement.
Just like before—his parents plotting how to approach this self-aggrandizing Minister of Magic.
Draco could predict that when the house-elves served dessert, the conversation would inevitably turn to him.
"So..." Lucius picked up the small silver spoon, seemingly admiring his pudding. "Durmstrang or Hogwarts?"
Draco didn't answer immediately.
In his memory, he'd given an abrupt response only to be harshly ignored by his father. Lucius had scoffed, calling him a "reckless little fool" who didn't know how to think carefully.
He wouldn't be ridiculed like that again.
Lucius was always strict, using verbal criticism to humble Draco whenever pride carried him away. His intentions were good, but he didn't know what devastating impact his negative attitude had. Under relentless verbal attacks, Draco had become a boy of both arrogance and inferiority.
No one could say Lucius didn't love his son. During the war, he'd finally revealed rare paternal tenderness—love that only appeared in extreme circumstances, like stars shining only in darkness.
Father probably didn't care about his son's pathetic pride at all, Draco thought, taking a sip of tea.
During daylight hours, Lucius reserved his tenderness for Narcissa. Only with Mother did he show anything resembling "caring."
Draco had never noticed this before. In his previous life, his parents always talked about scheming, profit-driven ideas, or boring interpersonal relationships—nothing romantic. They rarely expressed love directly in front of him. He'd never even heard Father say "I love you" to Mother.
In his past life, he'd thought their intimacy was merely a hypocritical union based on family interests. Besides pure-blood supremacy, what common ground did they share? Their personalities were completely different—Father stern and direct, Mother gentle and roundabout. More like business partners than a sweet couple.
It wasn't until everything crumbled that he realized their relationship ran deeper than he'd thought.
Mother never abandoned Father, even when he was imprisoned and all social circles shut her out. The autocratic father chose to listen to her, showing unprecedented trust—he only trusted her.
Could there be love between them, beyond interests? Draco wondered, glancing at his parents.
"I want Draco to go to Hogwarts." Narcissa looked at her husband, a faint smile on her face. "The son of a school board member shouldn't be at a disadvantage there, right?"
"Of course..." Lucius put down his spoon, leaning back comfortably. "Draco will be treated very well at Hogwarts. But you know Dumbledore's attitude toward certain magic. I'm worried our son won't receive the best possible education..."
Narcissa frowned. "But Durmstrang isn't in England. Who knows where on the European continent it is? I've heard it's too cold there..."
"I have connections with the headmaster—Igor Karkaroff—so Draco won't suffer," Lucius said casually, stroking his snake-headed cane.
*Death Eater friendship,* Draco thought. *Karkaroff, a cowardly Death Eater who fled when Voldemort returned. Clearly not going to amount to anything. Even worse than Dumbledore.*
Thinking of Dumbledore brought back one of his greatest nightmares—the Astronomy Tower tragedy. Dumbledore dying by Professor Snape's wand. Utterly absurd! He still couldn't believe it, though he remembered every detail vividly. He couldn't even think about it for a moment without wanting to scream.
He sighed involuntarily, then quickly recited the basic rules of Gamp's Transfiguration, the twelve uses of dragon blood, and the seven hundred Quidditch fouls in his mind.
*"Is there any better way to distract yourself than reciting facts?"* the girl in his memory had asked, head held high. *"Yes, you're right, Granger. It really does work."*
Narcissa caught her son's sigh.
"Draco, darling, let Mother hear your thoughts. Which school do you prefer?" she asked gently, assuming his low spirits came from parental neglect.
Mother's love had always been obvious—never as subtle as Father's.
Draco had already weighed the pros and cons while eating pudding. Based on his parents' behavior, the memories flooding his mind were most likely true.
Call it his "past life." The present might be "rebirth"—given that he'd lived so long in those memories, weathered enough to have seen his life's end.
If his past life was real and turmoil was coming, he had to plan for the future.
He'd considered fleeing to Durmstrang, escaping the bloodshed. But while Durmstrang offered temporary refuge, he wouldn't be safe once the Dark Lord returned—hadn't Karkaroff fled too?
Hogwarts seemed dangerous, but at least he had years of memories. He could learn from past failures and guarantee better control of situations.
Moreover, the Malfoy family's business roots were in England. They'd stood on this land for centuries—how could they abandon their ancestral legacy? Escape wasn't the best solution.
And there was another reason. That faint, hazy, beautiful memory... that unspoken delusion in his heart... that shattered hope that left him bewildered and desperate.
"Hogwarts. I want to be closer to Mother so I can go home for Christmas." He looked at Narcissa, putting on an innocent smile, catching Father's disdainful look from the corner of his eye.
Lucius frowned slightly, bothered by his son's "homebody" tendencies—or rather, the possibility of his son disrupting time with his wife.
*Father, your stern face can no longer frighten me,* Draco thought calmly. *I know you love me, even if it's just a tiny bit.*
He added, "And Professor Snape will look after me, won't he? He's head of Slytherin, the Potions professor, very skilled in Dark Arts. I'd like him to teach me more..."
Lucius realized he had no reason to refuse.
After the meal, Narcissa walked briskly out, thoroughly satisfied. Draco guessed she'd gone to reply to the Hogwarts enrollment letter.
Lucius stood by the table, expression cold. "Stop always acting like a child to your mother—it's embarrassing. You're not a little kid anymore! And since you're studying here, show some respect for yourself."
He leaned closer, his tall frame imposing compared to Draco's short stature. "A proper Malfoy must carry on the family's honor. Do well at school! If I don't hear you're studying hard, don't even think about coming home for Christmas."
Draco met his father's gaze quietly. "Yes, Father."
Lucius looked into his son's pale gray eyes, which unusually contained not panic or fear, but joy.
Puzzling. He cleared his throat. "Tomorrow, your mother and I will take you to Diagon Alley for school supplies. Think about what else you need." With that, he strode away, toying with his cane.
Draco stared at the extra serving of chocolate pudding before him and chuckled softly. His father was still so awkward.
In his memory, they'd had a similar conversation at this table. What was his reaction then? Driven to emotional collapse by Father's threatening words, he'd cried and sought Mother's comfort, believing only she loved him.
Back then, he was too young to see the expectation beneath Father's stern demeanor or notice the care behind the extra chocolate pudding. Draco could easily have the house-elves serve him countless portions with a wave of his hand—it wasn't like he couldn't afford it. But Lucius stubbornly insisted on saving his share for his son.
This outrageous concern might be clear to adults, but for an immature boy, it was far too ambiguous.
After his parents left, Draco finally dropped his childish pretense. With Lucius's leisurely manner, he thoughtfully ate his second pudding, digesting the difficult decision: he was going to Hogwarts.
His seven years at Hogwarts hadn't been as wonderful as he'd hoped. He'd had to deal with arrogant Potter, the mocking Weasleys, and know-it-all Granger every day.
Draco grunted, but a chill ran down his spine. Even years later, Granger's punch remained vividly etched in his memory.
If she hadn't been Potter's friend, if he hadn't been so awkward, if he'd shown the Muggle-born girl more respect... After all, she wasn't stupid. In fact, she was quite clever.
Lucius always compared her grades to Draco's, making him both ashamed and angry—Father always said he couldn't even outperform a Muggle girl.
As a child, Draco had respected, feared, and admired his father, taking everything he said as gospel. He'd wanted complete approval, to become a Malfoy his father respected, and he'd been willing to give anything for it.
The disappointment of rejection clouded his judgment, causing him to ignore his own true feelings and deepen his hatred for the three of them.
Back then, he'd loved being the center of attention, craving admiring glances. Potter and his friends stole his spotlight. Or rather, Potter's brilliance—like the moon—made his once dazzling star appear dim.
This stark contrast enraged him, causing him to lose his temper and relentlessly provoke them, attacking from every angle. He hadn't even figured out why he was angry before blindly starting arguments.
Looking back, he'd spent most of his energy competing with them. Utterly ridiculous.
He no longer had the will for such things. He had more important matters—real, formidable enemies targeting him.
The Dark Lord. That name that cannot be mentioned. That terrifying enemy hasn't returned yet, but he's stirring somewhere, soon to disrupt the magical world.
The Malfoy family rules state that life's greatest glory isn't in never failing, but in rising again after every failure.
If those memories signified Draco Malfoy's Waterloo, then now was the perfect opportunity for a comeback.
It's not too late to escape that filth and disgust. Not too late to preserve the Malfoy family's honor. Not too late to make a new choice. Seize the opportunity, seize that fleeting moment.
Those cruel Death Eaters and werewolves must never again defile Malfoy Manor or frighten his parents. Never!
How he acquired these memories and became 11 again seemed less important.
What mattered was the time, the moment, the place.
In his previous life, Dumbledore had told him from the Astronomy Tower that he could make a choice. Unfortunately, when he hesitated, Dumbledore perished in green light flashing with the Dark Mark. He'd missed that crucial opportunity.
After that, more opportunities slipped away during countless hesitations, vanishing through his fingers, until it was too late for regrets.
But now, he's been reborn. He's still safe and has a choice.
Was this Merlin's warning? Or a chance to start over?
Draco doesn't want much. He doesn't want grand achievements. He isn't arrogant enough to think he can defeat the Dark Lord simply by being reborn.
At the very least, keep the Dark Lord in check. Prevent his resurrection. Use Slytherin tactics to trip him up and render him ineffective.
Ultimately, Draco Malfoy only wants to protect the Malfoy family and his own world. Protect the people who matter.
The Malfoy family has weathered centuries of storms and still stands resilient on the Wiltshire plains. With so many memories, why can't he fight for a chance to escape unscathed?
Tomorrow, he'll finally see Potter. The crucial figure necessary to defeat the Dark Lord. The foolish Potter who saved him at the critical moment.
Eleven-year-old Potter, that simply dressed little boy, is truly someone to look forward to.
"Harry Potter, let me get to know you again," Draco whispered.