HP: Redemption of The Platinum Boy

Chapter 56: The Wizarding Spa Sanatorium

In a corner of Bath, in Somerset, England, Abraxas Malfoy lay on a deck chair at the renowned Wizarding Spa, enjoying the late June sunshine and breeze.

He was a thin old man with platinum-blond hair, arrogant and languid. At first glance, he seemed no different from any other cantankerous elderly wizard. However, anyone who knew him well could not ignore the sharp glint that occasionally flashed in his cloudy gray eyes.

Beside him, a boy in a black Muggle T-shirt slowly stretched, like a large cat that had just woken. He wore a black baseball cap to shield his face from the slightly harsh sunlight, but even without seeing his face, the passing attendants could feel the vibrant energy emanating from him.

The contrast between youth and age was striking on these two deck chairs standing side by side.

At this moment, the only thing suggesting a connection between them was a few strands of platinum-blond hair peeking from beneath the boy's cap. This distinctive hair color had immediately convinced the receptionist that he must be Draco Malfoy, Abraxas's most beloved grandson.

"I heard your father spoke with you a few days ago," Abraxas said, glancing at Draco with interest.

"Yes." Draco finally removed the cap from his face. More of their similar features became apparent—they both had gray eyes, and their underlying aloofness and haughtiness were identical.

Draco glanced cautiously at his grandfather, and seeing his expression remain calm, continued, "He thinks I'm getting too close to certain Gryffindors."

"Making a mountain out of a molehill! Being adept at befriending all sorts of people is a remarkable talent! As long as someone is exceptional, we should bring them into our circle—that's true Slytherin wisdom. Does he think just anyone can break into Gryffindor's ranks?" Abraxas said dismissively. "Even I... never mind, let's not discuss it."

The old man shifted slightly to the side, allowing the warm sunlight to cover his frail, dry body—which so often felt cold—more evenly.

As he adjusted his position, he said to Draco, "My decades of experience have taught me that the more friends you make, the more paths you open. As long as you don't harm the Malfoy family's interests, do as you wish—make whatever friends you can. One day you might thank your younger self for these connections."

Draco nodded. In this respect, his grandfather was indeed more open-minded than Lucius, being receptive to friendships of all kinds. But he was, after all, a true Malfoy, and his motives for making friends would never be entirely pure.

"I'll speak with your father. Lucius... he's a devoted head of household, a good husband, a good son, and... a good father, I suppose?" Abraxas said, scratching his nose with little confidence. "But he lacks strategic vision—he's too short-sighted! I heard he did something foolish recently. Of course, your mother has excellent judgment and keen perception; she advised him to remedy this shortcoming. That's his good fortune."

Draco sat upright in his deck chair.

He looked at his grandfather in surprise—this was the first time he'd ever heard Abraxas evaluate Lucius with such a serious expression.

Though he was cold and aloof to outsiders, Abraxas always treated his grandson differently. He usually smiled indulgently and acted without care, showing a playful side to Draco.

Such earnest conversations were rare.

"When he was young, I didn't guide him much. I was too preoccupied with my own affairs," Abraxas chuckled briefly. "I once told him not to put himself at the forefront, but to stand behind the leader, in a safe position where he could oversee the overall situation. I suspect he didn't grasp the true meaning of that advice. Over the years, he's done many things rashly."

Draco nodded silently. Though his grandfather was enjoying retirement and outwardly appeared like a carefree old man, not involving himself much in the Malfoy family's business, his assessment of Lucius remained as sharp as ever.

"Your father is somewhat shrewd and pragmatic. I must say, Lucius has done quite well these past years—he's been ambitious, cultivating connections, actively accumulating wealth and influence for the family. But conversely, an ambitious personality is always accompanied by the drawbacks of extremism, recklessness, and arrogance, which can impair his rational judgment as head of the family. No one can perpetually watch him and clean up his mistakes." Abraxas pondered, his brow furrowing. "The Malfoy family has existed for centuries and will continue to do so. Do you know what's most important to our family right now?"

Draco looked at his grandfather quietly, not answering hastily.

"The most important thing is preserving our core strength and knowing how to maintain it. With the Malfoy family's current wealth and influence, it would be excellent if we could advance our power and status further. If not, at the very least, we shouldn't fall to a point where our ancestors would feel ashamed. Draco, do you understand?" He looked solemnly at his precocious grandson, who gazed back calmly, seemingly fully comprehending the profound meaning behind his words.

In recent years, Abraxas had been quietly observing and increasingly felt that his grandson was maturing extraordinarily quickly.

He wasn't as ignorant and foolish as an ordinary thirteen-year-old. He learned rapidly, and the magical subjects he studied were often surprisingly advanced—Potions and Dark Arts, for instance. Every year, Abraxas took pride in his Hogwarts report card.

He was purposeful and resourceful. Despite the House difference, once at Hogwarts, he'd forged connections with the famous Harry Potter—something not just anyone could accomplish.

He possessed keen instincts and a meticulous mind. This was evident in his capture of Peter Pettigrew. Abraxas still didn't know precisely how the boy had managed it—yet the Order of Merlin, Second Class, hung prominently above the fireplace in Malfoy Manor, and every visitor marveled at it.

His speech and manners were impeccable. He navigated social situations with grace, displaying both the noble bearing of the Malfoys, commanding respect, and the pragmatic ability to befriend those worth cultivating. This was something Abraxas had recently observed; Draco treated some of his old friends with the same approach—often managing to win those elderly wizards' favor.

Though proud and reserved, he was neither arrogant nor conceited. Abraxas understood perfectly that Draco was exceptionally skilled at reading people; he could almost instinctively interpret anyone's expressions and words—something difficult to achieve without rigorous training, yet he did it as if it were innate.

Most importantly, he was enigmatic. Draco never showed admiration or contempt for any wizard; he was outwardly polite to everyone but kept his true thoughts private.

These were all qualities an excellent head of household should possess.

How had Lucius and Narcissa raised such an outstanding child? Abraxas pondered, stroking his chin as he studied the boy smiling at him.

"You need to be more ambitious and think long-term. After I'm gone, the Malfoy family will depend on you." He couldn't entirely understand the boy, but he admired him. So he finally spoke those words.

"Grandfather, you'll surely live to be a hundred years old," Draco said with evident sincerity. He'd always held his grandfather in high esteem. In his previous life, Abraxas had died of Dragon Pox when Draco started sixth year.

That year had also marked the beginning of the Malfoy family's turbulent period. It seemed that after his death, the Malfoys had begun sinking into an increasingly dark abyss.

"Foolish child, no one lives forever," Abraxas said, waving his hand dismissively, though he was moved by his grandson's sincere expression.

He stared at Draco as if trying to commit his face to memory. "I must say, I'm very pleased with your performance at Hogwarts—in every sense. The other day, I encountered an old friend at the Sanatorium—Horace Slughorn. He came specifically to congratulate me on having a grandson who'd won the Order of Merlin."

Draco smiled nonchalantly at his grandfather.

"That old man never does anything without profit," Abraxas said, his face breaking into smug lines as his cloudy eyes narrowed. "However, I do admire him to some extent. Most students he's shown interest in have achieved great success in their respective fields. I wouldn't be surprised if he approached you in the next day or two."

Draco always felt there was some exaggeration in his grandfather's words.

In his previous life, he'd never received the slightest favor from Slughorn—not even mentioning Abraxas's name had helped. He'd thought the two were completely unacquainted.

As they conversed, a bald old man, as rotund as a walrus, slowly approached. He casually stroked his thick, silvery walrus-like mustache, his bulging eyes slowly scanning them.

"Horace!" Abraxas beckoned lazily. "We were just discussing you—"

"Oh, I hope you were discussing my finer qualities," Slughorn said cheerfully.

"Of course," Abraxas said with a shrewd, insincere smile, deliberately teasing his old friend who had such transparent motives. "Do I have gold Galleons here that attracted you, you Niffler? I remember at this time of year you should be replying to your beloved protégés."

"Ah, I was indeed writing replies, but then I thought—the weather is so pleasant today, perfect for a stroll," Slughorn said, ignoring the barb in Abraxas's words with practiced nonchalance.

This seemingly innocuous figure, whom Abraxas had mentioned, had long been interested in the "gold coin" he'd set his sights on. As if only just noticing Draco beside his old friend, an affected look of surprise appeared on his face. "If I'm not mistaken, this is the young man who received the Order of Merlin, Second Class—your grandson Draco, isn't it?"

Abraxas nodded reservedly, displaying an air of aristocratic disdain. That old spider Slughorn... he knew what the man was after.

"Come, let me introduce you. Draco, this is my old friend, Horace Slughorn, former Head of Slytherin House, a legendary figure with countless accomplished students!" Abraxas's tone was slightly exaggerated, as if reciting poetry.

"Not as remarkable as you make it sound!" Slughorn lowered himself onto a nearby deck chair with a chuckle. "I just have a few students I'm on good terms with!"

When Slughorn had appeared, Draco had already risen to his feet.

After the two old friends finished their pleasantries, he bowed politely to Slughorn in greeting.

Slughorn waved his hand amiably. "No need for such formality, Draco. Your grandfather and I are very close—you're practically like a grandson to me. He brags about you to us several times daily—his precious eldest grandson—"

Abraxas couldn't tolerate being exposed like that and secretly rolled his eyes at Slughorn, which Draco caught.

"What a pity I retired too early. Look how many talented young people I've missed!" Slughorn said regretfully, counting on his fingers. "Just from your year alone, I can name at least two or three promising talents. What a shame!"

He repeated "What a pity" again.

Anyone could hear the obvious regret in his voice.

"My grandfather often told me you're a highly skilled Potions Master. Hogwarts suffers a great loss without you instructing its students," Draco complimented him.

"Your grandfather said that?" Slughorn glanced at Abraxas, who was pretending to sunbathe, with a smile, and his mood noticeably improved.

He looked Draco up and down with interest. "I heard you performed admirably in Potions. It's fortunate to meet you. If you have any questions about Potions during the holidays, feel free to consult me! I'd be delighted to answer them."

Draco knew this was Slughorn's way of showing favor—he was willing to teach any student who interested him some potion-making knowledge. Speechless with a strange feeling, he bowed deeply to Slughorn in gratitude.

Slughorn nodded to him, seemingly satisfied with the results of his stroll that day. He waved his hand, slowly rose from the deck chair, and ambled away.

Draco watched his retreating figure, pondering: Should he seize this opportunity to ask about brewing some advanced potions?

In his previous life, his understanding of certain potions hadn't been thorough, especially regarding advanced brews. At that time, he'd devoted enormous energy to "assassinating Dumbledore." Moreover, Slughorn had been completely unwilling to acknowledge him, let alone teach him anything.

After this brief encounter with Slughorn, Draco suddenly understood the fundamental reason why Slughorn had ignored him in his previous life.

It wasn't because the Potions Master was unacquainted with Abraxas, but because Lucius had been imprisoned in Azkaban. Draco was no longer his old friend's grandson, but the son of a Death Eater and prisoner. For the slick and opportunistic Slughorn, as a typical Slytherin, avoiding him like Dragon Pox was perfectly normal.

In their spare time, Draco and Hermione occasionally studied the process of brewing advanced potions like Felix Felicis. Just reading the instructions, without even attempting it, they'd gotten stuck on certain details, unable to decipher them.

Now that he'd established contact with this old man beforehand—wouldn't it be wasteful not to make good use of his expertise? Draco pondered deeply.

"You did well, Draco," Abraxas said, watching Slughorn's departing figure with a sly smile. "There's no harm in befriending him; he can always provide unexpected resources. Of course, you'll need to give him something in return—a box of crystallized pineapple, or certain privileges."

Draco nodded in agreement, still lost in thought.

He was deep in contemplation when his grandfather suddenly flicked his forehead. Confused, he looked at Abraxas and found his grandfather had reverted to his unserious, playful self—the grandfather who'd been speaking seriously moments ago seemed to have vanished instantly.

"All right, Malfoy, stop looking so gloomy like an old wizard! Don't waste your time cooped up in the sanatorium with me. I have a private gathering to attend today, so I can't accompany you. Go explore on your own—you need to relax occasionally," he told his grandson cheerfully. "Bath is an excellent place for holiday!"

Abraxas believed his grandson's only flaw was his lack of interest in enjoying life.

Draco seemed too hard on himself, constantly working and maintaining excessive tension—which wasn't healthy at all.

With his grandfather's unquestionable directive, Draco had no choice but to surrender.

He shrugged, donned his baseball cap, turned and walked out of the sanatorium, leaving its leisurely atmosphere to his unpredictable grandfather. He wound left and right through a deep alley, eventually emerging from an inconspicuous narrow passage onto Bath's bustling, orderly, and clean main street.

It was around two or three in the afternoon, and tourists listlessly avoided the sun. They either browsed souvenir shops by the roadside, sought refuge in famous museums, or sat beneath large parasols at cafés, drinking coffee or cocktails garnished with paper umbrellas.

Draco was uninterested.

He felt uneasy whenever he thought of his grandfather Abraxas's fate. He wanted to do something to change it, but it wasn't easy—Dragon Pox was an unsolved mystery in the magical world.

He stared straight ahead, troubled as he tried to recall the improved potion recipe for treating Dragon Pox that had appeared in his previous life, but could never quite remember it clearly.

He was extremely frustrated. He walked past a group of tourists sunbathing, then passed a small square before finally deciding to find a quiet café to while away the tedious afternoon.

Unexpectedly, a hesitant voice suddenly called from behind: "Malfoy?"