Chapter 1: Rebirth of the Platinum Boy.
Draco Malfoy, the sole heir of the Malfoy family, is reborn.
The previous second, he was still in the blazing fire of the Room of Requirement, struggling to climb on top of that damn pile of debris, and stretched out his hand to the stupid Potter in a panic - yes, he grabbed Potter's hand, he turned over and climbed onto the flying broom, he was saved;
The next second, he suddenly woke up from the thrill and ecstasy of escaping death, and found himself lying peacefully on the familiar, gorgeous and comfortable carved four-poster bed in Malfoy Manor.
There was silence all around, with only the insects in the manor humming softly.
Draco immediately realized that it was the dawn of a midsummer day, filled with the scent of roses, rather than the late spring midnight that had a somewhat desolate and sad feeling in his dream just now.
This is not the right time, this is not the right season! He suddenly stood up and jumped out of the bed, but almost lost his balance.
He raised his hands in surprise, and then stared at everything on his body: the child's feet, the child's legs, and the child's hands and arms.
Shocked. Yet he tried his best to remain calm—a skill only acquired after experiencing countless real-world horrors. Taking a breath, he quickly walked toward the full-length antique carved mirror at the side of the room—and found himself completely transformed into a little boy.
That vaguely looked like him when he was 11 years old.
Merlin's stinky socks!
For a moment, he didn't know whether everything he had experienced before waking up was a dream, an illusion or reality.
However, the memories of the seven years he spent at Hogwarts were still vivid and flowing through his mind...
The details of pain, fear, despair and struggle were dense and real, piercing his heart one by one.
This couldn't be just a long dream.
What was going on? Could it be that the boy's body at this moment was what he saw in his dream?
The first faint light appeared in the sky outside the window. In this light, Draco looked at himself in the full-length mirror, his eyes full of doubt and anxiety.
He saw the platinum-haired little boy frowning maturely and pinching his face hard with his little hands, which quickly caused a blush to spread on his pale face.
The pain made him realize the reality of this world and confirmed that he was now a real little boy.
Merlin! He didn't look at the damn mirror again, and he didn't want to see the little boy's expression.
Draco paced in the dim light of dawn, trying to calm his surprised heart.
Wake up. This must be some dark magic or nightmare.
Wake up quickly! He rubbed his aching temple and forced himself.
The memory of a dream often fades and blurs as one awakens. But what terrified him was that as the seconds ticked by, his mind fully awakened, the torrent of horrifying memories not only showed no sign of dissipating, but instead gushed out like a broken faucet, turbulently transforming his once-tidy palace of thought into a vast, chaotic mess.
The torrent surged, boundless, and every drop of memory floated hazily in his mind.
In fact, as his memory flooded his mind, a vast amount of magical knowledge appeared in his mind, which was strong evidence that he had studied in Hogwarts for seven years.
There was absolutely no way that there could be some kind of dark magic item or nightmare in this world that could hammer so many complicated spells, potion-making methods, and the lengthy history of magic into his head overnight.
He even remembered some knowledge of ancient magic runes and alchemy - in his dream, he used this knowledge to repair a vanishing cabinet that even Burke had a headache with.
It was too real. The knowledge was so specific and detailed that the memories were flawless and incredibly real.
Draco's thoughts were in a tangle, and he didn't know how to react for a moment.
Could those things be true? But now he is 11 years old again, what's going on?
The boy was very bored. Through the window, he could see the manor courtyard in the dim light.
The garden was a scene of prosperity. The roses planted by my mother, Narcissa, were in full bloom. White, red, yellow, and even pink roses were in full bloom. It was peaceful and beautiful, exuding a charming fragrance.
It was so beautiful that it made him want to cry.
It was a far cry from the Malfoy Manor he had lived in when he was seventeen, when the Dark Lord's foul minions had shamelessly taken over his home and left it in a filthy mess.
That was the most humiliating memory for the proud Malfoy.
No noble pure-blood wizard family should be treated like this!
A sudden surge of anger erupted in his heart. Those disgusting creatures must never appear in Malfoy Manor again and trample on the pride, dignity, and honor of the Malfoy family!
no way!
His hands were shaking as he held onto the window, thinking of the unbearable past experiences his father and mother had gone through.
Lucius, the father, had his wand, which was as precious to wizards as their lives, taken away by the Dark Lord. He was like an eagle with its wings broken, defenseless and a target for slaughter. Any damned Death Eater, even a member of the police, could cast a curse on him and humiliate him at any time.
My mother, Narcissa, should have been the most pampered lady, but she became like a servant in her own manor. She lost her elegant and calm demeanor, and her once proud and calm face was filled with a look of anxiety. The Dark Lord could cast a curse to torture her if he was unhappy...
As for the Dark Lord, he was a bastard who had usurped the throne! He had invaded this place and treated the Malfoys' house as a prison like Azkaban, and even a murder scene. He allowed the lowly and brutal werewolves to enjoy themselves openly in the Malfoys' manor, which was proud of its bloodline - this was simply a slap in the face of the Malfoys!
Thinking of this, Draco's face turned pale.
His father must never have his wand taken away from him again, nor could he go to a terrible place like Azkaban again; and he must not let his always noble mother suffer such humiliation again, and grovel before those lowly people in the manor that she was so proud of.
He didn't want to be forced to kill Dumbledore anymore. Draco squatted down slowly, his hands unconsciously grabbing his platinum hair.
16 years old - a devastating year.
At the age of 16, he had as much resentment towards this age as the world had towards this age.
That should have been the best age for a boy, an age filled with light, flowers, applause and even love, but he was forced to plan a murder against the most powerful wizard of this century - Albus Dumbledore!
A suicide attack. If Dumbledore couldn't be killed, the Malfoy family would be destroyed; if Dumbledore was killed by chance, his soul would die with him - if a pathetic Death Eater could still retain a "soul".
He never wanted to be a murderer, never! How could a proud Malfoy have blood on his noble hands? He should be clean and rampant in the sun.
But his father was sent to Azkaban, and the Dark Lord threatened him with his mother's safety and the future of the Malfoy family.
It's ridiculous that he has no compassion and threatens a 16-year-old boy who is in a panic because of a sudden change in his family.
This is what a cruel, evil, unscrupulous Dark Lord does.
Draco had nowhere to go, no one to turn to.
The Malfoys' "old friends" were baring their fangs: with the death of their grandfather, Abraxas, the old connections had fallen apart; money couldn't buy support, but instead attracted greedy covetousness. These "old friends" offered hypocritical sympathy, but their eyes clearly hinted at expectations, hoping to get a piece of the Malfoys' downfall.
As for those "enemies", the Malfoy family has long stood on the opposite side of Dumbledore. What unrealistic fantasies can one have about them?
Should he bow to "Saint Potter"? Ask Dumbledore, his target, for help? How could those he'd been taught to hate, who couldn't even stop mocking him, help him?
The Malfoys have always stuck to this kind of thinking mode and are deeply wary of Dumbledore and others.
Draco had never thought, nor dared to think, that Dumbledore at the end of his life would still try to redeem his pathetic soul, just as he had never thought that the stupid Potter would turn back on the brink of life and death and come to him on his flying broomstick to lend him a hand.
It was a kindness he hadn't encountered in a long time, a kind of care he had never experienced from the Dark Lord or the Death Eaters. It was a mixed feeling, causing a subtle moisture to well up in his eyes.
A feeling of regret gradually filled me.
Draco had to admit one thing: he should ask them for help. Ask Potter for help, ask Dumbledore for help.
They might help him. They had different ideologies, beliefs, and interest groups, but they shared a common enemy—the Dark Lord. This alone made cooperation possible.
The Dark Lord had long ceased to be someone Draco respected. During the year he settled in Malfoy Manor, Draco gradually discovered that he was not the elegant, noble, powerful leader who hoped to restore the glory of pure-blood wizards that his father had described him as.
He was moody, hateful, violent and cruel, and he killed all wizards, even pure-blooded wizards. This often made Draco feel an unknown sadness for his own kind - even though his father Lucius claimed that this sadness was shameful and a cowardly emotion.
Perhaps Draco Malfoy had always been a coward; perhaps Lucius Malfoy was too fanatical about the Dark Lord. He was too deeply involved and invested too much, so obsessed with the inevitability of the Dark Lord's success that he could not accept the return of negative returns.
But Draco had woken up from his dream. When he jumped out of his crazy trap and looked at the Dark Lord calmly, he even felt that the Dark Lord was an inhuman madman.
He remembered the way the Death Eaters looked at the Dark Lord: without worship, how could there be love?
Most of the Death Eaters—except Bellatrix—were terrified.
Many people have noticed something is wrong, but they can no longer bear the consequences of taking the wrong path, so they want to stick to it, either to die or to have a better future.
Draco didn't want to go down the wrong path again, until he was doomed. Side with Dumbledore and Potter, it was the only chance for the Malfoy family to escape the oppression of the Dark Lord, and even turn things around.
Potter... Although he was stupid, at this moment, Draco hoped very much that he was the savior as rumored, who would achieve the final victory and defeat the Dark Lord.
After all, Potter had escaped the Dark Lord several times.
The first time was when he was born, when he was still a baby in swaddling clothes; the second time, he fought the Dark Lord in the cemetery, but the Dark Lord still couldn't kill him. His father said that a strange connection appeared between their wands, which made the spell ineffective; the third time, the Dark Lord took away his father's wand and fought him in mid-air, but only his father's wand was damaged, and Potter was still unharmed.
The fourth time, if there is a fourth time, will the Dark Lord be able to succeed easily?
There seemed to be something mysterious and unique about Potter that could resist the Dark Lord - although Draco never saw what exactly made him so special.
In his opinion, although the foolish and arrogant Potter was still a prominent figure in his grade, he had not shown any talent or ambition that could match or even surpass the Dark Lord.
No one knew it better than him. He had observed Potter carefully as his father had instructed him to do. He was disappointingly ordinary. Apart from a scar on his forehead, he looked no different from any other ordinary boy.
Objectively speaking, there is no one who is particularly hopeless, nor is there anyone who is particularly outstanding.
He would live a decent life in a peaceful and prosperous age, but he would never have the talents and qualities to match the Dark Lord.
This was also why the Malfoys almost immediately sided with the returning Dark Lord, because they saw no chance of Potter winning.
If they had known at that time that the ordinary Potter had a strange power that made him immortal even by the Dark Lord, they would have been more cautious in their decision.
Draco looked up at the fading moon in the sky in distress. He had to admit that their judgment had been seriously erroneous. They had chosen the wrong path and stood on the wrong side.
Joining the Dark Lord did not bring them more benefits, but instead they lost their dignity, status, and wealth, and lived like a stray dog in constant fear.
Once the Malfoys were no longer useful, the Dark Lord would cast the Avada Kedavra curse with a flick of his finger. He wouldn't even frown at the fall of the Malfoys, as the Dark Lord only cared about himself.
Draco sighed. The intense thought, the regret, the disillusionment of a crumbling faith, left him feeling utterly powerless. He slumped down on the Persian rug, his fingers unconsciously clawing at the fine, soft wool, tearing at it, as if he were tearing at his heart.
He had cried alone, regretted, and fallen into despair more than once.
He never wanted to be a pathetic Death Eater filled with shame and insecurity.
Suddenly, he remembered something and tremblingly lifted the sleeves of his light gray silk pajamas - as expected, he saw his smooth wrists.
The hideous Death Eater mark was as if it had never existed. Draco exhaled, a smile of surprise on his face.
He stroked his wrist over and over again, muttering to himself over and over again, "That's great."
He could feel a sense of relief in his soul. The pain, suffocation, and increased pressure that the Dark Mark had stirred in his memory had now vanished.
Good thing he didn't get branded with that disgusting stigma.
Good thing my father hasn't tried to steal the prophecy and ended up in Azkaban.
That's great. Malfoy Manor is still peaceful and beautiful, a symbol of glory.
Draco stood up excitedly, feeling dizzy from the suddenness of his rise. He held onto the antique carved table to steady himself.
Were those memories dreams or reality? It all happened so suddenly, so strangely.
He still couldn't believe it and fell into a vortex of repetitive and chaotic thoughts again.
Then he saw the ill-fated letter of admission from Hogwarts lying on the table—a thick yellow parchment envelope with his name written in emerald green ink.
The other letter was from Durmstrang.
It's like returning to the beginning of everything.
The morning after receiving these two letters, the Malfoy family would discuss his school choice after breakfast.
As far as I can remember, they chose Hogwarts.
Draco Malfoy was presented with an opportunity to prove whether his memories were real.
A few hours later, if his parents' discussion was exactly as he remembered it, he might be sure that he was reliving the days he had lived and walking the paths he had walked.
Then, perhaps he had actually experienced those seven years at Hogwarts, and not just a nightmare.
Wait. Wait for breakfast to come. Take a look at the situation first.
Draco gathered himself. He slowly walked back to his bed and lay down again. The turmoil of his emotions had drained away the already limited energy of an eleven-year-old boy. He stared up at the folds of intricately patterned bed curtains, the shimmering silver dragons that glittered between them. His eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted off to sleep once more.