---
Chapter 4 — Stories in Summer Light
The afternoon sun filtered through the narrow gaps in the high windows, scattering pale, broken light across the study's wooden desk. Though it was summer, the occasional draft that slipped between the stones of Malfoy Manor carried a faint chill.
Draco sat buried in a fortress of books, completely absorbed. He devoured everything within reach—common spellcasting theory, obscure magical trivia, even footnotes that most people skipped without a second glance.
For all the ancient wizards claimed they sought power for longevity, Draco mused, they never understood the real joy lies in feeling yourself grow stronger, day by day.
With his abnormally sharp memory, every page he turned seemed to etch itself neatly into his mind. That steady, unmistakable sense of progress was more satisfying than any indulgence he'd ever known.
Humans, he thought wryly, were creatures with laughably short attention spans. That was why people in his previous life, himself included, had fallen for online games—the quick rush of leveling up, the instant clink of gold in your virtual inventory. That short-loop reward cycle was addictive.
Learning, on the other hand, was a marathon with no cheering crowds. Results came slowly, painfully slowly. Most people lost faith before they saw anything change.
But Draco no longer had that problem. He could remember everything. And he wanted to remember it. Magic fascinated him, and knowledge grew inside him like a second heartbeat.
"Felix Felicis really does deserve its reputation," he murmured, shutting The Creation and Use of Magical Potions with a soft thud.
In his previous life, Draco had never cared much about Polyjuice or the flashier potions. But Felix Felicis—liquid luck—had always piqued his curiosity. What kind of potion could twist fate for a day? And now that he was here, he wouldn't waste the chance to find out.
But the deeper he researched, the more discouraging the truth became. The ingredients were nearly impossible to source, the brewing technique even harder, and even if nothing went wrong—a rare miracle—it still took six months.
"Well… I'll try anyway," he promised himself.
He was lost in thought when a voice drifted in from the corridor—familiar, faintly exasperated.
"Then I'll trouble you with it."
"It's nothing," Lucius replied. "Perhaps my child will be glad of the company."
A knock followed.
Draco quickly pushed a bookmark into place, set the volume aside, and crossed to the door.
He opened it to find Hector Parkinson standing beside Lucius, the same Hector he had met once before. And behind him—
Draco suppressed a groan.
Pansy Parkinson peeked out from behind her father, no longer dressed like a tiny gothic demon. Today she wore a white dress trimmed with pale yellow bows, embroidered roses curling along the hem. Her red leather boots were polished, and she clutched a dainty purse in both hands. If last time she had looked like an imp from a storybook, today she seemed a little fairy dropped straight out of a children's tale.
"We meet again," she said softly.
"Er—welcome," Draco managed, bowing faintly. She had taken him by surprise, and good manners were the only defense he had time to mobilize.
"Those vermin," Hector snarled suddenly.
"Every family has a few of that sort," Lucius said calmly. "Try not to let them upset you."
The Malfoy and Parkinson families weren't friends in the sentimental sense—pureblood friendships rarely were—but their interests aligned often enough to make cooperation mutually beneficial. Wizards needed galleons as much as Muggles needed pounds, and investments didn't run themselves. Unfortunately, Hector had run into trouble with one of theirs today—and worse, Lucius's own gold was tied up in it.
"I refuse to let those goblins take everything," Hector muttered. Gringotts goblins were not widely beloved; Hector was no exception.
"Not in front of the children," Lucius reminded him gently. Then to Draco: "You heard. Your uncle and I must tend to this immediately. Pansy can't come with us. Stay with her. We'll return by nightfall."
"This girl insisted on following us," Hector sighed. "Now we can only rely on your little one. If we leave the matter any longer, Merlin knows what those vermin will do."
"Pansy. Behave. Not like last time."
Pansy pouted, cheeks flushing pink. Clearly she hadn't forgotten that incident either.
"I'll look after her, Father. Uncle," Draco promised. He still regretted the pettiness he'd shown last time, and this was his chance to make amends.
Lucius and Hector nodded, raised their wands, and vanished into thin air, leaving only the faintest shimmer of displaced air behind.
"So that's Apparition…" Draco breathed, awe stirring in his chest. Compared to sheer destructive spells, magic touching space—or time—was infinitely more profound. A Killing Curse might be deadly, but a Muggle bullet could do the same. Even Muggle weapons could level cities; no wizard spell could rival a nuclear blast.
But time-turners? Apparition? Those were mysteries no Muggle scientist could dream of.
I can't wait to learn it, he thought, heart quickening.
But first, he had a very different problem.
He turned toward Pansy. "About last time, I—"
Thud.
Pansy slammed her purse on the desk. The shy girl from moments earlier vanished like smoke. Her eyes flashed, cool and sharp.
"Open it," she ordered.
Draco blinked, confused, but obeyed.
Inside, neatly arranged as if prepared for court evidence, were photographs.
He stared.
"Oh for—"
Pansy smirked. "The Ministry would love this. Plenty of people still think your father got off far too lightly."
The top photo showed a title page: Secrets of Advanced Dark Magic. Lucius Malfoy's name was handwritten neatly below. The rest of the photos displayed his father's annotations—dense letters, diagrams, circles, and markings only an obsessive researcher would scrawl.
Pansy had broken into his father's restricted study.
And she had taken pictures.
Draco inhaled slowly. So this was the vengeance of a little girl.
"That book in the concealed study must be missing," he muttered.
Adults, Draco realized, were easier to deal with. They weighed consequences. They knew some secrets were too dangerous to touch carelessly. Hector, for example, surely knew Lucius's interest in darker branches of magic, but he would never betray a business partner over it.
Children were different. Unpredictable. Emotional. And Pansy Parkinson was proving especially troublesome.
"It seems Muggle cameras are quite useful," she added smugly.
Draco didn't bother with outrage. His mind raced, adult logic clicking rapidly into place. Even if she did take this to the Ministry, someone would quietly make the problem disappear. Lucius had slipped through the cracks once; he could do so again. And pureblood society was built on secrets far uglier than a few dark notes.
Draco's sudden calmness, however, irritated Pansy. She had expected panic—tears, maybe. Certainly groveling. Instead, he looked… thoughtful.
"Ugh, boring bookworm," she snapped. "Fine. Read your stupid books."
She stomped to the desk, climbed into a chair, and folded her arms with great ceremony.
Negative favorability again, Draco thought bleakly.
He returned to his potions research, relieved she wasn't escalating things.
"If you're bored," he offered lightly, "third row, fourth shelf—The Tales of Beedle the Bard. You can read while you wait."
"I'm not reading some children's book," Pansy shot back.
Draco winced. Dumbledore wrote those. If he heard you…
"Well then," he sighed, setting his book aside, "what would milady prefer?"
"Hmph." She turned away, offering neither suggestion nor mercy.
Fine. Time for the last resort.
"In a distant eastern kingdom," Draco began, "there once lived a scholar named Liang Shanbo…"
Pansy's ear twitched.
She didn't interrupt.
Soon she was leaning forward, absorbed.
"That Liang Shanbo is an absolute coward," she announced.
"That Ma Wencai is worse than a Bludger with a grudge."
Draco nearly laughed aloud. Her commentary was brutal, but she was listening.
"And then," he continued, "the two lovers became butterflies, together forever."
A quiet hush settled. Draco felt an unexpected sting in his eyes—memories of his old world tugging at him.
Pansy broke the silence.
"That's it?"
"Yes."
She snorted.
Draco frowned. Aren't little girls supposed to love tragic romance?
Seeing his crestfallen expression made her face brighten like sunrise. "It's a good story," she admitted. "I'm just laughing at how you turned a comedy into a tragedy."
"…A what?"
"It's obvious!" she huffed. "They were both Animagi. Turning into butterflies was just an elopement cover story. Honestly, with all the books you read, how did you miss that?"
Draco stared. That world and this world are not even on the same plane of logic…
"But I like it. Tell me another one."
She's addicted, Draco realized.
And so the battle began.
Titanic.
"If Ruth weren't so fat, they both could've fit on that door," Pansy declared.
Draco choked on air.
When he tried Mulan, Pansy puffed up proudly. "Father keeps trying to tell me I shouldn't do this or that. Next time, I'll tell him this story."
At least that one landed well.
Eventually, satisfied, she waved a hand. "I won't hold a grudge. Your stories were interesting enough."
"That is a great relief, milady," Draco said dryly.
"But you'll tell more. Next time."
He nodded immediately, though for reasons that were his own. The stories were memories—his only ties to the world he'd left behind. Sharing them, oddly, felt comforting.
He drifted into thought until Pansy waved a hand inches from his nose.
"Hey! Don't drift off."
"Sorry."
"Is telling me stories that boring?"
Her tone was softer now—not warm exactly, but no longer hostile.
"Ah," Lucius's voice cut in. "It seems you two got along well. Pansy didn't trouble you, did she?"
"Father!" Pansy chirped sweetly, instantly shifting back into her little-lady persona.
"Uncle, I was glad for the company," Draco replied politely.
"It's late," Lucius said. "Stay for dinner?"
Hector shook his head. "I have loose ends to tie up. Another day."
After the customary pureblood farewells, Draco and Lucius saw the Parkinsons to the door. Just before stepping into the Floo, Pansy glanced back over her shoulder.
Draco recognized the look.
Next time, storyteller.
He gave her the faintest nod.
And she vanished in a swirl of green fire.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Like it ? Add to library!
Have some idea about my story? Comment it and let me know.
Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!
Creation is hard, cheer me up! VOTE for me!.