Chapter 4 — The Tsundere Malfoy Heiress
Hogwarts had a remarkably relaxed schedule. One double period in the morning and one double period in the afternoon—aside from curfew, the rest of the time was left for students to arrange as they pleased. Of course, certain places kept their own hours; the Great Hall, for example, was simply a public space with four long tables outside of mealtimes.
Speaking of the long tables, Hogwarts students usually stuck to the seating assigned to their Houses during ceremonies, naturally spending their free time with their own Housemates.
However, there were exceptions. This year, there was a particularly strange little group—three Gryffindors and three Slytherins—who practically occupied the Hufflepuff table together every day.
"Ah—"
The one yawning was Ron, the red-haired youngest son of an old wizarding family. Poor though they were, this generation alone had produced two prefects and a Seeker. One could say their wealth and talent were wildly disproportionate.
Beside him sat Hermione, the Muggle-born witch unanimously recognized by all the teachers as a genius after just one month at school. Except for the overly complex Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts—subjects somewhat beyond first-year tolerance—she could grasp almost any lesson after hearing it once.
She handed a completed crossword puzzle to Harry, who sat at the same table, then promptly sank back into her book. Hogwarts, A History—a tome regarded by most students as second only to History of Magic in terms of dullness—was something she read with relish.
Harry took the crossword. At the top it read:
> "The hardest puzzle in history! Whoever answers correctly will receive the prize: a brand-new Nimbus Two Thousand!
Challenge yourself to surpass the wisdom of Ravenclaw!"
Harry glanced at the grid. The vocabulary was nothing a normal person would ever use.
"Hermione… is this English?"
"English," Hermione replied matter-of-factly. "The words are English—though some are translated from French, German, Latin, and Greek. On the Muggle side, they come from medicine, law, philosophy, and theology. On the magical side, they're drawn from obscure books. The last word took me ages to find—I finally discovered it in a dictionary. It's an ancient Egyptian incantation."
"Thanks." Harry looked at her with admiration before passing the crossword to Malfoy sitting beside him. "All right. Ron, Neville, and Hermione helped with this. When you win the prize, remember to treat us to a big meal."
"You really solved it?" Malfoy looked impressed. "If the Daily Prophet found out a group of eleven-year-olds cracked it, they'd be shocked. Hey, Hedwig—lend me a moment. I'll send this off before class."
She stood up. But as she prepared to leave the Great Hall, Hermione suddenly appeared in front of her and grabbed her wrist.
"Wait. Isn't this what you wanted, Harry?"
"What would I want it for? I've never even ridden a broom," Harry said, puzzled.
Hermione, who had originally been indifferent to the prize and focused solely on solving the puzzle, now glared at Malfoy with open hostility.
"Then give it to Neville or Ron. I'm not handing over the crossword I worked so hard on to this woman."
"What's wrong? You two arguing again?" Ron, hearing the commotion, leaned over curiously. Neville, unwilling to get involved, scooted his chair in the opposite direction. Goyle, who had been ordered to sit some distance away, noticed his mistress being confronted and was about to approach, but Malfoy stopped him with a raised hand.
"It's just that I scored a tiny bit higher than you in Potions. No need to be so narrow-minded." When she said "a tiny bit," she deliberately held her fingers a hair's breadth apart. "One should be generous. Leaving first place to someone else prevents unnecessary enemies, Miss Granger."
Hermione pressed her lips together stubbornly. "If you hadn't cheated, I wouldn't have lost…"
"Here we go again…" Harry, Neville, and Ron wore identical expressions of weary familiarity.
"Cheated? That's rather harsh. I merely experimented extensively to find different techniques. Brewing strictly according to the textbook, as you do, will never lead to breakthroughs. Miss Granger, you're a rule-following technician. I'm the inventor who tells you what to do. That's the difference between us."
"There's no way reckless improvisation works every time without consequences. You must have cheated!"
"Oh dear. The lack of cultural depth in Muggle descendants is quite troubling. As long as you understand the principles behind each ingredient and the properties of the potion, you can find the fastest shortcut. Professor Snape has said it himself, hasn't he? Students who only memorize the textbook can never grasp the mysteries of potion-making. At best, you'll be an excellent brewer—never a creator of new potions."
Hermione, unable to retort, flushed red. Her finger trembled as she pointed at Malfoy. Finally, she snatched back the crossword—the one she had spent half a month solving—tore it to shreds, stuffed the pieces into her mouth, gulped down a cup of pumpkin juice, and swallowed the soggy parchment fragments whole. Then she looked at Malfoy with a triumphant expression.
Perhaps she believed she had successfully ruined Malfoy's chance at obtaining the Nimbus Two Thousand.
But instead of disappointment, Malfoy regarded her as though she were some rare magical beast. Then she turned to Harry and asked in complete seriousness:
"Do Muggles normally eat parchment?"
"You can't eat that!" Harry sprang up anxiously. "Hermione, are you all right? Does your stomach hurt? That parchment looked filthy—there's no way you're fine!"
"I'm fine… fine…" Hermione insisted, though her face was turning increasingly green. "Ron, my stomach feels a bit off. I need to go to the bathroom. Come with me."
"You want me to wait outside the girls' bathroom? Why not ask another girl?" Ron glanced at Malfoy, who responded politely with a smile. The sight of her smiling so graciously left Ron momentarily entranced. He didn't like Slytherins—but if they were all like the girl in front of him, perhaps Slytherin wasn't so bad.
"I. Don't. Want. Her!"
Without waiting for Ron to finish processing, Hermione dragged him away.
"Sigh—why is she so competitive?" Malfoy sat back down helplessly. She hadn't wanted the Nimbus Two Thousand all that badly. She simply believed she should prepare in advance for December. As long as it wasn't used publicly, a first-year owning a broom wasn't actually a problem. Now that the plan had fallen through, she would have to devise a backup within the remaining three months.
Harry shrugged. He had never been a top student and could not understand the mindset of one.
At that moment, the post arrived. Countless owls swooped in through the windows, dropping gifts from parents, replies to letters, and forgotten belongings accurately into each student's hands.
Malfoy received a stack of parchments and a letter. She read the letter first, then burned it. After that, she took out fresh parchment and began writing. Her handwriting was elegant and perfectly neat—clearly the result of strict training. Watching her write, Harry couldn't help but say, "That's beautiful."
Malfoy glanced at him before returning her attention to the parchment. Skilled at concealing her emotions, she appeared unchanged—but beneath her pale blonde hair, the tips of her ears showed a faint blush.
"You're writing a lot. Is there something you need to tell your parents?" Harry asked curiously.
"Some of these are for communicating with certain people in the wizarding world. My father wants me to build my own network over these seven years. He only gives me names and addresses—the rest is up to me. I have to use sincerity to make those adults willing to befriend me. As for the other matter… I dismissed Crabbe. My father told me to personally write the dismissal letter to the Crabbe family. He said that if I can't persuade them myself, then dismissing the Crabbe family will be canceled—and I'll have to go there in person to apologize."
The curiosity in Harry's eyes turned into admiration. They were the same age, just children—but the poise she carried was already that of an adult. "That's amazing."
Malfoy paused her pen and rubbed her forehead helplessly. "You should probably say fewer things like that in the future. They're very hard to respond to."
This time, it wasn't just her ears—there was a faint blush on her cheeks as well.
Watching the two of them from the side, Neville suddenly felt that his presence was entirely unnecessary.
Just then, a package landed in his hands, drawing both their attention.
Neville opened it. Inside was a transparent glass sphere, along with a letter.
"Oh, that's a Remembrall. It helps with memory. It turns red when you've forgotten something, and returns to its original color once you remember. You're not allowed to use it during exams—unless you're confident you won't get caught." Since Harry was Muggle-born and had never seen one before, Malfoy explained before he could even ask.
Neville looked at the sphere in his hand as it turned red and sighed helplessly at Harry. "The problem is, I always forget what I've forgotten."
"Then you need two Remembralls. That way the other one will remind you that you forgot what you forgot," Harry reasoned matter-of-factly, then looked to Malfoy for approval.
Malfoy offered no comment on Harry's genius-level idea and simply continued writing her letters.
Neville read the letter that came with the Remembrall and looked disappointed. "Sigh—my grandmother said that as my parents' son, how could I possibly be afraid of heights? I was hoping she'd send me something to help me overcome my fear. Instead, I got this."
Neville's words reminded Harry—there was flying class that afternoon. He had heard that someone had sabotaged all the school's old brooms, forcing the school to purchase a batch of brand-new Comet-type brooms. As a result, last week's lesson had only covered the basic rules of Quidditch. The new brooms were said to be even better than most of the ones used by Quidditch team members, which had sparked a frenzy of borrowing requests.
"Flying class…" Harry felt just as nervous as Neville. He had heard Ron and many students from wizarding families boast about how well they could fly. Having never even touched a broom before, he felt immense pressure.
"No need to be nervous. Even a poor Weasley brags about having ridden a broom—you can imagine how low the barrier is…" Malfoy stopped mid-sentence when she noticed Harry's distracted expression. She tucked the half-written letter back into her bag and patted his shoulder. "Come on. There's still some time before class. I'll show you something interesting."
Harry and Neville exchanged a glance and obediently followed her.
Malfoy led them to a room filled with trophies and Quidditch memorabilia. It was an exhibition room displaying every Hogwarts inter-house Quidditch championship. She walked to the trophy from 1970 and pointed at the names of the players.
Seeker: James Potter — a legend of his era.
Harry stared at the name, warmth rising in his chest. It was the first time he had learned something about his father. James Potter was no longer just an unfamiliar string of letters. In his imagination, the name began to take on flesh and blood.
"Your family's here too. Runners-up in the previous year." Malfoy pointed to another display case.
Keeper: Frank Longbottom — the most loyal guardian.
Neville stared at his father's name. Through the glass, he touched the letters. Unable to hold back, he fell to his knees as tears streamed from his eyes. He wondered—if his father weren't lying in a hospital bed, would he have brought him here like Malfoy had, proudly recounting his glory days?
Malfoy watched the two of them, satisfied. It seemed their pre-class nerves had been conquered. Silently, she slipped out of the exhibition room alone.
In the corridor, a trace of loneliness flickered across her face. The magical lights along the walls illuminated only half of it, casting the other half in shadow, making her look like a creature with two faces.
"I really am not suited for this sort of thing… comforting the orphans of the Order of the Phoenix. That's just too strange."