There’s a saying: “One who stays near vermilion gets stained red; one who stays near ink gets stained black.”
If you want to understand someone’s character, you can look at the friends they keep. But if you want to quickly get a sense of their personal tastes, start with their room...
Books.
Books, everywhere.
The moment you stepped into Draco’s room, you’d be greeted by shelves and stacks filled with books on all kinds of magical knowledge—even a few from the Muggle world.
Aside from the essentials like his bed and a few daily necessities, nearly every bit of space was occupied by books.
This room, filled with the crisp scent of parchment and ink, was where Draco had lived for the past eleven years.
And now it made perfect sense why he always had a book in hand at Hogwarts...
...
Though Malfoy Manor was enormous, only Draco and his parents lived there. Whether necessary or not, there was never any issue with room assignments.
Draco’s room was at the highest point of the Manor, giving him a full view of the entire garden...
Swish—
He pulled open the curtains, and sunlight spilled into the room, filling it with warmth.
Standing by the window, Draco stretched lazily, soaking in the familiar surroundings.
In private, Draco was less cold and more laid-back.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there when he suddenly snapped out of his daze and spoke to the seemingly empty air.
“Dobby, has my luggage arrived?”
As his words fell, a sharp crack echoed through the room, and in the corner, a small figure suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
Setting aside what kind of creature it was, its arrival was the result of a high-level spell—
Apparition.
Typically, pure-blood wizarding homes were warded against Apparition to prevent uninvited or malicious guests from suddenly showing up—especially families like the Malfoys, who had no shortage of enemies.
The best-known example was Hogwarts itself, where both Apparition and Disapparition were blocked.
Of course, such anti-Apparition wards could be tailored to exclude specific individuals, like members of the Malfoy family—or the house-elf that had just appeared before Draco.
What was especially noteworthy was that this house-elf seemed capable of casting such a delicate spell without even using a wand...
“Already taken care of... S-Sir... Oh! Dobby is a bad elf! Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!”
Before Draco could say a word, the house-elf named Dobby suddenly began bashing his head against the wall. A wizard unfamiliar with the scene might have mistaken it for some bizarre form of greeting.
Staring at the familiar sight, Draco’s earlier sense of sentimentality vanished entirely—now, all he could do was mentally sigh.
How had he forgotten about this odd—no, downright absurd—house-elf...?
...
Don’t be fooled into thinking the house-elf was just putting on a show. Dobby was dead serious about trying to smash a hole in that solid wall with his head.
If this little act continued any longer, never mind whether the wall would crack—there’d definitely be a corpse in Draco’s room.
Draco had no intention of letting that happen.
“By order of Draco Malfoy, stop this instant!”
“Yes, sir!”
The moment the words left Draco’s mouth, Dobby, who had been bashing his head into the wall just a second ago, sprang upright like a soldier at attention.
Draco didn’t know whether to be exasperated or amused.
With snot and tears streaming down his face and his eyes still flicking longingly toward the wall, Dobby looked for all the world like he hadn’t entirely abandoned the idea of self-punishment. Draco could only sigh inwardly.
House-elves.
In the wizarding world, their status was far from high—in fact, it was downright abysmal.
Despite being born with remarkable magical abilities and capable of casting advanced spells without a wand, they had lost the societal standing their powers once commanded after losing ancient wars.
As a result, house-elves were bound to serve wizarding families for generations. They took care of all household tasks and were subject to their masters' will, forbidden from defying orders. If they made a mistake, their own blood-bound servitude compelled them to self-punish.
In essence, these countless restrictions were etched into their very being, making them no different from slaves in the eyes of most wizards.
But Dobby—the elf standing before Draco—was something else entirely.
...
What made Dobby such an outlier among house-elves was that, despite being bound to the Malfoy family, he had never once referred to anyone as “master.”
Just like earlier—he had spoken to Draco with respect, calling him “sir,” but not once had he uttered “young master.” And it was precisely because of this that he punished himself.
Perhaps this was the last shred of dignity Dobby clung to as a house-elf.
Even so, despite his yearning for freedom, Dobby was never careless or lazy when it came to his duties. Quite the opposite—he was remarkably capable. That was why Draco had called on him first.
It wasn’t just because Dobby had left such a strong impression. Their connection ran deeper than that...
Draco rubbed his temples and looked at Dobby, who was staring back with wide, tennis ball-sized eyes. For some reason, the moment they first met popped into his head.
If he hadn’t instinctively said “thank you” back then, maybe things would’ve turned out very differently.
Because when Dobby faced his true master—Lucius Malfoy—he would obey orders, yes, but never showed the slightest hint of respect.
And maybe that was exactly why Draco had come to see him in a different light—as someone willing to defy his fate.