Draco didn’t dig any deeper into the identity of the wizard who had come to see his father.
Was it an old friend from his Death Eater days?
Or perhaps a Death Eater who had managed to stay hidden all this time, still evading capture?
What was the purpose? What was the reason?
Whatever it was, Draco knew this wasn’t something he could get involved in.
More precisely—he had no way to.
Without Dobby saying more, Draco had no means of uncovering the truth. And as for getting answers from his father—that was entirely out of the question...
...
To be honest, based solely on Dobby’s vague words, it might’ve seemed like he was overthinking. But it was those two words—“came back”—spoken with such fear in Dobby’s voice, that made Draco take it seriously.
It wasn’t just paranoia—his status practically demanded caution.
Whatever it was, Draco had no say in any of it right now.
Gazing absently into the flames crackling in the fireplace, Draco knew all too well where he stood.
He might be more privileged than most wizards, with a powerful background others could only dream of—but that didn’t give him the freedom to act as he pleased. It certainly didn’t give him the power to change his father’s mind. And Lucius would never allow him near such matters.
On this point, Draco had no doubt. He could feel how much his parents cared for him.
Unfortunately, Lucius had overlooked one thing—Dobby, the house-elf who was just a little too independent. And that was how Draco had come to know about it all.
Who would’ve thought a house-elf would actually disobey their master’s orders?
Even though Dobby’s account had been vague, Draco was almost certain: there was at least an eighty percent chance that the hooded wizard Dobby mentioned had been a Death Eater.
Best-case scenario—it was one who, like his father, had betrayed the Dark Lord.
Worst-case? Someone who had gone into hiding after the Dark Lord’s fall and was only now resurfacing.
Either way, Draco couldn’t think of any reason a Death Eater would take such a risk unless it had something to do with Voldemort.
The only thing I can do right now... is get stronger.
Draco lifted his wand slowly, fully aware that if his suspicions were right, then not only he, but his parents—and even his friends—could be dragged into this danger.
And without the strength to stand against it, how could he ever escape?
Everyone knew: once the label of “Death Eater” was burned into you, it was nearly impossible to shake.
And on this, Ron Weasley hadn’t been wrong—
Draco Malfoy was the son of a Death Eater.
...
Just as Draco was spacing out, a clear and pleasant voice reached his ears.
“What’s wrong? Are you mad because I didn’t spend Christmas at your place this year?”
It was Pansy Parkinson, looking at Draco with concern.
Yes, the Christmas holiday had ended, and Draco and the others were now back at Hogwarts.
But...
“How did you even get into my dormitory?”
Raising an eyebrow, Draco turned with a look of surprise—only now realizing Pansy was standing right there.
It seemed he didn’t want her catching on to what he’d been thinking about, so he redirected the conversation to throw her off.
“To be precise, only the boys' dormitories aren’t warded against intrusions.”
...
Draco’s mouth twitched at the blatant double standard. If he hadn’t asked, he wouldn’t have known that bit of information.
“I remember you came back to Hogwarts a day earlier than I did. Anything interesting happen?”
He casually set down his wand and asked, feigning nonchalance.
“Hm? Draco, something’s definitely off with you. You’re not running a fever…”
...
Instead of answering, Pansy pressed her small hand to Draco’s forehead, checking as if he might have cooked his brain.
Realizing he was acting too strangely, Draco quickly swatted her hand away, annoyed.
“If there’s nothing else, then get out. I need to change.”
Hearing that—and seeing him reach for his robe—Pansy’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she didn’t leave. She didn’t even look away. It was clear she had no intention of going anywhere.
Draco blinked. His hand, mid-motion to pull off his robe, froze.
“Spill it. You clearly came here with something to say.”
“Hmph, I knew you were bluffing... Wait! I’ll talk, I’ll talk!”
Her smugness didn’t last long. The moment Draco moved again, Pansy panicked, her face turning bright red as she squealed and slapped both hands over her eyes.
It seemed like she had the courage at first—but our little princess had chickened out in the end.
Seeing her flustered and adorable reaction, Draco’s heavy mood lightened, if only slightly.
Once the room stayed quiet for a moment, Pansy peeked through her fingers, then puffed out her cheeks and glared at Draco.
“I saw it. That so-called ‘Chosen One’ spent most of the break holed up in the library with his red-haired sidekick. No idea what they were digging into.”
Apparently, Ron Weasley had also come back to Hogwarts early, and Pansy had been keeping an eye on their activities.
“Hmm…”
Draco glanced at Pansy, who was now sitting on his bed, swinging her feet playfully.
Honestly, he couldn’t care less about any of it. He seriously doubted those two were hiding anything important.
Especially Ron Weasley—an attention-seeking idiot who clearly didn’t know how to use his brain.
Compared to what Dobby had told him, this kind of petty student “spy war” was completely meaningless.
Still, Draco’s lack of interest didn’t seem to bother Pansy. On the contrary, she was now curiously eyeing every corner of his dorm.
Watching her sneak glances around, Draco finally caught on.
This little princess clearly had no real interest in what she’d been saying...