In 1987, an ancient manor stood on the outskirts of Wiltshire, England.
This manor occupied a vast area and was imbued with an old, gloomy atmosphere. If a brave soul were to explore it, they might expect something supernatural to occur. However, ordinary people had no chance to enter this manor, for it was a wizard's estate, concealed beneath powerful protective enchantments that prevented Muggles from ever approaching its grounds. The owner of the manor was Lucius Malfoy, a former Death Eater.
"It's finally over."
Draco Malfoy closed his book and let out a long breath as he leaned back in his chair. Continuous, high-intensity reading was still too much for his eight-year-old body. The cover of the book read: One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore.
"Unconsciously, it's already been eight years since I came to this world."
Draco looked at his platinum-blond hair and small frame reflected in the full-length mirror of the study. Even now, he still felt a faint sense of unreality. He had truly transmigrated. After saving a primary school student in his previous life, he had been struck by a car—and when he opened his eyes again, he was here.
He had transmigrated into the world of Harry Potter.
And the identity he had taken over was that of Draco Malfoy.
In his previous life, as a fan of novels and films, he had been well acquainted with the original plot. He had even felt some pity for Draco Malfoy.
"With a good family background and handsome looks, yet he only ever played the role of a low-level antagonist. Not even truly evil—just constantly provoking Harry Potter, while his father was merely a political opportunist who chose whichever side ensured survival."
Those had been his thoughts before transmigrating.
But now?
Now he had no intention of following the original trajectory.
Since he had been given the chance to start over, how could he possibly waste it by repeating the same mistakes?
"It seems this is the only real advantage of transmigration."
A faint, satisfied smile appeared on Draco's face as he looked at the towering shelves of books in the study.
If there was one clear benefit he had discovered over the past eight years, it was this—
His memory and comprehension were far beyond what they had been in his previous life.
Call it a side effect of transmigration. Call it a hidden gift.
Either way, it was real.
If he wanted to change his fate, strength was essential.
If he could obtain power comparable to Voldemort's—without following the path of madness—and combine that with the Malfoy family's status and his inherited appearance, then he would truly stand at the pinnacle of this world.
With an adult soul residing in a child's body, Draco was naturally far more composed than ordinary children. As someone who had received a proper education in his previous life, he firmly believed in one principle:
Knowledge is power.
Without theory, magic was merely an unstable force.
If Tom Riddle had not been discovered and guided into Hogwarts by Dumbledore, he might have remained nothing more than an uncontrolled, dangerous wizard. Draco understood this clearly.
Since he was too young to safely practice advanced spellcasting, he used this rare period before Hogwarts to strengthen his foundation. Herbology. Standard Spell Theory. Magical History. Every subject was worth studying.
"I never became a top student in my previous life," Draco murmured, a faint smile returning. "It seems I'll get the chance in this one."
Since setting this goal, he had pursued it diligently. And in doing so, he had discovered something startling—
His ability to retain information and understand complex magical theory had improved dramatically.
Perhaps it truly was the benefit of having two lifetimes' worth of awareness.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A knock sounded from outside the door.
"Young Master, the Master wishes to see you," came the butler's respectful voice.
"Understood."
Draco placed the book carefully back on its shelf and stepped out. After navigating the corridors of Malfoy Manor, he arrived at Lucius Malfoy's study.
"Father, you wished to see me?"
After accepting his reality, Draco chose to properly fulfill his role as a son. Lucius Malfoy might have been aligned with the wrong side historically, but one thing was undeniable—
He cared deeply for his family.
"I'll simply need to guide him when the time comes," Draco thought. "Choosing the wrong side once was enough."
Following Voldemort blindly had nearly destroyed this family in the original timeline. If Narcissa had not lied to the Dark Lord at the final moment, the Malfoys might not have escaped Azkaban.
Was this what people meant by hoping one's father would rise like a dragon?
Draco's thoughts paused as he looked at Lucius.
"How are your studies progressing?" Lucius stood near the tall window, sunlight illuminating his pale, aristocratic features. Though his face remained composed, there was unmistakable concern in his voice.
Draco had been unusually quiet since infancy.
He rarely cried. Rarely fussed.
As he grew older, he spoke little.
Some foolish servants had whispered that the young master might be a Squib.
Lucius had dealt with them immediately.
But even he had once wondered—
Was something wrong?
That doubt vanished the moment he began personally teaching Draco.
His son absorbed knowledge at astonishing speed.
After learning to read, he devoured books relentlessly. He displayed instinctive magical control beyond his years. Once, merely to test him, Lucius had handed him a wand and demonstrated a simple charm.
Draco had cast it successfully on the first attempt.
Silence was no longer seen as a deficiency.
It became a sign of depth.
"What parent does not wish for an exceptional heir?" Lucius often thought.
"Everything is progressing normally, Father," Draco replied calmly. "In terms of theoretical knowledge, I should already be comparable to a third-year student."
"Very good. As expected of the heir to the House of Malfoy."
Lucius allowed himself a faint smile.
"Tomorrow, the Parkinson family will be visiting. I hear they are bringing their daughter. She is close to your age."
Lucius's tone carried the faintest trace of amusement.
"What do you think? Interested?"
Draco lowered his gaze slightly.
"Father is joking."
But inwardly, his thoughts had already begun to shift.
Parkinson.
Pansy Parkinson.
How, exactly, should he approach that relationship this time?
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