Chapter 27: Birthday, Dobby, and Resurrection Potion
Parents like Lucius and Narcissa, who were prone to spoiling their children from time to time, would never miss out on any gadget on the market that would make their sons jump for joy - the latest candy from Honeydukes, or the latest flying broom on the market, or even a whole dozen of them.
On the last day of July, after breakfast, Lucius gave Draco a Nimbus 2001, which was about to be released, as a birthday present.
"This broom was originally scheduled to be released in mid-August of this year. However, I know a friend who brought me a finished product in advance." Lucius looked quite pleased with himself. "Draco, practice with it first and get used to your new broom. As for the others—the brooms donated to Slytherin House—I've already ordered them and will pick them up in Diagon Alley in a few days."
Draco took the broom and couldn't wait to open the package. He stroked his long-lost old friend with great nostalgia, and a look of joy appeared on his face.
"Draco, have you forgotten what I told you? Don't show your emotions so much." Lucius glanced at his silly son and said in a pretentious tone.
Draco quickly frowned and lowered his eyes, standing aside with his broom in hand, pretending to look at his mother with grievance.
In an instant, Narcissa, who was quietly drinking tea on the side, seemed to have turned on the "protective" switch.
She immediately put down the teacup in her hand, a look of disapproval flashing in her beautiful blue eyes, and mercilessly exposed her husband's past. "Come on, Lucius, when you used your connections to order this broom in advance a few days ago, you were much more anxious than Draco."
Lucius's suppressed air of authority was instantly shattered. He coughed and took a sip of tea to mask his embarrassment. Glancing at his son, who was playing the fool, he felt he had fallen into some kind of trap.
This child always managed to make Narcissa act as his strong shield through some pitiful expression. In this situation, any strict discipline he gave his son would eventually become self-defeating.
This kid isn't stupid at all. He's a bit shrewd! Lucius suddenly had this thought.
He looked at Draco suspiciously, seeing how obedient and well-behaved he seemed, but he also felt that he might have overthought. So, he ignored his son and diligently poured tea for his wife, trying to eliminate the occasional flash of anger in Cissy's eyes.
Draco chuckled to himself.
Sure enough, although the mother seems weak and silent, she is the trump card to check and balance the father.
For many years in his previous life, Draco ignored his mother's power.
He had always thought of her as just a gentle and kind mother, a proud noblewoman who doted on her son, once the noble Black and now the noble Malfoy, nothing more.
He had been arrogant and ignorant, ignoring her dignity and skills as Mrs. Malfoy.
He only admired his father, his toughness, sharpness, or just the right amount of smoothness, but rarely wanted to admire his mother. Until later, he discovered the weakness and helplessness hidden in his father's heart and discovered the strong will of his mother.
After her father went to jail, she stepped forward and took over everything.
Good things, bad things, and more bad things...none of it is easy.
She worked hard, desperately, and tried her best to protect everything in the Malfoy family.
Draco Malfoy was helpless.
He couldn't betray his mother.
He couldn't let his mother face all this alone.
He would accompany her to protect the Malfoy family, no matter whether it was right or wrong.
In his previous life, with such thoughts in mind, Draco stood beside his mother and almost gave up all self-awareness.
Until finally, his self-consciousness woke up screaming in pain and he realized that he was totally wrong.
It's not that it's wrong to protect parents and the Malfoy family, but that the ideas and sides that the Malfoy family originally adhered to were wrong.
They were wrong at the source, at the starting point, which was long before their parents were born.
Father and mother, they are just pitiful people shaped by the inheritance of ideas.
You can't blame anyone for this.
You can only take it step by step and change yourself first, Draco thought to himself.
Narcissa had no idea that her son was thinking about such profound questions. She was content with her husband's service.
At this moment, she asked with a pleasant face, "Draco, how is Quidditch practice going? Your father has already agreed with Severus to let you participate in the trials next semester and try to get you into the house team."
"I still want to rely on my own strength, not just financial resources." Draco was referring to the fact that "Lucius was going to replace the brooms for the college team."
Lucius couldn't help but sneer at his son's foolish words.
Now he was sure that Draco was still a silly child, not a mischievous one.
"Don't be silly, child. Having connections doesn't mean you're not capable. I heard that the Crabbe family also wanted to use their connections to get their child into the school team - I've seen that child - this is simply ridiculous." Narcissa said disapprovingly, "Severus is not very happy about the pressure put on the Crabbe family. A few days ago, he visited Malfoy Manor specifically to ask for help from your father. In the end, your father had to promise to donate more than a dozen flying broomsticks to shut the Crabbe family up - they can't resort to such a large sum of money."
"It's not that the Crabbe family can't afford it if they grit their teeth. However, not everyone can order more than a dozen brooms in advance and donate them to the college before the start of the semester. According to my friend, the orders for this flying broom have been booked until next year - there is no demand now." Lucius said proudly, playing with his cane.
"To be honest, the Slytherin team's brooms are really too old," said Narcissa.
"That's right. Slytherin's double defeat in the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup this year made me unable to hold my head up in front of the school board. Slytherin can't afford to fail again." Lucius leaned back in his favorite sofa armchair, rubbing his brow.
Draco could only nod silently.
He is still confident.
He believed that with his strength, he could be selected into the school team in the opening selection. This was the case in his previous life, not to mention that in this life, his basketball skills were much better than before.
All he lacked was an admission ticket to the selection.
Unfortunately, not everyone takes Draco Malfoy's strength for granted.
Once a person has the financial resources to "donate a dozen flying brooms without any effort", his strength becomes less important.
To some extent, his brilliance was overshadowed by his own glittering gold galleons.
He still remembered how others viewed his joining the Slytherin team in his previous life.
Those rumors never ceased, and for a long time, they made him unhappy. Even his teammates were whispering about him behind his back. He had always known about it.
Although he acted arrogant and indifferent, he actually cared a lot.
A proud Malfoy wanted to be praised and respected more than anyone else. He could only face the sarcastic remarks with an indifferent attitude and repel the doubtful gazes with his ruthless steps.
Is there any other way to change other people's prejudice? He is at his wit's end.
Later, inexplicably, he was stimulated by someone's sharp words and caught up with others, and regained the respect of others bit by bit.
Later on, people gradually recognized his ability as a seeker and stopped mocking him.
While Draco was thinking, Narcissa had already made the final decision on the matter. "Little Dragon, instead of hesitating, you'd better perform well and don't let your father down."
Yeah, there's nothing to complain about. It's not Draco's fault that the Malfoys are rich.
The broom must be replaced and the courtyard team must enter.
All that gossip is just a repeat of itself.
He was no longer the conceited and sensitive boy of his previous life. Having experienced the ups and downs of human nature since his father's imprisonment, he knew there was no pain he couldn't endure. This level of discussion was nothing more than a tickle to him.
Draco thought about the conversation that had taken place that morning and decided to let it slide. But instead of heading to the Potions room immediately, he walked down the marble steps back to his room.
He was disturbed by some of the minor details revealed in some of the letters.
He opened a basswood marquetry desk—an antique mechanical desk that had belonged to the King of England a century before—and deftly pulled out several letters from the corner and read them again carefully.
"Draco,
We've developed a new product: the human-shooting telescope! However, it still needs improvement, or at least a matching repair ointment—George's eyes are still swollen.
We've also improved our vomit candies and plan to add them to our line of fast-acting skipping candies. Enclosed are samples and instructions—in case you'd like to try them. We're also working on coma and fever candies...but we still think Nosebleed Nougat will be our most popular product.
We've already had Ron try some Nosebleed Nougat once - staining one of his favourite T-shirts - and he 'didn't really like it'. We'll soon get our chance to have Harry try it, as Ron seems to have managed to get him to spend the summer with us through some Muggle trickery.
Fred & George
"Draco,
Thank you for recommending the book "Powerful Potions." It was incredibly useful and made my summer vacation much more enjoyable. I found some of the potions quite controversial, but it's worth knowing about them.
Sadly, I can't make them like I did at Hogwarts, because Professor McGonagall sent us a notice before the holidays, asking us not to use magic during the holidays. Do children from wizarding families also abide by such restrictions?
Also, have you heard from Harry? I sent him a letter, but he hasn't replied to any of it. Maybe I'm just a little overly sensitive, but I heard his uncle's family doesn't like wizards...
Hermione
"Draco,
The suggestion you mentioned in your reply is very good. We have already sent some samples to students by owl mail and have received more than a dozen orders so far.
A good start, isn't it?
Zonko's Joke Shop asked if we would sell the canary cookie recipe, and the answer was, of course, no. However, Zonko was willing to provide us with a shelf to sell on consignment in their store, and they would charge a commission per unit... Do you think this is feasible?
Furthermore, we still haven't been able to get Harry to try our product. Ron has written three letters with no response, and we're worried he might have been kidnapped by Muggles.
P.S. Dad's been busy raiding wizard homes lately, confiscating Dark magic items and such. Better hide your braids, young Malfoy. We don't want to lose our majority shareholder.
Fred & George
Draco was silent for a moment, then suddenly snapped his fingers.
"Dobby," he said quietly.
"Young master! You finally summoned me!" Dobby appeared in front of Draco with a look of surprise on his face.
As expected, Dobby had changed into a new outfit. He wore a small outfit with a coconut palm tree and island scenery printed on it, a navy cap on his head, and one white sock and one blue sock, both of which were washed cleanly.
"Did you spend your entire salary on new clothes?" Draco asked suspiciously.
He felt a faint sense of regret - should he have encouraged Dobby's arrogance with such a strange aesthetic?
"No, little master, I only bought a few dozen pieces!" Dobby said happily. "Dobby only bought nice-looking ones!"
Only...bought...a few dozen pieces?
Draco forced himself not to think about what it had bought.
"Went on vacation to the beach?" He looked at the clothes on it patiently and understood what he meant.
"Yes! My little master! A beautiful seaside town! Dobby wandered around here for several days and even had fish and chips..." Dobby said happily.
He interrupted Dobby's chatter: "There's something I need you to do right now."
Dobby immediately shut his mouth and looked at Draco, stopping his incessant chatter.
"Go and see what Harry Potter is doing at home. Is he encountering any difficulties? Remember, go invisible, don't talk, don't cast spells, and don't cause him trouble--" Draco gave the order.
Dobby's eyes widened with excitement, and he was extremely excited about the content of this task. As Draco's words came out of his mouth, he began to jump up and down with joy.
Before Draco could finish his words, it vanished without a trace.
Dobby was still so impulsive. Draco's face twisted slightly.
The overly excited house-elf, who had never known the importance of emotional stability or the need to ask his master for anything else, sighed at the empty room and sauntered off to the potions room to tackle his mandrake problem.
The timer on the table ticked away, and time slipped away as Draco battled to create a resurrection potion.
"My little master! Harry Potter has been abused by Muggles!" As soon as he appeared in the potion-making room, Dobby screamed angrily, scaring his little master so much that his hand trembled and an extra mandrake fell in.
In the crucible, the potion that was about to take shape suddenly took on a strange color - this resurrection potion was completely ruined.
Draco rolled his eyes and cleaned up the work he had been working on all afternoon.
"Speak nicely, Dobby. Don't express meaningless emotions." For a moment, Draco couldn't tell which would be more deadly, the scream of the mandrake or Dobby's scream.
Dobby nodded grimly, looking at his little master with his big watery eyes, and snapping his slender fingers.
"They locked his books, wand, clothes, cauldron and his broomstick in a small room! Even his owl was kept in a cage. It was a blatant violation of his freedom! They also made the great Harry Potter do menial work. Dobby hated it, hated it..."
Draco frowned in annoyance.
Although he was mentally prepared, he still didn't expect that Harry's Muggle relatives could be so annoying - Draco couldn't stand someone confiscating his wand.
Not even for a moment.
Potter the Savior, Potter the Saint, the arrogant Potter who was so reckless...
Was this how he had lived before? Bullied and insulted by his ignorant Muggle relatives?
Dobby paused and said sadly, "Today is Harry Potter's birthday! Dobby saw it all. He sang the birthday song to himself and was laughed at by the Muggle children. He didn't even get a present! How pitiful! He is not even as good as Dobby. Dobby has a salary and new clothes to wear!" After that, it began to sob and wipe away tears.
"Did you let him see you?" Draco asked warily.
"No, Dobby is hiding behind the hedge. Dobby listens to his little master!" The elf wiped his tears and puffed out his chest proudly.
"What was he doing when you left?" He continued to ask, ignoring Dobby's tears.
"The Muggle men are inviting other Muggles to their home for dinner, and they've locked Harry Potter in the room upstairs! They don't even allow him to show up, as if he's something shameful, just like... Dobby used to be!" Dobby looked at Draco sadly with his big eyes.
"You seem to like Harry Potter very much." Draco looked at Dobby thoughtfully.
"Harry Potter defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! All the house-elves have him to thank!" Dobby said with tears in his eyes. "Dobby understands that feeling. The master doesn't like Dobby and doesn't allow Dobby to show up. Before becoming the little master's personal elf, Dobby had no salary, no gifts, no new clothes... No one cared about Dobby! Oh, it was so hard!"
It recalled its past and began to sob again, with an expression of extreme sadness because of its past circumstances.
Draco studied the elf before him thoughtfully.
He found that Dobby, the house-elf, was more human in every way than any other house-elf he had ever known. The other house-elves all wore the same standard smile, performed their tasks flawlessly, and lived quietly in the manor.
It is better to say living than living.
When facing their masters, they only had two emotions: respect and even more respect. To the point that Draco had previously habitually assumed that they had no joy, anger, sorrow, or happiness of their own, and that was simply their nature.
In other words, they might not have as distinct personalities as the two Scottish deerhounds that Lucius raised. At least, the emotions of those two deerhounds could be sensed through tail wagging, licking, barking, and so on.
Therefore, Draco's attitude towards house-elves in the past was like treating a kind of tool that could do housework and would never rust, without any emotion at all.
In fact, almost all pure-blood wizards view house-elves in this way. It is a customary practice.
His mother Narcissa's family, the Black family, went even further. They exaggeratedly made an entire wall and hung the heads of dead house-elves on the wall as decorations. The elves in the Black family even regarded "being part of the decoration" as the greatest honor in their lives.
How can you expect Draco, who grew up in such an environment, to see species like house-elves as equals? In other words, how can you expect any pure-blood wizard raised with traditional thinking to have such shocking ideas?
Therefore, when Dobby, a house-elf with his own distinct emotions, appeared before the pure-blood wizards, he became an alien, just like a piece of wood speaking and a stone sprouting.
Without strong adaptability or sufficient psychological preparation, it is really difficult to withstand this kind of cultural shock.
Dobby, defined by Draco as: a rebellious elf.
Draco was not sure whether he had any affection for this unruly elf.
But what did it matter? Isn't it enough to grasp its needs, satisfy them, and make it work for him?
At this moment, he could probably understand why Dobby in his previous life became a loyal fan of Potter.
It's not just because of Porter's "savior" halo, but also because they have a common language - they have the same experience of being ignored and mistreated.
By now, Dobby had begun to cry bitterly about what had happened to him and Harry, and his tears had formed a small lake on the carpet.
Merlin! Draco really didn't want it to stain the carpet in the Potions room.
"Okay, okay," Draco tried to comfort it, "I'll remember to get you a birthday present."
This remark seemed to have a worse effect. Dobby began a new round of crying and nagging gratitude to him, which seemed to be endless.
"Listen, Dobby, blow your nose or your 'nice' little clothes will get dirty." Draco reluctantly complimented its clothes, trying to distract it, but it was no use.
Amid its whimpering cries, Draco gave up trying to persuade it.
He smacked his lips, thought for a moment, pulled out a blank piece of parchment from the antique mahogany box on the wall, and quickly wrote a few lines with his peacock feather pen.
After quickly checking his wording, he pulled out a blank envelope from the copper-gilt crystal envelope holder, folded the parchment in half and put it into the envelope, then picked up a brass seal from the old rosewood sliding box and stamped it with the Malfoy family's unique seal.
"Time is running out. I don't have time to send an owl to deliver the letter. You have to run. If you want to save Harry Potter, stop crying and get to work!" He instructed Dobby with a stern face, "Take this express letter and give it to his friend, Ron Weasley, alone. Don't let anyone else find it. Be quick! If he asks you about Harry Potter's situation, tell him what you saw. If you have a reply, bring it back to me immediately."
Dobby suddenly fell silent. It seemed to be choking, its mouth tightly shut, even the tears that were about to fall were held back in its big eyes.
It picked up the letter, as if it were a life-saving talisman. Then, the elf nodded respectfully to its little master and disappeared immediately.
Ron Weasley was distraught. He hadn't heard from his best friend at Hogwarts, Harry Potter, since the holidays. He had already sent him three letters, but Harry hadn't replied to any of them.
Perhaps he had such a good time during the summer vacation that he forgot about his poor friend; or perhaps he was bullied by those Muggles, but he said he would scare those Muggles because they didn't know that young wizards were not allowed to practice magic outside of school. If that was the case, then those Muggles were too scared to even dare to bully Harry?
He lay on his back in his small room at the top of the Burrow, staring blankly at the orange poster of the Chudley Artillery on the ceiling, listening to the occasional explosion in his twin brother's room, and his mind was full of all kinds of speculations and thoughts.
But reality didn't allow him to daydream for too long—his mother, Molly, was calling him again. Ron slowly sat up in bed, careful not to let the sloping ceiling hit his head. He put on Percy's old T-shirt and Bill's discarded jeans, and dejectedly went to the garden behind the Burrow to clean up the gnomes.
The Burrow is located outside the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. Even the village postman doesn't know its exact location, but these silly goblins can always find their way back to the Burrow accurately.
Just as Ron threw out the eleventh or twelfth goblin in the twilight of the evening, there was a "pop" sound, and a colorful little monster appeared in front of him, scaring him so much that he almost screamed.
"Harry Potter's friend!" the little monster squeaked at him, a hint of curiosity in its round, watery eyes. "Is it Ron Weasley?"
"I am. But, what are you?" Ron stepped back repeatedly, asking in horror.
Had the gnomes in the house bred something new? What was that, clothes made of tea towels?
"I'm Dobby. The young master asked me to give you this urgent letter." Dobby looked at the Burrow and the dizzy goblins around it with interest out of the corner of his eyes. He bowed, almost drooping his pointed ears to the ground, and raised an envelope high with both hands and handed it to Ron.
Ron took the letter cautiously and held it up to the setting sun with trembling hands, fearing that there might be some harmful contraband inside.
Then he saw the pattern on the postmark clearly. It was the Malfoy family crest.
"Did Draco send you?" Ron asked it.
He probably knew what this little monster named Dobby in front of him was. It might be the house-elf that his mother often said, "I want one too."
"Yes! The young master said this is an emergency!" Dobby nodded hurriedly and said to him anxiously.
Ron was puzzled by Draco's sudden letter.
Was it necessary to go to such great lengths to send a house-elf to deliver the letter? And the envelope and stationery, were they really that particular? He suddenly wondered if his letter to Harry was too sloppy and careless. Was that why Harry didn't reply?
He tore open the envelope doubtfully, pulled out the parchment, and at a glance understood what was most urgent.
"Harry has been locked up at home by Muggles. Today is his birthday, and we have to rescue him. Ask Dobby for details, he saw everything. -Draco"
Of course, of course.
Harry didn't write to him because he was locked up. Just this one sentence made Ron's depression that had lasted for half the summer disappear, and he became cheerful again.
At the same time, feelings of worry, shame, and sympathy surged up, making his throat tighten.
What kind of life has Harry been having during this half of the summer vacation!
I can't even reply to the letter. The Muggles must have locked Hedwig up.
That's a good owl and never loses a letter.
"Do you want to know about Harry Potter's situation?" The weird house-elf looked at his gloomy face and suddenly became happy. "I can tell you, but you have to write back to the young master."
"Tell me everything you know," Ron said worriedly.
Half an hour later, Ron, who learned everything, was so angry that his face turned as red as his hair.
He quickly scribbled a note and handed it to the house-elf named Dobby, then rushed up the stairs of his house and shouted towards his twin brothers' room, "Fred! George! I need your help!