Harry Potter: My Life as Hermione’s Houseguest

After leaving Hogwarts and traveling some distance, Lucius Malfoy ordered his house-elf, Dobby, to Apparate them both back to Malfoy Manor.

"Father, where did you go? You were gone for ages!" his young son, Draco Malfoy, rushed up to greet him with eager eyes.

Lucius tapped Draco's shoulder with his serpent-headed cane, his voice stern. "Have you finished all the books I assigned you?"

"Uh, books? I—I read… some of them…" Draco immediately dropped his gaze, guilt written all over his face.

"Then get back to your room and keep reading!" Lucius ordered sharply.

"Yes, Father, I understand. I'll go right away!" Draco scurried obediently off to his room.

Only once his son had disappeared did Lucius's expression soften, if only slightly.

"Lucius, Draco's still just a child. Must you be so strict with him?" A striking blonde woman approached—her tone tinged with resignation.

"Narcissa, he is our only son, the future head of the Malfoy family. How could I possibly let him slack off? If he can't even outshine those filthy half-bloods and Mudbloods, how will he ever uphold the honor of the Sacred Twenty-Eight?" Lucius declared, pride gleaming in his eyes.

"My love, I know how much you value our family's honor. But he's still young. Once he's at school, I'm sure he'll become Slytherin's top student—the pride of the Malfoys!" The blonde beauty—Narcissa Malfoy—spoke gently.

"He will be Slytherin's best! But it won't be easy. Enough, Narcissa, let's not discuss this any further. I'm tired. I need some peace and quiet." With that, Lucius strode toward his study.

He'd left that morning full of anticipation, but returned empty-handed—his mood soured and restless.

He did want to be closer to his son, but only he understood what the family's honor truly meant. It was unimaginable power… and a crushing weight.

That was why he could never relax his standards for Draco.

Now, seated in his study, Lucius closed his eyes, trying to calm his tangled thoughts.

He replayed the day's events in his mind, but something felt… off. As if he'd overlooked something crucial.

"What is it? That old fox Dumbledore is definitely hiding something…" Lucius muttered.

His gaze wandered across the study, coming to rest on a flying broomstick propped in the corner.

Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, the missing piece snapped into place.

Of course! That little boy—the one who'd flown a broomstick and thrashed Slytherin students!

A Gryffindor first-year, yet already so talented at flying. He must be an exceptional student, certain to attract attention from the staff.

And yet, during the investigation at the Acromantula cave in the Forbidden Forest, neither Dumbledore, nor Professor McGonagall, nor even Snape had shown the slightest special concern for that child. (Though, to be fair, Snape was like that with everyone, Lucius conceded inwardly.)

In fact, his own attitude toward Draco just now was influenced by that very Gryffindor boy. Subconsciously, he feared Draco might also get thrashed by such a student—hence the push to study harder.

Even he, Lucius, had been impressed by that boy's performance. So why had Dumbledore and the others remained so indifferent? Their nonchalance had made him pay less attention at the time.

"They didn't even mention the boy's name…" Lucius rifled through his memories and realized it was true.

Highly suspicious.

"Dobby, do you remember the name of that little boy with the Eastern face?" Lucius asked, turning to the house-elf at his side, hoping for an answer.

At the question, Dobby immediately wore a look of agony. His voice trembled: "Dobby… Dobby… Dobby…"

Lucius scowled. He snatched a heavy tome from the desk and hurled it at Dobby's head. "Shut up! Useless creature!"

But after being struck, Dobby actually smiled, relief and joy flickering across his face. He clamped his mouth shut and said nothing more.

"Forget it. I'll have someone look into it when the time comes. There can't be many students with Eastern features at Hogwarts—it shouldn't be hard to find out." Lucius sighed, resigned.

Though Dobby hadn't betrayed Qin Yu's name, hearing his master's words made the elf uneasy.

Somehow, he sensed his master's intentions toward Qin were far from friendly.

…

…

Once again, that strange, unfathomable darkness—a place beyond human perception or understanding.

Five flames, each a different hue, flickered into being.

But this time, the flames were weaker, their light diminished.

The white flame spoke first: "Comrades, our time grows short. Have you chosen your proxies?"

"We have, Alpha!" the other four flames replied as one.

"From now on, meeting like this will become difficult. Guard yourselves—and your proxies. I hope that, before our proxies grow strong enough to destroy the World-Ender, you all remain safe," the white flame intoned.

"We will, Alpha!"

"Good. Then let's wish ourselves luck."

"Luck to us all!"

As the words faded, the five flames vanished in an instant.

…

Not long after, in a small Egyptian town, a boy who had lain unconscious for five days suddenly developed a burn on the back of his right hand—a burn in the shape of a circle pierced by a zigzag lightning bolt.

Soon, the boy's eyes fluttered open. He sat up slowly, turning his neck, those bright eyes hungrily taking in every detail of the room. A look of pure happiness spread across his face.

At the same moment, in a shadowy alley in Kathmandu, Nepal, an old beggar—long thought dead by his peers—suddenly opened his eyes. On the back of his right hand, the same circle-and-lightning-bolt mark appeared.

The old beggar gazed at the world with boundless compassion. Rising, he shuffled out of the dark alley.

He stepped onto the bustling street, into the sunlight. Amid the crowd, he stopped a young woman and spoke in a voice overflowing with gentle mercy: "Child, this world needs you."

The young woman's eyes were first confused, then clear. At last, she nodded firmly: "Yes. This world needs me."

…

…

Friday morning, during Potions class, Qin Yu was suddenly seized by a chill so sharp it made him shiver.

The tremor nearly caused him to spill the solution in his hand outside the cauldron—a dangerous mistake, since this brew would eat through skin in seconds. Both Qin Yu and his partner, Elvis, were startled.

"Is it really this cold in England, and it's only mid-September?" Qin Yu muttered to himself.

He shook off the sensation, refocused, and got back to brewing.

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