A Quiet Dinner

Draco sat between his parents at the long, polished table, the seat to his left conspicuously empty. The cutlery clinked faintly as he moved, but otherwise, the manor was still.

He gave Lucius a sidelong glance, just like in the movie.

He had already expected that, since more or less everyone looked like the actors from the Harry Potter films.

While thinking, he hadn't dropped his Occlumency walls for even a second. His mind was a tight fortress. Not even a flicker of thought would escape tonight.

In fact, he was already prepared to travel to Essos the moment something happened here.

Just as he thought he might get through dinner without anything awkward or dramatic being said, Lucius cleared his throat.

"There's an announcement," he said, voice smooth, but with a deliberate edge.

Of course. Draco nearly sighed.

"This New Year," Lucius continued, his fork barely touching his plate, "we'll be attending a gathering in France."

Draco rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. So something really was brewing.

He noticed it immediately. His mother's hand paused mid-bite, her frown deepening. That was telling. Because if there was one thing Draco could remember clearly, it was that the Malfoys had never spent New Year's anywhere but Britain. Their manor was tradition incarnate—cold, pristine, and always the chosen venue for carefully curated gatherings.

"Is it necessary?" Narcissa asked. Her voice was soft, but with that distinct coolness that hinted at quiet defiance. She set her fork down with slow precision.

Lucius didn't even glance her way. "Yes," he said simply, nodding once. "We'll be discussing something important… about our future."

That made her jaw tighten. Her expression turned sour—tight-lipped, icy—but she said nothing else. She returned to her meal with the same grace, but it was all for show.

Draco didn't need to be a mind reader to piece it together.

"Something about our future," huh? He thought bitterly. Translation: dark politics. Alignments. Renewed loyalty discussions. Or maybe just checking who's still pretending not to pick a side.

The only reason Lucius would drag them to France, of all places, was to feel out the other pureblood circles. To measure the climate. Either the Dark Mark was starting to stir again or whispers about the Dark Lord's return had gotten louder in the right ears.

There was no way this was about magical theory or cultural exchange. Draco scoffed inwardly. The Malfoys didn't network unless it was about power. To them, the world was divided into two names: the Dark Lord or the White Lord. Voldemort or Dumbledore. No one else mattered. No other future existed.

He sneered in silence, not just at the situation but at their narrow vision. Their obsession with old power structures. Their failure to imagine anything beyond the chessboard they had always known.

But while he mocked their blindness, Draco was already thinking ahead.

He knew the truth. By the end of next year, the noseless bastard would return. Flesh and blood. And worst of all, his own home, Malfoy Manor, would become the snake's den.

If he didn't want to lose everything—his name, his control, his freedom—he'd have to act.

But what should I do?

He ran through a dozen plans in his head, each more complicated than the last. The problem wasn't just the stakes. It was the players. Both sides were too unpredictable. Their strategies, their attacks, their baited traps… nothing was ever straightforward.

Yes, he knew the story. But knowing the story didn't mean he controlled it.

Especially not when he had no intention of killing Dumbledore.

That wasn't an option. Not morally. He had no such delusions. But practically, killing Dumbledore would make him Voldemort's tool. Just another pawn handed a short leash and promised a long fall.

And Draco Malfoy had no interest in being anyone's pawn.

Besides, it would be a foolish move. He didn't even know how many Horcruxes the Dark Lord had created. Assuming it was the same number as in the films was reckless. What if there were more? What if he missed one?

No. Killing Dumbledore wouldn't solve anything. It would only speed up the endgame, and not in his favor.

Could he rely on the so-called Golden Trio to handle everything? The idea crossed his mind for half a second before he shoved it away.

No. That kind of blind faith was exactly the problem.

This wasn't a story. He couldn't assume things would play out like the movies. Neatly wrapped, evil vanquished, heroes triumphant. What if they failed? What if they missed something crucial?

Too many variables. Too many chances for everything to go wrong.

He wanted to be strong enough to solve everything himself. But he wasn't some overpowered protagonist in a fanfiction. He'd only been transmigrated about four months ago. Everything was still new. Especially magic. And as much as he'd hoped, even the gacha couldn't solve all his problems. It was random. Unreliable. And so far, the things he'd pulled weren't game-breaking. Just enough to keep him afloat.

Still, he was doing everything he could.

Grinding, day after day. Pushing himself until his fingers trembled and his wand shook from fatigue. Practicing until he couldn't cast another spell. And even then, he kept going. Just a bit more. Just one more rep. One more theory to test. One more contingency to plan.

Was it enough?

No. Not yet. But he didn't curse himself for that.

He knew the truth. What he had achieved, most wouldn't. Plenty of people in his situation would've cracked. Lost their minds. Drowned in fantasies. Started simping for every girl they recognised from fiction. Forgot the stakes. Forgot the mission.

But he didn't.

He stayed focused. Grounded. Clear-headed.

He had priorities.

Survive first.

Everything else could wait.

He didn't create a new potion recipe or recreate a power in anime as spell like other protagonists.

What he did?

He hunted. He killed. He adapted. He improved.

Day by day. Failure by failure. Spell by spell. He pushed himself harder than ever before. From the outside, maybe it looked like he hadn't done much. Like he was just coasting.

But he knew better.

He wasn't the same guy who had woken up in someone else's body, in a world where death was just a wand wave away. He had changed. Slowly. Painfully. Quietly.

But it was real.

And he wasn't done yet.

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