HP: She married Malfoy after becoming an exchange student.

At the end of July, Diagon Alley was illuminated by magic lanterns, making it look like a glowing snake.

Inside Madam Malkin's Robe Shop, Draco Malfoy stood in front of the dressing mirror, admiring the exquisite patterns the tailor had embroidered with silver thread on the cuffs of his black robe.

He was eleven years old this year, and his height had not yet fully grown, but he already had a delicate appearance—his platinum blonde hair was soft and fluffy, carefully styled by his mother Narcissa, with a few strands hanging down in front of his forehead, gleaming with a cold light, like silver threads just taken out of an ice cellar.

Her skin was pampered and fair, her eyelashes were curled and thick, and when she looked up, her gray-blue eyes seemed to hold a thin layer of ice, carrying a hint of spoiled pride.

"Mom, this thread isn't bright enough." He tugged at his cuff, his voice crisp yet undeniably critical. "If those people at school saw this, they'd definitely say that our Malfoy stuff isn't even as good as Muggle stuff."

Narcissa chuckled softly, her fingertips brushing against the top of his head: "Stop thinking about those people, Draco. True pure-blood wizards don't care about the opinions of Mudbloods or half-bloods."

As soon as he finished speaking, the shop door was pushed open with a "ding".

A boy stood against the light, a head taller than Draco, his figure upright like a pine tree. What was most striking was his hair—long, silver-gray hair half-tied, smoothly tied behind his shoulders, the ends slightly curled, a few unruly strands hanging down his cheeks, slightly loosening as he moved, obscuring half of his eyes.

The eye that was exposed was also silver-gray, but it was deeper than Draco's, like a deep pool covered with snow, calm and still, yet it carried a casual sense of scrutiny as it swept across the store.

He wore a dark gray stand-up collar shirt with a simple black bow tie at the collar, and the cuffs were rolled up to his forearms, revealing his well-defined wrists and a faint old scar on the web of his hand. He was holding a rolled-up piece of parchment in his hand, clearly indicating that he was also there to order a school uniform.

"Madame Malkin," the boy began, his voice lower than Draco's, with the distinctive rhythm of German, like the soft pluck of a cello's low string, "I have an appointment with Elias Reinhardt."

Draco immediately turned around, his platinum-blonde hair tossing with the movement. Reinhardt? He'd seen that name on his father's family tree; one of the oldest pure-blooded families in Germany, said to possess more ancient books and wand cores than Malfoy Manor.

"You're going to Hogwarts too?" Draco raised his chin, deliberately making his arrogance even more obvious. "I thought all the young wizards in Germany went to Durmstrang—their Dark Arts classes are much better than Hogwarts'."

Elias's gaze fell on the newly embroidered snake pattern on his cuff, his silver-gray eyelashes trembled, and a faint smile seemed to curve his lips: "An exchange student. And,"

He paused, his gaze slowly shifting to Draco's face. "The heir of the Malfoy family doesn't need to speak like a puffed-up kitten."

"Who are you calling a kitten?!" Draco's face flushed red, like a spark ignited. He hated being called childish, especially by someone who seemed more "pretentious" than himself.

Elias didn't reply, but walked straight to the fitting room counter and unbuttoned his shirt collar. His skin was very fair, and he had a pale blue mole on his neck, like a kiss from the moonlight.

When Draco turned his head to the side, he could see his features clearly—his brow bone was higher than that of an average boy, his nose was straight, and his lips were very light in color, which together gave him a cold and aloof look.

Just as Draco was momentarily stunned, Elias suddenly took a step toward him.

His long hair slid to one side with the movement, revealing his slender neck. The next second, Draco felt a lightness on his head—a leaf blown in by the wind was drifting down, and Elias's fingertips just happened to brush past the top of his head, precisely catching the leaf.

"There's something in your hair." Elias pinched the stem of the leaf and waved it in front of him. A hint of warmth finally appeared in his silver-grey eyes, like a corner of ice melting. "The young master of the Malfoy family can't exactly try on a new robe with fallen leaves on his head, can he?"

Draco abruptly took a step back, raising his hand to touch his hair, his ear tips burning as if on fire. He wanted to say, "I can see it myself," but met Elias's smiling eyes—a faint smile hidden in his eyes, which rendered him speechless.

Just then, Lucius pushed open the door and entered, carrying a long black box. When he saw Elias, his brow twitched almost imperceptibly, then he gave a standard, aloof Malfoy smile: "The Reinhardt boy?"

"Mr. Lucius Malfoy," Elias nodded slightly, his long hair slipping down his shoulders, "My father asked me to give you his regards."

Lucius grunted in agreement, opened the box in his hand, revealing a wand wrapped in snakeskin: "Draco, your wand. Thirteen inches, hawthorn wood, unicorn hair core—very similar to the one I had when I was young."

Just as Draco reached out to take it, Elias's voice rang out again: "Hawthorn wood with unicorn hair is indeed suitable for the Malfoy bloodline. But things that are too 'pure' are sometimes easier to break."

Lucius's expression darkened: "Young man, watch your words."

Elias didn't reply, but simply turned and walked towards the fitting table next to him. Madam Malkin hurried over to meet him. As she took his measurements, his long hair fell in front of him, obscuring most of his face, leaving only his silver-gray eyes occasionally glancing up at Draco.

Draco felt uncomfortable under that gaze and deliberately said loudly to his mother, "Mom, look at his hair! What kind of boy has hair that long? He looks like a witch!"

Elias seemed not to hear, letting Madam Malkin gesture behind him. Only when the school robe began to take shape did he put it on and turn around. The dark robe made his skin appear even whiter, and his long hair draped over the black robe created a strange sense of harmony, as if he had stepped out of an ancient magical painting.

"See you at Hogwarts, Malfoy." Elias picked up his parchment order, and as he walked to the door, he suddenly turned back, his long, silver-grey hair billowing in an arc with the movement. "I hope your wand is harder than your mouth."

The door rang again, and his figure disappeared into the crowd in Diagon Alley.

Draco clenched his fists, looking at his father's gloomy face, but a strange thought popped into his head: this long-haired, silver-grey-eyed man seemed much more interesting than that famous Potter.

The Hogwarts Express in September might not be as boring as he thought.