HP: She married Malfoy after becoming an exchange student.

Draco said he would leave the prank on Potter entirely to Elias, but when it came to actually doing it, he couldn't help but jump in himself.

Draco, carrying a simple route map drawn by Elias, slipped out of the Slytherin common room at four in the morning.

The wooden door of the owl's hut creaked open, and the greywood owl, responsible for delivering Quidditch notifications, was dozing in the corner, a training notification indeed strapped to its leg.

Draco held his breath, gently cut the thin rope with a knife, and replaced it with his own forged notice—the handwriting was exactly the same as Captain Wood's, except that the training time was changed from 3 p.m. to 6 a.m.

After finishing all this, Draco went around to the kitchen pantry. The house-elf's freshly baked golden Snitch cookies were piled on a tray, their frosting gleaming.

Draco quickly poured them into his bag and replaced them with the toad crisps Elias had prepared—grayish-green dough shaped like puffed-up cheeks by the elves, filled with pale yellow filling that looked unappetizing.

"Hmph, Potter! Let's see if you're still so smug this time."

[The Gryffindor table in the early morning]

Harry carried his plate around showing off his new team uniform, and casually grabbed a handful of "Flying Thief Cookies".

Draco sat not far away, watching Potter take his first bite. The boy's smug expression froze instantly, followed by a series of agonizing retching sounds, "Ugh... ugh..."

Ron, who was chewing heartily next to Harry, was startled by the sudden noise. With crumbs still hanging from the corner of his mouth, he asked, "Dude, what's wrong?"

Neville muttered to himself, "Did he throw up from excitement? Is Quidditch really that magical?"

Harry's face turned slightly green: "Why do these biscuits smell like poop? And the shape is weird too, ugh..." Before he could finish speaking, he vomited again.

Draco lowered his head, as if drinking soup, but his shoulders were shaking uncontrollably.

The best is yet to come.

At six o'clock sharp, Harry appeared at the Quidditch pitch with his broom on his back, standing alone on the lawn.

The dawn stretched his shadow long. He waited for half an hour, then another half hour, until the sun climbed over the mountain, but the Gryffindor team still hadn't appeared.

Finally, Hagrid, who happened to be passing by, told him, "Isn't training in the afternoon? Wood was talking about it to me yesterday." Harry stood there, his broom almost slipping from his hand, his face paler than the clouds in the sky.

During the History of Magic class, Draco pretended to pick up a pen and stuffed the fake spider—a hairy black plastic body that hissed when squeezed—into the side pocket of Harry's backpack.

Sure enough, when Professor Binns asked everyone to take out their notes, Harry rummaged through his bag, and the fake spider fell to the ground with a "thud," accompanied by a realistic hiss.

"Ahhh!" Harry jumped up suddenly, the chair legs scraping against the floor with a screeching sound.

All eyes turned to him as Professor Binns floated up to him, frowning. "Mr. Potter, dangerous items are not allowed in class. You are to copy Chapter 10 of 'The Rise and Fall of Medieval Wizardry' ten times and hand it in before sunset."

Harry's face flushed red, and his hands trembled as he picked up the fake spider. Draco lay on the table, hiding his face with his textbook, trying so hard not to laugh that his stomach ached.

Watching Harry copying the text while occasionally glaring at the Slytherin table, the stinging frustration he felt finally dissipated.

During the break, Elias leaned over and whispered, "Feeling better now?" Draco raised an eyebrow, deliberately being stubborn, "It was alright, but... that toad cookie idea was passable."

Though she said that, the smile in her eyes was unmistakable, like sugar frosting melted in the sun, sweet and delightful.

Draco pushed the memory ball containing Harry's embarrassing moments in front of Elias, pointing to one of the images with his fingertip, his tone filled with barely concealed excitement:

"Look here, he stood there dumbfounded for almost an hour, and when Hagrid told him the truth, his expression was like he'd swallowed a sour lemon."

Elias picked up the parchment, his gaze slowly sweeping over it, pausing for a moment on Draco's smiling eyes, a gentle smile spreading across his own. "Indeed quite interesting. It seems our plan has been executed very successfully."

"Of course." Draco raised his chin, his platinum blonde hair shimmering under the light.

Then, as if remembering something, the corners of his mouth drooped slightly. "But... even if he embarrasses himself, he can still play in the Quidditch match tomorrow." There was a hint of sadness in his voice.

Elias gently placed the parchment on the table, turned around, and his gaze fell on Draco's slightly furrowed brow. His tone was gentle: "What's the rush? He's only getting in a few days earlier than others."

Draco rolled up his sleeves without saying a word, but his brows slowly smoothed out.

Elias took a half step forward, raising his hand very gently, as if afraid of disturbing something, his fingertips lightly brushing against the stray hairs on Draco's forehead: "You forgot? You'll be a sophomore next year."

Draco looked up at him, a hint of confusion in his eyes.

"In second grade, you'll be taller and more agile."

Elias's voice was like lukewarm water, slowly soothing Draco's unease. "You'll have more control when you swing your wand, and you'll be faster than anyone else on your broomstick. When the trials come around, the Slytherin captain will definitely choose you first."

He paused, his fingertips sliding down Draco's hair to his shoulder, and gently patted him: "Your father is right. It's only a matter of time before a Malfoy kid joins the Quidditch team. This year is just to give him some fun. The real competition will begin once you're on the team."

Draco's eyelashes fluttered, the slight dejection he had felt earlier seemingly soothed by these gentle words. He pursed his lips and muttered softly, "I don't care about him... But, are you serious?"

"Of course it's true." Elias looked at the renewed light in his eyes, his tone indulgent.

"The cheers you'll hear when you're wearing your Slytherin uniform, riding your newest broomstick, leaving him far behind on the pitch, and catching the Golden Snitch with your own hands—that's when you'll truly remember them."

He withdrew his hand and casually handed the memory orb on the table to Draco: "I'll always be watching you."

Draco took the ball, rubbing it between his fingertips, a slight smile playing on his lips. He didn't speak, but the slight straightening of his back betrayed his true feelings.

Elias stood to the side, watching his focused profile, a smile in his eyes.

He always understood Draco's awkward thoughts best. Take it slow, he had plenty of patience, he would wait with him, and be there for him to win.