HP: She married Malfoy after becoming an exchange student.

Harry Potter has been having a tough time lately.

Wherever he went, eyes followed him, filled with fear and scrutiny. Whispers filled the hallways, discussions rippled through the dining hall, and even during class, classmates would unconsciously shift their distance, making Harry extremely uneasy.

Not long after, another incident occurred. Justin Finley was found lying stiff in the third-floor corridor, his eyes wide open, with the Gryffindor ghost—Nick, nearly headless—hanging beside him. Both of them were petrified.

The castle was in an uproar. A murmur of discussion filled the dining hall; students at the Hufflepuff tables hunched over, while those in Ravenclaw whispered amongst themselves, their faces hidden behind menus.

"Justin used to suspect Harry..."

"Maybe it's revenge."

Strange looks kept falling on Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Ron forked a potato but didn't put it in his mouth for a long time, while Hermione gripped her spoon so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

"Oh, what kind of looks are those?" Ron couldn't stand it anymore and leaned closer to Harry: "Did you see the way they looked at you? They're convinced you're the murderer."

Harry didn't say anything, and cut the pie in front of him into a pile of pieces.

The situation not only failed to improve in the following days, but worsened. Harry couldn't even appear alone in any public place; the fearful and questioning looks from his classmates made him feel like a rat in the street.

"Everyone thinks it's me," Harry whispered in a corner of the library.

Hermione bit her lip and tapped her fingers on the table a few times: "I'll speed up the preparation of the Polyjuice Potion, and then we'll know the truth."

The three of them spent the next few days in this tense environment. Fortunately, the potion was finally made.

"Ugh, this stuff is disgusting." Ron stared at the yellowish-brown paste in the bottle, his throat bobbing up and down. "Won't it cause my stomach to rot if I drink it?"

A layer of fine bubbles floats on the surface of the medicine, and when they burst, they release a musty, earthy smell mixed with some indescribable sour odor. If you stir it, it will even stick to the sides of the container.

Hermione tossed Crabbe and Goyle's hair into two separate bottles; the hair sank to the bottom, emitting a wisp of smoke. She raised her own bottle, took a deep breath, and said, "Never mind that. Cheers!"

The three glass bottles gently bumped together, making a crisp sound.

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, tilted their heads back and gulped it down, while Hermione closed her eyes and swallowed the whole thing in one breath.

The moment the liquid touched their tongues, a strong, pungent, rotten sweetness exploded within them, like biting into a moldy loaf of bread with a hint of saccharin. Ron was the first to lose his temper, covering his mouth and rushing to the sink, Hermione close behind.

Harry forced himself to swallow the medicine, his stomach churning, and he leaned against the wall, gasping for breath.

Then the bones began to shift. Fingers thickened, shoulders broadened, and skin unfolded like crumpled paper. Harry saw Goyle's sluggish face in the mirror, and Ron had become Crabbe. They glanced at each other and both felt their stomachs churn again.

Hermione was still squatting in the cubicle and hadn't come out.

"Hermione?" Harry called out.

"I...I think something's wrong." Hermione's voice came from behind the door, muffled: "You guys go ahead, don't worry about me. I'll wait here for the medicine to wear off."

Ron wanted to ask more, but Harry stopped him. Time was of the essence.

The two tugged at their tight Slytherin robes and walked out of the washroom one after the other.

A cold draft swept in through the corridor as I descended the spiral staircase. The wall lamps glowed a faint green in the steam. The stone doors slid open, revealing the Slytherin common room—dark green curtains, a black marble fireplace, a lake shimmering overhead, and silver snake decorations everywhere.

Crabbe and Goyle went inside, sat down in a corner, and pricked up their ears.

In a corner, several younger Slytherins were gathered around a game of wizarding chess. Near the fireplace, on the other side, two girls leaned back on a sofa flipping through magazines; one of them was Pansy Parkinson. She glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, gave a slight smirk, then lowered her head to continue turning the pages, her tone languid: "Why are you two so quiet today?"

Ron gave a vague "hmm" and didn't dare to say anything more.

Bress Zabini sat on the single sofa opposite Pansy, holding a cup of hot cocoa in his hand. His gaze swept over the two who had barged in, and the corners of his mouth curved into a smile.

In the center of the fireplace, Elias sat on a dark green sofa, holding a document in his hand. His long, silver-gray hair fell to his shoulders, and the firelight illuminated his profile.

Draco leaned back on the armrest of the sofa where Elias was sitting, one leg casually draped over his shoulder, his platinum blonde hair glowing warmly in the firelight, his grey-blue eyes half-closed, as he lazily spoke something.

Ron nudged Harry with his elbow and whispered, "Ask away."

Harry took a deep breath and spoke in Goyle's slurred voice: "Malfoy."

Draco turned his head and glanced at him.

Do you know who the heir to the secret chamber is?

Everyone in the lounge fell silent for a second, then Pansy chuckled, "Why are you asking this?"

Draco straightened up from Elias's shoulder, his grey-blue eyes narrowing slightly as he stared at "Gol," his gaze filled with obvious suspicion: "Gol, when did you start caring about this kind of thing?"

Upon hearing this, all the Slytherins turned to look at them. Elias also looked up, giving Harry and Ron their first glance of the evening. His gaze swept over Goyle and Crabbe, finally settling on their faces, a cryptic smile playing on his lips.

Harry and Ron felt a chill run down their spines from that look and quickly changed the subject: "Uh, I was just asking."

"Just asking?" Draco repeated, a half-smile playing on his lips. "You don't even know how to spell 'just'."

Pansy laughed out loud.

Draco leaned back against Elias's shoulder, picked up his teacup, and said casually, "Who's the heir? How would I know? I'm not one." He paused, making no attempt to hide his schadenfreude. "But I've heard Potter's been having a rough time lately. People are pointing fingers at him everywhere." Draco took a sip of tea. "That's gratifying."

Ron clenched his fist on his knee, his breathing becoming heavier. Harry stepped on his foot, gritting his teeth to suppress the words that were about to escape his lips. Both men, with Crabbe and Goyle's sullen faces, just wanted nothing more than to rush up and beat Malfoy to a pulp.

Meeting their hateful gazes, Draco sensed something was very wrong: "What's wrong with you two tonight! You're behaving strangely!"

Elias's gaze returned to the two men, lingering for a moment on their eyes filled with suppressed anger before he closed the document in his hand and set it aside.

Then he reached out and naturally hooked his arm around Draco's waist.

Draco, who was holding a teacup, tilted slightly due to the sudden movement, almost spilling the tea. He didn't push it away, but leaned back slightly, his round eyes filled with a question: "What are you doing?"

"Come here," Elias lowered his head, his lips close to his ear, "I'll tell you a secret."