HP: She married Malfoy after becoming an exchange student.

Before the morning mist had completely dissipated, a few rays of pale golden light shone through the stone windows of Slytherin's dormitory.

Draco rolled over and buried his face in the velvet pillow, his nose brushing against a tangled mess of hair—he'd kicked off the covers again last night, and his hair was now tangled like bushes swept by a typhoon.

With a thud, his foot hit the bedpost, jolting him awake. Opening his eyes, he saw Elias sitting on the opposite side of the bed, his long silver-gray hair tied back with a black ribbon, looking down at a book with a six-pointed star printed on the cover.

"What time is it?" Draco grabbed the silver pocket watch from the bedside table, and the cover popped open with a "snap"—7:35. Transfiguration class started at 8:00, and he didn't want to be late for the first class.

Draco bounced up as if he'd been burned, not even noticing that his socks were on backwards. He grabbed his school uniform jacket and pulled it on, ending up wearing the sleeves as pant legs.

Elias closed the book, watching him spin in place, a hint of amusement flashing in his silver-grey eyes: "Need any help, young Master Malfoy? Or would you like to see Professor McGonagall wearing the 'new' school uniform?"

"Mind your own business!" Draco blushed, haphazardly ripped open his coat and put it back on, but couldn't tie his bow tie properly, his fingertips trembling with anxiety.

The next second, a cool hand reached out and skillfully tied his bow tie into a standard Windsor knot, the movement even more swift than Narcissa's.

Elias's fingertips occasionally brushed against Draco's neck, like a feather sweeping across it, causing Draco to shrink back.

"Alright." The other person withdrew their hand, picked up their backpack, and said, "Let's hurry up, or we'll really be late."

Despite the tight schedule, Draco still went to Goyle and Crabbe's dorm room, banging on the door to wake the two sleepy-eyed boys.

"Heh, I knew you two were still sleeping," Draco raised an eyebrow smugly, as if he had discovered some secret.

Time flew by, but thankfully the four of them rushed and finally arrived at the classroom a few minutes before class started.

Sunlight streamed through the high windows onto the floor. The classroom was almost full of students, and Hermione Granger was engrossed in reviewing her textbook, her pen scratching across her notebook.

Elias glanced at the podium, where a tabby cat sat upright, its fur glossy and its eyes surrounded by stripes that resembled exquisite eyeglass frames.

It stared silently at the doorway, its tail swaying gently, occasionally glancing at the students in the classroom with a sharp gaze that seemed to see right through them.

The young wizards didn't see Professor McGonagall until the school bell rang, and they began to whisper among themselves.

"What's going on? Where's the professor?"

"Could they be late? Harry Potter and the Weasleys aren't here either."

"What's that cat for? Is it Professor McGonagall's pet?"

"Feel sorry!"

Suddenly, the classroom door was flung open—it was Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

Harry's glasses were askew on his nose, and Ron's red hair was a mess like a bird's nest. Both of them were still clutching half-eaten bread, clearly having overslept.

"Phew... thankfully I made it." Ron breathed a sigh of relief, his voice not loud, but it was exceptionally clear in the quiet classroom.

The tabby cat on the podium twitched its ears slightly, a sharp glint flashing in its previously calm eyes. It then leaped lightly off the podium, its body contorting and deforming the instant it landed.

Its body gradually lengthened, its limbs became slender, and its fur quickly shed, replaced by a bright green wizard's robe.

The cat's face slowly transformed; its ears shrank, its nose became more prominent, and square glasses perched above its sharp eyes—it was Professor McGonagall. Her gaze shot towards Harry and Ron like two sharp arrows.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall's voice was as cold as ice, "perhaps I should turn you into pocket watches, so at least one of you will be on time."

Harry and Ron's faces flushed instantly, and they lowered their heads in embarrassment, like two defeated roosters.

Harry opened his mouth, wanting to explain, but was forced back down by Professor McGonagall's stern gaze.

"We...we're lost," Ron muttered softly, his voice barely audible.

"Then turn it into a map," Professor McGonagall retorted without hesitation. "That way you won't get lost when you find your seat. Now, go find a place to sit down."

Draco couldn't help but chuckle, nudging Elias with his elbow: "Look at them, Gryffindor's 'latecomers'."

Elias glanced at him, said nothing, and then looked back at Professor McGonagall on the podium.

Professor McGonagall straightened her robes and cleared her throat. "Alright, now that everyone is here, let's begin the lesson. Transfiguration is one of the most complex and dangerous spells you will learn at Hogwarts."

She waved her wand, pointing it at the podium, which instantly transformed into a plump little pig with a pink nose that twitched and made "oink oink" sounds. The students gasped in amazement, their eyes fixed on Professor McGonagall's wand.

"In my classes," Professor McGonagall continued, "you must be fully focused, and any misbehavior will have serious consequences." As she spoke, her gaze swept over Harry and Ron, who sat even straighter, as if frozen in place.

Professor McGonagall waved her wand again, and the pig transformed back into a lectern, even the scratches on it were exactly the same as before. She scanned the classroom, picked up a match, and said, "Today, we'll start with something simple: turning a match into a needle. Watch closely."

As the wand was waved, the matchstick seemed to be controlled by an invisible hand, slowly lengthening and thinning, its tip gradually becoming sharp, and finally turning into a glittering silver needle, lying quietly in Professor McGonagall's palm.

"Let's begin the practice." Professor McGonagall put down her wand, her gaze sweeping across the class, lingering for a moment on Harry and Ron with a clear warning.

Draco immediately picked up a match, mimicking Elias's breathing, his hand holding the wand surprisingly steady: "Viacum."

The match flicked and transformed into a slightly clumsy needle, but it was finally formed. Just as he was about to show it off, he saw that Elias's match had turned into an exquisite silver needle, with tiny patterns engraved on the end—the Reinhardt family crest.

"Tch, all flashy and fancy," Draco retorted, though inwardly he was somewhat impressed.

On the Gryffindor side, Ron's match turned into a wriggling worm, startling him so much that he almost threw his wand away; Harry, on the other hand, stared intently at his own match, his wand trembling slightly. After three attempts, he barely managed to turn the match into a crooked needle with a hooked tip.

"Looks like someone needs more practice," Draco muttered, a glimpse of Harry looking at his work with frustration out of the corner of his eye, and a smile involuntarily crept onto his face.

Elias suddenly approached: "Your needle is crooked. Gently turn it half a circle with your wand."

Draco hesitated for a moment, then did as instructed. Sure enough, the thick, clumsy needle instantly became more even.

At this moment, Professor McGonagall surveyed the Gryffindor table, looked at Ron's still-crawling "insect matchstick," and frowned as if her brows were twisted into a knot: "Mr. Weasley, this is a Transfiguration class, not a Magical Creatures class. Gryffindor, deduct another three points."

Ron's face turned as red as a beetroot. Harry patted him on the shoulder and whispered a few words of comfort, only to be glared at by Professor McGonagall: "Potter, keep your needles to yourself!"

Draco chuckled until Elias nudged his boot with his toe: "Watch out if you laugh out loud, or you'll get points deducted."

He immediately stopped laughing and pretended to be seriously polishing his needle. Sunlight shone on the needle's surface, reflecting tiny specks of light, like a sprinkle of gold dust.

When the bell rang, Professor McGonagall announced, "Elijas Reinhardt, excellent. Draco Malfoy, good, Slytherin, three points." She paused, her gaze sweeping over Gryffindor, "Potter and Weasley, need to stay after school for practice."

"Hey," Draco followed Elias, "your shapeshifting...is it a family tradition?"

"Children of the Reinhardt family must learn to turn a spoon into a fork by the age of five," Elias said calmly, "otherwise they will be punished by their fathers with a ruler on their palms."

Draco imagined the scene and couldn't help but shudder. He suddenly realized that occasionally tying his bow tie crooked or turning a matchstick into an iron rod wasn't so bad after all.

As Draco walked out of the classroom, he deliberately slowed his pace and heard Ron complain, "It's all your fault, Harry. If you hadn't insisted on reading that Quidditch book..."

"Shut up, Ron. You're the one who overslept."

Draco chuckled and quickened his pace to catch up with Elias: "See? That's how laid-back Gryffindor is."

Elias glanced at him: "At least they didn't waste time mocking others."

Draco paused, about to retort, when he saw Pansy Parkinson approaching them with a smug smile: "Draco, did you hear that? Potter and Weasley are being held after school! Professor McGonagall said their needles aren't even as good as Neville's!"

Draco raised his chin, about to agree, but then noticed that Elias had already walked away. He paused, lost interest in Pansy's words, and quickly followed after him.

The sunlight in the corridor was warm and pleasant. Draco squeezed the needle in his pocket, which he had polished until it gleamed, and suddenly felt that the feeling of being in class on time was indeed much more satisfying than watching others make a fool of themselves.

-----------------

Potions Class

The underground classroom reeked of a pungent medicinal smell. Snape, his black robes billowing, paced the corridor, his shadow flickering on the stone walls as he moved.

"Potions," his voice was icy, "are a precise art, and a cruel science. One wrong step," he whirled around, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, "could be fatal."

Draco sat upright, stealing a glance at Elias beside him. Elias was engrossed in a German potions book, his silver-grey eyelashes casting faint shadows on the pages.

Snape walked to Harry's desk, stopped, and his expression was inscrutable. "Potter!" he suddenly raised his voice. "What would I get if I added daffodil root powder to wormwood infusion?"

Harry jumped up, bumping his head on the table leg and wincing in pain. He opened his mouth but no sound came out, looking pleadingly at Ron, who also looked bewildered.

"Don't know?" Snape's lips curled into a mocking smile. "Looks like the 'Boy Who Lived' isn't all that great after all."

"Then let's ask another question. If I asked you to find me a piece of bezoar, do you know what kind of creature it comes from in its stomach?"

Harry's glasses had slipped down to the tip of his nose: "Uh... cow?"

"Gryffindor, deduct two points!" Snape's sneer was like shards of ice. "Bezoar comes from goats, you fool. So, what's the correct time to pick wolfsbane?"

Harry opened his mouth, his face turning bright red. Hermione held her hand up like a flagpole, but Snape glared at her and told her to stop: "Let Potter think for himself, don't be a noisy sparrow."

Snape asked a few more questions, but Harry still couldn't answer them.

Draco chuckled softly at the Slytherin table, nudging Elias with his elbow: "Listen to this, the 'Boy Who Lived' can't even tell the difference between a goat and a cow."

"Potter, why don't you ask that know-it-all lady next to you?" Snape's tone grew increasingly icy. "Or do you think you're smarter than her?"

"Professor, I..." Harry tried to explain, but was interrupted by Snape.

"Gryffindor gets another three points deducted because of your ignorance and arrogance."

Draco laughed even harder, nearly knocking over the cauldron. Elias glanced at him and whispered, "Keep an eye on your cauldron, Malfoy. Don't let your joy turn to sorrow."

Snape continued his lecture, demonstrating how to properly weigh the roots of a mandrake. Draco was still muttering about Harry's embarrassing moment, while Elias focused on taking notes, occasionally glancing up at Snape's demonstration.

"Now, work in pairs and start making scabies medicine," Snape announced. "Don't blow up the classroom."

Draco immediately looked at Elias: "Partner?"

Elias nodded and took a brand-new set of silver spoons and glass rods from his suitcase. Draco looked at his own "student-grade" brass tools and scoffed, "The Reinhardt family's stuff is just different."

"Focus on the potion, don't stare at my spoon." Elias placed the cauldron over the fire and poured in the clear potion solvent.

Draco grunted and began weighing the powder. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Harry and Ron scrambling around – Ron had accidentally spilled porcupine quills all over the floor, and Harry was trying to pick them up.

"Look at them," Draco said in a low voice. "I can't believe Potter doesn't even know how many porcupine quills to put in."

Elias glanced at it, his brow furrowing slightly. "Don't get distracted, Draco. Too many porcupine quills will turn the potion into corrosive venom."

Draco was startled and almost poured all the powder in his hand in. He quickly steadied himself and carefully added the right amount of porcupine quills.

Snape patrolled the classroom, stopping occasionally to correct students' mistakes. As he approached Harry and Ron, his expression grew increasingly grim: "Potter, what are you doing? This is scabies medicine, not spider dinner!"

Harry's face turned bright red, while Ron muttered under his breath, "We just... have a little problem."

"A minor issue?" Snape repeated. "Gryffindor loses another two points because of your stupidity."

Draco laughed so hard he almost fell over, nearly spilling the potion from the cauldron. Elias quickly tapped the potion with his wand, stabilizing it, and said coldly, "If you laugh again, you'll have to make it yourself."

Draco then stopped laughing and focused on the potion. Under Elias's guidance, their potion gradually turned the correct pale green color and emitted a faint minty fragrance.

"Not bad, Malfoy, Reinhardt." Snape said with a rare compliment as he walked by. "Slytherin gets two points."

Draco straightened his back, a smug look on his face. Elias merely nodded slightly and continued stirring the potion.

Just then, a loud bang echoed throughout the classroom—it was Neville Longbottom. His cauldron exploded, splattering dark green liquid everywhere, even leaving sticky droplets on the ceiling.

The boy turned pale with fright and frantically tried to wipe the medicine splashed on his robe, but the more he wiped, the worse it got; red and swollen rashes quickly appeared on his bare wrists.

"Idiot!" Snape's roar shook the stone walls, causing dust to fall. "Longbottom, you can't even hold a cauldron properly? Five points deducted from Gryffindor! Get to the corner and don't let your stupidity contaminate other people's potions!"

Neville's lips were pursed, his eyes were red, but he dared not cry. Harry wanted to go forward to help him, but Snape's glare froze him in place.

"Look, this is Gryffindor's 'courage'," Draco sneered, deliberately making his voice loud enough for Harry to hear. "They can't do anything but blow up cauldrons."

Elias paused in stirring the potion, his gaze falling on Neville, who was trembling in the corner, then glancing at Draco's smug profile. He suddenly whispered, "He's just nervous. I heard that the first time you used the cauldron, you melted half of your father's antique silver spoon."

Draco's face flushed instantly: "How did you know! It was an accident! And I later lost a solid gold one!"

"Oh?" Elias raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flashing in his silver-grey eyes. "So Longbottom's 'accident' is even more ridiculous than yours?"

Draco was speechless, and could only frantically poke at the porcupine quills in the cauldron, unaware that he had added twice the dosage. Elias, without a word, lightly tapped the cauldron with his wand, and the excess porcupine quills silently slid into the waste pan beside him.

"Pay attention," he said softly, "or you'll be the next one to explode."

Draco grunted, but obediently slowed down. He watched as Elias evenly sprinkled the narcissus root powder into the potion, and the pale green liquid immediately began to foam with delicate bubbles, like champagne that had been enchanted.

Back in Gryffindor, Harry and Ron were still arguing about how many pieces of porcupine quills to cut, with Ron nearly hitting his nose on the edge of the cauldron.

When the bell rang, Snape inspected their cauldrons and, unusually, didn't find fault: "Slytherin, two points. Malfoy, it seems your roommate is smarter than you."

Draco was about to retort when Elias pulled him out of the classroom.

In the hallway, Neville was still crying, and Hermione was rinsing the rash on his wrists with water. Harry stood to the side, his brow furrowed, and when he saw Draco, his eyes held a hint of hostility.

"Serves him right," Draco muttered, his earlier smugness gone.

Elias suddenly stopped, took a small glass bottle from his pocket, and handed it to him: "The Reinhardt family's soothing medicine works faster than Madam Pomfrey's ointment."

Draco was stunned: "Why are you giving me this?"

"To the boy who blew up the cauldron." Elias looked at him, his silver-grey eyes shining in the morning light. "Malfoy's arrogance is acceptable, but he doesn't need to be mean."

Draco gripped the glass bottle, the cold touch on his fingertips. He glanced at Neville not far away, then at Elias's retreating figure, and suddenly felt the bottle in his hand weigh as heavily as a stone.

In the end, he managed to slip the bottle into Neville's pocket when the Gryffindors weren't looking, nearly bumping into Pansy as he turned around.

"Draco, what are you doing?" Pansy asked curiously. "Did you give it to that idiot?"

"What's it to you?" Draco turned his face away and quickly caught up with Elias, his ears burning even hotter than before.

Sunlight streamed through the corridor windows, casting long patches of light on the floor. Watching Elias's retreating figure, he realized that perhaps "decency" was more than just turning into a needle or concocting a potion.

At least, it's much more dignified than laughing at someone else's accident.