Hogwarts: My Grandmother is the Queen

On the way back to the dormitory, Draco called out to Henry.

"Your Highness Henry," he hesitated for a moment, but finally made up his mind, "I have something I want to tell you..."

"Well," Henry stopped, "you go ahead."

"In private," Draco said, giving his two fat henchmen a look.

The two men showed no intention of moving until Draco told them to "go back to the dorm," at which point they belatedly left.

They walked to a corner, and Draco scratched the back of his head, sighing, "Sorry, it was my fault. If I hadn't—if I had been able to control myself, Potter wouldn't have made it onto the Quidditch team."

"What happened?" Henry asked, feigning ignorance.

Draco recounted in detail what had just happened at the airfield. Essentially, he saw the memory orb on the ground, picked it up intending to return it to Neville, but Potter saw it and came up to demand it. Draco lost control of his emotions and decided to play a trick on Potter.

"I understand. It's just this. You don't need to apologize." Henry gently patted Draco on the shoulder. "Everyone has people they don't like. That's perfectly understandable, Draco."

Draco was clearly taken aback by Henry's leniency towards his mistake.

"Your Highness, I..."

"Don't feel guilty about it," Henry said with a smile, "but what you need to figure out is what you've learned from this today."

Draco pursed his lips, his eyebrows furrowing and then relaxing, before finally asking tentatively, "Should I control my temper?"

"That's one aspect, but most importantly..." Henry paused for a moment, seeing that he had completely aroused the other party's anticipation, then held up a finger and slowly said, "Never hate your enemies, it will affect your judgment."

Draco froze, blinking in confusion, his mouth slightly agape, as if he hadn't heard the words clearly.

The torches on the corridor walls cast flickering shadows that danced on his young face.

"No...don't hate the enemy?" he repeated, his voice full of confusion. "But they are the enemy. Potter, and those Weasleys, they—"

"They are your adversaries, Draco," Henry corrected, his voice gentle but clear. "The word 'enemy' carries too much emotion. Emotions can make you make mistakes, just like today."

He took a step forward, and Draco instinctively followed. The two walked slowly down the empty corridor, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls.

"Then let me ask you," Henry turned his head, "when you picked up the memory orb and saw Potter walking towards you, what was the first thing that came to your mind?"

Draco frowned as he recalled, "I think... I was thinking that this bastard was meddling again, and I didn't want him to get the Memory Orb so easily."

"It was that thought that drove you to throw the ball high into the air, giving Porter a stage to showcase his talent," Henry calmly analyzed. "What if you had simply chased after him and returned the ball to Longbottom, or even to Porter himself?"

Draco was stunned; he had never thought of it from this perspective before.

"Longbottom will get his stuff back, and that's it. Potter didn't get a chance to show off that amazing dive, and Professor McGonagall didn't witness it." Henry's tone was gentle. "But the result is that Gryffindor got a Seeker, and what did you get? A moment of triumph? And then what?"

Draco's cheeks began to burn.

He gained temporary pleasure, but at the cost of his opponent gaining fame and preferential treatment.

This is absolutely... absolutely idiotic.

"Hatred, or rather, intense loathing, has clouded your judgment," Henry continued. "It makes you see only the immediate pleasure and not the long-term consequences. In Slytherin, we should have been much better at calculating gains and losses."

These words were like a bucket of ice water, waking Draco up.

He recalled his father's occasional teachings: "Malfoy pursues profit, not emotions." But today he was completely led by his emotions.

"Then what should I do?" Draco couldn't help but ask, his voice lacking its usual arrogance and filled with genuine confusion. "Seeing Potter like that, I just couldn't help myself."

“You can observe him, not hate him.” Henry stopped and turned to Draco. “Treat him as an opponent to study. Observe him, for example, his flying habits, his weaknesses, his reactions under pressure, who his friends are, what he cares about… This information is far more valuable than a momentary humiliation.”

Draco's brow gradually relaxed, and a new light began to shine in his eyes.

That sounds so Slytherin!

In fact, this is more concrete and easier to implement than the "pure-blood glory" that his father often talked about.

He wondered if it was just his imagination, but he felt that his elderly father looked like a greenhorn in front of this prince.

"You could have gathered a lot of information today," Henry guided. "For example, how fast Porter reacts in an emergency? What are his diving limits? Is he prone to losing his balance in the air? But because you were only thinking about making it harder for him to get the memory ball, those opportunities slipped away."

Draco took a deep breath and for the first time truly felt remorse—not for doing something wrong, but for missing an opportunity.

"So, the next time you face Potter, or anyone else you don't like," Henry said, his tone like an elder imparting life experience, "take a deep breath and calm yourself down. Then ask yourself: What's best for me and for Slytherin right now? Is it to provoke him into making a mistake, or to remain calm and gather information? Is it a direct confrontation, or a more indirect approach?"

He held up one finger again: "Remember, anger is a weapon, but uncontrolled anger will hurt you. A calm mind is our true advantage."

Draco remained silent for a long time, then nodded heavily.

When he looked up, his eyes were different.

It has lost some of its impetuous arrogance and gained more of its thoughtful composure.

"I understand, Your Highness," he said solemnly. "Thank you."

This wasn't his usual polite "thank you," but my gratitude came from the bottom of my heart.

Henry saw the beginning of a change in his eyes; for the first time, this spoiled pure-blooded young master was beginning to think about problems in a more mature way.

"Very good." Henry smiled. "So, we now have a common enemy—Gryffindor's new Seeker. What should we do?"

Draco laughed, a laugh that was finally more than just a mischievous grin: "We'll study him, observe his training, analyze his flight patterns, and find his weaknesses. On the field, we'll defeat him the Slytherin way."

"That's more like it." Henry nodded in satisfaction. "Now, let's go back. I'd like to hear your thoughts on the team's current tactics—from the perspective of a future Quidditch player."