The farce Cornelius Fudge had caused finally came to an end. As soon as Klein returned to the dormitory, he put the whole affair out of his mind and focused on working out the tenth use for the Sheep Liver Fruit.
But what he hadn't expected was that Crabbe and Goyle, who had never liked reading, were each holding a novel and reading with rapt attention.
As for Draco—
He wasn't in the dormitory.
"How strange."
Klein glanced at the pair, who were grinning foolishly to themselves, and muttered under his breath.
Then he shut out all distractions and turned his attention to the problem before him.
"This is too hard."
Slumped over an old, hard-patterned table in the library, Draco Malfoy clutched his head in frustration, deeply doubting his own intelligence. As a native-born Englishman, he had never imagined that one day he wouldn't be able to understand English.
The letters were all so familiar. Why did they look so strange when put together?
At the thought, the face of his classmate and roommate—Klein Grindelwald—flashed through his mind.
They were about the same age, so how could the gap between them be so huge?
"I refuse to believe it."
Draco grabbed a fistful of his neatly combed, oiled hair, puffed out his cheeks, and opened the book again as if it were an enemy.
Unfortunately, three minutes later, he was clutching his head again.
Against an absolute barrier, the young master had suffered defeat after defeat!
"Ah... So it really isn't that easy."
Draco Malfoy sighed.
To become an outstanding wizard, three parts were fated, seven parts came down to hard work, and the remaining ninety parts depended on talent.
Since he couldn't focus on studying, he decided to take a break for a while.
He looked around and saw that most of the students in the library wore blue-trimmed robes and belonged to Ravenclaw. He didn't recognize a single one of them. With nothing else to do, he slumped over the table and began to zone out.
Just then, a figure quietly approached the opposite side of the table.
"M-Malfoy?"
The wizard with a scarf wrapped around his head stammered. His face, paler than most, was lined with exhaustion.
"Who?"
At the sound of the voice, Draco jerked his head up.
"D-Don't be nervous. It's me."
The wizard gave him an apologetic smile. Even though he was speaking to one of his own students, his expression was habitually timid, with a hint of ingratiation.
"Professor Quirrell?"
Draco hadn't expected his conversation partner to be his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He was surprised, but soon realized he might have been too tense and hurriedly lowered his voice to greet the wizard before him.
"Did you need something?"
"Hello, Malfoy. Are you here alone?"
Quirrell's eyes darted around as if he were looking for someone. As he spoke, he rubbed his hands together awkwardly.
"Where's Grindelwald? That talented young fellow—you're usually together, aren't you?"
"So he's looking for Klein."
Draco understood.
Meeting Quirrell's expectant gaze, he answered honestly.
"I came alone today. Klein went to the Headmaster's Office early this morning. I heard someone from the Ministry of Magic was coming..."
"I know. It's—it's about the Order of Merlin, right?"
Quirrell interrupted Draco, his fist tightening beneath his sleeve, where no one could see it.
"Yeah."
Young Draco nodded, completely unbothered.
If Klein had received a title like Top Seeker, he might have felt a little jealous.
But the Order of Merlin?
What was that? Could you eat it?
Rather than waste time envying Klein, he'd be better off getting ready to show off in Flying Class next week.
"He's amazing. Grindelwald must be the youngest person in history to receive the Order of Merlin."
A meaningful smile appeared on Quirrell's face. His words were full of praise for Klein, but anyone who looked closely would have noticed a trace of inexplicable jealousy deep in his tea-colored eyes.
"Yeah, he's amazing."
Draco's tone was perfunctory. Clearly, he didn't want to spend all day chatting aimlessly with Professor Quirrell in the library.
To be honest, he didn't care for the strange wizard.
If Draco had to rank the professors most disliked by first-years, Professor Quirrell would come second from the bottom, just above Professor Binns of A History of Magic—a ghost who did nothing but read outdated history straight from the book.
"He's very, very amazing."
Quirrell nodded, as if he wholeheartedly agreed with Draco. Whether he was simply obtuse or pretending not to notice the impatience on Draco's face, he pulled over a chair and sat down opposite him.
Young Draco's expression stiffened, as if someone had forced him to swallow a fly.
"Has he ever told you about his family? I mean, you must know where he's from, right?"
If he could have helped it, Quirrell wouldn't have wanted to keep harping on the name Klein Grindelwald. But his great master's command kept echoing in his mind. So he had no choice but to spend every bit of his patience forcing a nauseating smile onto his face and ask again.
"I don't know. He only said he was German."
As he spoke, Young Draco furrowed his brow. Thinking about it, he really didn't know any details about Klein.
He was too mysterious.
Draco had always thought of his friend as the sun, always surrounded by countless people. But now, it seemed the boy was more like a hazy, insubstantial mist, impossible to see through or touch.
"Malfoy?"
When Young Draco seemed to drift off, Quirrell suppressed his anger and raised his voice slightly.
"Oh, sorry. I was lost in thought."
He was only eleven, after all, and it was easy for him to get caught up in his thoughts. At the sound of his name, Draco came to with a start and apologized without thinking.
"It's all right."
The muscles in Quirrell's face twitched slightly as he magnanimously forgave the little brat he wanted to grind into a meat patty.
He took a deep breath and spoke slowly, one word at a time.
"Since Klein isn't here, I won't keep you.
"But please do me a small favor. If you see Klein, tell him that Quirinus Quirrell would very much like to have a private chat with him. Let's set it for next Wednesday at eight in the evening."
"No, Klein has detention at eight in the evening. Professor Snape gave it to him."
Draco replied almost automatically as soon as he heard Quirrell's request.
"Oh."
Quirrell cursed under his breath. "Damn it." He gave a dry laugh.
"Then let's make it seven in the evening instead. Please, please do me this favor."
He couldn't stand being there a moment longer. After delivering his master's message, he didn't give Young Draco a chance to refuse. Clutching his thick headscarf, he stood up and hurried out of the library.
Watching the wizard walk away, Young Draco, who had been forced to act as a "messenger," sat stunned for two seconds, then couldn't help pursing his lips.
"What a strange man."
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