The magical doorbell suddenly chimed, and amid shifting light and shadow, the visitor's name appeared clearly-Pansy Parkinson.
Draco stirred at the thought and lightly waved a hand, and the carved door slowly opened under the guidance of magic.
Once Pansy entered and her figure crossed the threshold, the door quietly closed again, shutting the morning light and breeze outside.
Pansy walked through the courtyard with light, unhurried steps. The plants beside the flagstone path swayed with her passage, and scattered flecks of light fell on her shoulders as she made her way to the sitting room.
Draco waited beside the velvet sofa, leaning against it. His gaze fell on the newcomer, and he abruptly froze.
Confusion rose in his heart: the girl before him had a slender figure and delicate, lovely features, but her face was plainly unfamiliar. Where was Pansy Parkinson?
As he pondered this, the girl came up to him and looked at him with a familiar, petulant air. "Draco, dear, it's only been a few days. How can you not recognize me?"
Draco studied her for a moment, still finding nothing familiar about her, and could not help frowning. "Who are you?"
At those words, Pansy jolted, her small face instantly tightening as the hint of softness in her expression abruptly froze.
A flash of disbelief crossed her eyes-he actually dared to forget me?
The Parkinson family and the Malfoy family have always been close, maintaining ties for generations. Does that not even warrant a place in his thoughts?
Or has the Malfoy family long since looked down on the Parkinson family, deciding we are so insignificant that they will not even maintain the slightest affection between us?
Forgetting me like this is nothing short of blatant humiliation, contempt for me and the entire Parkinson family!
At that thought, anger gradually flared in her heart, spreading through her veins to her limbs.
Her small face went from pale to red, her cheeks burning with anger as a cold gleam sharpened her narrow eyes.
Yet amid that surging anger, a trace of indescribable hurt quietly passed through her heart.
I've adored him since childhood, always hoping to be close to him, yet he cannot even remember what I look like. Has all that affection been wasted after all?
But that vulnerability lasted only an instant. Pansy quickly hid the grievance in her eyes, wrapping herself in a thick layer of arrogance, unwilling to reveal even a hint of discomposure.
She abruptly raised her chin, holding her neck rigidly straight and adopting an air even haughtier than Draco's, as though that ostentation could suppress the panic and anger in her heart.
"I am Pansy Parkinson. I believe that at our garden party last summer, your father and mine chatted on the terrace for quite some time about changes to the Ministry of Magic's new regulations. You were there as well. Surely you remember something?" Pansy's voice was icy cold.
Her words carried a deliberate reminder, each one clear and unquestioningly certain, attempting to awaken Draco's memories while also exerting a measure of unspoken pressure.
The friendship between our families is right before him. If he cares about it in the slightest, he should not be so dismissive.
"Pansy Parkinson?" Draco was shaken to his core and instinctively repeated the name, his eyes full of shock.
In the original owner's memories and the past I know, Pansy Parkinson has always been coarse-looking and mean-spirited. How could she look like this?
The girl before him was slender and about Hermione's height, with neat, straight bangs and dark brown hair trimmed into a crisp, short bob. The strands lay smoothly beside her ears, making her neck look even longer.
Her eyes were a rich, dark shade, narrow in shape and slightly upturned at the corners, her gaze sharp as a blade and carrying a hint of innate coldness.
Her facial contours were clean and defined, without a trace of excess. Her lips were pressed tightly together, their corners turned slightly downward, and her overall expression held a measure of aloofness and pride.
She already outshines most of the girls in the films, though she still falls short of Hermione...
Such a pretty little girl! And she's Pansy Parkinson?
Draco mused privately that this appearance and the image in his memory were practically those of two different people.
On second thought, it did make sense-the young master of the distinguished Malfoy family, noble in status and outstandingly talented, truly falling for someone ugly and remaining entangled with her for six whole years would be far too absurd.
Even some ordinary girl chosen at random would be better than someone who looked like that.
Draco was momentarily distracted, his gaze lingering on her a little longer as he carefully studied the girl before him.
He paid no attention whatsoever to her earlier anger or deliberately displayed pride, absorbed only in this overturning of his understanding, his gaze remaining fixed on her for a long time.
Pansy had still been seething, yet he paid no heed at all to her anger and arrogance, merely staring at her in a daze, his eyes complex and difficult to read.
For a moment, the anger in her heart gradually faded, replaced by deep confusion. Then a trace of secret delight quietly sprouted and spread within her.
What's wrong with him? He's never been particularly warm toward me, but he's never stared at me in such a daze before, either.
That look holds a little scrutiny, and perhaps a little amazement. Could it be... he's finally discovered what makes me special?
He's finally noticed my looks and realized I'm no ordinary girl?
Once those thoughts arose, they grew wildly like vines, sending flutter after flutter through Pansy's heart.
She secretly clenched her fingers, telling herself that she must seize this opportunity, must make Draco remember her for good and keep his gaze firmly fixed on her.
Pansy deliberately straightened her back, displaying her pride even more prominently.
Then she quietly softened the coldness in her eyes, adding a barely perceptible tenderness as she met his gaze directly.
The sitting room was silent, save for the rustling of plants outside the window. Light and shadow shifted around them, and the atmosphere gradually grew subtle.
The flush that anger had brought to the girl's cheeks faded very quickly, replaced by a faint blush spreading across them.
It was hard to tell whether her heart was still full of lingering confusion or held a measure of inexpressible shyness.
But Pansy's shyness never took the form of an ordinary girl lowering her head and eyes, too timid to meet someone's gaze.
Instead, she insisted on keeping her chin raised and looking straight at Draco, her gaze carrying a deliberately maintained challenge, as though she could use that frank eye contact to conceal the inexplicable flutter of panic in her heart.
She quietly adjusted her stance, easing her previously tense figure a little and lowering her shoulders slightly, her bearing unconsciously gaining a measure of ladylike poise.
Every tiny movement carried a deliberate precision, as though she were casually displaying her propriety.
Yet before that gentleness could fully settle, Pansy lightly folded her arms across her chest, making her shoulders look even straighter.
Her innate pride quietly surfaced again. She wanted to show a young girl's charm without appearing weak and easily bullied, insisting on finding a balance between softness and strength.
Still, the chill in her earlier tone gradually lost some of its edge, taking on a hint of petulant mockery:
"What, young Master Malfoy? It's only been a few days, and not only has your memory become this poor, but you've forgotten even basic manners? Or have you finally realized that treating a young lady this way, speaking carelessly and staring in a daze, is thoroughly improper?"
As she spoke, Pansy's gaze remained firmly fixed on him.
The sharpness in her eyes had not diminished, but she quietly concealed a small glimmer of anticipation, hoping to find a little fluster in his eyes, or a trace of some different feeling.