“Wales? I don’t remember there being a pure-blood family with that surname.” Draco’s eyebrows twisted into a frown.
“Isn’t that actually a country?”
“Actually…” Henry picked up his napkin and calmly dabbed his lips before speaking in an elegant, unhurried tone.
“It’s my father’s territory.”
Draco blinked his gray eyes.
His frown did not disappear.
Instead, it tightened with confusion.
He was clearly searching through the pure-blood family records and British aristocratic genealogies that had been drilled into him since childhood.
“Territory? You mean… a fief? A Muggle nobleman’s?”
There was no immediate contempt in his voice, despite the word “Muggle” usually carrying such disdain.
Instead, there was pure curiosity and an urgent desire to categorize the person in front of him.
Henry picked up his goblet and took a sip of water.
His movements were natural and elegant, carrying a sense of effortless refinement that Draco was very familiar with.
“You could put it that way.” His answer was deliberately vague, delivered as casually as though he were discussing the weather.
“Just an old tradition.”
He calmly met Draco’s scrutinizing gaze.
There was indeed nothing wrong with what he had said.
The Prince of Wales’s title had indeed been bestowed upon his father according to an ancient tradition.
That answer, combined with Henry’s mannerisms, clearly left Draco uncertain.
He had seen Muggle-born students before, such as the loudmouthed know-it-all Gryffindor from earlier, as well as Harry Potter, who was mixed up with the red-haired Weasley boy.
They were either nervous and reserved or amazed by everything in the magical world.
But this “Henry Wales” was far too composed for a first-year.
There was an effortless ease in the way he spoke that Draco had only ever sensed when his parents entertained certain “important” guests.
“An old tradition…” Draco repeated, as though savoring the phrase.
He noticed that Henry was using silver cutlery, his movements precise enough to be printed in a manual of etiquette.
Something was not right.
A Muggle-born—or even the son of a minor Muggle nobleman—would surely show at least some reaction when seeing roast chicken appear by itself, or the self-moving haggis in front of him.
“Yes.” Henry smiled casually.
“Malfoy… right? If I remember correctly, our ancestors knew each other.”
Draco was just about to say something when Pansy Parkinson, sitting on his other side, could not resist interrupting.
She had been listening from the side all along.
Now she spoke in a shrill voice.
“Wales? I think I heard my father mention something. There’s some ‘Prince of Wales’ among the Muggles. He’s their heir to the throne. Does that have anything to do with you?”
Henry turned his gaze toward Pansy and smiled faintly.
“Oh, that’s my father.”
Pansy opened her mouth wide, as though someone had cast a Silencing Charm on her.
Her shrill voice caught in her throat, and not a single sound came out.
Her eyes, which were usually filled with scrutiny and criticism, were now stretched wide as she stared fixedly at Henry, as though she were seeing his face clearly for the first time—or rather, as though she were only now realizing what that face might mean.
Draco’s already pale face suddenly flushed slightly.
He clearly understood what this meant.
Henry was not merely the son of a Muggle nobleman, but a member of the very core of the most powerful, ancient, and symbolically significant ruling circle in the Muggle world.
The Malfoy family might despise Muggles, but they certainly did not despise power and influence, no matter where that power came from.
“You… you mean…” Draco suddenly remembered what Henry had said earlier.
“Our ancestors knew each other?”
“Yes.” Henry put down his knife and fork and lowered his voice so that only the two of them could hear.
“According to the Royal Family’s records, in 1066, the first ancestor of the Malfoy family, Armand de Malfoy, followed my ancestor William I—William the Conqueror—into England. For his services, he was granted a fief in Wiltshire. Current official records show that the fief was inherited by Lucius Malfoy. I wonder if he is…”
“Yes, yes, that’s my father.” Draco wiped away some sweat and unconsciously adopted an extremely formal tone.
The deliberate arrogance he had been putting on disappeared completely.
Clearly, he had been thoroughly stunned by Henry’s Royal Family Genealogy Deep-Dive Technique.
Henry nodded slightly and picked up his knife and fork again, relaxing as though they had just exchanged an ordinary comment about the weather.
“History is always intertwined, Mr. Malfoy.”
“Just call me Draco. What do you say?”
I actually preferred your attitude from earlier.
Could you go back to that?
“All right, Draco…” Henry changed the subject, returning to the safer topic at hand.
“But that was a long time ago. Now we’re all first-years at Hogwarts. That’s what matters most, isn’t it?”
He acknowledged their historical connection while smoothly bringing the focus back to their equal status as students in the present, giving Draco a way to step down gracefully.
Draco immediately seized that opportunity and keenly understood the signal.
He adjusted his posture, trying to regain some composure, but his tone had completely changed and now carried a note of respect.
“Of course, Your Highness.
Slytherin will suit you very well.” This time, he even omitted Henry’s name and addressed him with the more formal title of “Your Highness,” while emphasizing the house again, trying to elevate Henry within the field he himself understood best.
Pansy finally recovered from her stunned state.
She looked at the obvious change in Draco’s attitude, then at Henry’s completely unruffled expression.
Wisely, she closed the mouth that had still been preparing to ask more questions, though her eyes continued darting between the two of them, filled with curiosity and calculation.
She secretly decided that she would write a letter to her father that very night.
Draco had made the same decision, of course.
He intended to tell his father about this news.
Henry returned Draco’s goodwill with a smile before turning his attention back to his plate and sampling a few bites of pudding, his movements still elegant and composed.
A trace of barely perceptible embarrassment flashed across Draco’s face before he concealed it with an even more attentive attitude.
“Of course, Your Highness is right. Life at Hogwarts is what we should be looking forward to most right now.” He tried to make his voice sound relaxed and natural.
“My father told me that the Slytherin dormitories are beneath the Black Lake. You can see the giant squid through the windows. It’s very unique. I think you’ll like it.”
Pansy also joined in.
“Yes, and our Slytherin common room has the most refined atmosphere.”
Henry knew exactly why Draco and Pansy’s attitudes had changed, but he did not point it out.
He calmly finished the last of his fruit, and the plate automatically became spotless as new.