July 12, 2017
Wiltshire was a county steeped in history and culture, known for its iconic landmarks and rich traditions. Its cultural identity was shaped by its prehistoric monuments, such as Stonehenge and Avebury, which once stood as enigmatic testaments to ancient civilizations. The county's villages, with their thatched-roof cottages and cobblestone streets, were vibrant centers of traditional English life, where local fairs and markets showcased artisanal crafts and regional produce. Salisbury Cathedral, a masterpiece of medieval architecture, held historical significance as the home of one of the original Magna Carta manuscripts, drawing scholars and pilgrims alike.
Topographically, Wiltshire was defined by its rolling chalk hills and expansive plains. The Salisbury Plain, an iconic feature of the county, played a dual role as a natural marvel and a military training ground. The Ridgeway believed to be Britain's oldest road, meandered through its countryside, offering breathtaking views of the pastoral landscape. Nature reserves such as Langford Lakes were havens for wildlife, and the county's rivers and streams enriched its fertile farmlands. Wiltshire's natural and cultural landscapes combined to create a region deeply connected to its past, celebrated for its timeless beauty and enduring heritage.
Approximately in the same area as the Stone Henge and the Salisbury Plains was a large manor. It was well-furbished, with decorated fountains, free-roaming birds, glass gardens, and a large storage shed. Despite its luxurious amenities, the paint was faded, peeling in some places. The wrought iron gates creaked whenever someone moved them. The gargoyles gave a menacing glare, as if daring onlookers to trespass. A nearby town was connected to the manor through a main road. Sometimes, those who walked down the road would stare at the manor, but look away as if confused. It was a local belief among the muggles residing in the area that there was something mysterious about the family living here.
That morning, the sun had barely risen, casting pale, watery light through the expansive windows of Malfoy Manor. The cold, gray morning mist clung to the sprawling grounds, shrouding the elaborate gardens in an eerie, dreamlike haze. In a small, dimly lit room tucked away on the eastern side of the Malfoy manor, a boy stirred under the heavy, emerald-green bedclothes. He blinked, momentarily disoriented, as he sat up and glanced around.
*crack* The sound of an apparating elf could be heard in the room. The boy did not jump in fright at the sudden noise. He waved his hand at the newcomer.
"Good Morning, Master Malfoy." said the house elf.
"Hello Clyde," said the young boy.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet brushing against the cold wooden floor. He put on his robes as Clyde began to fold the bed sheets. Clyde, the Malfoy family's house-elf, wore garments that straddled the line between rags and tunics. His attire, though better kept than most house elves, was still modest, made of rough but well-mended fabric. The tunic-like garment hung loosely on his small frame, its uneven hem a reminder of the distinction between house elves and their wizarding masters. Yet, it bore subtle improvements—a clean stitch here, a patch of finer cloth there—that hinted at an effort to maintain a semblance of dignity.
Letting out a deep yawn, he stretched his arms and began his daily routine. By the time he was finished showering and wearing his clothes, his parents were already sitting down at the dining table. His father was reading the daily prophet.
"Good morning Dad," greeted the boy.
His dad acknowledged his greeting. "Did you sleep well, Scorpius?"
"Yes, I did." As Scorpius sat down, Clyde served bacon, toast, jam, cereal, and a glass of orange juice.
"Draco dear, when will the Hogwarts letters arrive," asked his mother.
"Soon, I heard that the Zabini's letter arrived yesterday," answered Draco.
Hearing the name Draco put Scorpius in a bad mood. Don't get him wrong. Scorpius liked his dad and mom well enough, but it was much nicer to fantasize that his parents were Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy. Sometimes, he pretended to be Draco in his head and haughtily played with the Golden Trio. He even made several plans to take down Voldemort and rule the wizarding world. Instead, he was here, stuck twenty-two years past the golden era of the wizarding world.
This wasn't Scorpius'es first life. In his previous life, he was an avid Harry Potter fan. When he was in second grade, he finished reading all seven books of Harry Potter. Boasting of this achievement, he enjoyed discussing the fandom with other Potterheads and occasionally reading fan fiction. Being reborn in the world of Harry Potter was like a dream come true for him, but it came with a catch. Had he been born in the Marauders Era or the Golden Era, he would have a clear path to change and alter to his needs. Even being born in the 1930s would have been better since he could be under the guidance of Dumbledore and have competed with Tom Riddle in his prime. Instead, he was stuck in the epilogue of the Deathly Hallows.
Now, he was Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, the sole heir to the Malfoy family, son of Draco Malfoy and Astoria Malfoy(formerly Greengrass). Scorpius tore away at the toast in an idle manner, wishing he had something to look forward to.
Master Scorpius," Clyde said in a voice that quavered with both respect and devotion. "Tea for you, sir. And—"
The elf stopped mid-sentence, its wide eyes growing even larger as it glanced toward the window. A tawny owl swooped into view, its wings spread wide as it glided through the mist. It carried a cream-colored envelope sealed with red wax. The elf gasped, nearly dropping the tray in its excitement.
Scorpius's heart leaped as the owl landed gracefully on the sill. Draco let out a small sigh. Despite his confidence, a small doubt always lingered about his son being a squib due to his lack of magical outbursts. His wife held his hands, seeking solace in the fact that her son was growing up. Scorpius's fingers trembled as he untied the letter, its weight solid and reassuring in his hands. The familiar crest of Hogwarts glinted in the soft light, the wax seal embossed with the intertwined symbols of the four houses.
He stared at the envelope for a moment, his breath catching. This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for, though with it came a swirl of emotions—excitement, nervousness, and the ever-present weight of expectations. With a deep breath, he broke the seal and unfolded the parchment inside.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmistress: Minerva Mcgonagall
(Order of Merlin, Second Class)
Dear Mr Malfoy,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Filius Flitwick
Deputy Headmaster
On the back, there was a list of all books required for this year's classes.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
Three sets of plain work robes (black) One plain pointed hat (black) for daywear One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)
by Miranda Goshawk[7]
A History of Magic
by Bathilda Bagshot[7]
Magical Theory
by Adalbert Waffling[7]
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration
by Emeric Switch[7]
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi
by Phyllida Spore[7]
Magical Drafts and Potions
by Arsenius Jigger[7]
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
by Newt Scamander[7]
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection
by Quentin Trimble[7]
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set of glass or crystal vials
1 telescope
1 set of brass scales
Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl a cat, OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS
ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR BROOMSTICK
Yours sincerely,
Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus
Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions
A wide smile spread across Scorpius's face as he read the letter, the words filling him with a mixture of pride and relief.
"I knew it," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Scorpius turned to his mother, holding the letter aloft like a trophy. "It's here."
Astoria let out a soft laugh, crossing the room to embrace her son. "I'm so proud of you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. His father, Draco, watched this from afar, reminiscing of his family moments. If he had done this with his parents, Lucius would have scolded him for not behaving like a proper pureblood. At times, he was glad that Scorpius was raised differently from him.
Scorpius carefully placed the letter on the table as the excitement settled, running his fingers over the raised Hogwarts crest. Clyde nodded approvingly, his bat-like ears twitching as he cleared the table with practiced efficiency.
"Master Scorpius will be a fine wizard," Clyde said, his voice brimming with a loyalty that seemed almost protective.
Astoria placed a gentle hand on her son's shoulder. "This is a big step," she said. "Your first year at Hogwarts will be full of challenges and discoveries."
Draco folded the Daily Prophet and set it aside, fixing his son with a serious yet tender gaze. "Remember, Scorpius, you are a Malfoy. Most will try to use you to their benefit. Others will spread rumors to pull you down. Be true to yourself, no matter what others say."
Scorpius nodded, though the weight of his father's words pressed heavily on him. He understood that the Malfoys stood by the losing side of both wizarding wars. People still treated their families like Death Eaters.
Later that evening, after the excitement had died down, Scorpius lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The glow of moonlight streaming through the window painted silver streaks across his room. His mind swirled with questions about the magical world awaiting him. Would the students there like him? Would he be good at magic? And, most of all, could he rewrite the history of his family's name in the wizarding world?
In the adjoining sitting room, Astoria and Draco sat in a rare moment of quiet. A glass of wine sat untouched in Astoria's hands, her fingers absently tracing the rim.
"I worry for him," Astoria confessed, breaking the silence. "You've heard the rumors. They'll call him a child of Voldemort, a product of dark magic."
Draco's jaw tightened, and he looked away, his gaze fixed on the crackling fire in the hearth. "They're baseless lies, spread by those who still judge us for the past. Scorpius he's... he's not me."
Astoria remembered how Scorpius was always a quiet, yet determined kid. Astoria turned to her husband, her eyes soft with understanding. "He's not you, but he's still our son. And no child should carry the weight of their family's sins."
Draco's voice was low but steady. "We've raised him to be better. Kinder. Stronger. And Hogwarts... Hogwarts will be a chance for him to show that."
The crackle of the fire filled the silence that followed, each lost in their thoughts about the challenges Scorpius might face in the world beyond Malfoy Manor. For all their hopes, a thread of fear remained—fear that the world might not be ready to see Scorpius as more than a Malfoy.
In his room, Scorpius was interrupted by a sudden chime-like sound echoing through the rooms.
"Who's there!" Scorpius stood up from his bed. Before he could call out for Clyde, his vision darkened, and he fell back on the bed abruptly.