Wiltshire, England, 1987
On the outskirts of Wiltshire, shrouded in an air of antiquity and mystery, stood an imposing manor that dominated the surrounding landscape. The estate, vast in scope and steeped in an ominous atmosphere, was the subject of whispered rumors and speculative tales in the local villages. Few dared to approach, let alone enter, for it was said that this was no ordinary home.
The manor, in fact, belonged to Lucius Malfoy, a former Death Eater, and was protected by powerful enchantments that barred entry to those uninitiated in the arcane arts. This ancient spell work shielded the wizarding world from the prying eyes of ordinary folk, rendering the estate inaccessible to all but a select few.
Inside the dimly lit study of the manor, an eight-year-old Draco Malfoy let out a heavy sigh as he closed the thick tome resting on his lap. The title embossed in gold on the aged leather cover read: "A Thousand Miraculous Herbs and Fungi" by Philidas Philadelphia. The intensive study of the intricacies of herbology had proven taxing on his young mind and body.
"It's finally over," he muttered, leaning back in the chair as if to escape the mental strain the book had imposed.
Draco's gaze wandered to the full-length mirror standing in the corner of the study. His reflection stared back: a small figure with platinum-blond hair and a sharp, aristocratic face that belied his tender age. A faint, rueful smile played on his lips as he contemplated his circumstances.
"Eight years," he murmured, almost to himself. "It's been eight years since I arrived in this world."
The surreal reality of his situation never ceased to astonish him. Once, he had been an ordinary man—a mere bystander who had sacrificed his life to save a schoolchild from a speeding car. The next thing he knew, he had awoken in a different body, in a different life, as Draco Malfoy. Despite the years that had passed, the bizarre twist of fate that had transported him to this world still felt like the plot of an outlandish novel.
"I didn't achieve the status of a top student in my previous life, so it seems I'll have to indulge in that ambition in this one," Draco Malfoy mused with a wry smile. With his goal set firmly in mind, he began dedicating himself to his studies with an intensity he hadn't possessed before. To his astonishment, he soon discovered that his memory and comprehension abilities were markedly superior to those of his past life—elevated by what felt like an entire tier.
Perhaps this newfound aptitude was yet another side effect of his inexplicable time travel.
A sudden knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Knock, knock, knock."
"Young Master, the master has requested your presence," the butler's voice announced from the other side of the door.
"Understood," Draco replied evenly. Rising from his chair, he carefully returned the books to their original places before striding to the door. Navigating the labyrinthine hallways of the manor with ease, he soon arrived at Lucius Malfoy's study.
"Father, what did you wish to discuss with me?" Draco inquired politely. Having come to terms with his new reality, he resolved to play the role of a dutiful son with conviction. After all, it wasn't every day one inherited such a privileged position—or, as he privately thought, such a "bargain" of a father. Despite Lucius's morally ambiguous reputation and villainous role in the original story, he had demonstrated an unwavering commitment to his family.
Draco silently noted, I'll have to find the right opportunity to teach him the importance of picking the winning side. Following Voldemort is a perilous gamble. He remembered all too well the dire consequences outlined in the original timeline. Had Narcissa not taken the bold step of saving Harry Potter's life, and had the Dark Lord still met his downfall, the entire Malfoy family might well have been condemned to Azkaban.
The stakes were high, and Draco knew he had a rare chance to influence the course of events.
Am I hoping my father will become a great man? Draco Malfoy mused as his gaze lingered on Lucius. His thoughts began to wander, drawn into a labyrinth of reflection.
"How is your progress with your studies?" Lucius asked, his voice cutting through the silence. He stood by the window, his sharp, pallid features illuminated by the sunlight streaming in from outside. Far from softening his appearance, the light seemed to heighten the somber austerity of his expression.
Yet, the concern laced in his tone was unmistakable—an authentic sentiment from a man who seldom revealed vulnerability.
Unlike other children his age, Draco had been unusually quiet from infancy. He rarely cried or fussed as a baby, and as he grew older, he spoke sparingly. This peculiar reticence did not escape the notice of the manor's servants, some of whom began spreading malicious gossip: "The young master must be mute. He cannot even utter spells—he's as good as a Squib!"
Lucius, who prided himself on the purity of his lineage and the prestige of his family, was incensed by these rumors. He swiftly dealt with the offending servants to quell the slander. Yet, in the privacy of his own mind, even Lucius could not entirely suppress his doubts.
Could my child truly be a Squib? he wondered, his unease mounting with each passing day.
Determined to uncover the truth, Lucius took it upon himself to personally tutor Draco. To his astonishment, his son displayed an exceptional intellect that silenced all doubts. Draco not only mastered daily tasks with remarkable ease but also exhibited a profound curiosity about magic. Once he learned to read, his appetite for knowledge seemed insatiable, and his progress became nothing short of extraordinary.
Lucius soon discovered that Draco could even control his magical power with deliberate precision—an ability far beyond his years. On one occasion, Lucius, harboring a mixture of hope and skepticism, handed Draco his wand and instructed him to try a simple spell. To his utter amazement, Draco succeeded on his very first attempt.
The silence that had once been perceived as troubling had transformed into a defining trait of genius. Rather than being a sign of inadequacy, Draco's quiet demeanor had come to symbolize something far more remarkable—a burgeoning genius.
What parent doesn't dream of their child's success? Lucius thought.
Draco's relentless enthusiasm for magic had long surpassed even Lucius's own youthful fervor. Naturally, this only served to raise Lucius's expectations for his son, whom he now saw as the embodiment of the Malfoy legacy.
"Everything is going well, Father. In terms of knowledge, I'd estimate I've reached the level of a third-year student," Draco replied with a calm confidence.
"Excellent. You are truly worthy of being the heir to the Malfoy family," Lucius said, a note of pride evident in his voice. A faint smile tugged at his pale lips, softening his typically stern expression.
After a moment's pause, Lucius continued, his tone lightened by an unusual touch of humor. "The Parkinson family will be visiting our estate tomorrow. I hear they're bringing their daughter, who is around your age. What do you think? Are you interested?"
Lucius's rare attempt at jest was a testament to his buoyant mood. Draco's exceptional talent seemed to have tempered his father's often brooding demeanor. Yet, underlying his words was a nod to tradition: intermarriage among pure-blood wizarding families was not only customary but expected.
Draco offered a soft response, his tone even. "Father, surely you're joking."
Despite his measured reply, his thoughts began to whirl. The Parkinson family? Could he mean Pansy Parkinson? How am I supposed to interact with her?