Chapter 1
"What a wretched dump…" were the first words from the white-haired boy as he stepped out of the airport and laid eyes on the gloomy, rain-soaked landscape of Great Britain.
"Draco, watch your language. After all, this is the place where you and all your ancestors were born. It's your homeland!" a dark-haired woman chided her son.
"Well, if it's our homeland, why did you move to America in the first place? And why decide to return here all of a sudden—now it'll be ages before I see sunny California again! And that's the least of it—because of your decision, I've been left without any friends!" the youth continued to complain to his parents.
"What good were those friends of yours? I'm certain they only befriended you because of our family's wealth and influence. You'll find plenty more sycophants like them here. Besides, I've told you more than once: we only moved back to Britain because you received an owl-delivered letter from Hogwarts. The American school of magic doesn't even come close to Hogwarts. So, stop whining like a girl and pull yourself together. Ah, here's the car Lucius sent. Let's go—we shouldn't keep them waiting," the head of the family said sternly, leaving the boy no choice but to swallow his complaints and follow his father in silence.
This family hailed from the ancient wizarding lineage of the Malfoys. The head of the family—and Draco's father—was a tall, imposing man with white hair named Harold Malfoy. He was a cousin of Lucius Malfoy and remained very close to him. That is how Draco got his name. Lucius had originally intended to give that name to his own son, but as it turned out, Narcissa was actually carrying a girl. Since Harold's wife gave birth first—and because Harold himself liked the name—it was decided that the boy would be named Draco. His wife, by the way, was named Olivia. She also hailed from an ancient, pure-blood lineage, though with American roots. Harold had met her while traveling, fallen head over heels in love, and eventually married her.
As it happens, Olivia had no other living relatives. She had been raised by her grandmother, who passed away a year after Draco was born. Consequently, the entire fortune her family had amassed over many centuries fell to her alone. Before long, the family loaded their belongings into a vehicle, climbed inside, and set off on their journey.
Outside the window, there was nothing but bleak, gray scenery, so Draco decided to focus his attention on something else: his letter from Hogwarts. Although he had spent the whole time complaining about the move, deep down he was thrilled that he would soon be attending a school for magic and finally receiving his own wand.
He pulled the envelope from his inner pocket and began to examine it more closely. He hadn't had a proper chance to look at its contents until now—only about five hours had passed between receiving the letter and boarding the plane to Great Britain. Draco couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right; surely, normal wizards couldn't pack up all their possessions and prepare to move to another country so quickly. He had the feeling that they had planned everything long ago and were simply waiting for the letter to serve as the starting point.
Draco pulled a couple of folded sheets and a ticket for the Hogwarts Express out of the envelope.
The ticket was made of thick, yellow-tinted paper with gold embossing. Without examining it too closely, he tucked it back into the envelope and began to unfold the other sheets. Just as he was about to read the text on the first one, his mother spoke up.
"Read the letter aloud, son. I need to know what items are required for school so I can make a plan and set aside time for shopping."
"Yes, Mother," Draco nodded, and began to read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump, President of the International Confederation of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Please review the enclosed list of required books and equipment.
Classes begin on September 1st. We await your owl no later than July 31st.
"Oops, wrong letter," the young man said with an embarrassed smile. He slipped it back into the envelope, unfolded the second sheet, and began to read that one aloud as well.
First-year students will require:
Three sets of plain, black work robes.
One plain, black, pointed hat for daily wear. One pair of protective gloves (made of dragon hide or a material with similar properties).
One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings).
Please remember that all clothing must have tags sewn on, bearing the student's first and last name.
Each student is required to have the following books:
*A Course Book of Spells and Incantations* (First Year) by Miranda Goshawk
*A History of Magic* by Bathilda Bagshot
*Theory of Magic* by Adalbert Waffling
*A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration* by Emeric Switch
*One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi* by Phyllida Spore
*Magical Drafts and Potions* by Arsenius Jigger
*Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them* by Newt Scamander
*Dark Forces: A Guide on Self-Defense." — Quentin Trimble
1 wand,
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2),
1 set of glass or crystal phials,
1 telescope,
1 set of brass scales.
Students may also bring an owl, a cat, or a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEAR STUDENTS ARE NOT PERMITTED TO HAVE THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.
"Why single out broomsticks in the letter? If the parents know they're forbidden, what's the point of them buying one—let alone sending it to the school?" Draco wondered, looking at the final lines of the letter.
"Because in Britain—unlike in the U.S.—Quidditch is incredibly popular. Parents end up buying brooms for their children because the kids pester them incessantly, even though it's against the rules."
"Quidditch? It's such a crude, boring game. How could anyone possibly like it?" Draco remarked, clearly unimpressed. He tucked the letter back into its envelope and slid it into an inside pocket of his robes.
"By the way, Dad, how much longer until we get there? I'm hungry," Draco asked, his stomach choosing that exact moment to let out a treacherous growl.
"About another twenty minutes, so don't worry. Oh, and we'll be staying at Lucius's place tonight. I've already bought us a house, but the house-elves won't finish cleaning it until tomorrow."
"That sucks." — Draco offered a brief comment, then stared out toward the street, deciding to finally spare a moment of his attention for the local "scenery."
***
Great Britain, Wiltshire.
A wide, hedge-lined driveway led up to a handsome four-story manor, accented by small, symmetrical, pointed towers. This was an estate well-known among wizards—the ancestral seat of the ancient Malfoy line.
At the entrance stood tall, wrought-iron gates designed in a Gothic style. The path leading to the estate, as well as the grounds themselves, was paved with small granite blocks bordered by yellow sandstone. Thick yew hedges lined the sides, concealing a fountain from view. Completing the scene, a white peacock strutted proudly along the top of one of the hedges.
Only four people lived in this manor: Abraxas Malfoy, the head of the family; his son, Lucius Malfoy; Lucius's wife, Narcissa Malfoy—born into another ancient lineage, the House of Black—and their daughter, Luciana Malfoy.
"Luciana! I can't believe you're still asleep! Come on, get up—you lazy thing!" Narcissa's clear, resonant voice rang out through the manor.
"Mooom, why are you starting this so early? Just let me sleep, please?" the girl pleaded, hastily burying her head under her pillow; she knew that once her mother got an idea into her head, there was simply no escaping it. "Oh, absolutely not, young lady. Have you forgotten what I told you yesterday?"
"Huh? What did you say yesterday? I was so sleepy that I didn't hear a word…" the girl said, lifting her head reluctantly and peeking at her mother with one eye.
"Good heavens, a daughter like this will turn my hair gray before my time!" Narcissa exclaimed, then continued:
"Your uncle, aunt, and cousin are arriving today. Is this how you intend to greet them? Is this what I've taught you?"
"So what if they're coming? Why would they even care about me?"
"Their son, Draco, is your age. And just like you, he's been accepted to Hogwarts! He doesn't know anyone here, so your father and I expect the two of you to become friends and look out for each other at school. Now, don't make me repeat myself, young lady—get yourself ready, and be quick about it! You have ten minutes. If you're late, don't blame your mother for what happens next." Narcissa shot a stern look at her thoroughly spoiled daughter, then left the room, slamming the door shut to ensure the girl wouldn't fall back asleep.
As it turned out, that wasn't even necessary. The moment the girl saw that fierce look in her mother's eyes, a shiver ran down her spine, and her sleepiness vanished instantly. She still remembered the time she hadn't listened to her mother—she hadn't been able to sit down properly for three whole days afterward, thanks to the thorough thrashing her backside had received with a belt.
A short while later, the girl finally finished washing up and getting dressed. All that remained was to comb her hair, but just as she picked up the brush, the sound of a car braking drifted in from outside.
Luciana began brushing rapidly, trying to smooth out her hair; however, it was so tangled from sleep that her hurried movements—instead of detangling it—tore out a few strands, bringing tears to her eyes from the pain.
"Luciana, get downstairs, quickly! It's time to welcome our guests!"
Hearing her mother's call, the girl had no choice but to head downstairs with her hair uncombed. Fortunately, her hair was naturally smooth and snow-white, so the situation wasn't as disastrous as it might have been. Yet, the moment she reached the ground floor and caught her mother's eye—meeting that look of displeasure—she was instantly overcome with a profound sense of anger and resentment, leading her to silently curse the entire family of her distant relatives.
Finally, Lucius, Narcissa, and Luciana stepped out onto the porch to greet the arriving guests.
"Harold, Olivia, Draco. It's so good to see you all. Especially you, Draco. It's been so many years since I last saw you—look how much you've grown!" Lucius began his greeting. Unlike the pleasantries he usually offered acquaintances, his words were entirely sincere; he truly loved his cousin. And, as the saying goes, "if you love someone, you love their dog, too"—so, naturally, Harold's wife and son were also very dear to him.
"Ha-ha, it's great to see you too, Lucius," Harold said, embracing him before turning his attention to the rest of Lucius's family.
"Narcissa, you're as radiant as ever. And who might this lovely young lady be?"
"Luciana Malfoy," the girl said, stepping forward to introduce herself.
"Well, well—is it really you? The last time I saw you, you were just a one-year-old toddler. Now, you've grown into a real princess! Draco, don't just stand there like a post—go on and meet your new friend. You spent the whole journey complaining about not having any friends here, after all."
"Harold's right, Luciana. Why don't you show Draco around the grounds? You two can get to know each other better while the adults attend to some business," Lucius added. Anyone with even a shred of common sense would have understood that they were being sent away so the adults could discuss matters in private.
"Alright, 'princess'—lead the way and show me what's what. Maybe there's actually something interesting to be found in this dump, after all," Draco remarked, before heading off. Luciana, looking displeased, followed after him.
In truth, Draco had a compelling reason for not wanting to come to Great Britain or attend Hogwarts. The primary reason was that Draco was a "transmigrator"—someone transported from another world. He had always assumed he would end up at an American school of magic, where he could explore this magical realm from a different perspective. But, as it turned out, there seemed to be some unspoken rule dictating that every such "transmigrator" must inevitably land at Hogwarts and get themselves neck-deep in all sorts of trouble. That, incidentally, was the second reason he was so reluctant to enroll in this madhouse of a school. Yet, upon seeing that Lucius and Narcissa had raised such a stunning beauty—rather than some arrogant, pompous peacock—Draco found himself reconsidering a few things. He remembered nothing of his past life—or, to be more precise, he remembered everything *except* who he actually was and how he had lived his previous life. Consequently, he possessed the ultimate "cheat code": foreknowledge of the plot. Naturally, he felt compelled to exploit this source of limitless potential to the fullest.
"Well? Why are you so quiet?" a girl's voice, laced with irritation, suddenly rang out behind him.
"Hmm? Quiet? What am I supposed to say? I'm the guest here, and I don't know a thing—not the other way around. So, really, it's your job to keep me from getting bored and to entertain me."
"Hah?! Do I look like a clown to you!?" Luciana exclaimed, indignant at his remark.
"Well, if we painted your face with some stage makeup, you'd look the part perfectly." "Given the state of your hair..." Draco chuckled, snapping his fingers discreetly. With that simple yet nasty bit of magic, Luciana's hair instantly transformed into a ridiculous, clown-like style.
"What!? What are you talking about? My hair is perfectly—" She stopped mid-sentence, realizing something was wrong as she touched her head. She then bolted toward the nearest fountain to check her reflection in the water.
"You absolute wretch! I swear, I'll tear you to pieces and feed you to the trolls!" she shrieked, flying into a rage and charging at Draco with her fists raised.
Draco, clearly delighted, began running in circles, laughing and shouting:
"Help! A killer clown is chasing me! It's trying to kill me!"
"Stop right there! If you're any kind of man, don't you dare run away from me! You scoundrel!" She kept hurling insults and threats, but couldn't manage to catch him—which only made her grow angrier by the second.
After a few laps around the house, Draco began to tire, whereas Luciana—that restless little beast—seemed to have an endless supply of energy. She showed no signs of calming down, her glare suggesting she wanted to devour him alive. Realizing this, the young man decided it was time for a "tactical retreat."
He snapped his fingers once more, restoring the girl's hair to its proper state, then dashed inside the house and headed straight for the room where their parents were holding a meeting. "Draco! Where are your manners?! Can't you see we're discussing important matters? Get out!" Harold scolded, clearly displeased as his son burst into the room without a shred of ceremony.
"Father, I'd love to! But someone's chasing me, threatening to kill me!" Draco feigned terror, then ducked behind his mother.
"What? Don't talk nonsense! Who would possibly want to attack you here? This is one of the safest—"
Harold didn't get to finish his sentence; at that very moment, Luciana stormed into the room, looking every bit the enraged fury. Upon spotting Draco, she lunged at him, crying, "Gotcha, you little wretch!"
"Waaah! They're killing me! Help!" Draco immediately began to shriek—though, in truth the blows and bites from the girl didn't hurt at all.
"LUCIANA! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" Narcissa exclaimed, rushing over and forcibly pulling her daughter away from a rather battered-looking Draco.
"Let me go, Mother! I'm going to turn him into mincemeat!" the girl insisted, refusing to calm down.
"LUCIANA MALFOY! SETTLE DOWN, THIS INSTANT!" Narcissa raised her voice again; only then did the girl quieten down, finally realizing where she was.
"Mother, I can explain everything! Draco ruined my hairstyle—he turned it into something a clown would wear! That's why I got so angry."
"Really? Couldn't you have come up with a better excuse for such an outrageous outburst? If that's your argument, you could have at least messed up your own hair for the sake of appearances. It looks exactly the same as it did ten minutes ago."
"But, Mother…"
"Don't believe me? Take a look in the mirror!"
Following her mother's suggestion, Luciana glanced into the mirror and saw that her hair looked exactly as it had after she'd failed to brush it properly—a realization that plunged her into instant despair.
"Mother, please, you have to believe me! He set this whole thing up!" the girl pleaded, realizing she was in deep trouble.
"I… I don't know what came over her. She just suddenly lunged at me, out of the blue… I don't even have my wand on me!" "How could I have possibly done anything to her hair?" Draco said sadly, casting such a pitiful look at Luciana that, for a fleeting moment, she actually wondered if she'd truly ended up with a clown-like hairstyle.
"Luciana! You're being punished! Get to your room—now!"
Upon hearing her mother's verdict, the girl didn't argue—hoping to avoid any further trouble—and began to leave the room. Just as she reached the doorway, she glanced back at the young man, only to catch a sly, mocking smirk on his face.
"You wretched jerk!" she realized instantly. Gritting her teeth, she retreated to her room, vowing to herself that she would definitely get her revenge.