"Estelle, tell that stupid peacock to stop screeching at the crack of dawn! I don't want to wake up early every single day because of it!"
"Estelle, make that black horse behave—he keeps throwing me off, especially when Father's watching!"
"And those greedy chubby fish in the pond—tell them to stop stealing Lantes's food. Look how fat they've gotten!"
Estelle's eyes lit up with delight. "Who's Lantes?"
Draco pointed at a massive black shadow gliding past the bottom of the pond. "That's Grandfather's turtle. He always makes me call him Grandpa Lantes, but Father says it's undignified."
Estelle couldn't hold back a giggle. After discovering her gift with magical creatures, Draco had turned into a one-boy crusade, dragging her all over Malfoy Manor to scold every disobedient animal in sight.
By dusk, the two of them were thoroughly worn out. Dobby appeared at the edge of the swan lake, bowing low. "Young Master Draco, Miss Estelle—dinner is ready. Master and Mistress are waiting."
Lucius and Narcissa had apparently dealt with whatever urgent matter had called them away earlier. When the family finally sat down together, both adults wore their usual composed expressions. Only the newest member of the household looked utterly exhausted—silver hair slightly messy, cheeks flushed from running around all afternoon.
"Oh, sweetheart…" Narcissa's gaze softened the moment she noticed the fine sheen of sweat on Estelle's little nose. She picked up a delicate silk handkerchief and gently dabbed it away. "How on earth did you get so dishevelled?"
"Draco," Lucius said, voice calm but carrying unmistakable authority, "what exactly did you two do today?"
Draco's eyes flicked away. Under his father's steady stare, his pale cheeks turned scarlet. He squared his small shoulders as if making a noble sacrifice. "It's my fault, Father. I took Estelle to the stables, the Pixie Pond, the Quidditch pitch, Swan Lake, and—"
Before he could finish the list, Narcissa's eyes widened. "Walking the entire manor? No wonder the poor darling looks worn out!"
Lucius's brow lifted. "Is this how you treat a guest, Draco?"
The boy's platinum head drooped instantly. "Father, Mother… I was wrong."
"Godfather, it's not Brother's fault."
A soft, childish voice cut through the tension. Draco looked up in surprise.
Estelle's little nose had gone pink—her skin was so sensitive that even Narcissa's gentle touch had left a faint mark. Seeing both adults watching her, she quickly reached over and grabbed Draco's hand.
"It's my fault," she said earnestly. "I really like Malfoy Manor, so I kept asking Brother to show me everything…"
Narcissa's expression melted. "It's wonderful that you like it here, little one. I was worried it might take you time to feel at home." She reached out and tenderly stroked the neat bun at the nape of Estelle's neck, her voice warm with affection.
A faint, almost invisible smile touched the corner of Lucius's mouth. He glanced at his son—who still looked slightly mortified—and said simply, "In that case, let's enjoy dinner in peace."
"Estelle, we weren't sure of your favourites yet, so we prepared a little of everything. If there's anything special you'd like from now on, just tell Dobby. He'll make sure it's ready."
Estelle followed her godfather's gaze to the house-elf standing quietly by the sideboard. Compared to Buddy's neat dark-blue pillowcase, Dobby's was old and patched, but his enormous green eyes shone with bright, nervous energy.
When Estelle looked at him, Dobby's whole face lit up in a cautious but eager smile. "Beautiful Miss Estelle, it is Dobby's greatest honour to prepare your meals!" He bowed so low his ears brushed the floor.
*What a polite house-elf,* Estelle thought, smiling back just like she did with Buddy. Dobby's grin softened with pure delight—until he caught Lucius's faint frown. Instantly the elf straightened, clasped his hands, and retreated silently to the corner.
Because of their similar ages, Estelle was seated to Draco's right. Narcissa, regretfully unable to fuss over the pretty little girl herself, let her son take charge of helping Estelle with her plate.
To everyone's quiet surprise, Draco did an excellent job—carefully cutting small pieces, passing her the softest bread, and making sure her goblet stayed full. Even after Estelle declared herself full, her plate was still piled with food he kept sneaking onto it.
The Malfoys had even prepared a proper corner for Mammon. His bowl held exquisite cuts of salmon and cream, and Narcissa had arranged a charming little room for him on the third floor—complete with Muggle cat toys, climbing frames, and a luxurious flannel bed twice the size of his usual form.
The moment they stepped inside, Mammon made a beeline for the bed, flopped onto it with a satisfied stretch, and purred loudly.
"Meow meow~ Little Estelle, I officially approve of Brian's choice! You go sleep in your fancy new room with Narcissa. This cat is staying right here—this place is heaven!"
"Meow!"
"Pegasus doesn't know what he's missing!"
Estelle giggled and closed the door softly, then followed Narcissa down the corridor. Draco walked beside her, hands in his pockets, trying to look casual.
"This is your room, sweetie," Narcissa said, stopping in front of a deep-brown door on the right side of the third-floor landing. A beautiful antique wreath of silver leaves and tiny enchanted roses hung on it, glowing softly in the lamplight.
"My bedroom's right next door," Draco whispered in her ear, nodding toward the next room.
Narcissa smiled knowingly at the pair. "Yes—your rooms are side by side. Lucius and I are just over there." She pointed across the central landing. Estelle counted: five doors separated her new bedroom from her godfather's.
"If our little Estelle needs anything at all—day or night—just come find Draco, me, or Lucius," Narcissa added with a playful wink, looking more like a mischievous older sister than the lady of the house.
Estelle nodded obediently.
It was late. She didn't want to keep her godfather or the beautiful Aunt Narcissa up any longer, and the long afternoon with Draco had left her genuinely tired. She planned to wash up quickly and fall straight into bed.
But she had forgotten one small problem.
Only after her bath—when she stood in front of the mirror in a soft black silk nightgown—did she remember: Buddy had always brushed and braided her long, slightly wavy hair. Her own short little arms simply couldn't reach the back properly, and the damp silver strands were already starting to tangle.