Once their school shopping was complete, the Malfoy family returned to the manor.
Victor wasted no ti.
The mont he reached his room, he closed the door behind him and locked it. For years, he had learned magic only in theory—reading, morising, understanding spells without ever being able to test them properly.
A wand had always been out of reach. When he had asked for one at seven, both his parents had refused. Too young, they had said. Too dangerous.
Now, finally, he had one.
Victor held the wand in his hand, turning it slowly, familiarising himself with its balance. A quiet smile crossed his face.
"Finally," he murmured, "I can try them."
He had learned far more than was expected of a first-year. Most of the basic first- and second-year charms were already etched into his mory, practiced countless tis in his head.
He took a steady breath and began.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
A small stack of books lifted gently from his desk, hovering a foot above the surface before settling back down at his command.
Encouraged, he continued.
"Locomotor Wibbly."
The fabric on his chair softened instantly.
"Incendio."
A controlled fla flickered to life at the tip of his wand.
"Lumos."
Soft white light filled the room.
"Nox."
Darkness returned.
"Alohomora."
The drawer of his bedside table clicked open.
"Colloportus."
It sealed itself again.
He moved on carefully, testing his control rather than his strength.
"Reparo."
A cracked ornant nded itself seamlessly.
"Diffindo."
The curtain split cleanly in two.
Victor paused, adjusting his grip.
"Flipendo."
A cushion was knocked cleanly across the room.
Satisfied, he attempted the more difficult spells he had studied but never dared to imagine using.
A sharp breath.
A flick.
Ice crept across the surface of his desk at the edge of his wand's movent, lting monts later as he dispelled it.
Finally, he aid at an empty wooden box near the wall.
"Bombarda."
The box burst apart with a dull crack, pieces scattering harmlessly across the floor.
Silence followed.
Victor lowered his wand, heart steady, mind clear. Every spell had responded smoothly—no wild surges, no backlash. The wand fit him perfectly.
He exhaled slowly.
"So this is what it feels like to use magic."
Victor lowered his wand slowly. The lingering warmth of spellwork still thrumd faintly through his fingers.
Thanks to his strong magical capacity—and his enhanced intelligence—casting the spells he had morised caused him no difficulty at all.
He sat down on the edge of his bed, wand resting across his palm.
"Now," he muttered quietly, "it's ti to plan for the future."
At present, his position was secure. As the elder son of the Malfoy family, his life was comfortable, respected—privileged, even. But Victor knew better than to trust the present.
The future of the Malfoys was dark. Very dark.
He knew what was coming.
The Dark Lord's return would drag the Malfoy family into ruin.
Their Manor would beco a base for Death Eaters—filled with people who neither respected nor cared for his parents. His mother would be humiliated in her own ho. His father would be used, discarded, and eventually thrown into Azkaban.
And Draco—
Victor's jaw tightened.
Draco would be manipulated, blad, and nearly destroyed by expectations far beyond a boy's ability to carry.
And in the end, the Malfoys would be looked down upon even by Voldemort himself—useful, but never trusted.
Victor clenched his fist.
He refused to let that future happen.
These people were no longer characters on a page. Narcissa was his mother. Lucius was his father. Draco—annoying as he was—was his little brother. They had raised him, protected him, given him a place in this world.
As the elder son, the responsibility was his.
He did not know whether the Malfoy family would survive what was coming. This was real life, not a story that followed neat plotlines. Who could truly guarantee that Harry Potter would win in the end?
No one.
Which ant relying on prophecy or fate was foolish.
Victor exhaled slowly.
If survival was uncertain, then preparation was not.
He would grow stronger. Strong enough to stand independent of the Dark Lord. Strong enough to sever ties before they tightened into chains.
"It would have been nice if this system did sothing more than throw rewards at random," Victor muttered, glancing at the faint glow of his status screen.
As things stood, his current traits and abilities placed him well ahead of his age. If he continued on this path without further assistance, he would likely grow into a wizard of considerable strength—soone on the level of Severus Snape, perhaps. That alone was no small achievent.
"I really hope you give sothing good," Victor said quietly.
The status screen offered no response.
***
Ti passed, and before Victor realised it, the long-anticipated day arrived.
September 1st.
That morning, the Malfoy family travelled to London. By the ti they reached King's Cross Station, the hidden entrance to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters lay just ahead.
Beyond the barrier, the platform bustled with witches and wizards seeing their children off for the first ti. The scarlet Hogwarts Express hissed softly, steam curling into the air as trunks were loaded aboard.
House-elves swiftly placed Victor's and Draco's luggage into an empty compartnt. Narcissa adjusted Draco's scarf, then straightened Victor's collar with practiced care.
Lucius stepped forward.
"Victor. Draco," he said coolly. "Hogwarts is not rely a school. It is where reputations are made."
"You carry the Malfoy na," Lucius continued. "Pure-blood heritage. Generations of refinent, power, and influence. Never forget that."
Victor listened in silence.
"Yes, Father," Draco said promptly.
Lucius's gaze sharpened. "The school may allow Muggle-borns now," he went on, a faint edge of disdain in his voice, "but that does not place them on equal footing with us. Talent may be taught—but blood, discipline, and legacy cannot."
Victor sighed inwardly.
Here we go.
Lucius was many things—ambitious, proud, calculating—but he was also blind to the present reality. The wizarding world had changed. Pure-bloods were no longer the majority, and clinging to old ideas only invited trouble. Maintaining a neutral balance would be far wiser.
"Pure-blood families," Lucius said, lowering his voice, "have always stood above the rest. That is why they lead. That is why they endure."
Draco nodded vigorously. "I understand. I won't embarrass the family."
Victor glanced sideways at him.
rlin help , he thought dryly. I'm going to have to undo this thinking before it gets him hexed.
Lucius turned to Victor. "You understand as well, I trust?"
Victor t his father's gaze calmly. "I understand the importance of reputation, Father."
Lucius seed satisfied with that answer.
Narcissa stepped forward before the mont could stretch any further, her expression soft but firm.
"And you two—eat properly," she said, adjusting Draco's sleeve before turning to Victor. "Write to us if you encounter any trouble at Hogwarts. Just tell us."
She glanced briefly at Lucius.
"Your father will handle it."
Lucius inclined his head, clearly in agreent.
Victor nodded. "We will, Mother."
Draco puffed out his chest. "There won't be any trouble."
Victor gave him a sideways look but said nothing.
The whistle sounded once more, long and loud.
Victor and Draco said their goodbyes, Narcissa pulling them each into a brief embrace before stepping back. Lucius gave a final, asured nod.
With that, the two boys turned and boarded the train.
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