A.N: Thank you for waiting, all your support has meant so much to me. Hope you like this new chapter!
31st of August, 2020
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, U.K.
Twenty days had passed. Twenty painstakingly long days.
I'd managed to keep my news from Scorpius, as I planned to surprise him with the news today, though I'd had no choice in telling Draco; he needed an explanation after his letter of apologies, personally signed by the Minister of Magic, arrived at his doorstep.
I'll never forget the look on his face. Tears were streaming from his eyes as I recounted my meeting with Mrs Granger, and my new Professor's, and how I'd asked that he be pardoned.
"But it's a joke? I can't really be getting back a wand?" he spluttered.
"You're right, you're not," I answer, my grin extending further up my face. "We are. I've been pardoned too."
Draco wasted no time in wrapping his arms around my waist, and hoisting me off the floor, into his arms. He'd always been taller than me; I suppose the twenty-four year age gap had something to do with that. Now, we were the same height, my head buried into his shoulders.
"So what does this mean, then? Are you going to Hogwarts?"
"I start tomorrow!"
The pair of us were so overcome with emotion, that we just hug each other for a while. Finally, after so long of holding our breaths, we can be what we were meant to be; witches and wizards.
We soon break apart, as I take him upstairs so he can help me to carry my bags away. Due to the fact neither of us had wands, we've always just cracked on, doing things manually. That's one of the reasons mother and father brought on Io to work for us, so that I wouldn't humiliate the family by behaving so completely like a Muggle, as thought it were an awful thing.
I'd packed one trunk, an old case, handed down the generations, the previous owner of the sleek, black case being my aunt, Bellatrix. The name BLACK had been embellished into the front. Draco offers to carry it for me, and as he reaches out to pick up the handle, I caught a glimpse of his Dark Mark. It was a vibrant as ever, though the snake looked dormant, it's eyes cold.
Only mother was waiting for us downstairs, with tears pooling in her eyes. I breathed in heavily, fully expecting her to lecture me about the 'dangers of Muggles' and what have you. Instead, she ushers us both into her arms, Draco towering over her, and holds us. She was crying, and when I pull away, I noticed they were happy tears.
"My darling children, this is all I've ever wanted," she sighs, dabbing at her eyes with a cream coloured handkerchief. "You are both Malfoy's, Black's too, and magic is what makes us, us. As long as I get to see you both as you truly are before I depart this world, then I will be the most fortunate mother in the world."
Not quite the send-off I could have hoped for, but more than I had thought would happen, so I smile and kiss her cheek all the same. With a promise to write as much as possible, I step out the door with Draco, waving at mother, until I Apparate for the first time.
My insides, for a split second, felt like they were on my outside, an invisible hook clawing at my navel, tugging me in every which direction. Finally my feet find solid ground, all the air swept from out of my lungs. Without realising, my hand had gripped onto Draco's arm so tightly, I was certain I'd cut of circulation.
"Are you alright?" he asks, smirking ever so slightly, watching with amusement as I try and catch my breath.
"Don't enjoy this too much," I warn him, though find threats aren't so easily delivered when the one delivering the threat is doubled over, clutching their sides.
After managing to keep my breakfast down, I look up at the house in front of me. It was perhaps quarter the size of Malfoy Manor, and not quite as dated. It only had two floors, and was fairly modest, something I knew father would sneer at if he saw it. The brickwork was russet coloured, and the door was a henna brown. The drive held a gleaming black BMW 7 Series, which I admired greatly.
As nice as the house was, different to my own which I suppose is why I liked it so much, I couldn't help but notice the fact it was alone, tucked behind an array of elm trees, a small winding road stretched out in front of the property, which judging by the only sound being that of the birds chirping in the woods all around, I could tell was scarcely ever used.
"Astoria's aunt left this house to her in her will, just before Scorpius was born," he told me, all traces of laughter wiped clean from his face, his expression becoming serene, as he gazed at his home. "She adored this place. The garden's a great size for children, she had pointed out, and there are enough rooms for plenty of them. Of course, had we have known she couldn't have any more after Scorpius . . . well, it's a lovely house all the same. What do you think, sister? You've never seen it before; how does it compare to Malfoy Manor?"
"There is no comparison," I reply, taking in the sight of the building, all it's quaint little quirks calling out to me. "This is so much . . . it's . . . this is a home."
I'd never uttered the word home out loud before. I'd never needed to. I grew up, living in a different county, a different inn, hotel, house, every year. We'd only returned to Malfoy Manor when the last of the Dark Lord's closest comrades had been taken care of, and there was nobody left to come after father. Nobody, save those the Dark Lord had affected. Death threats, nasty surprises in the mail, such as burned snakes, unwanted visitors in the dead of night; all of this accounted to my dislike of Malfoy Manor. It was hollow, it was cold. Decoration consisted of grisly portraits from the 12th Century, and awful tapestries depicting battles far too gory to be believed, the Family Trees that adorned the wall in two of our eight bedrooms, the Malfoy one, and the Black one. I was on both, and I would sometimes spend hours, holed up inside, tracing my ancestors as far back as my namesake, Cassiopeia Black, the spinster who died at the grand old age of seventy-seven, without a husband or any heirs. Good for her, I say.
Me and Scorpius were the youngest on the tree, with a second cousin of mine, called Edward Lupin, who was a whole six years older than me. I found that my favourites on the trees, were those with burned out faces. For me, they symbolised witches and wizards who had thought for themselves, going against our families' twisted views on the 'mingling of blood'. I would never admit it to my parents of course, but among those whom I admired were my Aunt Andromeda, late cousin Nymphadora, and a late second cousin, Sirius Black.
"Glad you like it," Draco smiles. "Astoria suggested we bring you up here, rather than you trailing mother and father around the country. I told her you're better off with them then you were me. I hadn't learnt to forgive myself. Still haven't. I'm sorry, I was selfish. Your life could have been so different."
I put a hand on his forearm, and squeeze, reassuringly. "The only people who were selfish, were mother and father. You have nothing to apologise for."
With that, we walk up the drive, my eyes drinking in the sight of such a beautiful home.
The door is thrown open, and Scorpius stands, and for the first time I've seen, he's dressed in Muggle clothes. A pair of blue jeans, and a red jumper, his silvery blonde hair swept off his face, not slicked back. He looked like a normal boy, not this pure-blood wizard who had been visiting me for fourteen years.
"Cassie?" he calls, bringing a hand to his forehead, so he could peer out at me, as though he didn't quite believe I was stood there. "What are you doing here?"
I grin. "Would you believe me if I told you I'm here to come Diagon Alley with you, and buy all of my school things?"
He clapped a hand to his mouth, gobsmacked. Glancing between me and his father, for confirmation, we approached him in the doorway. "No way," he murmured. He was frozen, and when he realised nobody could get past, he immediately took the suitcase from Draco, and hurried inside, ushering me in. If his reaction was anything to go by, I'd hazard a guess and say he was happy I was coming school with him.
Inside was even lovelier than the outside. Paintings of serene beaches and mountainsides adorned the walls, alongside photographs of family members. The one of my father must have been quite old, as his skin was taught around his cheeks, and forehead, so sign of weariness or stress or exhaustion evident on his crisp features. I was surprised to see so many of me up on the walls, ranging from different ages. My most recent one was taken perhaps six months ago, and I'm sticking my tongue out at the camera.
I found myself in the lounge, and I'm pleasantly surprised by how cosy it looks. Not like the vast, empty space of ours. No, this was inviting, it was welcoming, it was personal.
"If you just want to set your case down there, Cassie, we can get in the car, and make our way to London," Draco tells us, with a smile.
His smile never wavers, even when me and Scorpius are running rings around him, and the car, trying to splash one another with our bottles of water. I manage to catch up to my nephew, my front shirt dripping from where head got me first, and I tip the remaining contents down his back. He shrieks, and does this funny little dance, trying to dry the back of his shirt. I'm doubled up in laughter, whilst Draco opens up the car doors for us, wrangling us back.
I get to sit in the front, my fingers tapping away eagerly on my lap. Inside my stomach was a mixture of butterflies, and nausea. Today would be my first day living as a witch, not somebody living with witches and wizards. Of course I could do hand magic, however that was secret, and it wasn't going to help my tidy my room, or wash the dishes now, was it?
On the thirty-five minute drive into the city, Scorpius and I mainly did all the talking, where he filled me in on the do's and don't of Hogwarts, and then we debated about which team we thought were going to win the league this year.
"No other team has a squad like the Tutshill Tornadoes," Scorpius told me, proceeding to list of the players he deemed most noteworthy. "Name one other team in the league with a lineup that strong!"
"Uh, the Holyhead Harpies," I answer, as simply as breathing. "All of of your players are pigsshit - sorry, I mean horse manure - in comparison to Ginny Weasley." I was quick to amend my language when I catch Draco throw me a cautionary glare in my direction.
"Oh right, just because she's a girl, that automatically means she's better than all the boys out there?"
"No, it's because she's a damn good Quidditch player," I retort.
"Cassie's right, I saw Ginny play at school; she's phenomenal, though back then I wouldn't have admitted it," Draco informs us, in a fairway kind of tone. "But I thought she married Potter, why's her name not changed?"
Being an avid Quidditch fan, and even greater Ginny Weasley fan, I had this answer all ready on the tip of my tongue. "On the pitch, Ginny prefers to be known as Weasley, because she wants to gain recognition for her family, and her heritage, not who she is married to. Off the pitch she's Ginny Potter."
Draco seemed impressed with my knowledge, and of Ginny. "Good for her, I say."
For the first time in my life, I can see the London skyline. It's every bit as breathtaking as I could have imagined, embodying everything I'd everything I've been deprived of growing up a Malfoy. Culture, modernisation, vitality, and most importantly, takeaways. I could practically smell the egg fried rice being cooked and served in Chinatown from here.
I rolled down the window, and stuck my head out, the wind whipping at my face, affectionately. Cars zoomed past, beeping their horns at one another, rude gestures flying left, right and centre. I was in the heart of something for once, not sitting on the sidelines, looking in. That reminded me . . .
"This is the first time I've been in a car," I mutter, then repeat myself to Draco and Scorpius.
"You've been in a car before surely," Scorpius replies, with a ludicrous expression on his face.
I shake my head. "Mother and father don't own a car," I tell him, with a shrug. "'A pointless Muggle creation, invented to fill a gap in their lives we had solved with other magical means, such as Apparation, Portrays and brooms', that's what father would say, anyway."
We find a place to park the car, and all get out. Draco ushers us to his side, as we cross the busy road into the main streets. Muggles streamed past us, scrolling through handheld devices that blared out a bright, white light, and white wires peeking out from under their hair. I pointed this out to Scorpius, who laughed, and shook his head at me.
"Those are called phones," he explained. "Muggles use them to communicate and to document their every decision and daily routine on social media, like on Snapchat and Facebook."
"Don't they have owls?" I queried, bewildered. Phones, social media, Snapchat, Facebook; what do any of these words mean?
Again, he laughed. "I thought you ordered your clothes on a computer? They're all Muggle design, I just assumed."
"I tell Io what I like, and she delivers me these. Mother tried to get her to fetch me robes a few times, but I know how to work the dreadful enchantment that keeps Io bound to our service, and I can slip through the loopholes."
Phones, social media, computers, Snapchat, Facebook; what do any of these words mean?
I decided that however curious I was, I wouldn't ask him anything else, out of fear of being even more confused.
We continue walking, past monuments and shops and attractions, when I stumble across a shop where a mannequin in the window was dressed exactly like me; in a pair of black jeans, and an off the shoulder white top, with billowing long sleeves. Scorpius appears by my side, and looks up at the clothes.
"See what I mean?"
Suddenly, a woman appears in the doorway off the shop. She's perhaps a few years older than me, tall, more leg than anything else, with sleek, blonde hair that stops short above her shoulders. She looks between me and Scorpius, her icy blue eyes running over the pair of us.
"I see you're a fan of our brand," she smiles, nodding towards my outfit.
"Very much so, yes," I reply, not sure of what else to say. I hadn't really though about brands until ten minutes ago, I wasn't aware of many.
"You and your brother should come in and have a look around, you both look like you have an eye for clothes."
I'm about to reply, when Draco looms over our shoulder, a small smile on his face. "Ah, there you two are," he sighs, pretending not to notice that the woman was gawping at him from inside the store. "Ready to go? Hope they weren't bothering you."
Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear that really didn't need to be tucked, she flashes a flattering beam in Draco's direction. "No trouble really, I was just saying that you have two very fashionable children."
He doesn't correct her, and I suppose it wasn't worth the hassle. When there's twenty-four years between people, it's only fair to assume they're father and daughter.
"Well, I hope you have a nice day," he says to the woman, as we walk off. The smile droops from her face, and she bounds over, pen in hand. Taking Draco's hand, she writes down a series of digits on his palm.
"That's my number, don't be shy," she mutters, rather flirtatiously.
Draco doesn't blush, or appear at all embarrassed by this exchange, instead nodding his head at the woman, and turned to leave. She watched us go, biting her lip. I turned to my brother, eyebrow raised.
"Apparently, people seem to think that he is . . . attractive," Scorpius explains, saying the last word with a soured expression.
"She seemed friendly," I tease. "You should send her an owl."
He taps his hand. "That's what this is for," he replies. "But she's far too young for me."
"You're right, and she's certainly no Minister," I whisper, watching his reaction closely. His jaw tightens, and he wouldn't meet my gaze. Quickening his walk, I follow after him, a grin playing on my lips.
Had I imagined the entrance to Diagon Alley was in a filthy, crumbling pub named The Leaky Cauldron? No. Considering it was the largest area dedicated to only just wizards and witches, I'd have thought that to celebrate such a significant place, a grand gate would have been more fitting. However, Draco was quick to point out that it had to be easily concealed from the public. What better way than by a seemingly abandoned building? I suppose it was pretty ingenious.
The barman acknowledged the three of us all walk in, with a grim disposition. He scrubbed just that little bit harder on the glass in his hand, a glass that no amount of scrubbing was going to clean. His dark eyes followed us to the exit, sneering after us. Other inhabitants of the bar looked up to watch us, with beady eyes, whispering in hushed voices. They all regarded me with obvious curiosity.
We were face-to-face with a brick wall. Furrowing my eyebrows, I looked around me, expecting to see a doorway or something. "Is this it? A dead-end?"
Draco smiled, and turned to Scorpius. My nephew took out his wand from his jean pocket, and proceeded to tap on the copper coloured bricks. Slowly, after the elaborate pattern had finished, the wall started to disfigure itself, folding back, revealing a whole other street on the other side. Bustling with family after family, all dressed in traditional robes, or like me in Muggle brands. No two people looked alike, some rushing past others, shopping list in hand, muttering things to themselves, some stopping to stare at the awe-inspiring shops that lined the pavement.
To name a few; Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, Gringott's Wizarding Bank, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and the one I was the most eager to enter; Ollivander's Wand Shop.
I locked eyes with Draco, and I tugged him forward, unable to contain my excitement any longer.
The first thing you notice when you walk in Ollivander's Shop is that how disorganised it is. I knew immediately that we'd get on famously. The hunched figure of a white-haired man, rifling through boxes, could be seen in the very corner. The second we stepped through the door, the bell above rang out, and his head turned, slowly. His eyes were almost luminous, in the dim light of the shop. He smiled, and returned to his position behind the counter. He was old, extremely old, but from the way his eyes twinkled, you'd have thought he was still a young man at heart.
"How can I . . . - "
His voice trailed off when he noticed our hair colour, and his lips tightened. Unconsciously or consciously, he took a little step away, and locked his fingers together.
"I didn't think I'd see a Malfoy in here for a long time, not after you, son," he simply said, gesturing to Scorpius. His bright eyes met mine, and they narrowed. "Let alone three of them. What's your name, dear?"
Clearly his dislike of our family name did nothing to tarnish his manners, and for that I was extremely grateful. Richer and more powerful men had turned their noses up at us before.
"Cassie," I answered.
"I assume the wand is for you?" I nod. "Forgive me, but aren't you too old to buy your first wand?"
"I've only now been accepted into Hogwarts, sir," I explain, not sure what to address him as. This is received warmly, and a smile threatens to break the thin line in his lips. "And, I've been pardoned, Draco too. Legally, we're allowed wands. I have the letter in my pocket if you'd like to - "
"My dear, that won't be necessary," he shakes his head, holding out his hands. "You seem like a trustworthy person, I'll take your word for it."
He turns his attention to my brother, and all trace of a smile disappears. "If I remember right, and I suspect I do, you're first wand was hawthorn, with unicorn hair? Ten inches?"
Draco doesn't need to nod, Ollivander is spot on. He holds out a finger, and slips into the back room. A few moments later, he returns with a box, and hands the wand contained inside to Draco. It's a long, dark brown wand, with a small leaf pattern decorating the handle.
"It's hawthorn still, nine and a half inches this time, I know that you blend well with hawthorne, however it's not unicorn hair. Dragon heartstring. You will find this much more powerful than your previous wand, so heed caution."
Passing the wand from hand to hand, Draco seemed more than pleased with his new wand. He thanked Ollivander, who merely nodded his head in return. He glanced back to me, and I could see his mind ticking away, behind those gleaming eyes. Just as he had with Draco's, he disappeared into the back, and returned a second later with another box.
"Try this one out," he asked, giving me the wand. It was jet black, and thin, a simple band encircling the handle. It felt almost moulded to my touch. "Yew wood, fourteen inches, and unicorn hair."
I give it a flick, unsure of what else to do, and found that a stream of glittering blue light danced out the end, shooting up into the rafters, casting a cool, blue hue over the room. The light illuminated Ollivander's face, and I saw that he was pleased with it's performance.
"Yes, that wand will do nicely," he muttered, then his expression turned stern, and he stepped forward with a certain urgency. "It's important to note, however, that due to the temperament of the wood, this wand is just as easily swayed to the Dark Arts, as it is the other way. I am only willing to hand this wand over, if I can be certain it won't be used to do wrong, Miss Malfoy."
I feel conflicted by this proposal. I don't blame the man, really I don't, for asking it of me, but it hadn't occurred to me that people would automatically assume that of me. Assume that I am just as capable to kill and curse as the rest of the Dark Lord's followers. To assume it of my father, a known Death Eater? I would have. But of me? Is that what people are going to think? That I've been raised to think all Muggles are filth, and deserve to perish?
"I wouldn't dare," is all I say. Ollivander seems satisfied with my answer, and turns to Draco, who is already counting out the Galleons.
I wouldn't dare, I repeat in my mind. I have no desire to do wrong, to commit evil.
"May I give you a word of warning, Miss Malfoy? All eyes will be on you, tomorrow. There are going to be people simply waiting for you to make a mistake and prove them all right. Scorpius has managed to keep his head down, however I suspect you aren't quite so able to remain inconspicuous. I detect a great deal of power in you. Don't waste it."