I stared into the mirror and saw the same unfamiliar face I'd been seeing for the past four months.
It still felt strange, and why wouldn't it? One night I was just reading a fanfiction where Orochimaru was the main character with a gacha system. I fell asleep.
And then… I woke up as Draco Malfoy. In the bloody Wizarding World.
Every time I look in the mirror, or worse, go to the bathroom, it hits me all over again. This body isn't mine. It never was. And no matter how many weeks pass, you don't just get used to that. Not really.
People talk about getting used to a new life like it's just slipping into a new pair of shoes. But this? This was skin-deep. Soul-deep.
It's a constant reminder of what I was, who I was, and how far away from home I've truly ended up.
Because this world? This world isn't mine.
People like to glamorise it. Say it's all about Voldemort versus Dumbledore, some great heroic saga. But it's not that simple. Magic isn't confined to Britain. Just last week, there was a report about a dark wizard in America. He'd been experimenting on No-Majs, that's what they call Muggles over there. The Ministry confirmed at least 273 human sacrifices in the last year alone. And the worst part? They didn't even disclose what the experiment was about.
That's just one monster in a sea of many.
There are magical diseases exclusive to wizards. Entire species of magical beasts roam free. Cursed objects, soul magic, ancient pacts—things that could kill or enslave you without a second's warning.
Sure, the magic here opens doors to adventure, power, even wonder. But behind every one of those doors is a thousand other ways to die.
"Poof! Young Master Draco, Master asked me to tell you that everyone is ready to leave," a house elf said, popping into view and breaking my spiral of thoughts.
I blinked. Right. I was overthinking again.
"Okay, I'm coming," I muttered, shaking the thoughts from my head.
One last glance in the mirror.
Perfect black suit, tailored to fit this body. I had to admit, I looked good. Handsome, even.
Stepping out of the room, I headed downstairs.
Lucius and Narcissa were already in the hall, dressed impeccably. Regal, poised. Pureblood perfection. In a world like this, image was everything. It wasn't just about who you were but how you presented yourself. Especially among the elite, impressions spoke louder than truth.
Speaking of impressions… my mother, Narcissa, had left quite a new one on me lately.
Two days ago, I was walking past her room and heard something I wasn't supposed to. At first, I thought it was just another chapter of the Lucius-Narcissa falling-out saga, where she stopped loving him and redirected her affection toward the younger Draco… or whatever weird thing people fantasise about in fanfictions.
But no.
It wasn't Lucius. And it wasn't me.
It was some guy named Callum. Never heard of him. But she was definitely cheating, unless I'm missing something incredibly nuanced.
She didn't even try to hide it properly. No soundproofing. Nothing. She must've assumed I'd be in the library like always. And normally, I would've been. But that day, I'd decided to drop by her room. Thought I'd ask her a few questions about advanced magical theory. Figured why waste the chance to learn from someone with real experience?
Instead, I walked into something else entirely.
Since then, we haven't spoken about it. But I can tell from her eyes, she knows I know.
And I have no idea what to do with that knowledge yet.
I mean, if she were some random enemy or a scheming noblewoman, I might've just told Lucius and watched the whole thing explode from a safe distance. Grab some popcorn and let the drama unfold.
But she's not an enemy. She's my mother.
Well, kind of.
Ofcourse I don't really think her as my mother but I don't want to be hasty and destroy this chance.
First I need to find out who this Callum and his background.
Second is to find out if this is even a chance or a bait.
Third to know how much is it worth without risking my life.
So no, I'm not about to complicate things immediately for no reason . Not until I am sure about it.
Besides, poor Lucius. The man spends more time away from home than in it. Always at the Ministry or out networking like he's on some endless mission to keep the Malfoy name spotless. It's like he's afraid to stop moving. Like if he pauses for too long, the cracks in his perfect world will finally catch up to him.
He probably knows something's wrong. Maybe not the details, but he can feel it. You don't run this far from home unless you're scared of what's inside it.
Still, this isn't my mess to clean up. I've got enough on my plate already.
"Remember, don't cause a scene," Lucius said, looking at me with that tight, serious expression he reserved for when he actually meant something.
I nodded wordlessly.
Then, without another word, he took out his wand. A small gesture, a few flicks, and the chair in front of him slid into place on its own. From the pocket of his pristine robes, he pulled out a flowerpot.
A Portkey, huh?
Of course. When travelling between countries, it's not just about magic. It's about politics. These things require permissions from both sides. Authorisation. Paperwork. Layers of magical regulation stacked like cursed cakes.
Not to mention, making a Portkey that covers this kind of distance is incredibly expensive. Even dangerous.
Very few people in Britain can actually pull it off. In fact, officially, there isn't a single person currently.
Dumbledore? Sure, he could probably teleport halfway across the world and back before you could say "lemon drop." But even he isn't omnipotent. His skills in alchemy and spellcraft are good, sure. But that doesn't mean he knows everything.
Still, the world isn't made of just official channels.
If something can be made, then someone, somewhere, is making it. Off the record. Under the table. Far from the Ministry's line of sight.
"Hold it," Lucius said.
We all placed our hands on the pot.
Shhhhhhhh—
That soft, eerie sound filled my ears, like wind rushing through a tunnel I couldn't see. Then the world twisted. Not like a spin. More like getting yanked through the eye of a storm backwards.
My stomach lurched, and for a moment, I felt as if this was the end.
Then, with a sudden thump—
We landed.
*********
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