My name is Adrien King. I was twenty-nine years old.
Yes, that's me. And I'll be honest with you—this is my farewell. My final thought, my closing line.
I'm standing on the rooftop of a skyscraper, a cigarette between my fingers, and the wind plays with the hem of my coat.
I'm thinking. About my life.
About my parents.
How they died—coldly murdered by a rival of the Mafia. It was a war in the underworld, a bloody power struggle that left us with nothing in the end: our businesses, our fortune, even our honor.
And the men who once swore loyalty to us… betrayed us.
Now my parents are dead.
What's left?
I feel the cigarette slowly burning down in my hand. My last thought?
That nothing makes sense anymore.
One step separates me from the abyss.
The wind howls as I fall.
It's a strange feeling—like flying, but without hope.
The impact was brutal. I feel my body shattering.
Then… silence.
⸻
News Headline – February 7, 2027
Adrien King – Dead.
The son of the well-known entrepreneur couple King has died. Police suspect suicide.
His parents were murdered just one day prior.
The family company's stock plummets into the abyss.
—
Darkness. Silence. Then… a pounding, far too fast heartbeat—not mine.
I try to breathe, but my lungs are the size of almonds. A scream bursts from me; thin and shrill, like the squeak of an old door. I feel hands lifting me, wrapping me in blankets.
"He's beautiful, Lucius. Our little Draco…"
Draco?
Wait—Draco Malfoy?
I gather the last fragments of my former consciousness, search for the skyscraper, the fall, Adrien King. None of it fits the warm, powder-scented world I now lie in. But one thing is certain: I'm not dead. At least not anymore.
A gentle touch on my forehead; the scent of lilac. A woman—my mother?—leans over me. Blonde hair falls like silk over her shoulders.
"Welcome, my son," she whispers. "Draco Lucius Malfoy."
The burning in my eyes isn't grief—just the bright light of the chandelier hanging above a luxurious bed. Velvet curtains shimmer in Slytherin green in the background. I sense wealth, power… and coldness.
I want to speak, to explain who I was—Adrien King, twenty-nine, broken and betrayed—but all that escapes is a soft gurgle. My vocal cords are new, raw material.
So I listen.
"He will be the pride of the family," says a deep male voice. That voice wears arrogance like a custom-made coat. "A true Malfoy."
My new father. Lucius.
I feel the blanket shift as he points his wand at me. A golden spark dances through the air and sinks into my tiny chest. A diagnostic charm? No—just pure obsession with a flawless legacy.
Suddenly, I flinch. Something foreign rushes through my veins—magic. It pulses like liquid light, warm and alive. I recognize it… mana, only purer, brighter, as if someone had distilled my old fuel.
New rules, old vow.
I remember my promise: to fight for my choices, to spare the innocent, to show no mercy to evil. Whether in the shadows of the Mafia or among the ambitious pure-blood intrigues of this world—my code remains.
But now I'm a baby, surrounded by people who preach "purity" and weave power through political cunning. One wrong move could set me, my new family—perhaps even this world—ablaze.
But I have time. Eleven years until the Hogwarts letters arrive. Eleven years to get used to this small body, to learn magic before the game begins.
One last sound before sleep takes me:
Metallic jingling—maybe a silver rattle—toys above me.
Then darkness cloaks my eyes again.
Adrien King is dead. Draco Malfoy breathes.
And somewhere deep in my heart, a spark ignites:
This time, I'll write the rules.