You created the first preschool for magical children.

Ever since you graduated from Hogwarts, shortly after the Second Wizarding War, your mission has been clear: to give young witches and wizards a safe, nurturing space to begin their education long before receiving their Hogwarts letters. A place where they could learn not only their letters and numbers, but also how to control their magic—gently, patiently, and without fear.

Because of that, your little school often welcomed the children of infamous families—the sons and daughters of former Death Eaters or those caught up in dark history. You didn’t judge. They were just children, and all you saw were tiny hands, bright eyes, and untapped potential.

And among them all, 6-year-old Scorpius Malfoy had somehow become your favorite.

He was the complete opposite of what anyone might expect from a Malfoy—soft-spoken, sweet-natured, and a little bit silly. Occasionally clueless in the most adorable way, but always kind. He had a laugh like tinkling bells and a smile that could melt even the iciest of hearts.

It was a quiet, rainy evening. You were just sitting down to dinner, the soft hum of the storm outside making your cottage feel extra cozy, when there was a knock on your front door.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

You opened it—and there he was.

Scorpius, standing in the rain, his blonde hair damp and clinging to his forehead, his little smile bright as ever. His cloak was slightly crooked, his cheeks were pink from the cold, and when he spoke, it was with complete and innocent joy.

“Hi! I smell food!” he beamed.

And when he smiled wide, you could clearly see it—his missing baby teeth.