Jupiter | Harry James Potter

prologue

As my feet made contact with the ancient bricks of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, a profound sense of liberation swept over me, like a burden lifting from my shoulders with each step forward. With each passing moment, the confines of my former life seemed to shrink away, replaced by the boundless potential of the world that lay beyond.

No longer would I be ensnared in the suffocating grasp of my mother's expectations, her cold gaze bearing down on me like an invisible weight. Here, amidst the hustle and bustle of the bustling platform, I felt a newfound sense of autonomy, a freedom to chart my own course and forge my own destiny.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I stood on the threshold of possibility, my heart swelling with the promise of adventure and discovery that awaited me in this magical realm. As I gazed out at the sea of faces milling about, each one a testament to the vibrant tapestry of the wizarding world, I knew that I had finally found my place—a place where I could be free to be myself, unburdened by the expectations of others.

"Now, Draco, do try to stay out of trouble." Lucius Malfoy, my uncle, said to his son. "You wouldn't want to end up with the... wrong sort." I ignored his gaze.

"Of course, Father." Draco replied, his voice dripping with a veneer of deference that barely concealed the simmering undercurrent of defiance lurking beneath. As his gaze flickered briefly towards me, I caught a glimpse of the intricate dance of emotions playing out across his features—pride, determination, and perhaps a hint of apprehension lurking just beneath the surface.

There was a fleeting exchange of glances between father and son, a silent communication laden with unspoken expectations and veiled threats. Yet, despite the palpable tension that hung heavy in the air, Draco remained steadfast, his demeanor a mask of carefully cultivated indifference. With his chin held high and his posture rigidly composed, he projected an air of unassailable confidence, as if daring anyone to challenge his authority or question his resolve.

As Narcissa enveloped Draco in her embrace, drawing him close with a tenderness that spoke volumes of the love between them, I couldn't suppress the twinge of envy that seized my heart. It was a pang of longing for the kind of warmth and affection that seemed to flow effortlessly between mother and son, a bond that appeared unshakable even in the face of the darkness that encroached upon their family.

The sight stirred within me a yearning for the kind of connection that transcended the barriers of fear and doubt, a longing for the reassurance of unconditional love that seemed to elude me at every turn. As I watched them, the ache of longing gnawed at my soul, casting a shadow over my heart even as I forced a polite smile upon my lips, concealing the storm of emotions that raged within.

I watched as Draco embraced his mother, his expression softening ever so slightly as he buried his face in her shoulder. For a moment, the facade of arrogance slipped away, revealing the vulnerability that lay beneath.

And in that moment, I saw a glimpse of the boy Draco truly was—a boy caught between duty and desire, between loyalty to his family and the yearning for something more.

Uncertain of my expectations, I stood witnessing the poignant farewells of the closely-knit family. Though I didn't anticipate a farewell from them, I remained rooted to the spot, perhaps longing to experience the warmth of a family bond like theirs, something I had never encountered before.

It was evident that my parents' union lacked love; it was a union meant solely to perpetuate the legacies of the Lestrange and Black families. Even as a child, I understood that my purpose was to carry forward their names. My father disappointed that I wasn't a son, departed before I could even begin to comprehend the concept of a simple goodbye.