What Changes Us

A Name With Weight. (Viktoriya Malfoy)

The first thing people noticed about me was my presence—though no one ever dared mention it out loud.

There was something about the way I moved through rooms, as if I already knew how everything would end. Growing up in a house built on pride and silence, I learned early that some changes happened quietly... and some were impossible to stop.

So here I was, curled up in my room at Malfoy Manor, a book resting in my hands, when my father's voice cut through the quiet.

"Viktoriya, we have guests. Come down here."

Lucius Malfoy never needed to raise his voice to be obeyed.

I sighed and set my book on the nightstand before standing from my bed. The bed itself was vintage—dark wood, beautifully stained, the kind of craftsmanship that didn't exist anymore. My room followed the same theme. Antique furniture, leather chairs, muted elegance everywhere. It felt less like a bedroom and more like a carefully curated museum—frozen in time, much like the rest of the manor.

As I passed my dresser, my fingers brushed over Seraphim's enclosure. My black hognose snake lifted his head slightly at my touch, obedient and calm. He listened to me better than most people ever had—an excellent companion.

And yes, I had more pets. Seraphim wasn't the only one. There was Astra, my tarantula, and a few others I'd introduce later. But that could wait.

For now, I turned toward the door and began my descent downstairs—toward the guests, toward whatever change had decided it was time to arrive.

I reach the bottom of the stairs and look up to see my father, Lucius Malfoy. I make my way over, only to notice he's speaking with someone—an older gentleman, late forties, maybe early fifties.

Of course, he notices me first. His eyes drift down, cold and calculating. In a low, measured voice, he says, "Hello, little girl."

Even for me—Viktoriya Malfoy—whose spine is usually ice, a shiver runs through me. His voice is like a snake coiling, smooth and dangerous, the kind that wraps around your attention and refuses to let go.

Lucius then notices me after the older gentleman greets me. "Ah, Viktoriya. There you are."

My father's voice is smooth, controlled, confident—like always.

"Daddy. Who might this be?" I ask, my tone cold. Father likes that I speak like him, I suppose.

"This is Mr. Thornwick. He is a Ministerial Aide. A very powerful man, dear."

The man extends his hand. "Ivan Thornwick."

I shake it, deliberately firm. "Malfoy. Viktoriya Malfoy."

He studies me carefully. I notice the little things he tries to hide: the way his fingers fidget—smoothing a cuff, tapping a ring, drumming them absentmindedly. The brief flicker of his eyes as he glances away, a glance at something important, before returning his calm mask. His posture is rigid, meant to exude confidence, but tiny twitches betray him. Every movement, every tilt of his head, the way he holds himself—it screams of power. I meet it, studying him just as closely, not missing a thing.

Lucius and Mr. Thornwick continue talking, their voices slightly more tense as I stand there, listening.

My gaze drifts to my brother, Draco, and Narcissa, our mother. They're speaking quietly, their conversation low but clearly important.

Lucius finally sends me off, slipping into his private study with Mr. Thornwick. Not even Mother is allowed in there.

I move like a ghost through the manor, passing portraits that seem to watch my every step and house-elves busy with their daily chores.

Turning into one of our many living rooms, I spot Narcissa and Draco still talking. They stop immediately as I enter.

"Mother. Draco."

"Oh, hello, dear. I thought you were with your father," Narcissa says, her voice soft and motherly, as always.

"He's in his study with Mr. Thornwick," I reply, my voice softening. I've always had a small, unspoken spot in my heart for my family, especially Mother.

She smiles at me and waves me over. "Come, come, dear. Join us."

I move sitting next to Draco. He looks up from where he's seated and nods.

"Kori."

"Draco."

But, of course, we can never be completely serious with one another.

Draco smiles and scoots over. I return a light smile before sitting beside him.

"What are we talking about, hm?"

"Your up-coming fifteenth birthday."
The words hang in the air. I sense the next year will be nothing like the last.