Chapter Text
The Malfoys were one of the oldest and most influential pure-blood families in the wizarding world. Their wealth, heritage, and connections were known across Europe, and their name carried weight in every major magical institution, from the British Ministry to the French Cour des Sorciers.
What most wizards knew was that the Malfoys were proud. What they didn’t always understand was just how long they’d been around.
The family originated in France, centuries before they ever set foot in Britain. They were known as the Malfoire family, spread all around, landowners, spellwrights, and advisers to royal courts, owning the royal courts. Their influence stretched across magical France long before the Statute of Secrecy was even conceived. It wasn’t until the eleventh century, when anti-magic sentiment began to grow among French nobility, that the Malfoires began looking elsewhere.
Septimus Malfoire, the patriarch at the time, relocated his immediate family to England. He brought with him a considerable fortune, rare magical texts, enchanted heirlooms, and a library of cursed artifacts that would make even the most seasoned curse-breakers nervous.
In England, the family name was adjusted—Malfoire became Malfoy—and their influence was quietly rebuilt, one marriage and one vault deposit at a time. The British branch of the Malfoy family quickly integrated itself into high wizarding society, gaining land in Wiltshire and constructing what would eventually become Malfoy Manor. But soon the Malfoire name gained its power and glory back, making the Malfoys turn back to France and leave their properties for the Malfoires to come.
Over time, the Malfoys aligned themselves with other powerful pure-blood families, forming strong political and blood alliances. One of the most notable of these was with the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The two families shared a mutual respect for tradition and blood purity, and by the time Lucius Malfoy married Narcissa Black, the alliance was practically a formality. Narcissa was a perfect match and every bit as committed to the preservation of their pure-blood ideals as Lucius was.
The Blacks bore the motto 'Toujours Pur', Always Pure.
The Malfoys had lived by the same philosophy long before it was engraved on any crest.
What few people outside the family knew, and what no Ministry record would ever reveal, was that Draco Malfoy was not an only child.
Lucius and Narcissa had three sons.
The eldest was Darien Deus Lucius Malfoy, born two years before Draco. He had been sent to Germany when he was barely a toddler, placed in the care of Lucius' great-aunt Helmine Malfoy-Rosenwald, a stern widow who ruled over Schloss Rosenwald like a general with a wand. Her husband, a powerful German wizard aligned with the now-extinct Rosenwald line, had died during the rise of Grindelwald, leaving her the last keeper of a forgotten bloodline. Darien had been raised in that cold estate, surrounded by ancient books, iron-cast staircases, and magic that hadn’t changed in centuries. He had attended Durmstrang Institute and thrived in its unforgiving environment. He respected structure, feared little, and admired power in its purest, oldest forms. Grindlewald's legacy wasn’t taught at Durmstrang as a shameful mistake. It was studied as history.
The second son, Silvanius Hael Lucius Malfoy, was born a year before Draco and raised in France, in the ancestral Malfoy estates known as Château Valambre. He lived among his cousins and the old French branch of the family, under the careful watch of Lucius’ brother, Alaric Malfoy, and their mother, Victoire. Silvanius had been homeschooled alongside four other children of the family, all of them groomed for influence and diplomacy. He had grown up with weekly etiquette lessons, dueling instruction, and long meals in grand halls, where conversation was as much about tone as it was about content. He knew how to read a room by the way wine was poured. He rarely raised his voice but always made himself heard.
Both sons had been raised away from the spotlight of British wizarding society, protected from politics and from each other.
The world knew only Draco.
And that, for sixteen years, had suited the Malfoys just fine.
…
Schloss Rosenwald, Southern Germany.
The owl arrived just after dawn. It circled the spires of Schloss Rosenwald twice before dropping the letter onto the balcony outside Darien’s room. The glass doors were already open. He was awake; he always was at that hour, reading by the fire, dressed in a grey wool robe with a Durmstrang crest faintly embroidered in the lining.
The letter bore the Malfoy family seal, silver wax pressed clean.
Darien stood and crossed the room, pale light from the snowy sky reflecting off the dark wood floors. He picked up the letter and cracked the seal.
He read it once.
Then again.
The time has come. We await you at Wilthshire, Malfoy Manor.
–Your father
Darien folded the letter in half, placed it on the desk, and started pulling his trunk from under the bed. His hands trembled a bit. He didn’t speak as he packed. There was no one to speak to. Helmine had died the year before, and though the estate remained under his management, he knew this day would come. He had never visited Britain and yet, somehow, it still felt like returning.
He looked around the stone chamber one last time before closing the trunk.
Grindelwald’s still life portrait still hung above the fireplace, "Blessings?" He murmured to himself, he was going insane.
Château Valambre, Southern France.
Silvanius was in the dining hall when the owl arrived—halfway through a conversation with his cousin Mathilda about magical restoration charms. It wasn’t particularly interesting, but Mathilda liked to talk, and Silvanius had grown skilled at appearing interested while thinking of other things.
The owl swooped through the tall stained-glass window like it had done it a hundred times. It landed neatly on the back of Silvanius’ chair and extended its leg. The seal caught the light.
He paused mid-sentence, and so did everyone else at the table.
Silvanius untied the letter calmly, but his eyes were already scanning the wax: silver, with the Malfoy crest. He broke it.
Return to Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire. The time has come. We await you and your brother.
–Your Father
He folded it with quiet precision and placed it on the cloth napkin beside his untouched tea. No emotion crossed his face.
“Is something wrong?” Mathilda asked.
“No,” Silvanius replied, a soft smile spreading on his lips before he could stop it. “But everything's about to be right.”
He stood and excused himself with the same ease he always had, even as four sets of eyes followed him out of the hall.
Back in his suite, he lay out his travel robes, inspected his wand, and began packing. A heavy, green trunk with the Malfoire crest still sat in the back of his closet. It hadn’t moved in years. Everything else could stay. The château was his home, it was. But how could one be complete when the people you shared blood with, lived under different roofs? He had always known that.
His eyes lingered on the letter one more time before tucking it into his coat pocket closest to his heart. He didn't know what had changed. He only knew that it had.
For the first time in years, all three sons would be under the same roof.
And this time, it would be at home.