The trio sat across from Draco at our library table, all visibly uncomfortable. I couldn’t help finding it mildly humorous—how quickly they’d demonized him as the embodiment of Slytherin cruelty. A few mean comments, some rough company, and in their eyes, he was already a villain.


    Yet, as I know well, evil isn’t born; it’s shaped. Draco’s beliefs in pureblood supremacy stem from his upbringing and the worldview his parents imposed on him. His disdain for Muggles and those of mixed blood was learned, and his cruel tendencies were just as common in any child who struggled with an ill or absent parent.


    As Death, I am privy to many things hidden from others. Narcissa Malfoy has cancer—an illness wizards barely understand and for which even magic offers no cure, only temporary relief. Narcissa, a highly talented witch, has likely found ways to slow the disease, but her knowledge can only take her so far. Draco, though he’d never say it, would be deeply affected by watching his mother suffer. His anger at the world was understandable, though I doubted he saw it that way himself.


    “You know, you can talk to Draco,” I said lightly, casting a glance around the table. “I doubt he’ll bite.”


    Hermione gave me a sharp look, crossing her arms. “Why did you invite him here in the first place?” she demanded.


    Before anyone could respond, Nyx stretched and lazily swatted at Hermione’s hand, mistaking her finger for something edible. Hermione’s frustration softened as she scratched Nyx under the chin, earning a deep, satisfied rumble from the feline. I saw Draco’s mouth open, ready to make a likely rude comment about Hermione’s bloodline, and I released a subtle pulse of my spiritual presence—a reminder of my own origins.


    “That’s enough,” I said, my tone cool. The faint touch of my presence sent a chill down their spines, a primal reminder of fear that’s woven into all of humanity. It was a gift from my sister, a perpetual jab at my existence.


    “But he—” Draco began.


    “I’ve already told you,” I cut in, “I don’t care where anyone here comes from. Each of you is uniquely gifted and carries the potential of a great legacy. Many of you may well be the heirs of the greatest wizards and witches who ever lived.”


    Draco’s lips pursed in defiance. “But how am I supposed to sit here with someone so… impure? Didn’t Salazar Slytherin teach us to keep bloodlines pure?”


    I sighed, meeting his eyes steadily. “Salazar Slytherin was, unfortunately, misguided in that belief, though he was one of the most powerful wizards of his age. And he was influenced by his own ancestor, Herpo the Foul—who instilled that very notion into him.”


    A stunned silence followed. Then Draco asked, “You’re sure?”


    “Do you know of any other famous Parselmouths?” I replied, raising an eyebrow.


    Draco scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Even if that’s true, he’s still the greatest wizard Slytherin House has ever known.”


    “Actually, he isn’t.” I corrected him gently. “Slytherin’s greatest wizard wasn’t Salazar himself but his student, one of the most brilliant minds our world has ever seen. His views couldn’t have been more opposite to his mentor’s.”


    “Who?” Draco asked, tilting his head.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    “Why, Merlin, of course,” I replied. “Merlin surpassed his master in nearly every respect except the Dark Arts. And unlike Slytherin, he believed that all of humankind had the right to magic, regardless of blood.”


    “Merlin was Slytherin’s student?” Ron asked, his eyes wide.


    “Yes,” I said, nodding. “Merlin’s philosophy was an evolution of his master’s, and I believe, Draco, that you have the potential to become Merlin’s true heir—not just in power, but in understanding.”


    Draco’s cheeks flushed, his pride clearly stirred. “But Slytherin’s heirs… I’ve never heard of anyone but his descendants having a legacy.”


    “Nearly all of the great wizards and witches left an inheritance of sorts. They each feared their knowledge would one day be lost to time. Gryffindor, too, left a legacy,” I continued, “and it isn’t the hat or the sword.”


    Hermione leaned forward, curiosity lighting her eyes. “You’re saying we each have the potential to inherit these legacies?”


    I nodded. “Yes. Each of you possesses qualities that align with these ancient legacies as if you were meant to continue what those wizards began.”


    Her eyes narrowed. “And what about you?”


    “There are no legacies for me,” I replied calmly. “I’ll have to carve my path.”


    Draco, who had been silent for a moment, scowled. “But why should she,” he spat, gesturing at Hermione, “have any part in this? She’s… a Muggle-born.”


    Ron bristled. “Hey!”


    I raised a hand to forestall them, my voice was sharp as a knife. “Let me ask you something, Draco. Magical society barely understands cancer. Magic hasn’t yet found a cure, and Muggle technology isn’t there yet either. But what if someone like Hermione—who understands both worlds—found a way to bridge that gap and save your mother?”


    Draco’s jaw tightened, his gaze darkening. He opened his mouth but said nothing.


    “Now imagine,” I pressed, “that she saved your mother’s life, and your father ordered you to repay her by ending hers. What would you do?”


    Draco’s face flushed as he fumbled for words. “I… I don’t…”


    “Your family has gained much from Muggle society, Draco. Most of the Malfoy''s wealth came from the Muggle world long ago. So why do you hate them so much?”


    “How do you know about my mother?” Draco asked, his expression shifting to one of barely concealed anger.


    “I didn’t hear it from anyone,” I replied calmly. “My… unique background allows me certain insights.” I cast a meaningful glance at Hermione, who gave a slight nod, understanding the unspoken truth of my origins.


    Draco’s tension eased, though he seemed lost in thought. At that moment, Nyx pawed at my arm, swatting at me in a bid for attention. I began to stroke her fur, causing Fidell to caw jealously from his perch on a nearby bookshelf.


    I met each of their gazes, speaking with a quiet intensity. “In spite of what any of you may think, we need each other. Dark days are coming, and alone, we’re weaker than we are together.”


    Draco’s eyes widened slightly, the weight of responsibility settling on him. The words stirred something in him, that youthful desire to be important, to make a difference. “I… I understand,” he stammered, his voice laced with both awe and fear.


    Turning to Ron, I softened my tone. “Ron, I’ll need your help with something. I want to begin training in fencing, and you have a sharp mind and an athletic edge. I think you’d be the perfect sparring partner. I’ll compensate you, of course.”


    Ron shook his head, looking slightly taken aback. “You’re a friend; you don’t have to pay me.”


    I held his gaze firmly. “No, I insist.”


    He hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “If you… insist.”


    “On that note,” I added, reaching into my bag, “I have your first payment.” I pulled out the wand I’d purchased from Ollivander—the one with unicorn hair. I handed it to Ron, who looked at it in confusion, turning it over in his hands.


    “A wand?” he whispered, staring at it. As he gripped it, a burst of bright sparks erupted from the tip, illuminating the room in warm, shimmering light.


    “It’s yours,” I said, smiling. “Brand new, directly from Ollivander’s. It’s bonded to you now. You deserve one that’s fully yours.”


    Ron’s eyes filled with a mix of shock and gratitude. “Thank you,” he managed, his voice thick with emotion.


    “Don’t thank me now,” I replied with a smirk. “You’ll be cursing me tomorrow after our first lesson.”


    The group chuckled, and even Draco managed a small smile. For now, there was a tenuous truce at our table, a shared sense of purpose. It was enough for tonight. But as we rose to leave, I felt the weight of what lay ahead—a heavy burden, perhaps too great for any of us alone, yet one we might bear together.