Potter's Twin Sister || Draco Malfoy

Prologue

Even though I fully grasp the ridiculousness of my pessimistic musings, I still can't shake off the nagging worry about possible unpleasant outcomes for the day.

Honestly, there's no logical basis to jump to bleak conclusions about today.

Observing the upset expression on Harry's face when I initially turned down the Hogwarts invitation, I anticipate his sheer elation when he learns about my decision to attend the Wizarding school. Even if that decision wasn't exactly driven by my preference...

Knowing Harry, he's likely to be more than just thrilled.

I can practically see him turning it into a teasing spectacle, extracting endless amusement from my return to England and the circumstances of it.

I attempted to maintain an air of nonchalance, but my jangling nerves had other plans, my fingers unconsciously toying with my necklace–a telltale habit that surfaces whenever I'm feeling anxious or being less than truthful.

Keen not to miss my brother's entrance, I arrived at Platform Nine and Three Quarters well in advance.

I sat on my trunk, next to my owl Silvermist as I observed the faces that drifted past.

With the Hogwarts train scheduled to depart in a mere fifteen minutes, the anticipation of Harry's impending arrival set my nerves on edge.

Gradually, the area grew bustling with life, attracting the attention of more and more witches and wizards.

No doubt the combination of my new presence at Hogwarts and the familiarity my face held within the magical community contributed to the curious gazes fixed upon me.

While at Beauxbatons in France, an article about me found its way into the Daily Prophet's Blablabla section.

The piece showcased a pseudo-biography, a moving picture, and a dramatically spun narrative of life as the lesser-known twin sister of Harry Potter.

All this courtesy of none other than Rita Skeeter, a witch with an unparalleled flair for the dramatic.

The aftermath of that article plunged my first few months in France into complete chaos.

I'd sought refuge at Beauxbatons with the hope of living a life somewhat removed from the attention.

Unfortunately, fate laughed in my face and things unfolded in a manner far from my intentions.

Of course, the French wizarding society isn't oblivious to the extraordinary tale of my brother, The Boy Who Lived. But discussions about the illustrious Harry Potter, or any peripheral aspects such as myself, are considerably more subdued in comparison to the constant chatter in England.

Thankfully, this time around, Rita Skeeter hasn't deemed me worthy of her salacious writing, sparing me from a potential exposé about the expulsion letter I received from the formidable Madame Maxime, my ex-Headmistress.

Not that it would make much sense for her to focus on that anyway, the daring Azkaban escape of Sirius Black has been hogging the Daily Prophet's headlines for weeks now.

While Black is the talk of the town among British witches and wizards, he doesn't hold the same spotlight across the Channel.

As I stepped onto the Knight Bus upon returning to England, the conductor unleashed a torrent of questions about the notorious fugitive, overwhelming me. He sought my opinions, but I brushed aside most of his inquiries.

That said, my brother and I have garnered fame for more than just Rita Skeeter's prose.

As Harry Potter's lone surviving relative and twin sister, my name alone serves as a key to recognition.