Hogwarts : A mischievous guest from another world.

Magical Birthday

While my mother was busy admiring the picture taken by Beanie, the other house elf, Minnie, brought the powdered milk bottle. One thing I noticed was that despite my mother belonging to a pure-blood family, she never clung to age-old traditions. Both house elves were well cared for, dressed in clean clothes, and treated with respect—unlike how most pure-blood families treated their elves. For example, as far as I remembered from my past life, Dobby, a house elf, was treated inhumanely by the Malfoys, only for him to ultimately betray them and go against their cruelty. When did it happen again?? Well.... never mind, I don't remember.

Our house was a blend of the magical and the modern. It had electricity, a television, and even a car, though I had never seen anyone drive it. The house itself felt like a normal family home, just larger, more beautiful, and undeniably magical. After all, who wouldn't find it enchanting to see moving portraits of ancestors decorating the walls?

Lying on a soft, white fluffy blanket, I sucked on the formula from my bottle. My tiny feet stretched and curled up—a sign of satisfaction. My mother, finding it amusing, gently tickled my little feet, making me giggle softly.

After finishing my bottle, my mother picked me up and patted my back gently.

"Burp..." A small sound escaped my lips, causing my mother to smile warmly.

Once I was cleaned and dressed, she carried me downstairs to the hall. As we entered, I saw a large gathering of people, some sitting, others standing, engaging in small talk, and sipping drinks. For the first time, I witnessed so many magical beings in one place.

Wait! Is that…? Is that…?

Long ears, tall stature, a crown made of tree branches and flowers on their head, a noble, fair, and youthful appearance with a pleasing smile on her face, a gown made from the finest materials, silver hair with streaks of gold in between… An Elf!

How did an elf end up at my birthday celebration?! And not just one—there were six of them!

Finding it almost unbelievable, I rubbed my eyes, but the vision remained unchanged. They were indeed there, standing gracefully amidst the crowd.

A soft kiss on my cheek brought me back to reality. I realized that I had reached the hall, and in an instant, the entire room fell silent. Everyone had stopped whatever they were engaged in, their eyes fixed on me. The sight of my mother trying to suppress a smirk was a rare one—she was clearly enjoying their reactions.

Perhaps I should break the ice.

I raised my tiny hand, waved at them, and said, "Heeee."

The room erupted in joy. People started chattering excitedly, competing to get my attention as if I had looked directly at them. Their exclamations echoed throughout the hall.

"Did you see? He blinked at me!"

"Look, look! I told you his eyes were on me!"

"Oh my God, he's so squishy! Are those cheeks or marshmallows?!"

The enthusiasm was overwhelming. My tiny hand froze mid-air, and I was momentarily stunned.

Did… did I overdo it? That was my first thought.

Is my charm too fatal? That was my second.

Confused, I looked up at my mother, only to find her watching the scene with clear amusement. In my imagination, her nose lengthened, her lips curled into a proud smirk, and mischief danced in her eyes. Well, maybe the nose part was an exaggeration, but her expression undeniably screamed 'proud.'

The whole fiasco lasted for a while, and once my birthday cake was cut, the party truly began. After that, people came to greet me, presented their gifts, invited me to their homes, and even tried their luck at touching my chubby cheeks—only to be met with a sharp glare from my mother. Well… ahem… it was quite terrifying, but my mother was determined to protect me from the hungry hyenas—I mean, people.

The entire evening passed in a similar fashion. Then, suddenly, a house elf appeared and whispered something to my mother. She picked me up and carried me outside.

A car approached—or rather, it could have been a truck, or perhaps the better term would be a caravan. As the door opened, a woman stepped out, holding the hand of a five-year-old girl. My mother shrieked in delight and hugged the woman tightly. While my mother was lost in her excitement, the other lady attempted to pry me from her grasp—but failed.

Holding her hand firmly, my mother said, "Dear sister, shouldn't you greet me first instead of trying to snatch MY son?" My ears might have been ringing, but did my mother just emphasize 'MY'?

"Maybe, after not seeing me for four whole years, my sister has forgotten who her family members are," my mother continued. "You went on a tour with my then two-year-old niece—no letters, no calls, no contact apart from a single postcard on Christmas! Do you even know how worried Mother was? How scared I was when I heard about the turmoil caused by the Dark Lord in Britain? And yet, you were off on a world tour with no one knowing where you were!"

The scolding went on and on. While my mother rambled, I couldn't help but shift my attention to my cousin, Fleur Delacour—a future student of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, participant in the Triwizard Tournament, and future wife of Bill Weasley.

She was still a small child, with baby fat softening her delicate features. Her long, silver hair—like her mother's—signified her Veela heritage. She clung to her mother's hand while curiously scanning the surroundings with her big, round eyes.

Seeing that my mother's lecture wasn't going to end anytime soon, I decided to step in.

"Buaaablaaaaaab…" I babbled, reaching out to hold my mother's face and gently pulling it toward me.

And… it worked.

"Oh… oh… my bunny, do you need something? Did you dirty your diaper? Are you thirsty? Are you feeling cold? Are you hungry?" My mother's concern poured out in rapid succession.

To make her stop, I pointed my tiny finger towards Fleur, who was staring at me with wide eyes.

That finally caught everyone's attention.

......

Fleur's Perspective

Fleur had spent years traveling across Europe and America, experiencing different cultures and landscapes. One day, she overheard a conversation that piqued her interest—her cousin had been born. A baby boy, the son of her Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Louis. She vaguely remembered meeting them when she was much younger, but now, hearing that they had a child, a new member of the family, she was curious.

Turning to her mother, Apolline Delacour, she asked eagerly, "Maman, can we meet them?"

Apolline smiled and took out an elegant invitation card. "We already have an invitation, ma chérie. They have invited us to their son's first birthday. We are going back home."

Fleur felt a rush of excitement. Finally, they were returning home—not just for a visit, but for a joyous occasion. She had enjoyed the adventures, but she longed to leave behind the prying eyes of strangers, the constant noise of bustling cities, and the unfamiliarity of foreign lands. She missed the quiet charm of their town in France, the serenity of their home, and the gentle lull of nature.

Now, as she stepped out of the family caravan, her thoughts returned to the present. The sight that greeted her was amusing—her mother being scolded—no, greeted—by Aunt Evelyn. Fleur had always believed her mother did nonsensical things, like escaping into travel for years, but Aunt Evelyn genuinely cared. That much was clear. Fleur never minded the scoldings her mother received; they were just proof of how much she was missed.

Standing behind her mother, Fleur took a moment to observe her surroundings. The fresh scent of nature filled the air, the trees stood tall and proud, and on the branches, a group of squirrels seemed to have gathered. She blinked in surprise as she noticed birds fluttering down and perching beside the squirrels, their heads tilted as if watching the scene before them.

"Wait... do they have that much intelligence?" she wondered, a slight shiver running down her spine.

Just as unease crept in, a soft babbling voice startled her. Her gaze snapped toward the source, and her breath hitched.

Nestled in Aunt Evelyn's arms was a baby—no, an angel. He pointed his tiny, chubby fingers at her, his expression filled with innocent curiosity. His soft golden hair shimmered under the light, as if kissed by the sun itself, cascading gently over his cherubic face. His large, oceanic blue-green eyes glowed with a purity that seemed untouched by the world's troubles. They sparkled with wonder, untainted joy, and something so ethereal it felt unreal.

Fleur's heart skipped a beat. "How can such a baby exist?" she thought, mesmerized. "It's as if an angel has descended upon the Earth itself."

She rubbed her eyes, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her. But no, the radiant child was still there, gazing at her, his presence almost divine.

"Is this my imagination...?" she whispered to herself, completely entranced.