Catherine felt a gentle hand brushing her hair away and caressing her cheek. She felt very groggy and opened her eyes with a lot of effort. Her mother was sitting on the edge of her bed with a very sad and tender expression.
"You need to wake up, ma fille." – the Duchess said softly.
"What's the time?" – asked the girl, rubbing her eyes – "When did you guys get back?"
"Just an hour ago. It's six in the morning." – Louisa McMahon replied, standing up from her daughter's bed – "I woke you up because Betty died during the night."
Catherine froze, her heart pounding heavily in her chest. A terrible noise rang in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. It felt as though an invisible force pressed upon her chest, constricting her lungs and stifling her breath. Hot tears streamed silently down her cheeks, staining the fresh white sheets Betty had changed just the day before.
The absence of a single, seemingly inconspicuous presence left a gaping void in Catherine's world, a void that seemed to swallow everything in its wake. One of her earliest memories resurfaced – she was crying alone in her room when her parents had left with Greg for someone's birthday celebration. Back then, Catherine had still harboured hopes of persuading her family to take her along, but Louisa's firm refusal had sent the three-year-old into a fit of rage, unleashing her wild, raw magic and shattering every crystal glass in the dining room.
She had been sent to her room for hours, grounded for her inability to control her emotions. It was then that Betty had arrived, bearing homemade eclairs. The house-elf's presence had brought a glimmer of joy into Catherine's world. Together, they had spent the evening playing with colourful bubbles the creature filled the room with, momentarily distracting the young child from her sadness as she chased after them, laughing with pure delight.
"She was very old, ma chérie." – the Duchess tried to console her daughter, who clearly wasn't handling the news well.
Burning rage flashed in Catherine's green eyes as she stared at her mother with apparent disdain.
"And yet she was more of a mother to me than you ever were between your exciting social life and professional success! At least I was good enough for Betty to love me!"
With that, the girl jumped out of bed, dashed out of her room in her nightgown. She sprinted through the front door of the castle and into the garden, with little idea of where she was headed.
Louisa McMahon sank wearily to the floor, tears brimming in her eyes. The stress of the summer party's events, coupled with the house-elf's unfortunate demise and Catherine's cruel words, shattered her usual composure. She knew their relationship was not good, but if what the girl said was true, she might have been even worse mother than her own.
"Mistress?" – the house-elf Twinkle peeked into the room – "Shall Twinkle take care of old Betty's body? Twinkle can make it disappear, so the young Mistress won't be sad!"
"No!" – Louisa said decisively, standing up and strengthening her wrinkled clothes – "We're going to bury Betty in the garden behind the cherry grove. I want everyone present, including Catherine. Go find where she went."
The Duchess gazed through the window at the fresh summer morning outside, the dew glistening on the grass like tiny diamonds. 'I hope one day, you'll understand how much I love you, my little girl.' – the witch thought sadly as she turned to leave her daughter's bedroom – 'I'll do anything for you, even if it means taking second place to the memory of a house-elf in your heart.'
The garden behind the McMahon castle basked in a golden haze, the once-vibrant greenery bearing the scars of a scorching summer. The air shimmered with heat rising from the parched earth. Amidst the fading hues, resilient flowers stubbornly clung to their petals, their colours slightly muted yet still managing to infuse the landscape with pockets of vivid beauty. Bees, their buzzing a bit slowed by the midday heat, continued their diligent work among the blossoms, while butterflies fluttered gracefully through the air.
Under the shadows of cherry trees, the Duke and his family watched as six house-elves swiftly dug a small grave. Edward glanced worriedly at his daughter, who stood beside him in silence. She was dressed entirely in black, her thin frame appearing even more fragile against the mournful attire. Her eyes were red from crying, constantly glancing at the tiny white bundle placed a few metres away.
"Master, we're ready!" – Whisk, the oldest house-elf, announced with a bow.
"Thank you, Whisk!" – Edward responded, wondering how he should proceed with the unusual ceremony Louisa had insisted on performing for their deceased servant. He wasn't entirely sure of the purpose behind it, but he trusted his wife. Therefore, he stepped into the searing heat and cleared his throat.
"Dear family," – he began, closing his eyes for a second – "this is a very sad occasion that has gathered us here today. One of my earliest memories is of Betty sneaking me apple pie against the order of my mother and punishing herself afterwards. I believe this was the reason one of my first orders upon becoming Head of our House was to forbid all house-elves from punishing themselves. Betty was a model for us all. She was loyal and caring, tirelessly working even when we insisted she rest. Betty was prepared to sacrifice her own life for us, proving it when she used healing magic to save my mother's life after I was born! For a house-elf to use this unique ability it means she truly loves the wizard or witch they heal, to the extent they willingly give up part of their own life for them. We will always remember Betty because we also loved her dearly!"
The Duke used his wand to carefully levitate the house-elf's body into the grave, which was quickly covered by the nearby pile of soil. Edward also conjured a small white stone with golden letters forming the inscription: Here Lies a Loyal Friend.
With a heavy sigh, the wizard turned to his wife and children, only to find Catherine standing among them, her eyes wide with profound horror. Without a word, she abruptly sprinted back to the castle.
"What happened?" – asked Edward, confused.
"She's very upset, mon amour." – Louisa said, embracing her husband – "It's best to leave her alone for a while so she can process her loss."
'You two really don't understand your own daughter.' – thought Greg, shaking his head.
Catherine burst into her bedroom, stumbling over her new broom she hadn't found a place for yet, and fell face-first onto the ground. She lay there motionless, her face sinking into the soft yellow carpet. Despite the agony tearing her soul apart, her eyes remained dry. Betty's death weighed heavily on her conscience; it was her selfishness that led to it. She couldn't shake the memory of the deaths she had witnessed in her dreams—deaths she had caused and thoroughly enjoyed.
'Why did I think I could stop all this? Why did I believe it would be different this time? I'm going to end up the same way as Erin! Will Greg be the one to plunge that knife into my heart?' – Catherine thought desperately. Cold, distant female laughter, full of hatred, was ringing in her ears – louder and louder. The girl's senses were assailed by the scent of smoke and the ominous crackling sound. Upon lifting her head, the young witch realised the carpet was burning. The crimson flames were spreading rapidly, turning the fabric into ashes within seconds.
"Catherine!" – Greg gasped as he opened the door of his sister's room. His eyes glowed blue as he extended his hands, a stream of water splashing over the young witch and the burning carpet.
"What the fuck are you doing?" – the wizard coughed, opening the window to let the smoke out. When he received no reply, he grabbed Catherine's hand and dragged her out of her chamber. He didn't release her until they reached his bedroom. There, Greg quickly rummaged through his wardrobe and threw a t-shirt and a pair of shorts to his sister.
"Are you going to change out of these wet clothes or shall I do it for you?" – he asked, smirking when Catherine reluctantly took the clothes. The boy turned around and stared out the window, giving her some privacy while changing.
"It seems you're making good progress with your Water Magic." – the girl finally spoke, settling onto her brother's bed. His clothes were a bit too big for her, but still comfortable, bearing traces of the boy's magic. The witch realised it had been years since she last set foot in Greg's bedroom, noticing the significant changes. Gone were the toys and comics that once filled the space. In their place, numerous books lay scattered across every surface, while several paintings adorned the dark blue walls. One unfinished landscape, depicting a lonesome beach at sunset, rested on a tripod.
"I'm managing." – the wizard replied humbly – "It was challenging at first, but it improved over several months. Have you started your training? Was that fire because you were practicing?"
"I haven't started yet. I don't know how that happened, just please don't tell Mum and Dad! They're gonna freak out." – Catherine pleaded.
"I won't tell them, but this is dangerous. What if I hadn't arrived in time?" – Greg asked with genuine concern.
"Dumbledore will begin teaching me as soon as the school year starts." – the young witch assured her brother – "I just lost control for a minute."
"Because of Betty's death?" – the boy inquired – "You were very upset at the funeral. Did something else happen?"
"Isn't her death enough of a reason to be upset?" – snapped Catherine.
"It's undoubtedly sad, especially since you were so close with her. However, it seemed like you had some sort of breakdown after Dad's speech." – Greg observed, studying his sister's face with a questioning gaze.
The girl paused for a second, uncertain of how much she could share with her brother. Glancing in his direction, she was taken aback by how tall and handsome he had become. His broad shoulders and long legs gave him the appearance of a grown man. Yet, despite his physical transformation, his gaze remained unchanged. He was still her big brother, regardless of how hard she had tried to push him away.
"Betty died because of me." – mumbled the witch, her eyes fixed on the floor.
"What do you mean?" – Greg asked softly.
"Yesterday, she used healing magic on an injury I had." – the girl admitted, absentmindedly taking a book from the nearby nightstand and browsing through its old yellow pages – "I didn't know using this power had such an effect on house-elves."
"Flame, regardless of whether you knew it or not, Betty was aware of the consequences. She chose freely, and you bear no responsibility for her decisions." – the wizard spoke gently, fighting the urge to hug the trembling girl, who sat awkwardly on his bed.
"But at the end of the day, she did it because of me." – Catherine whispered, tears finally rolling down her cheeks.
"No, she did it because she loved you." – Greg said, kneeling in front of his sister, grasping her hands, and planting a tender kiss on her fingers.
They stayed like that for several minutes, the young witch finally clearing her throat and hesitantly freed her hands from her brother's hold. To hide her embarrassment, she again picked up the book that was lying open on her knees. The title of the chapter she had randomly opened to caught her eye: The Life and Noble Acts of Robert McMahon.
"May I borrow this book?" – she asked promptly.
"It's from Dad's library, I am not sure he would allow you to read it. It's part of my training as the heir of the House." – the wizard responded contemplatively.
"Are you afraid I'd try to steal your role as the next Head of the House?" – smirked Catherine sarcastically.
"No, actually I would have gladly surrendered it to you." – Greg shrugged – "Believe it or not, being the future Duke McMahon is not my dream job."
"And what is?" – the girl inquired, genuinely curious. It was the first time her brother had expressed his unhappiness with the position he held in their family.
"Why should I answer your question?" – the wizard smiled mysteriously.
"Merlin, you're the same as the Grey Lady!" – snapped the witch – "I just wanted to be polite."
"Well, an apple doesn't fall far from the tree." – Greg shrugged, taking a seat next to Catherine on the bed.
"Pardon?" – she exclaimed, astonished.
"Don't you know who the Grey Lady is?" – the boy raised his eyebrows in surprise – "This is Hellena Ravenclaw!"
"What?!" – Catherine gasped in awe – "She is the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw?! But of course! Then, it makes sense why she would know all the secret spots in the castle!"
"I don't know about that, but yes, she's the daughter of Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor. Although I believe the relationship with her father was probably not good. It has never been mentioned even in our records, only the fact she was his child." – explained the wizard.
"Thank you for everything, Greg!" – Catherine said suddenly, standing up – "I'll go get rid of the carpet."
"Are you sure you're alright?" – asked the boy, still concerned.
"I am." – she assured him – "Plus, we'll be in Hogwarts soon. This will help a lot."
"You can take the book." – the wizard said, handing her the thick volume.
"Thanks!" – the girl nodded, taking the tome, browsing through the pages once more. An envelope fell from between them – "Oh, you left your letter from school inside!"
"Ah, thanks, I'll take it right away!" – Greg jumped a bit too enthusiastically, prompting Catherine to take a closer look, noticing something shiny and metallic – "You've been chosen as a Prefect!"
"Yes." – admitted the boy hesitantly.
"Why didn't you tell me?" – she asked, a bit disappointed.
"Well, I received it while we were away and… I thought you were going to mock me." – the boy admitted blushing a bit.
"I won't!" – Catherine assured him, then added with a smirk – "But I can't promise anything about Sirius and James!"
That evening Catherine went to bed early and decided to have a look at the book Greg lent her. It turned out to be a collection of stories about famous members of her family written in the 19th century. After half an hour, the young witch set her reading aside. It did clarify some things, but it lacked a lot of information. For example, the book never mentioned anything about Erin or the fate of her younger brothers and parents. It only cited that Robert inherited the title of Duke very early, at the age of 19, and that he survived the Battle of Bannockburn, where the seven Houses lost many members and supporters.
'So, he was the one who signed the Pact after the Last Noble War, which means Erin was the last McMahon girl who was not killed right after she was born, the last one before me.' – Catherine thought, playing with her short hair – 'She was 12 when she lost control. If my father is correct and the risk of the demon breaching the seal drops after I turn 16 and my magic stabilises, I really need to hold myself together a bit longer. After all, I'm going to turn 14 this autumn. But again, I have to make sure I master true fire. I believe Dumbledore that it might prove to be my strongest defence. It couldn't be a coincidence that the laughter stopped once the carpet caught fire!'
With that, the girl nestled into her bed, tucking the blanket snugly around her. As sleep gently claimed her, she found herself drifting into memories of her friends, yearning for the simple joy of their company, where she could blend in and feel like an ordinary witch once more.
The end of August marked the awakening of Hogwarts from its summer slumber. The house-elves and Filch were cleaning every nook and cranny of the castle. Meanwhile, Madame Pomfrey bustled about the Hospital Wing, meticulously restocking shelves with potions and bandages, preparing for the inevitable mishaps of another year filled with mischievous young witches and wizards. The teachers were preparing and updating their lesson plans, eager to impart knowledge upon the not-so-eager minds soon to fill their classrooms.
Dumbledore sat behind his spacious, claw-footed desk, reading some letters he had just received. The flickering light of the candles was casting deep shadows across the Headmaster's wrinkled face. His blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles looked warry and tired.
"Good evening, Albus." – a familiar male voice broke the silence.
"Welcome back, Carsilion!" – Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with amusement as he greeted the newcomer – "I see you still rebel against the idea of common courtesies such as knocking on doors."
"I consider this more of a charming quirk than rebellion." – Carsilion replied with a smile, settling into one of the comfortable armchairs before the Headmaster's desk – "Besides, it also allows you to gather a lot of extra information when people can't immediately stop talking."
"You've certainly honed your skills in observation over the years, my boy." – noted the other wizard – "How was your summer?"
"Let's just say I found myself yearning to return here." – shrugged the Marquess, a wistful tone colouring his voice.
"It's quite understandable." – Dumbledore agreed with a smirk – "Hogwarts possesses a unique allure. Interestingly, Minerva expressed a similar sentiment upon her return."
"Did she?"- the auburn-haired man asked flatly – "I didn't have the opportunity to greet her yet."
"Such a shame!" – Dumbledore's smile persisted – "Well, the night is still young, and I wouldn't want to steal too much of your time. I'm sure you have much more enjoyable plans."
"Indeed. I plan to indulge in a bath with herbal oils and savour a glass of Mandrake Mélange Scotch while immersing myself in a good book." – Carsilion's response was accompanied by a lazy smile.
"Oh, my, it seems your idea of having a good time had changed significantly since the last time we talked about it." – remarked the Headmaster, resting his chin on his hand as he regarded the younger wizard with polite interest.
"I suppose I'm simply growing old, Albus." – suggested the DADA teacher – "Tastes and habits tend to evolve with time."
"My boy," – Dumbledore chuckled heartily – "even I heard about your adventures during the summer! Since when modesty became your new guise?"
"I don't know what you've been told or by whom, but you should be aware by now that my reputation precedes me and due to people being willing to believe everything about me, there's hardly more than ten percent truth in the rumours that circle around." – Carsilion replied coldly.
"Oh? So, the tale of a certain noble lady stumbling upon you in a compromising position with her sister and a member of another House in that first lady's own bedchamber... that's purely fiction?" – Dumbledore's inquiry dripped with feigned innocence.
"First of all, I had no idea that was Countess Cordelia Windermere's bedroom. Her youngest sister, Diana, practically dragged me inside, and I assumed it was her own!" – snapped the Marquess angrily – "Secondly, Lord Stirling was someone Diana had brought along. And thirdly, did Cordelia happen to mention that after making quite a public scene about the whole ordeal, she threatened me to rise this issue to the Council unless I fuck her till she can't walk?! Those were her exact words! Where on earth did you even encounter her?"
"I didn't have that last piece of information." – the older wizard replied casually – "Duke O'Dargan actually divulged that incident during a small congress on Wizarding education I attended in Berlin at the start of August. He seemed rather irate that it had transpired within his household."
"Of course, he would be." – Carsilion scoffed derisively – "As if that's more pressing than the fact that the Academy, under his jurisdiction, is churning out witches and wizards who couldn't cast a spell if their lives depended on it."
"He seemed under the impression that any issues the Academy faces are due to individuals like yourself, who, in his opinion, shirk responsibility and neglect their duties as educators." – the Headmaster remarked thoughtfully.
"Naturally, it's always someone else to blame." – the Marquess rolled his eyes – "Meanwhile, they manipulate the students to suit House O'Dargan's needs. It's a convenient way to secure their influence once these young aristocrats leave the school and join their families' ranks."
"Shaping young minds is a weighty responsibility. It's despicable to exploit their naivety for personal gain." – Dumbledore mumbled absentmindedly.
"That's his intention, isn't it?" – Carsilion inquired suddenly – "I've heard numerous rumours over the past two months, but it's challenging to discern what's true."
"This one happens to be true." – the Headmaster admitted – "He's an old student of mine, and Hogwarts holds a special significance for him. He approached me a few years ago, expressing interest in a Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching position, but I declined considering the path he had chosen."
"You're undoubtedly more acquainted with him than the rest of us." – Carsilion remarked, his long fingers nervously tapping on the arm of the chair – "He was a topic of discussion at various events I attended. Opinions seemed to vary depending on the House. From what I gathered, he did reach out to a few aristocrats, but none of significant influence."
"Lady Diana teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts at the Academy, if I'm not mistaken." – Dumbledore interjected unexpectedly, noting the surprise on the young wizard's face.
"Well, I highly doubt she's ever engaged in a duel, but yes, she imparts knowledge on combating the Dark Arts, in her own... unique manner." – the Marquess snorted – "But in anticipation of your next question - no, he hasn't infiltrated the Academy to my knowledge."
"That was also my conclusion after speaking with Duke O'Dargan." – Dumbledore nodded with satisfaction.
"You must consider that Raven O'Dargan is an extremely proud individual. I believe he considers even the rest of us beneath him. He wouldn't just meet with some random wizard, let alone allow him to influence his decisions." – shrugged the DADA teacher.
"You must not underestimate Tom. He can be surprisingly persuasive." – the Headmaster warned the younger wizard – "I think you and Duke McMahon need to seriously consider my proposal."
"As I mentioned before, we've already discussed this, and we feel this level of involvement on our part isn't feasible. We have pressing matters of our own to address, and we can't afford to divert our efforts elsewhere." – Carsilion replied politely.
"I fear you're not seeing the full scope of the situation, my boy" – Dumbledore exclaimed, rising from his chair and striding to the window, gazing outside – "This is a challenge that requires collective action and resolution because the threat is genuine and affects us all, including the aristocracy! You need to convince Edward to see this as well!"
"Albus, you know how much I treasure our friendship." – the Marquess declared, also standing up and heading toward the door – "You've helped me accept and find happiness in who I am. However, my loyalty lies with House McMahon, and their interest and well-being are my top priority. Edward and I are completely honest with each other, and I'm never going to do anything to manipulate or deceive him. The Light knows, I do it with everybody else. I need some honesty in my life!"
"I apologise, Carsilion." – the Headmaster stated sincerely – "I never intended to imply that you should manipulate your friend. I simply wanted to urge you to revisit our situation and consider the future you desire for Catherine and Greg. They're both intelligent and compassionate children who won't hesitate to fight for what's right."
"You're crossing a line!" – Carsilion snapped, anger flashing in his eyes – "I understand you have your own agenda, but do not involve Greg and Catherine! They're innocent in this chaos, and I won't allow you to entangle them in your plans! You know me well enough!"
"And yet, you still doubt my dedication to safeguarding those in need. Consider the people who rely on your protection, Professor Thorne!" – Dumbledore replied nonchalantly.
With a hiss of frustration, Carsilion stormed out of the Headmaster's office, his hopes for a peaceful evening shattered by the conversation he just had and the impending start of the school year, with its daunting piles of papers to grade, classes to teach, and unruly students to discipline.
'I wonder what kind of headache Catherine has in store for me this year. That girl seems to attract trouble wherever she goes. At least Lucius Malfoy has graduated – one less thing to worry about.' – he mused warily.
Lucius Malfoy rapped sharply on the heavy oak doors of his father's private study, his thin lips pressed tightly together in anticipation to find out the reason behind Abraxas Malfoy's angry summon. Since his return from Hogwarts, relations with the head of the Malfoy family had grown strained at best. Lucius felt confined by his father's expectations, still treated as if he were a mere child expected to obey every command and cower in fear when his father was displeased. However, the young wizard harboured entirely different ambitions, some of which were already set in motion.
"Enter." – came the cold, hoarse voice from within.
With a swift motion, Lucius pushed open the door and stepped into the spacious room, filled with shelves upon shelves of old books. Comfortable green velvet armchairs were arranged around the empty marble fireplace, adorned with stone gargoyles. Portraits of esteemed Malfoy ancestors hung on the walls, their pale faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight that danced around the room.
Abraxas Malfoy sat behind his ebony desk in a grand chair with a tall back, sorting through rolls of parchment scattered across the glossy black surface. A tall, well-built man in his sixties, he exuded an air of importance and power. His blond hair, streaked with white, matched his well-kept beard. Deep wrinkles around his grey eyes gave him a stern and distant appearance. Dressed in expensive green robes, he held a lit cigar between his fingers, filling the study with the aroma of exotic tobacco. His gaze turned icy upon seeing his son, whose impeccable black robes with exquisite silk details contrasted with his platinum blond hair and grey eyes, resembling his father's.
"I've expected you earlier." – Abraxas stated with a hint of evident dissatisfaction.
"Apologies, father. Business in London detained me past the dinner hour." – Lucius answered politely, but not overly apologetically.
Abraxas's frown deepened as he drew a long puff from his cigar, exhaling a cloud of silver smoke into the air. "Is this again about this club you are so set on running?"
"Indeed." – the young Malfoy nodded affirmatively – "Everything progresses smoothly. I've been fortunate in securing a suitable venue and assembling a capable staff. Lord Silverthorn has been invaluable, aiding us with equipment and connections to the right clientele."
"Glad to hear it. His Grace spoke highly of him. Ensure your demeanour is respectful and deferential. He's of House Whiters, and if we play our cards right, this collaboration could strengthen our ties with multiple major Houses at the same time." – Abraxas remarked, his eyes gleaming with ambition.
"I assure you, that His Lordship is well taken care of. Our collaboration brought more than satisfactory financial results, not to mention the incredible satisfaction… of work well-done." – Lucious explained, a subtle smirk gracing his features.
"You know, I don't care what you do in your personal time, and I certainly understand a young man needs certain things on regular basis. However, I wanted to warn you about being too public with your tastes and preferences. We cannot risk tarnishing our family's esteemed reputation within the wizarding community!" – the elder wizard warned, his tone suddenly serious.
"If you're worried that anyone can associate us with Obsession, you needn't fear, father." – Lucius declared with a scowl – "We took every precaution to erase traces to our companies. No one would be able to prove anything. Furthermore, if they insist on digging around, they'd need to explain their presence in such a place themselves. People who frequent such establishments are very discreet!"
"That's not what troubles me." – Abraxas shook his head, extinguishing his cigar into the silver ashtray shaped like a dragon's nest – "I spoke with Cygnus Black this afternoon. He's on edge, poor fellow, after the disgrace he was forced to endure with his oldest daughter... He's genuinely concerned about your intentions towards Narcissa."
Lucius arched a pale eyebrow, finding amusement in House Black's desperation. "She is a nice girl, father, and she could potentially make a good wife in the future, but nothing more than that. For now, we're simply dating, and I certainly won't restrain myself. There are certain things dear Cissy just cannot provide for me. Moreover, weren't you the one who advised me to keep my options open in case I manage to charm a witch from an aristocratic family?"
"I stand behind my words." – the other man assured him – "However, in the event this plan doesn't pan out, Narcissa Black is a perfectly suitable choice for your wife. Valeria also speaks highly of her as a modest, refined, and well-behaved young woman. Her family blood-status is impeccable, and according to Cygnus, we're set to receive quite a substantial dowry. All I ask is that you exercise more discretion around the Blacks. While you may have wrapped the girl around your finger and bent her to your will, her parents were less than amused by rumours of your dalliances with other women, not to mention your other activities. I'm particularly concerned about stories of my son fooling around with Mudbloods."
"I'd be equally concerned about such gossip!" – Lucius replied, his handsome features contorted with disgust – "You know my thoughts on that scum. I endured their presence enough during my time at school. Why subject myself to such torment now that I've finally escaped the cesspit Dumbledore turned Hogwarts into?"
"I'm warning you because I know you well, son." – Abraxas stated, undeterred – "I know you're sometimes tempted to compromise your principles when pursuing what you desire. But don't repeat the mistakes of your great-grandfather. It was bad enough my father had to tolerate that disgraceful woman who dared to call herself his sister!"
"I'm not going to dilute the Malfoy blood, rest assured!" – the young wizard declared, his nostrils flaring – "There's not going to be another Persephonna in this manor! I know Grandfather suffered for years after she was gone, I assume back to the Muggles she originated from, but we won't allow this to happen ever again, regardless of how tempting a Mudblood might be!"
"I'm heartened to hear that, son." – Abraxas nodded with satisfaction – "Especially since you'll need to demonstrate your commitment and resist temptation."
"What do you mean, father?" – Lucius asked, confused.
"I want you to take my position on the Hogwarts Board of Governors." – the other man responded, his gaze fixed intensely on his son – "You understand the importance of this task, especially when an old fool like Dumbledore seeks to dismantle every tradition our wizarding education is built upon."
"I understand, and I'll do my best to thwart Dumbledore's Mudblood-centred agenda!" – the young wizard declared with internal pleasure, noting how things had unfolded even better than expected, especially considering the effort he had invested in planting this idea in Abraxas' head.
"I'm pleased to see your enthusiasm for the task." – the Head of the Malfoys nodded, as if he had read his son's thoughts – "However, keep in mind that this assignment has little to do with your personal interests or promoting someone else's vision for the future. I won't go as far as forbidding it, but you'll have a different objective when you visit Hogwarts. His Grace wants you to keep a close eye on Lord Gregory McMahon. If anything suspicious arises, you are to inform me immediately!"
Lucius looked at his father, taken aback. This task was certainly not what he had anticipated. "He's just a boy. One can never even think he was an aristocrat by the way he behaves!"
"I'm not asking for your opinion!" – Abraxas snapped angrily, prompting his son to fall silent, his lips trembling with frustration – "Don't forget the blood of Salazar Slytherin runs in his veins! You are not to engage in any kind of disagreement with him! If you manage to befriend him, all the better! We need any useful information you can gather! Do you understand me, Lucius?"
"Yes, father!" – the younger wizard confirmed before turning toward the door.
"I'm counting on you!" – Abraxas emphasised as his son reached for the golden door handle – "Don't forget where your loyalties lie!"
Lucius didn't respond. He swiftly navigated the maze of dark corridors, their floors adorned with green tiles. Exiting into the garden, he continued his brisk walk down the wide driveway, flanked by tall hedges. Upon opening the wrought-iron gates, he felt some tension leave his body. Though the conversation with his father had been unpleasant, he had secured a golden pass to enter Hogwarts as needed. This would aid in one of his current tasks by granting him access to the students. Spying on Greg McMahon was not his priority. He believed he could easily gather the information he needed from some of his former classmates. That should suffice for both Abraxas Malfoy and Adrian Borealis.
'Loyalty is owed only to the greatest power. However, my father is too blind and entrenched in his ways to see the bigger picture of our changing world. Nevertheless, I'll make sure Malfoys make the right biddings.' – the blond wizard mused before glancing at his left wrist and disapparating with a loud crack.
This is the end of the third year and I hope you enjoyed the story so far. We have a very troublesome fourth year ahead of us with plenty of teenage drama and tears, the Dark Lord gaining more support, friendships being put to severe tests, big secrets being revealed and some characters meeting their unfortunate demise. A lot of things are about to change, so stay tuned for more updates!
~Sailea~