Part 3 - The Summoning
It was New Year's Eve, and Lucius Malfoy was just finishing his bath when the unexpected sound of the doorbell shattered the silence. With an impatient sigh, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out to answer it. His mind immediately associated the interruption with the arrival of the blood jewel Narcissa had promised to send from Canada.
— The least Leopoldo could do is leave the clothes in the wardrobe so I can organize them with a spell — he muttered as he walked down the corridor, water droplets still trickling from his hair.
Upon opening the door, he was surprised to find a woman there. Elegant and impeccable in appearance, she seemed to be around his age and exuded a self-assurance that prompted him to raise an eyebrow ever so slightly.
— Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. I am Lia Beauvoir, your neighbor from two floors down. I saw the delivery man struggling to climb the stairs and offered to receive your package.
Lucius observed the box in her hands, noting the unmistakable handwriting of Narcissa on the letter affixed to the top. His expression hardened.
— This package is extremely valuable — he said, furrowing his brow — The delivery man left it with you without any precautions?"
Lia smiled graciously, though there was a slight touch of unease in her tone.
— I apologize, Mr. Malfoy. I had no idea it was something so important. In fact, I confused the delivery man with a spell… I wanted a chance to speak with you in private.
Lucius felt a chill, more from the cold than from her revelation. Standing in the hallway wearing only a towel, he remained composed.
— As you can see, Mrs. Beauvoir, this isn't the best moment. You interrupted me during my bath, and I have other commitments very soon.
— I won't take much of your time, I promise. It could be beneficial for both of us.
Lucius sighed, pondering for a moment before gesturing for her to enter.
— Very well, come in.
Lia stepped inside the apartment. Once she was settled, she began her presentation with studied calm.
— I am an artist, Mr. Malfoy.
— Isn't everyone in this neighborhood? — he asked dryly.
She maintained her smile.
— But I assure you, I am not just another one. And I know that soon you will be bombarded with proposals on how to manage your gallery, but I believe I am the best option.
— Ah, so that's what this is about? — Lucius tilted his head, beginning to realize that the gallery, apparently a trivial subject, was actually a hot topic in the neighborhood.
Lia went on, her posture reflecting a mixture of vulnerability and pride.
— However, I think I should be honest. I don't actually live two floors below. I live on the outskirts of the Fourth District. I studied art at the Academy in Paris and worked for a decade at the Ministry of Magic as a chief specialist in wizarding art, ensuring that enchanted artworks, once seized, were correctly identified and sent to our museums. After that, I devoted myself to being a mother and the wife of an important man who… recently left me for someone half my age.
Lucius immediately felt uncomfortable, and for reasons he did not fully understand, he felt somewhat responsible for Mrs. Beauvoir's predicament.
— I'm sorry for your situation, truly, but what exactly does that have to do with me?
Lia lifted her chin — a gesture that, for a fleeting instant, brought to Lucius's mind Narcissa's unshakeable dignity. He imagined Narcissa in such a situation, trying to rebuild her life and depending on the goodwill of strangers to prove her worth, and the idea unsettled him.
— If you research the Belgian Wizarding Society, you'll see that the best balls and charity auctions were organized by my family, the Beauvoirs. I have always been at the forefront of new trends and the evolution of contemporary art. That's why, when I heard your gallery would also include a tea house, the first in the Fourth District, I knew that if you give me a chance, I will make your gallery the most remarkable in London.
Lucius, now chilled both by the cold and by the intensity of the determination she displayed even under such adverse circumstances, felt an unexpected respect for that woman.
— Mrs. Beauvoir, your initiative is admirable. However, I already have plans for the gallery. The local Santa Claus, Mike, quite kindly asked me to speak with his wife about that position, and I believe you can imagine I'm not really in a place to stir up any bad feelings with a pillar of the local society.
Lia maintained her stately bearing, but it was impossible not to notice her disappointed expression — she had clearly gambled everything on this one attempt.
— Nevertheless — Lucius continued — I also need someone to manage the Museum of Memories that will be set up in Malfoy Manor. If you accept the position, it is yours.
Surprise softened Lia's features. For a moment, her composure faltered, and she embraced him in relief, letting tears roll down her cheeks.
— I don't know what to say, Mr. Malfoy.
— Just say you will devote yourself to your work. That will be more than enough. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my bath. I'm freezing.
Lia hesitated before responding:
— If you don't mind, I could help organize the mess while you finish your bath.
Lucius glanced around, assessing the state of the sitting room. The offer was tempting, but he hesitated, still suspicious.
— Don't worry, Mr. Malfoy. I've had your package for hours and never once thought of opening it. I simply want to rebuild my life with dignity. Organization, after all, has become my specialty in recent years.
— Very well, then. But do not touch the box you just brought.
When Lucius returned twenty minutes later, dressed and his hair neatly combed, he found the sitting room in pristine order. The aroma of pesto pasta filled the air. Lia waited with a discreet smile.
— I tidied up the sitting room and the kitchen. I didn't go into your bedroom out of respect for your privacy, but I left your clothes on the sofa. If you need anything else…
Lucius shook his head.
— You've done more than enough. As for the museum, please see Leopoldo, he'll verify your qualifications and give you instructions. He's in charge of organizing property details. Also, ask him to arrange decent accommodations for you. A museum director can't live on the outskirts of the Fourth District.
Lia's smile lit up the room.
— Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. You have no idea how much this means to me.
— Your dedication to your work will be thanks enough. Now, good night, Mrs. Beauvoir.
As soon as Lia left the apartment, Lucius tore open the package with impatience. Inside, he found twelve carefully sealed transport boxes, containing the jewels Narcissa had decided to send back. He opened the first two quickly, but in the third, his eyes fell upon the object he had been seeking: the legendary Blood Ruby.
The stone gleamed intensely, as though pulsing with a life of its own, reflecting the pale moonlight that washed over the night. Lucius held it for a moment, feeling the gravity of what he was about to do. Without further hesitation, he stowed the ruby in a compartment of his cloak and apparated with a crack, reappearing before Shell Cottage.
Gazing upon the cottage brought an unexpected unease. There stood the home that once belonged to Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley, a place that exuded simplicity and serenity. Lucius regarded the modest dwelling in the silvery moonlight, and a trace of his old arrogance flared. He looked upon the humble abode with disdain, wondering how a Delacour — a woman of such refinement and elegance — could bring herself to live in such a small house.
But his deeper discomfort was stirred by the thought that followed, inevitable and cutting: perhaps Fleur had been happier in that hovel than Narcissa had ever been in her imposing manor. The reflection struck him like a silent knife, burdening him with a weight for which he was wholly unprepared. He tore his gaze from the cottage and fixed on the purpose that had brought him there.
The wind blew fiercely, carrying the briny scent of the sea and the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the rocks. Lucius knelt before Dobby's grave, the Book of Thaumaturgy open on the earth before him. The page he consulted, entitled "The Elf-Forge" seemed to pulse with a nearly tangible energy. The glow of the Blood Ruby, already placed in the center of the grave, seemed to respond to the arcane words he muttered in a low, almost reverent tone.
He traced in the air the runes described in the book, each movement of his hand leaving a trail of ethereal light. The ruby began to shine intensely, its crimson radiance bathing the garden in an otherworldly glow. The air grew dense, as though reality itself hesitated before the spell taking shape.
Lucius took a deep breath, feeling the tension grow in his chest. He knew that the final step of the ritual demanded something more: the sacrifice of flesh and bone. With resolve, he removed the enchanted dagger he carried, its blade reflecting the glow of both the full moon and the ruby. For an instant, he wavered — not just from fear of pain, but from the enormity of the act he was about to commit.
With a swift, precise motion, he severed his left pinky finger entirely. As agony consumed him, the detached finger fell onto the earth, melting like ice on stone, along with the ring — leaving no trace of the sinister magic being conducted in the Shell Cottage garden.
Lucius pointed his wand at the bloody stump, swiftly conjuring a cauterizing spell. A searing heat coursed through the wound as the flesh fused in a rough seal. He bit his lip to stifle a groan of pain. Pulling the scarf from his neck, he wrapped it firmly around his hand, attempting to contain the bleeding that would resume once the spell's effect subsided.
Still kneeling, breathing heavily, he did not immediately notice the small ripples forming in the earth before him. But when a bright, pulsing light emerged from the soil, it was impossible to ignore. The glow erupted as though the ground itself were coming to life, and sand began to swirl in spirals around the tombstone, accompanied by a rising hum that filled his ears.
Instinctively, Lucius placed both hands in the dirt, trying to dig and help Dobby emerge. Yet as soon as his injured hand touched the ground, a piercing pain coursed through him, as though the contact had broken the spell he had crafted. He recoiled with a groan, clutching his hand as the scarf slowly turned red.
At that moment, the earth before him split wide open, and he realized Dobby needed no help. The small elf burst forth from the soil, panting, his thin hands wiping dirt from his face and eyes. Lucius, gripped by a surge of both fascination and anxiety, remained still, watching the figure before him.
— Dobby? — he said, his voice hoarse, laden with an emotion he could scarcely recognize in himself.
Hearing that long-feared, familiar voice, Dobby stopped cleaning his face. Slowly, he raised his head, as though expecting this vision to be a nightmare on the verge of dissolving. His enormous green eyes met Lucius's, and memories of years of maltreatment and humiliation resurfaced with full force.
— Ahhhhh! — Dobby screamed, the sharp, desperate sound cutting the air like a blade.
Lucius lifted his uninjured hand in a tentative gesture of appeasement, but the elf, seized by the terror this man represented, vanished with a loud crack, apparating away.
When Dobby reappeared, he was no more than thirty meters away, stumbling and visibly disoriented. His wide eyes fixed on Lucius, who was already on his feet, walking slowly toward him.
— Stay away from Dobby! — the elf shouted, retreating clumsily.
— Dobby, I won't harm you! — Lucius said, his voice low, almost pleading, a tone so uncharacteristic that even he barely recognized it in himself.
But the small elf, overwhelmed by panic and confusion, did not wait to hear more. With a hurried crack, he apparated again, vanishing from sight. Lucius spotted him reappearing nearly fifty meters away, where he collapsed to his knees, panting and visibly exhausted. The ritual that had brought him back had drained him, and each new attempt to flee only seemed to weaken him further.
— Stay away! — Dobby screamed once more, Apparating again, this time much nearer to the edge of the cliff. The moonlight shone on his swaying figure, and Lucius watched anxiously as the small elf wavered.
Dobby appeared and disappeared in rapid cracks, driven by sheer desperation, but each fresh attempt left him visibly weaker. His cries echoed along the coast:
— Dobby does not want to see you! Stay away from Dobby!
Lucius watched him for a moment, battling his instinct to act immediately. He knew he should give Dobby time to adjust to this new reality, but the elf's confused behavior alarmed him. The cliff's edge was treacherously close, and if Dobby kept apparating in such a panic, he might end up falling in his disorientation.
With a long sigh, Lucius realized he needed to intervene. He raised his wand, aiming carefully at the small elf.
— Somnus — he murmured, letting the magic flow in a measured current.
A gentle aura of the spell enveloped Dobby, and, exhausted as he was, the elf succumbed to sleep immediately. His body slackened, settling softly onto the damp grass, his breathing now calm and regular.
Lucius lowered his wand and made his way to Dobby, his strides slow yet determined. Upon reaching him, he knelt beside the sleeping elf and observed him for a moment. Dobby's
expression was tranquil now, free from the terror that had seized him only moments before.
Without hesitation, Lucius extended his arms and lifted the small elf, taking him into his embrace. The creature weighed almost nothing, but the gravity of the moment felt immense. A strange mixture of guilt and relief washed over Lucius as he held Dobby. Casting one last glance at Shell Cottage, he gripped his wand tightly and disapparated with a crack, carrying Dobby away from that turbulent scene — toward a safer place.