Part 5 - The New Year
The night wind was still hissing against the darkened windows when Rita Skeeter slammed the door, leaving Lucius' house. Silence resumed its place in the apartment, interrupted only by the soft breathing of Dobby, who slept on the sofa curled under a blanket. Lucius, exhausted, stood motionless for a moment, staring at the closed door and pondering all the possible outcomes of that unexpected visit.
He finally moved, gathering the scattered photographs on the coffee table and tossing them into a drawer, which closed with a snap. That matter would require caution, but not that night — not when his body begged for rest and his hand throbbed, as did his head, under all the accumulated fatigue.
When he approached the sofa to check on Dobby, he realized the elf was no longer there. In his place, only the crumpled blanket indicated someone had slept there. Lucius frowned and turned around, hearing a faint shuffle of feet in the hallway.
In the corner of the room, leaning against a pile of still half-open books, stood Dobby. His large green eyes ran across the pages of a massive tome of wizard thaumaturgy, whose runic symbols glowed faintly in the flickering candlelight.
— Oh! — exclaimed Dobby, noticing Lucius's presence. He carefully closed the book, holding it against his chest for a moment before looking up. — Was it like this that Master brought Dobby back?
Lucius did not respond immediately; he felt a tightening in his stomach as he recalled the ritual he had just performed. He approached with cautious steps, as though fearing to frighten the little elf, and answered in a hoarse voice:
— Yes, it was, Dobby.
Dobby's expression was a mixture of fascination and fear. He leafed through the book again, resting it on his skinny knees, without taking his eyes off Lucius.
— And you gave... flesh and bone only for the uncertain possibility of bringing Dobby back to life? — he asked, his voice low, almost muffled by the weight of that revelation.
For a moment, Lucius averted his gaze to the polished wooden floor. When he looked back at Dobby, there was something bitter in his expression, yet also a strange serenity.
— It's not as if it was something grand, Dobby — he murmured, his voice deep but without arrogance — Not compared to everything I've done.
Dobby regarded him in silence, his thin fingers gripping the book's cover as if clutching an uncomfortable truth.
— Why did Master do this? — the elf's question came from genuine curiosity, without judgment, yet laden with memories.
Lucius allowed a brief smile — or something close to it — to touch his lips. That answer was not simple, not even for him.
— Maybe to bring a bit of peace to my conscience, I suppose.
A dense silence settled in the room, weighted by all that Lucius had lived through and all that Dobby feared remembering. The elf placed the book on the floor and tilted his head, his large eyes filled with compassion and confusion.
— Did it help, sir?
The question hovered in the air like a cold breeze. Lucius took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of candles and incense he had burned hours before.
— I don't think so — he replied, lifting a tired gaze toward Dobby. — But I'm glad you're here, finally able to truly enjoy the freedom you always wanted.
For a moment, they stared at each other, as if trying to understand one another in a new light — master and servant, redeemed and resurrected, both marked by a past that, though it seemed left behind, still cast shadows on their lives.
— Perhaps you're just in so much pain in that hand that you can't feel anything else — said Dobby, his voice gentle yet resolute. He looked at Lucius with a smile that, for an instant, almost seemed innocent. — Dobby will help.
— That's not necessary, Dobby — Lucius replied, his tone curt and posture stiff, as if the act of refusal was more automatic than sincere.
Dobby shook his head.
— Dobby insists. As thanks for Dobby's life. I did it so many times before, one last time won't make a difference. Dobby will go to the bathroom to fetch things.
Without waiting for a reply, the elf Disapparated. In the bathroom, he opened the cabinet and searched every corner, but found only basic potion bottles — some empty, others dusty. He grimaced upon opening the laundry basket, uncovering a tangled mess of undergarments, socks, and sheets jumbled together almost comically.
— There's nothing here to make a bandage — he muttered, wrinkling his nose as he inspected the state of the clothes. — No potions, no wrappings. Dobby will go out to get some. It's the least Dobby can do, having regained Dobby's life.
Dobby reappeared in the living room, already prepared to leave, but was interrupted by Lucius, who stood by the fireplace holding a blue velvet box in his hands.
— Take this — said Lucius, extending the box to the elf.
Dobby opened it carefully, as if afraid it might be a trick. Inside, he found a complete wizard outfit tailored to Dobby's size: robes, trousers, shoes, and even a green tie, all neatly folded and perfectly fitted.
— This is for Dobby? — he asked, his voice choked with surprise.
— I figured that if the ritual worked, the bond with my family would be renewed. So, I'm giving you these clothes.
The elf froze for a moment before starting to cry. Tears flowed uncontrollably, running down his thin face as he knelt and clung to Lucius's legs, clutching them as though fearing the moment was an illusion.
— Dobby never expected this from you, sir — he mumbled through sobs. — Dobby asked so many times for you to gain a heart, and it seems that finally happened. Dobby is so happy... so happy… Dobby doesn't know how to thank you, sir — said Dobby, wiping away tears with trembling hands.
— You don't need to thank me, Dobby. Never.
Dobby raised his large, attentive eyes, tilting his head.
— Is that an order, sir?
Lucius sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
— No, Dobby. I'm not giving you any more orders.
The elf hesitated, then smiled sweetly.
— Then Dobby would really like to thank you. And Dobby will fetch the potions at Malfoy Manor.
He began to turn away but stopped abruptly, wrinkling his nose dramatically. He looked around the room and then turned back to Lucius.
— Dobby would also like to say that your new employees are very negligent, sir. I see dust everywhere, and your dirty clothes piled up in a basket in the bathroom. Your undergarments mixed with sheets and worn socks, a disaster, sir.
Lucius felt his face flush. Embarrassment was immediate, and he looked away toward the fireplace, as if trying to escape the elf's words.
— That's because I don't have any employees at the moment — he replied, his voice firm but carrying a faint hint of defensiveness. — I'm doing all the housework. And the clothes aren't just scattered; they're in the basket waiting for a laundry spell.
Dobby's eyes widened, visibly shocked.
— You're doing the housework?
For a moment, they stared at each other in silence. Dobby seemed genuinely appalled, while Lucius could not decide whether to feel shame or annoyance. The wizard sighed and turned, walking toward his armchair.
— Yes, Dobby, I do the housework. There's no one else to do it.
The little elf folded his arms, watching him. The indignation on his face was almost comical, but Lucius could not help a faint smile as he sat and picked up a book to flip through.
Lucius was still leaning back in the armchair, trying to process the irony of the moment: he, a Malfoy, receiving lessons from a resurrected house-elf. Despite everything, there was something humorous and comforting about the situation, as though a small piece of order was returning to his chaotic life.
Dobby folded his arms, his large eyes fixed on Lucius determinedly.
— Dobby thinks this is an outrage! A Malfoy doing housework! — he exclaimed, as if it were the most absurd thing he had ever witnessed. — Dobby will help you, if you allow it.
Lucius raised an eyebrow, surprised by the elf's boldness, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
— I can't accept, Dobby. You fought so hard to be free. Are you sure you want to go back to being my servant?
Dobby, however, smiled back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
— Dobby won't be your servant, sir. Dobby wants to earn wages.
For a moment, Lucius stared at him, the smile fading as the elf's statement echoed in his mind. He had never thought of Dobby as someone who would demand a formal arrangement, yet here he was, standing tall and confident, proposing a partnership rather than servitude.
— Very well, Dobby — Lucius finally said, with an almost playful tone. — If that won't be a nightmare for you, you're welcome to stay. We'll figure out a salary.
Dobby puffed out his chest, his posture almost theatrical.
— Dobby expects a competitive wage, sir. Dobby has many qualifications! He's already worked at Hogwarts, and he served one of the most prestigious wizarding families in our world for at least thirty years!
Lucius let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.
— Seems like you plotted behind your master's backs while working for that prestigious family.
Dobby blushed slightly, but a shy smile appeared on his lips.
— But only because, back then, my masters had no heart, sir.
Lucius laughed, a rare sound in recent years but one that rang true. He shook his head, as though acknowledging defeat.
— Fair enough. I'll pay you exactly what I used to pay Leopoldo. How does that sound?
— Dobby's magical abilities are far superior to Leopoldo's to keep your house in order without invading your privacy. I was hoping for at least 50% more, sir.
Lucius laughed again, leaning back in his armchair.
— It seems I've just hired the most demanding elf in all of Great Britain. — Then, smiling, he made a counterproposal. — I'll give you 100% more if you start cleaning my bedroom mess right now.
Dobby beamed, his eyes shining as though he had just been assigned a grand mission. He raised his hand, as if about to seal an agreement, but then hesitated.
Dobby gave a radiant smile, his eyes gleaming as though he'd just been entrusted with something monumental. He looked at the new clothes in the box, then back at Lucius.
— Before I start tidying up, Dobby will get dressed and go to Malfoy Manor to get potions to treat your hand, sir.
Lucius quickly shook his head, as though he might stop the idea before it took root.
— That won't be possible, Dobby. The manor is under renovation. Everything is sealed to protect the furniture and objects. — He paused, his voice losing a bit of its usual firmness. — And, besides, that house is no longer mine.
Dobby blinked, confused, tilting his head as if he didn't quite understand.
— Master Malfoy no longer lives at Malfoy Manor?
— After Azkaban and the whole scandal with Voldemort, I thought I needed a new image. This apartment... — He made a vague gesture around, indicating the modest yet well-decorated space. — It's in the eastern zone of Diagon Alley. It's a neighborhood inhabited by wizard artists. Strangely, they seem much more willing to believe in second chances.
Lucius paused, reflecting on his words before continuing.
— That, of course, improved after I promised to found an art gallery to promote the work of contemporary artists, especially those creatively impacted by the last wars.
Dobby frowned, clearly concerned.
— Poor artists — he said, shaking his head sadly. — Master shouldn't deceive them like that.
Lucius raised an eyebrow, surprised by the remark, but soon a light smile tugged at his lips.
— But I really will open the gallery, Dobby — he said, his tone firm yet calm. — On the first floor of this building. I've already started preparations.
The elf's eyes grew wide in surprise, but before he could speak, Lucius went on.
— Besides, most of the restaurants on this street are also mine. I think that will help promote openings and vernissages.
— Dobby can help make sure that gallery is impeccable, sir. And also clean this apartment... as soon as we fix your hand.
Lucius leaned back in the armchair, exhausted, the throbbing pain in his arm seeming to pulse in unison with the weariness that overcame him.
— We'll buy the necessary potions later, Dobby. For now, I'd like you to prepare my bed so I can rest — he said, closing his eyes for a moment as he watched the house-elf excitedly don the new wizard outfit with almost comical meticulousness.
But Lucius did not get to see Dobby finish dressing. The pain in his hand and his fatigue were enough to pull him into a deep sleep, more akin to a fainting spell.
However, the rest was brief. It was abruptly interrupted by loud knocks at the door. Waking with a jolt, Lucius groaned in pain, clutching his injured hand to his chest.
— Coming! — he shouted, his voice laced with irritation and discomfort.
Dobby appeared in his line of vision, now fully dressed. The little elf looked like the highest echelon of a butler: an impeccable tailcoat, a tie, even a carefully placed pearl at the collar.
— Leave it to me, sir. I'm the butler, so I must answer — said Dobby with an air of exaggerated professionalism.
Lucius shook his head, standing up with difficulty.
— No, Dobby. Until we make an official statement about your return, I'd prefer you stay in the bedroom.
He walked slowly to the door, checking the clock on the way. It read 12:07 AM. The New Year had arrived, and the thought of who might be at the door at this hour filled him with anticipation. Perhaps it was Fleur, or maybe even Draco. That thought made his heart pound.
When he opened the door, his hopes were confirmed. There stood Fleur, more beautiful than he could process in his mind. She wore a dazzling white dress, and a delicate arrangement of crystal flowers adorned her blonde hair. She looked like a bride, the most beautiful bride he had ever seen.
— Happy New Year — he said, smiling.
But Fleur did not share his enthusiasm. Her expression held restrained anger, though she leaned in for a brief, almost formal kiss on his lips before entering.
— Happy New Year, Lucius. I'm extremely angry and disappointed with you.
Lucius's joy instantly dissolved. He followed her with his eyes, confused, trying to understand what had happened.
— You said you'd be fine spending New Year's alone, Lucius — Fleur began, her tone firm and controlled. — I invited you to come with me to my grandmother's house, but you insisted. And for what, Lucius? For this?
Lucius felt his blood run cold, his mind immediately drifting to the photographs that the neighbor had tried to sell to Rita Skeeter. Apparently, the images had also reached Fleur.
— Fleur, I swear I don't even know that woman — he blurted, desperate, before realizing he had just said too much.
Fleur's expression, once indignant, turned frigid, like a blade about to slice.
— Which woman are you talking about, Lucius?
He closed his eyes, cursing himself. Obviously, he had just made matters worse.
— A lady came by here earlier — he began, striving for composure. — She told me a story about losing everything in a divorce, having a bad husband. She asked for a job. I couldn't help but sympathize with her situation and gave her the position.
Fleur continued to stare, impassive, which only heightened Lucius's anxiety.
— I'm still listening, Lucius — she said, folding her arms.
— Later, Rita Skeeter showed up saying a neighbor had photographed the exact moment that woman hugged me. She suggested the woman might be involved with the neighbor to profit from it. Skeeter said she'd investigate.
Fleur took a step forward, looking directly into his eyes, as though examining each word for deception.
— And did she thank you for the job in any other way?
— Fleur, I made you a promise. If you wish, I'll make a perpetual vow. For me, that exclusivity isn't a sacrifice. — He took a deep breath, his tone softening. — I've been missing you a lot. Please, believe me.
Fleur sighed but seemed convinced.
— Lucius, why are you always in trouble?
— Part of my charm? — he ventured with a timid smile.
— This isn't funny, Lucius!
— You're telling me? — He embraced her, pulling her close as he placed a kiss in her hair. — I was really afraid of seeing you this angry. But if it isn't because of the woman I was merely trying to employ, then what else have I done to deserve such fury?
Fleur leaned back slightly without completely breaking the embrace, meeting his gaze with an expression hovering between frustration and a restrained tenderness. She tilted her head a bit before kissing him again, this time more deeply, but when they separated, her eyes showed even more concern.
— You're warm.
Lucius, fully aware of the fever caused by the wound in his hand, tried to hide it so as not to worry her.
— You make me like this.
— You're impossible, Lucius. — She rolled her eyes, though a slight smile escaped, momentarily dispelling the tension in the air.
He smiled back, feeling a small measure of relief that perhaps this situation was not as out of control as it seemed. Yet Fleur sighed deeply before continuing:
— Bill showed up right before midnight at my grandmother's house, saying you broke into his home to destroy everything, shout threats, and, worse, desecrate Dobby's grave.
Lucius froze, his expression of relief turning into one of stunned disbelief.
— Bill Weasley said what?
— Exactly what I just told you. And, Lucius, he's willing to file a complaint. I convinced him to wait until tomorrow for us to talk.
Lucius felt fury burning in his veins, but he forced himself to contain it, transforming it into a cold composure reflected in the rigidity of his features.
— So Bill Weasley thinks he can use this story as an excuse to bother you and, in the process, worsen your grandmother's condition? I bet he showed up right before midnight on purpose, so your family would be forced to invite him to stay. Tell me, Fleur, did he spend the New Year with you? While I was here, alone?
— Lucius, stop with that macho wounded attitude. Tell me, is this true?
He held her gaze, anger simmering beneath his skin, but answered coolly:
— Not in the way he's describing. And how did he find out about it? Was he hiding at home like a frightened hen just to run and complain to you afterward?
Fleur sighed, maintaining composure, though her voice carried a note of irritation.
— He had lent the house to some friends for New Year's. Now imagine how a pair of bankers felt finding Lucius Malfoy, out of his mind, in the middle of their garden. They must have been terrified, Lucius. Once you left, they contacted Bill, who left his family's dinner to sort it out.
Lucius clenched his fists, but his voice emerged with dangerous restraint:
— And he told all this in front of your parents?
Fleur softened her tone, trying to defuse the situation.
— I told them you would never desecrate Dobby's grave. The most likely scenario is that you, in a moment of New Year's reflection, decided Dobby should be buried in the Malfoy mausoleum. Isn't that it?
Fleur stared at him intensely, awaiting an explanation, while Lucius held her gaze. Every fiber of his being wanted to go after Bill Weasley and challenge him to a duel immediately, but he knew Fleur would be deeply upset by that. So, with a self-control that felt close to snapping, he kept quiet, though his hand throbbed, reminding him of the price he had already paid.
— The wizarding community won't accept this, Lucius — Fleur said, her voice firm. — Dobby is a symbol of freedom. People visit his grave all year long. You can't just close that chapter and move him to your property. He died a free elf, and you can't imprison him again.
— Master isn't imprisoning Dobby! — came Dobby's shrill voice from somewhere in the room, and Fleur felt the hairs on her neck stand up, as if the air around them had shifted.
Slowly, she turned her head, looking over Lucius's shoulder. And there, standing in the doorway to the bedroom, was Dobby. Wearing an immaculate tailcoat and glossy, tailor-made shoes, he gazed at her with the same gentle sparkle in his eyes.
Fleur's knees gave way, and Lucius caught her, nearly collapsing himself due to the pain in his hand.
— Lucius, what's going on here? What did you do? — Fleur's voice was a whisper of confusion and emotion.
— Master brought Dobby back to life — answered the elf simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Fleur sank to her knees, now on eye level with Dobby. Tears welled up, and she let her emotions pour out.
— Dobby? Is it really you?
— Yes, Miss, it's really Dobby — he replied, with a slight hint of shyness. — Perhaps the Miss didn't recognize me because of these fancy clothes.
Fleur laughed through her tears and pulled him into a tight embrace.
— Dobby, I'm so happy to see you! I'm furious with Lucius, but now that you're here, let me thank you for everything you did for the wizarding world.
Dobby scratched his head, embarrassed.
— Thank Dobby?
— Harry Potter told everyone what you did, Dobby. There's a big statue of you in Diagon Alley, and all wizard children sing songs in your name.
— In Dobby's name? — The elf looked perplexed, blinking his large, round eyes.
Fleur laughed, still teary-eyed.
— Yes, in Dobby's name.
Then Fleur rose to her feet and turned her attention to Lucius.
— Lucius, please tell me what happened here. I need to know.
Lucius let out a deep sigh and gestured calmly toward the sofa.
— Sit down, Fleur. This story is a long one.
Dobby took a step forward, excited, his eyes shining.
— Master, let Dobby tell the story! After all, it's about Dobby's rebirth!
Lucius raised an eyebrow but eventually nodded with contained indifference.
— Very well, Dobby. Go ahead. — His voice carried a hint of irony, but he folded his arms, ready to hear the elf recount events in his own way.
With enthusiasm, Dobby began:
— When Master was packing things to move here, he found an old book teaching how to bring Dobby back. Then Master went to Dobby's grave and offered Lucius's flesh and blood to bring Dobby back to life.
Fleur's eyes fell on Lucius's hand, wrapped in a bloodstained cloth. She closed her eyes, understanding.
— Lucius, I can't believe you did this! I understand your intentions were good, but you can't solve things the way you used to. Dark magic is never a good solution, and besides, we're a team now. You can't make a decision like this alone... — she began, her tone firm, but was interrupted.
— Fleur, you're seeing it from the wrong angle — Lucius countered, his voice controlled yet brimming with conviction. — This isn't dark magic. There was no sacrificial death, and I made sure with my lawyers. There's no way I can be incriminated for cutting off my own finger.
He took a deep breath before continuing, frustration evident in his tone.
— And I didn't tell you because, by the time I discovered this spell, you were already far away. I couldn't leave Dobby there for another New Year, not when I had the power to bring him back.
Fleur closed her eyes briefly, trying to organize her thoughts, then turned to Dobby with a soft smile.
— I'm very happy to see you alive and well, Dobby. You have no idea how much this means. I'm sure the wizarding world will be thrilled with this news. But, Lucius... — she turned to him again, her gaze serious and resolute. — They might also criticize you for taking Dobby from his eternal rest. Be prepared for that.
Her gaze lingered on Lucius's injured hand, worry coloring her voice.
— And I hope you sought out a mediwizard to care for that hand.
Lucius shrugged again, wearing an almost indifferent expression.
— We were just about to go out and get some healing potions and bandages.
Dobby nodded eagerly, as if to reinforce Lucius's words.
— That's true, Miss. Dobby and Master were leaving when Miss arrived.
Fleur narrowed her eyes, her tone of concern quickly turning to firmness.
— Lucius, bringing a finger back isn't something you fix with a bandage. You need a mediwizard to prescribe the right potions. Or are you planning to rely on your old methods?
Lucius sighed, clearly annoyed by the insistence, but kept his tone in check.
— Of course not, Fleur. But you're missing the point. The magic I used doesn't allow reconstruction. There's no way to make this finger grow back. Just a bandage to relieve pain and prevent infection should do.
Dobby's eyes went wide, horrified at the revelation, nearly unable to contain his response.
— Master will be without a finger forever, just for Dobby?
Lucius shrugged, unconcerned.
— One finger for a life. I think we came out ahead.
Dobby threw himself at Lucius's feet, hugging his legs and weeping.
— Dobby is so grateful! Master truly has a heart now.
Fleur folded her arms, staring at him with resolve.
— I don't believe in blood magic that destroys something beyond repair. It goes against the very essence of blood as a source of life. — Fleur crossed her arms, determination evident in her stance. — So stay exactly where you are, and don't move that hand. I'm going to bring a mediwizard... in fact, I'll bring the greatest expert on blood magic I know: my grandmother. She has a soft spot for people who do foolish things with good intentions.
She turned to Dobby, allowing a warm smile to soften her expression.
— Dobby, make sure he stays put. And once again, I'm very happy to see you.
When she reached the door, Fleur paused, pivoted on her heels, and gave Lucius one last look. Her eyes were serious at first, but then softened, and a slight smile played on her lips.
— I'm very proud of you, Lucius. What you did was reckless, and you definitely should have consulted me first, but even so, I'm deeply proud of your gesture. Very much so.
Lucius met her gaze and answered with a faint smile. When she left, his smile widened, and he leaned his head against the sofa, letting out a more relaxed sigh.
Dobby, who had been watching him closely, broke the silence:
— Is Miss Delacour responsible for all this change in Master?
Lucius straightened up, adjusting his posture, and cast the elf an ironic glance.
— Have you always been this nosy, Dobby?
The little elf tilted his head, as if considering.
— No, sir. In the old days, you used to hit Dobby if he was. — He paused, turning serious. — Are you going to hit Dobby?
Lucius closed his eyes briefly, overcome by the elf's sincerity, and answered with a sigh.
— No, Dobby. I'm not going to hit you.
The elf perked up, his ears twitching with excitement.
— Then it's her, isn't it?
Lucius looked at Dobby, and his previously sardonic expression became more thoughtful.
— Partly, yes. But it was also the ten years in Azkaban, the courses I took there on taking responsibility for my actions. And also Draco, Narcissa... and you.
— Dobby too? — the elf asked, his eyes wide with surprise.
Lucius allowed himself a barely perceptible smile.
— Perhaps you've been one of the most important in that regard, Dobby.
The little elf turned to Lucius, a mischievous grin on his face.
— Dobby was responsible for helping redeem Master and is also a hero to the wizarding world! I think you should consider raising Dobby's salary.
Lucius raised his eyebrows, then let out a slight smile.
— All right, Dobby. I suppose I owe you that.
Dobby tilted his head, pondering, then added:
— And a cane?
— A cane? — Lucius repeated, confused.
— Yes, a stylish walking stick for Dobby to stroll about with. But nothing with a scary creature's head. Dobby would like one with a flower... or maybe a nice mushroom.
Lucius stared at the elf for a moment, then shrugged.
— Fine, Dobby. As soon as the shops open, I'll get that for you — answered Lucius, a hint of impatience buried under his politeness.
Dobby did little hops of joy, his eyes shining with emotion. Before he could say thank you, they heard knocking at the door. With characteristic swiftness, he Disapparated to the entrance and opened the door with enthusiastic flare.
Draco and Pansy stood on the other side, but the sight of the little house-elf whom everyone believed dead left them frozen. Neither noticed Lucius approach until his deep voice greeted them:
— Draco? Pansy? Happy New Year!
The astonishment was clear on Draco's face; he looked from Lucius to Dobby, speechless. At last, he blurted out, stunned:
— Father! What did you do?
Before Lucius could answer, Dobby, full of energy, interjected:
— Master brought Dobby back to life! Happy New Year to the young master and the future Mrs. Malfoy! Dobby wishes the best for the little Malfoy you're bringing into the world!
Pansy, until then paralyzed, narrowed her eyes and turned to Draco, furious:
— Draco, I can't believe you told your father!
— I didn't tell him anything! — Draco protested, under Pansy's accusing glare.
Lucius shared a conspiratorial look with Dobby, letting a slight smile slip.
— Master didn't tell Dobby anything. It was just... a dream Dobby had.
Draco frowned, puzzled and suspicious:
— Can house-elves have premonitory dreams?
Pansy, kneeling by the doorway, gazed at Dobby kindly, as if surrendering to his unique presence.
— Maybe not all of them can, but if any could, it's certainly Dobby. Welcome, little hero.
Dobby bowed his head, embarrassed, mumbling humbly:
— Dobby liked the future Mrs. Malfoy from the first time he saw her.
Pansy stood up, her eyes settling on Lucius. There was a mixture of gratitude and mild reproach in her voice:
— Perhaps Dobby was in a better place before being brought back. But undoubtedly, our world is better with him here. Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.
Lucius inclined his head slightly, almost in acknowledgment of the remark, before Dobby replied matter-of-factly:
— Master will be forever missing a finger so that Dobby could come back.
— Father, is that true? — Draco asked, alarmed.
Lucius remained unruffled, showing no sign of being shaken by their dramatic entrance.
— Well, since you insisted on such a dramatic entrance, I haven't had the chance to greet either of you properly for the New Year. Neither my son nor the mother of my future grandchild.
Draco and Pansy exchanged tense looks, still trying to process the surreal scene before them.
Clearly uncomfortable, Draco summoned the courage to speak, moving closer to his father:
— Father, my mother... does she already know about the baby?
Lucius raised a carefully calculated eyebrow of disdain before responding:
— I have no idea, Draco. But honestly, I think your future wife is right. You need to stop being so afraid of your mother.
Pansy folded her arms, a satisfied smile forming on her face.
— I told you so, didn't I? — she remarked, giving Draco a light tap on the shoulder. He merely sighed, resigned.
Dobby, in his usual simplicity, added:
— Dobby thinks this will be the best New Year ever!
And so, as the door closed, three generations of Malfoys embarked not merely on a new year, but on a new era for their once-proud lineage. Dobby, with his shy yet radiant smile, Pansy, carrying the new life that would unite past and future, and Fleur, who had just departed, symbolized a fresh start — a rebirth for a family long marked by shadow. The snow falling gently outside seemed to bless this new cycle, as though the wizarding world, in its hush, whispered promises of redemption and hope.