Chapter 207: Malfoy
The funeral concluded, and most of the guests began to depart. Narcissa and Andromeda made their way toward Sirius Black. In the past, their relationships with the two siblings had been strained—bloodline, ideology, family loyalties all stood like walls between them. Narcissa had never spoken a word to either of these "Bloodline Traitors." After Sirius’s release from prison, Andromeda had visited him several times, even inviting him to stay at her home for rest. Narcissa, meanwhile, had only appeared in the courtroom on the day of the trial—after that, there had been no contact.
But now, standing before Regulus’s grave, the old bitterness and resentment could finally be set aside. For the first time, they could speak to each other without hostility.
The Malfoy父子—Lucius and Draco—remained at a distance, waiting quietly. Though seated in the front row, they seemed isolated, surrounded by others who deliberately avoided them. Yet neither of them appeared uncomfortable. They didn’t care for the company of these "common folk," and in fact, they preferred the quiet.
They spoke in low tones.
“Was that gray-eyed boy—Wade Gray?” Lucius Malfoy whispered.
“Yes,” Draco said with contempt. “Just a Mudblood. And yet he’s gotten the attention of Dumbledore, that old madman, and even Mor. There’s a whole group of silly little fools always trailing after him—Harry Potter with his scarred head included.”
“I thought you’d learned something from this,” Lucius cut in coldly. “I told you—make alliances with those who have potential. Not with the sycophants who fawn over you.”
Draco’s eyes dimmed.
Most of the ones who used to follow him like shadows had already left. He’d complained to his father about it, only to be scolded.
In Lucius’s eyes, Crabbe and Goyle were as dim-witted as their fathers—so much so that he questioned whether they even had brains at all. If Draco couldn’t even manage to keep such people around, then the fault was clearly his own.
“But what did I see?” Lucius continued, disappointment in his voice. “A group of the most talented Young Wizards in our year, working together seamlessly, recognizing each other’s strengths. And yet, you were left out.”
“I don’t want to waste my time doing menial tasks!” Draco snapped. “And Wade Gray’s just a Mudblood! You told me our family is Pure-Blood Noble—”
“And I also told you,” Lucius interrupted, “our noble title and estates came from Muggle Emperor William I. Before the Confidentiality Act, our family maintained close ties with the Muggle royal court. Your ancestors even courted Queen Elizabeth I.”
“But you said—”
“Yes, we deny it publicly,” Lucius said. “But we don’t lie to ourselves.”
He leaned forward slightly, voice low.
“Draco, Pureblood wizards are indeed superior. But supporting Pureblood ideals doesn’t mean we must reject the non-magical world entirely. Power and wealth are what endure—what truly sustain the Malfoy name.”
“Voldemort was half-blood. So what? If he succeeds, he’ll elevate those who stand with him into a new center of power.”
Draco fell silent.
He glanced again at Harry Potter, who was now talking with Neville and others.
“He failed,” Draco said quietly. “And so we must accept that outcome—instead of following your foolish aunt into Azkaban for revenge.”
Lucius adjusted his collar, lowering his voice further.
“If the pro-Muggle faction gains power, then we can become pro-Muggle too. Dumbledore won’t be swayed by words, but Harry Potter and Wade Gray are still children. They can be influenced. Building good relationships with them won’t hurt us.”
Draco kept his head down, fingers idly spinning a ring.
His pride would never let him bow to those he disliked. But he had already formed connections that were far more valuable. One day, he’d prove to his father that he, too, had real ability.
A cleaning crab scuttled past them with a click-click-click sound. Lucius paused mid-sentence, waiting until the creature had passed before continuing.
“Keep an eye on changes at school next term. Let me know if anything unusual happens.”
“What could possibly happen at school?” Draco grumbled. “If I had to guess, the biggest news might be a new magical pet… Wade Gray always manages to pull something unexpected out of nowhere.”
“That’s exactly why I want you to spend more time with him,” Lucius said. “You know how much money Aslan Magical Workshop made after partnering with him?”
His words were calm, but a flicker of unease passed through his eyes.
The diary had been smuggled into the school through the Weasley daughter half a year ago. And yet—no sign of it. No movement. No whisper.
Had she lost it? Or had she never even brought it in?
Lucius had been puzzled for a long time, but there was no way to find out. He could only bury the doubt deep within, pretending the Dark Magic artifact entrusted to him was not as powerful—or as dangerous—as it seemed.
Draco didn’t want to revisit the topic. He changed the subject.
“Can I learn Alchemy, Father? Help me find a good teacher.”
“Alchemy isn’t as easy as you think,” Lucius shook his head. “I’ll find someone to teach you the basics. If you grasp them, then I’ll arrange for you to study under a true Alchemist.”
“I’ll learn it!” Draco insisted. “Wade Gray had a job in his first year—”
“I know,” Lucius said, exasperated. “You’ve told me that a dozen times already. If you really want to do something, start working on it now—don’t keep complaining about why a Mudblood is better than you.”
“Oh,” Lucius added, glancing up. “Looks like your mother’s finished.”
Narcissa was approaching. The Malfoy men rose and walked toward her.
The cleaning crab crawled past again, scraping the mud stains from the ground. Some witches admired its shell—its iridescent, ruby-like glow—and one even whispered quietly, asking where they could buy one.
The crab, of course, had no idea what they were saying. It turned, circled the bush, then vanished behind it—snatched up by a hand.
Wade Gray watched the Malfoys leave, fingers lightly brushing the crab’s shell. With a subtle motion, he tilted the creature’s upper half upward—its small, beady eyes now seemed to gaze directly at him.
“Anything worth hearing?” Wade asked.
“Just boring talk,” came the crab’s mechanical voice, clicking softly. “But after you’re done, can I get a new body? I’d like something more stylish. Maybe a leopard?”
“Black leopard?”
“Golden’s cooler.”
“…I may not understand your taste,” Wade said, “but I respect your choice.”
“Thanks.”
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
