As the door closed behind the grubby little goblin - which in his view didn't merit the honor of such a visit, even in these times - Lucius heard a huge sigh of relief. Withdrawing his wand as he walked around the Minister's desk, he cancelled the Disillusionment Charm which had kept him hidden throughout the meeting.
The feeling, like warm water flowing over him, as the spell was lifted did much to make him feel refreshed after listening to such a tedious conversation, but it was still nice to take the other chair in front of the Minister's desk. No one with his natural nobility and grace would lower themselves to sit in a seat in which a goblin had sat but at least he wasn't slumped over, like the other man was, with breathing so labored one would think he had actually been running.
When would his fellow purebloods learn to hold themselves with the dignity the purity of their bloodline demanded of them? He expected better from a man who called himself the Minister of Magic, but Cornelius Fudge was barely that. If it weren't for Malfoy money spreading through the Wizengamot two years ago the man wouldn't have been Minister at all.
The portly pureblood was precisely what he needed though: smart enough to be grateful, dumb enough to know he needed help, but not too dumb he became willful; easily led and biddable, but someone who could be trusted to continue slowly plodding along the course he was set on and not to bolt at the first shock that came his way. Yes, as far as underlings went the Minister was a well-trained lapdog, not like the thuggish brutes his father had preferred and started him out with, the very same breed he had been employing to protect his own lackluster son.
"I thought we were going to have a one-goblin riot on our hands when he spotted you," Cornelius said as he ran his fingers through his gray hair.
Lucius gave the man what would pass as a sympathetic and not-at-all-indulgent smile which said he had everything under control. The very idea of goblins being anything like the battle-hardened and blood-thirsty warrior race that wizarding tales liked to paint them as was almost laughable, but a well ingrained prejudice was a wonderful thing. If it weren't for how easily it swayed people against the goblin cause, he might have tried to stamp out such incredible tales and erase the "rebellions" from history entirely.
Goblins are bankers; they always had been bankers and always would be bankers - as long as there were no other wizarding options available. He certainly wasn't going to move all his money to France and run back and forth every time he wanted money and wasn't about to suggest anyone else do so either. The family had left there almost a thousand years ago and never looked back; he certainly wasn't going to now. Besides, it was far too easy for troublesome ideas to spread when people dealt with others so unlike themselves; that was one of the true beauties of Slytherin House: a cultural stasis that never changed.
"You handled that well," he told the labored man indulgently.
In truth, the Minister had bollixed up the beginning by trying to repeat some of his concerns as the man's own, but thankfully Cornelius's natural ineptitude had saved the day by giving the goblin an excuse to explain everything over again at length. For such inhospitable creatures they certainly loved to hear themselves talk - at least when they could lecture. It was like they spent the entirety of their lives studying all the insignificant details of wizarding history in the hope of one day playing a substantial role in it. Now there really was a laughable thought.
"So," the pathetic little man whined helplessly at his desk, "what are we to do?"
Lucius smiled and instantly felt poised and energized; this was the part of his life to which nothing could compare. Artfully shaping people and events with mere words and subtle actions gave him a sense of power and pride he got nowhere else. At least it did usually, how unfortunate it was that he could wield so much power over others but be at a loss to change his own family.
It was now painfully obvious that Draco was ill-equipped to play any role in the family's future other than to breed; his mother had corrupted him too much for anything else. It had been troublesome enough getting Narcissa with child the first time just to prevent her from following her sister Bellatrix into the insanity the woman's absolute devotion to this Dark Lord had driven her to.
Perhaps it had been what he had done then, when the first one had proven unacceptable, that had twisted his wife so - she had been unnaturally attached to the girl. Regardless, he knew he wouldn't be able to do it a third time. She saw absolute perfection in Draco and wouldn't be willing to admit anything about him didn't measure up.
Maybe he should go ahead and pair him up with that impoverished shopkeeper's daughter he liked toying with so much. Issuing a new offer to have her as a regular wife rather than the only thing she was fit to be - a temporary breeding vessel, easily tossed aside should anything better come along - should be enough to get any rational father to agree to his terms, even if neither were to have any say in the family's financial affairs at any time in the future. It wasn't as if Lucius was planning to die any time soon.
His own father had been a brutish criminal the likes of the Crabbes and Goyles, so perhaps a bit of earthy humility and reverence added in would make Draco's son better suited for the role he had wanted his own son to play. The bitter disappointment its father felt at having a wasted life might instill a degree of delicacy and eagerness to learn in his future-grandson.
Draco had been born to exercise a different sort of power than him; that much of what the boy's mother had ingrained in him was true, though not the kind they thought. Lucius wasn't about to lift a finger or speak a word to make the possibility a reality though while the so-called Dark Lord was still lurking about somewhere. He would have to make the offer.
Still, Draco wasn't worth worrying over, either he would reform his behavior or he would not, there were matters of actual importance to deal with.
"Dumbledore," the mumbling Minister moaned, "a wanted criminal."