Lucius Malfoy was having a dreadful day. Not that anyone in the boardroom could tell — his face, as always, was the picture of calm and stern. He sat elegantly at the far end of the long polished table within the Ministry's Educational Oversight Committee chamber, his fingers steepled under his chin like a man only half-listening.
But the truth was, Lucius was boiling inside.
Another droning voice echoed off the walls, and Lucius barely registered the words. Numbers, curriculum changes, school supply budgets — pointless all of it when the wizarding world stood unknowingly on the edge of chaos. Just days ago, a secret had slipped through the cracks of carefully managed international silence. Something no Prophet headline had dared print, something even the Dark families were only whispering behind closed doors.
Gellert Grindelwald had escaped.
Lucius tapped a gloved finger on the wood as the thought returned like a chill up his spine. The most dangerous Dark wizard in history — the one even the Dark Lord had once feared, even if he never said it aloud — was gone from Nurmengard. Vanished. Not broken out, not rescued. Gone.
No alarms. No trail. No witnesses. And most damning of all: No explanation.
The prison Grindelwald had built to cage his enemies had become his own tomb. Until it wasn't. Now it stood abandoned like a ghost's memory, wards stripped, guards obliterated, and Grindelwald himself vanished like mist. No one knew until a curious diplomat from the ICW had gone to investigate strange magical surges… and what they found had left even the Department of Mysteries stunned into silence.
Dumbledore had left Hogwarts the moment the report was confirmed.
Lucius had seen the letter in the hands of one of his contacts. The old fool was rattled, even after all these years. Perhaps it was guilt. Perhaps it was fear. Or perhaps, deep down, Albus Dumbledore knew what Lucius was only beginning to suspect.
Grindelwald had waited. He'd escaped now for a reason.
What reason, Lucius couldn't say — but the timing was no accident.
"Lord Malfoy?" came a voice, cutting clean through his swirling thoughts like a blade through silk.
Lucius turned his head slowly, his expression perfectly unreadable, as all eyes turned toward him. A fat wizard with a comb-over — one of the newer board members whose name Lucius hadn't bothered remembering — blinked at him nervously.
"Your opinion on the revised Transfiguration course load for OWLs and NEWTs?" the man repeated.
Lucius offered his trademark polite smile — the one that felt like velvet wrapping around a dagger — and said smoothly, "I have no strong opinions on the matter. However, with examinations approaching, I trust we all agree the curriculum must challenge the students to their full potential. Let us ensure our children have only the most rigorous instruction."
Several members nodded in approval. The meeting continued.
Lucius, however, had already returned to darker thoughts. Grindelwald's escape was not the only problem on his list. Another thorn had embedded itself in his side, an older, more familiar one — Sirius Black.
That filthy blood traitor was back in Britain, slithering about in shadows, and now — worse — actively claiming his family rights.
The House of Black had power, real power, and more importantly… wealth. Vaults stretching back centuries. Ancient magic still clinging to their bloodline like dragon-scale armor. With Sirius alive and legally restored, Draco's claim to the Black inheritance was slipping further from reach — and even Narcissa, with all her elegance and patience, could do nothing about it.
Not unless Sirius was… removed.
And then there was the godson — Harry Potter. A boy who should've been naive, manageable. Instead, he was gaining allies, gaining influence. Even the whispers in Knockturn Alley were changing. Potter was being seen not as a pawn, but as a rising power.
Lucius's eyes narrowed coldly. That would not do.
He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands neatly. He would have to take action himself. Subtlety had its limits. If he wanted Draco to inherit not just Malfoy legacy, but the Black name as well — he'd need to ensure Sirius Black never lived long enough to see another Yule.
Which brought his thoughts to Knockturn Alley.
Not even the Ministry truly controlled that place, no matter how many times they pretended to. There were people there. People who hated the Black family. Who hated Sirius Black. Who would pay for his head. Who would kill for the opportunity to strike at the boy-who-lived.
Lucius smirked faintly.
"Two birds with one stone," he muttered under his breath, the ghost of a smile dancing across his lips. "As the filthy Muggles say."
It was almost poetic.
The meeting was ending now. People stood, stretching, shuffling papers, nodding farewells. Lucius rose with regal grace, adjusted his gloves, and buttoned his velvet robe. He nodded to a few acquaintances as he swept past them, his mind already turning to darker corridors and cloaked meetings.
If Grindelwald's escape was the beginning of something… he would be ready. And if Sirius Black was bold enough to show his face again…
Then Lucius Malfoy would make sure it was the last thing he ever did.
————
Tony was hunched over the lower half of his newest Iron Man armor prototype, eyes narrowed behind his tinted glasses, the rhythmic sound of automated arms working in tandem with him a familiar symphony of focus and distraction.
The Tower felt quiet again, maybe a little too quiet.
Sirius and Remus had decided to stay back in the UK for now — they were overseeing the rebuilding of the ruined Potter cottage. Harry had asked softly before leaving if it could become a place for good memories. That had stuck with Tony. The kid was trying to reclaim something no one should have lost.
Harry had gone back to Hogwarts too — the term wasn't over yet, and while Tony had offered to let him stay longer, he knew the boy needed routine, friends, and magic.
Christmas would be spent here though. In the Tower. With all of them. Tony was already thinking of ideas — gifts, decorations, probably something wild like a magically-enhanced Christmas tree that shot glitter from the top.
But for now, he was alone. Or almost alone.
"Sir," came Jarvis's voice, calm and poised as ever, "Ms. Potts left a message. She wanted you to know… Ms. Rushman has resigned."
Tony paused, lifting the welding glasses to his forehead with a snort. "Of course she did. Natasha Romanoff never quits. She just rotates missions. Let me guess — Fury called her back?"
"There was no direct contact that I am aware of," Jarvis replied, "but the patterns suggest Director Fury is already making adjustments in light of recent… magical developments."
Tony muttered something about 'paranoid patch-wearing bastards' under his breath and rolled his eyes. "He's not gonna get anything out of me. I'm not some SHIELD puppet."
Just then, a golden ring of light formed in the air behind him. Tony jumped slightly, knocking a wrench off the table. The shimmer split the air like glass rippling, and the calm, poised figure of the Ancient One stepped through.
Her serene expression didn't waver, despite the chaotic lab around her.
"You ever hear of knocking?" Tony deadpanned, lowering his goggles and gesturing to the mess. "Because this — all of this — screams 'danger zone' to portal into."
"My apologies," she said with a faint smile. "But I thought it was time for your lesson."
Tony blinked. "Lesson?" He scratched his head. "Wait — lesson lesson?"
She nodded and reached into the folds of her robes, pulling out a set of books bound in leather, glowing faintly with enchanted inscriptions. She set them gently on the nearest clean surface.
"You have a natural attunement," she said, studying him. "It will come more easily to you than most, once you understand the basics. These books will help you begin. Basic channeling. Meditation. Dimensional theory."
Tony whistled, flipping one open. "Looks like a cross between astrophysics and Sanskrit. Fantastic."
"I'd like you to study them, and — if possible — join me in Kamar-Taj for further instruction," she continued.
Tony hesitated. "Look, I'm not dodging the offer — not like I usually would — but I've got a mountain of things I've been ignoring. Pepper's been keeping my company alive while I've been busy chasing down magical conspiracies and surviving wand fights. People are… well, they're people. And I need to show my face again or the board's gonna start whispering takeover."
The Ancient One inclined her head. "That is wise. But do not forget, Mr. Stark — balance is what keeps both the soul and the world from tipping too far in one direction. When you are ready… I'll be waiting."
And with a graceful turn, she stepped back into the portal, which closed behind her in a shimmer of gold.
Tony stared at the now-empty air for a moment. "She's gonna do that every time, huh?"
"Should I add 'install doorbell for sorcerers' to the task list, sir?" Jarvis offered dryly.
"Yeah. Right next to 'don't let Fury in the building.' Speaking of which, make a note — I'm gonna need a few hours a day blocked off for magic training. Call it… metaphysical yoga."
"Noted."
Tony turned back toward his desk to continue his work when Jarvis chimed again.
"One more thing, sir. Mr. Percival Graves is here. He's waiting in the main lounge."
Tony raised a brow. "The man himself? Huh. Thought he'd vanish into the shadows again. Let him know I'll be up in five. And put on something classy — I've got a feeling this is gonna be one of those serious magic-political conversations."
"Already playing smooth jazz, sir."
Tony smirked and shook his head, glancing down at the book on the worktable. Magic lessons, haunted houses, ancient dark and wizards.
Just another Tuesday.