Wroop.. whirm.. Whirl..
The air seemed to freeze for a moment, and then, without warning, Sagres's figure ripped through the Malfoy Manor's meticulously arranged Anti-Apparition wards.
He descended like a ghost onto the perfectly manicured garden lawn. The ancient manor now appeared somewhat desolate, as if foreshadowing its master's misfortune.
He had been here two years ago, though that visit had been brief—Lucius hadn't even let him past the door. So this time, Sagres naturally had no intention of knocking.
The House-elf Dobby shrieked in terror, his round eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. For a wizard to Apparate directly into the manor, bypassing its defenses, meant he wielded power far beyond anything a House-elf could withstand.
"You." Sagres glanced at the trembling creature and asked flatly,
"Is your name Dobby?"
His tone was even, his gaze not lingering a second longer than necessary. "Where is Lucius?"
Dobby shook, his words tumbling over each other in fright. "Oh, oh my! R–r–respected Mr. Greengrass! M–ma–master, he…"
"You know me?" Sagres caught the House-elf's unusual reaction and asked casually.
"Of–of course, respected Mr. Greengrass!"
Dobby bowed deeply, his voice quaking with nerves. "All House-elves know of your deeds, sir. Are you seeking Master? Dobby… Dobby will go inform him at once!"
"No need."
Sagres cast a silent, wandless Immobilization Charm that struck Dobby squarely, freezing him instantly like a statue.
He walked straight toward the manor's porch, his boots thudding a heavy, monotonous rhythm across the gravel path.
Narcissa Malfoy stepped out onto the porch, her face drawn with worry—perhaps to get some air, or perhaps to investigate Dobby's scream.
But the moment she clearly saw the figure advancing against the light, radiating an icy aura, her expression shifted from worry to sheer terror. Her blood seemed to turn to ice.
"Sagre—I mean.. Professor G–Greengrass…" Narcissa's voice was as faint as a mosquito's hum, her body instinctively retreating half a step. "How… how did you…"
"Mrs. Malfoy." Sagres inclined his head slightly—polite, yet devoid of warmth. "I'm here for your husband. Where is he?"
Narcissa's face drained of color, her lips trembling. "Sir… please… Lucius, he… he only did something foolish! He never expected this to happen! He truly didn't! Even Draco… our poor Draco…"
At the mention of her petrified son, tears welled in her eyes, and her voice broke into desperate pleading. "He only wanted to get back at Arthur Weasley, to cause him some trouble… He never meant to release the monster from the Chamber of Secrets! This… this was a terrible accident! Please…"
Sagres lifted his hand, a simple motion enough to cut her off.
"Accident?"
His gaze bored into her pale face, his voice steady and unyielding. "Dozens of students petrified, including your own son… Mrs. Malfoy, do you think the word 'accident' can bear such consequences?"
He stepped closer, an invisible pressure pressing down on her, suffocating. "Where is he? He will likely need to explain this himself."
"No! You cannot deal with him privately!" Narcissa summoned the last of her courage, trying to use the law as a shield. "Even if he is guilty, he should be tried by the Ministry of Magic…"
At that moment, Lucius Malfoy emerged from the shadows of the porch.
He looked haggard, his once immaculate silk robes slightly disheveled, his grey-blue eyes bloodshot—clearly tormented by his son's condition.
Head bowed, his steps were heavy, until he drew close enough to sense the tension in the air.
Lucius suddenly looked up, and the instant his gaze met Sagres's, the fatigue and worry on his face were replaced with stark terror. His complexion turned even paler than Narcissa's.
"Greengrass…"
Lucius's voice was dry and hoarse. Almost instinctively, he tried to hide the snake-headed cane in his hand behind his back—a gesture that looked utterly laughable before Sagres.
Drawing a deep breath, he forced himself to straighten, but the fear in his eyes was impossible to disguise.
"Sir… I… I know why you're here."
All unnecessary pleasantries and pure-blood arrogance vanished. Faced with absolute power—and the weight of his opponent's infamous "achievements"—Lucius made the only choice left: to admit defeat outright.
Sagres met his eyes and said evenly, "That's even better; it saves me the trouble of asking—"
"I admit it!"
Lucius blurted out in haste, almost cutting him off, afraid that even a moment's delay would cost him the chance to explain.
"I… I put that diary into Ginny Weasley's book. But I swear, Mr. Greengrass, I swear to my family name!"
His voice rose with agitation.
"I didn't know what it was. The Dark Lord… when he gave it to me to keep, he only said it was… an important item. I thought it was some sort of surveillance device or… I only wanted to use it to frame Arthur Weasley, to cause him trouble, to make him lose face and his job. I never thought it would… that it would awaken the monster in the Chamber of Secrets…"
"All of this was just a misunderstanding…" Lucius forced himself to speak steadily. "I only meant to teach him a small lesson, to trip him up, nothing more. I never imagined such serious consequences…"
His eyes shifted to Narcissa, who was weeping beside him, and his voice broke with pain. "And I never thought it would harm my own son, Draco…"
Sagres said nothing, his deep gaze fixed once again on the man before him.
Subtly, he cast Legilimency several times. Threads of magic wove quickly through Lucius's chaotic, fearful, pained, and regretful thoughts.
Within seconds, the truth became clear: Lucius had lied about the diary's true nature. He might not have known it was a Horcrux, but he certainly knew it was a dangerous Dark artifact.
Still, his core claims—that he had only wanted to frame Weasley for having a dark artifact, and had not anticipated the Basilisk's rampage or Draco's suffering—were, for the most part, genuine.
At that time, the enormous "accident" and the fear it caused had not completely shattered Lucius Malfoy's blustering courage.
He was a shrewd man; though filled with regret, he had still chosen to rally the school board against Dumbledore after the incident—because if he hadn't, suspicion would inevitably have fallen on him.
Sagres regarded Lucius calmly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Do you realize how many people would have died that day if Percy Weasley hadn't used his Prefect authority to warn everyone on the stairs to put on their glasses in advance?"
Lucius said nothing, but his face blanched further at the words.
Abruptly, he bowed his head, lowering himself more than ever before. "Sir, I am willing to take full responsibility and pay any price. I only beg you… show mercy!"
He did not dare say "forgive"—he could only plead for "mercy."
He knew all too well that the man before him had the power to bypass the Ministry of Magic, even disregard it entirely, and deliver "ultimate judgment" upon him directly.
Rita Skeeter: Dead.
Walton Macnair: Dead.
Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, lost one of his hands. All that in front of Dumbledore.
The Flint family: Nearly wiped.
And Violetta Crabbe—who had died on his doorstep two years ago...
Their fates were the starkest of warnings.
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