And so, under the serious gazes of his parents, Edward recounted, as thoroughly as he could, the role he played in defeating Quirrell and Voldemort.
As he described Quirrell in his black armor nearly strangling Harry, and how he tackled Quirrell into the mirror, almost getting snatched by the Wild Hunt, his parents' faces grew paler and paler. It was clear they were shaken.
Edward felt a pang of guilt as he spoke.
"Dad, Mum, I know I messed up. I shouldn't have put myself in danger like that. But if I didn't stand up to evil, how could I live up to my name? How could I be worthy of being your son?"
Before he could finish, his mother, Anne, rushed forward and pulled him into a tight hug.
"No, no, Edward, you did the right thing. You did the right thing," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "If you hadn't acted in time, Harry could've died. And if he had, you'd never forgive yourself, would you?"
Edward nodded firmly.
He was beyond relieved that Harry hadn't paid the price for his moment of hesitation.
William stepped over to them, giving Edward an encouraging look.
"Well done, son! I'm proud of you!" he said, clapping Edward on the shoulder. "The truest blood of the Round Table Knights, eh? Our ancestors don't lie."
"But," he added, his tone shifting, "your mother and I would like you to talk to us more—or at least be honest with us. Adventure is in a knight's nature, but we need to know where you're off adventuring so we can help, even in our limited way. Got it?"
"So, is there anything else you're keeping from us?" William asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Er… like sneaking into the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night to take on Quirrell and Voldemort with a unicorn and a dragon?" Edward said, his eyes darting away. "Did I mention that already?"
"*What?!*" William and Anne's shocked cries echoed through the hall.
Meanwhile, in the grand hall of Malfoy Manor, Lucius listened thoughtfully as Draco recounted some of the events from the second half of the term.
"So, the Dark Lord showed up at the castle, possessed your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and tried to steal a stone that grants immortality?" Lucius's voice was soft but carried an undeniable authority.
"Yes, Father, but You-Know-Who was defeated in the end—by Potter and Edward together," Draco said, keeping his tone calm and sincere. He wasn't bold enough to admit he'd gone along with Edward to face Voldemort.
No matter how you sliced it, Lucius would *not* be pleased about that.
To avoid his father's wrath, Draco decided to keep some details to himself.
"That Bedivere boy will get himself into trouble with this sooner or later," Lucius muttered before shifting gears. "But enough of that. I'm more interested in your grades. How did you do this term?"
At the mention of grades, Draco's face lit up. He eagerly handed over his report card.
Lucius scanned it, nodding with satisfaction at Draco's fourth-place ranking in his year.
But then he saw the names above Draco's: Edward, Hermione, Daphne.
Bedivere and Greengrass were one thing, but *Granger*? A Muggle-born outranking pure-bloods?
Unthinkable! Since when did the wizarding world turn upside down like this?
Lucius frowned but kept his thoughts to himself in front of his son.
"Well done, Draco. Perhaps that Edward does have some real talent. Your goal for next term is clear, isn't it?"
Draco beamed at the praise, but when he heard his father's expectation to surpass Edward, his face fell, a pained expression taking over.
*Father, give me a break!*
Narcissa, noticing Draco's dismay, hurried to his side and shot Lucius a pointed look while resting a hand on her son's shoulder.
"Darling, Draco's done so well. Doesn't he deserve a little reward?" she said, her tone coaxing.
Catching her hint and seeing Draco's hopeful expression, Lucius nodded.
"Didn't you say you wanted to join the Slytherin Quidditch team next term? The first batch of Nimbus 2001 brooms is about to go on sale. How about I get one for each member of the team?"
"Thank you, Father!" Draco's face lit up again.
But after a moment's thought, he leaned in and asked quietly, "Er, Father, could you maybe add one more?"
Seeing his parents' puzzled looks, he quickly explained, "It's for Edward. I'm sure he'll be on the team too."
Lucius's mouth twitched, but he eventually muttered, "Fine," before standing and walking off.
Cane in hand, he headed deeper into the manor, lost in thought about how much Draco had changed over the past year.
Draco's efforts to befriend the Bedivere boy were reassuring. It might cost them a bit now, but Draco's grades showed the investment was worth it.
Galleons were the least of the Malfoys' worries—they could pave a golden path for Draco's future.
What concerned Lucius more was Draco's mindset.
Though he seemed the same as ever in front of his father, Lucius couldn't shake the feeling that something about Draco was different.
That was what he needed to watch closely.
Still, if people like Potter or Bedivere ended up rising to power, Draco's early alliances with them could benefit the Malfoy family.
Adaptability was another Malfoy family motto.
But there was something far more pressing than all of this.
The Dark Lord had reappeared at Hogwarts, back in the public eye.
The mere thought made Lucius uneasy. The last time that name had crossed his mind was nearly twelve years ago, when the Dark Lord was defeated by Harry Potter and vanished.
Was he now planning a comeback?
The idea sent a chill down Lucius's spine.
He had followed the Dark Lord for a time—not so much as a devoted believer, but because some of his ideas aligned with Lucius's own.
Pure-blood supremacy, disdain for Muggle-born wizards—those had resonated.
But over time, Lucius realized the Dark Lord cared only for himself, not those ideals.
What began as admiration and shared purpose had turned into awe, then fear.
Lucius couldn't even imagine what fate awaited the Death Eaters who'd abandoned the Dark Lord after his fall if he returned.
What about Narcissa? What about Draco?
The Dark Lord's return could wait for now—there were more immediate problems.
That traitor Arthur Weasley had drafted a Muggle Protection Act and kept trying to raid the manor for dark artifacts. He needed to be taught a lesson.
And Dumbledore—his influence at Hogwarts was growing unchecked, dismissing the Board of Governors entirely. He needed a reminder of who really controlled the school.
Then there was that diary, a nagging problem he hadn't figured out how to handle.
Lucius walked silently down the corridor, the bright torches casting a long shadow behind him.
A plan was forming in his mind.
He stopped at the storeroom door, where piles of dusty objects lay untouched for ages.
Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Lucius had no intention of sorting through the mess himself.
"Dobby, come here!"
With a snap of his fingers, a *pop* sounded, and a small house-elf in tattered rags appeared, large eyes blinking nervously.
"Sort this mess, categorize it, and make a list for me. Quickly, understood?"
"And if you find an old-looking diary, bring it to me. Clear?"
Lucius barely glanced at the elf, his tone dripping with arrogance.
"Y-yes, Master," Dobby stammered, bowing shakily before scurrying into the room, starting to clean with small bursts of magic.
Lucius stood at the doorway, leaning on his ornate cane like an overseer.
Soon, Dobby emerged, clutching a dusty notebook, frantically wiping it to clean the cover.
"Master, the diary," he said, trembling as he held it out.
Lucius, holding a handkerchief to his nose, took the diary by one corner, examining it without opening it.
"Good. That's the one. Keep sorting the rest, Dobby," he said, wrapping the diary in the handkerchief and turning to leave.
"Master, may Dobby ask a small question? Whose diary is it?" Dobby ventured timidly.
"None of your business, Dobby. Don't meddle!" Lucius snapped sharply.
"Or do you need punishment?"
Dobby's eyes widened in panic, filled with fear and helplessness.
"Oh! Dobby spoke out of turn! Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!" he cried, slamming his head against the wall.
Lucius didn't spare him a glance, striding off with the diary in hand.
"Arthur Weasley, Dumbledore, and the Dark Lord's diary," he muttered with a cold chuckle. "Let's see you play with this."
His figure vanished down the corridor.
Dobby, bloodied from hitting the wall, finally stopped. He sank to the floor, groaning, tears streaming from his wide, glassy eyes.
Those eyes held not just pain, but terror.
"Something terrible is coming to Hogwarts! Dobby… Dobby must warn Harry Potter! Harry Potter must *not* return to Hogwarts!"
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