Lucius Malfoy drew in deep breaths of the fresh, faintly sweet air around him.
He could smell the sea in it—hear the crash of the waves.
Before him, under the pale light of dawn, the ocean stretched endlessly. A cold wind swept through his hair. He stood atop a tall black rock rising from the water, waves churning and foaming below his feet.
Behind him loomed a sheer cliff, its steep face plunging straight down. The landscape was barren and desolate—nothing but endless sea and jagged stone. Not a single tree, no grass, no stretch of sand.
Nothing at all—save for them, a handful of unwanted travelers about to depart.
His wife, Narcissa Malfoy, clutched a suitcase in both hands, eyeing their strangely dressed companions with visible tension.
There were three of them, led by a witch.
She appeared no older than thirty at first glance. Very little of her face was visible beneath her cloak. A pointed wizard's hat sat atop her head, and she wore a black coat utterly unsuited to the cold.
Yet in their brief exchange earlier, the Malfoys had already sensed something off in her hoarse voice.
The other two were elderly wizards. One was gaunt and skeletal, cradling a peculiar small creature that resembled a ferret. The other bore a distinctly sly and calculating expression—clearly no benevolent soul.
Of the three, only the "sly-looking" old wizard seemed familiar to Lucius Malfoy. He was Winston Vance, the notoriously infamous new Headmaster of Durmstrang Wizarding School, appointed just over half a year ago.
He had never expected that this wizard, famed for his cunning, would turn out to be a follower of Gellert Grindelwald.
Judging by Vance's deferential attitude toward the other two, their status within the organization clearly surpassed his.
Standing beside these three unsettling figures, the Malfoys scarcely dared breathe. They did not even know what they were waiting for at the edge of this cliff—and they dared not ask.
...
They did not have to wait long. Only a few minutes later, a figure emerged quietly from the far side of the rock.
"Mr. Patrick!" Lucius Malfoy exclaimed in surprise.
Noticing his wife's confusion, he quickly explained, "He's the one who rescued me from Azkaban…"
"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," Christopher Patrick said with a polite smile and a nod. "I wish you a smooth journey to Northern Europe."
"The honor is mine, Mr. Patrick…" Lucius replied hurriedly, nodding at once.
The witch beside them frowned suddenly, casting the Malfoy couple a disdainful glance.
"Lord Patrick, what is the current situation at Hogwarts?" Winston Vance cut in with a crooked smile. "Have those British fools been thoroughly thrown into chaos by our master's magic?"
"The situation has stabilized," Christopher Patrick replied expressionlessly. "Albus Dumbledore has returned."
"Hogwarts was attacked?" Narcissa Malfoy gasped. "Draco—Draco wouldn't—"
Lucius quickly stopped her, pulling her aside. With a subtle look exchanged between them, the couple withdrew from the conversation of the four.
"We went to such lengths just to rescue two incompetent wizards from prison?" the witch scoffed coldly, shooting the Malfoys another contemptuous glance.
"Of course not, Miss Rosier," Christopher Patrick said, shaking his head. "They are but the smallest fragment of the plan."
"You are utterly inscrutable, Patrick," Rosier said coldly, her icy eyes fixed on him. "Just as I cannot understand why you summoned the three of us to England. If not for the Master's orders, believe me—I would kill you right now."
"No need for anger, Lady Rosier," Winston Vance hurriedly interjected, attempting to smooth things over. "Lord Patrick must have his reasons. Frederick, won't you say something as well?"
Frederick kept his head lowered, tending to the "ferret" in his arms as though the small creature were far more interesting than anything else around him.
"Miss Rosier, Lord Grindelwald instructed us not to oppose Albus Dumbledore any further," Christopher Patrick said calmly, without the slightest hint of fear.
"Of course. That is precisely why I did not kill a single follower of Dumbledore in London," Rosier replied sharply.
"But we must not allow Lord Grindelwald's name to fade from this world," Christopher continued at an unhurried pace. "Especially when a British dark wizard dares to claim the title of 'Dark Lord' for himself."
"You mean… the wizard calling himself 'Voldemort,' and his followers?" Rosier's tone softened slightly.
"Our Master has never cared for such hollow titles," Frederick said suddenly, lifting his gaze from the ferret, his voice slow and measured.
"But I do," Christopher said lightly. "What about you, Miss Rosier?"
"Hmph." Rosier closed her eyes. "Very well. I will accept that explanation—for now."
...
Four enormous Thestrals spread their vast wings and took flight toward the distant north in the pale dawn light.
Lucius Malfoy clung tightly to the creature's neck, while Narcissa held him firmly from behind.
The other three seemed entirely accustomed to this manner of travel.
Even as they flew, they continued their conversation with ease.
"Lady Rosier, I didn't expect you to be persuaded so easily by that young man," Frederick remarked in his usual unhurried tone from atop his Thestral.
"It wasn't his so-called reasoning that persuaded me," Rosier said, a rare smile touching her lips.
Her voice now sounded strikingly younger.
"It was his tone and bearing… almost exactly the same as the Master's seventy years ago."
"Very good," Frederick said with a faint smile. "Then I accept your reason as well, Lady Rosier."