"Good afternoon, Professor. I came to see you about my Purrloin."
Lucius Malfoy's son blinked when he saw Harry, but quickly decided to ignore him. Arguing in front of a professor would only earn him another punishment—and he'd had quite enough of that after being forced to clean toilets last term.
"My mother's quite fond of Purrloin," Draco said nervously. "And Purrloin seems to like her too. So she asked me to check if she could be allowed to keep it. You know my mother, right? You met her in Diagon Alley last summer."
"Of course I remember." Charles nodded lightly.
But he also knew Narcissa's real reason wasn't as simple as adopting a Pokémon. She likely wanted to see for herself whether Charles Gold had truly returned alive to Hogwarts—after all, none of the wizards who had gone to assassinate him ever made it back.
"As for Pokémon care… let's do this: have your parents visit the school sometime soon. I can discuss the matter with them directly—things like the basics of Pokémon handling and precautions."
In truth, the matter of "raising a Pokémon" was trivial. If Purrloin was truly attached to Narcissa, Charles wouldn't object. What he really wanted was a chance to speak to Lucius Malfoy face-to-face—to ask whether he had a hand in that assassination attempt.
"All right, I can write to them!" Draco said with a bright grin, completely unaware of the darker undercurrent. To him, it was just about letting his mother keep a cute Pokémon.
He left happily, and before nightfall, his letter was already on its way from Hogwarts.Charles met with Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy on the morning of the third day.
Lucius arrived with all his aristocratic pomp—immaculate robes, a polished cane in hand, his face set in a noble mask. Narcissa stood gracefully beside him, cradling Purrloin in her arms, looking every bit the elegant lady of high society.
"Good day, Mr. Gold," Lucius said evenly, extending his hand. "I am Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father. This is my wife, Narcissa. I believe you've met her before—last summer, in Diagon Alley?"
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy." Charles smiled faintly, though the look in his eyes wasn't warm. Still, he kept his composure—for the child's sake, he chose not to tear down the Malfoys' act in front of their son.
Draco accompanied them, chest puffed out with pride at his parents' distinguished demeanor.
Of course, Lucius knew better than to maintain that same prideful tone for long. Not after what had happened to the pure-blood wizards who went after Charles Gold—men who seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth.
If his suspicions were right, they were already dead.
He knew a bit of the inside story. Avery had come to him before the operation, sharing Charles's whereabouts. Following the trail of the train that departed from Platform 7, it wasn't hard to connect that information to the mysterious inferno that had erupted in Russia.
December. Temperatures below minus twenty. A wildfire in such conditions? Impossible. And yet the flames had raged fiercely—only to vanish all at once.
It was no natural fire. It had to be Fiendfyre.
The thought that all those men had perished by the hand of the calm, elegant man before him made Lucius's blood run cold. Killing that many pure-bloods in one stroke… even the Dark Lord hadn't achieved such efficiency.
"Draco, leave us. Mr. Gold and I have a few important matters to discuss." Lucius took a steadying breath to hide the tremor in his chest.
"Yes, Father." Draco looked reluctant but obeyed.
The moment his son was gone, Lucius's stern mask melted into obsequiousness.
"Honored Mr. Gold—"
"This isn't our first meeting, Mr. Malfoy."
Charles's tone turned glacial. As soon as Draco was out of sight, he dropped all pretense, drawing his wand and pressing its tip against Lucius's forehead.
Under his magic, the wand's point sharpened and burned, searing Lucius's skin like a branding iron. Pain flared hot and deep—but Lucius didn't dare cry out.
"Tell me—Lucius," Charles said, voice slow and deliberate, each word laden with pressure. It was the same suffocating dread Lucius had once felt before the Dark Lord himself.
"Were you part of that attack?"
"I… I wasn't, sir…" Lucius stammered.
Charles had suspected as much. The Malfoys, for all their pride, weren't brave enough to risk open defiance. If they had been involved, they would've fled with their entire household long ago.
"Look into my eyes," Charles said softly.
Then he cast Legilimency.
Lucius didn't dare resist. He opened his mind, letting Charles sift freely through his memories.
'Your manor… still as opulent as ever…''He's at Platform 7…''I want no part of this…''…'
Scene after scene flickered past. When it ended, Lucius collapsed backward, drenched in cold sweat. Narcissa rushed forward, catching him before he hit the floor.
"Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy," Charles said evenly. "You knew of it but didn't take part. I'll overlook it this time. But if there's ever a next time—"
He sheathed his wand. Both Malfoys exhaled in visible relief.
"There won't be a next time, sir," Lucius said quickly.
"Good." Charles's lips curved faintly. He had no intention of making things harder for them—but a little compensation was in order.
"Oh, one more thing. Voldemort gave you a notebook once, didn't he?"
His tone was casual, but the words froze Lucius in place.
The Dark Lord had indeed entrusted him with a notebook—its contents unknown, but clearly important. Voldemort had warned him to keep it safe. And now, Charles Gold somehow knew of it.
Lucius's face turned ashen. If Voldemort ever returned and found out he'd given it away…
"Can't hand it over?" Charles raised an eyebrow.
"I can! Of course I can! I'll have it delivered to you tomorrow!" Lucius blurted, not even hesitating.
Voldemort?That wretch was probably rotting in some forgotten corner of the world by now.The real Dark Lord—the one to fear—was standing right before him.
(End of Chapter)