---
CHAPTER 63
Nine to five, two to one—Malfoy's life was rather peaceful.
Most days, he didn't have to endure the nuisance of visitors. Whether Muggle or Magus, there were always far too many people of unimpressive quality. Being stopped at the front desk by such types was not only a waste of time, it guaranteed a foul mood.
Blink by blink, half of the third holiday had slipped away.
Since that private meeting with Pulring in the tavern, Malfoy had avoided further personal contact. Partly to prevent suspicion, partly because there was no need. He was simply waiting—waiting for the right opportunity.
As someone who could dramatically improve the Goblins' work efficiency, Malfoy wasn't treated as a mere employee. The Goblins made an exception, granting him an independent office. The comfortable leather chair allowed him to read newspapers leisurely once his work was done ahead of schedule, scanning them for information he deemed important.
He was flipping through irrelevant news when a bold headline froze him in place.
"INFAMOUS MAGUS SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN."
The article stated that the Ministry of Magic confirmed the news earlier that morning, but Black remained at large. Minister Cornelius Fudge appeared in the accompanying photo with an awkward smile, worry creasing his brows. An escape like this during his term was a blow to his reputation—everyone could see that.
"The opportunity has come," Malfoy murmured, smiling slightly.
He pulled open the drawer beneath his desk and retrieved a blank sheet of parchment. Spreading it neatly on the table, he dipped his quill and began writing.
---
Respected Gringotts Branch Manager,
I believe you have already heard today's major news—the infamous Sirius Black, who ended thirteen lives with a single curse, has escaped Azkaban. As we all know, he is the only possible heir to the noble Black family, and is publicly acknowledged as a devoted servant of the Dark Lord.
It is reasonable to suspect that his next move will be to reclaim his family wealth at Gringotts. Any recruitment of allies requires funding, and he may still believe in the Dark Lord's eventual return. We cannot rule out the possibility that, in retrieving his wealth, Black may once again attempt to ransack Gringotts.
Over the past two years, I have been honored to train here—an arrangement granted for my father's sake, for which I am grateful. Precisely because of that trust, I feel obliged to offer some humble suggestions for the bank's benefit.
Before Black is apprehended, I believe Gringotts' defenses should be strengthened. Even if our institution is widely considered impregnable, we must remember that even Azkaban—the most isolated prison in the North Sea—failed to hold that maniac.
If Gringotts takes the lead, our reputation will rise. Customers and potential clients alike will view us as the safest vault in Britain.
Not all families are like mine, who are willing to invest heavily. Many old families trust their private vaults more than a public institution. But this situation is an opportunity. If Black truly appears, and we assist in capturing him, the prestige of the UK branch will soar. We may even secure further business.
The above is merely a humble suggestion from a non-official employee…
---
Malfoy signed his name modestly and prepared to submit the proposal to the acting branch manager—a rule-bound Goblin of modest foresight.
If Malfoy were an ordinary employee, this letter would disappear without a ripple. Under a more authoritarian manager, he might even be scolded. No one enjoyed being lectured by someone beneath them.
But Malfoy was different. No ordinary employee contributed as much as he had. More importantly, his family was one of the branch's primary financial backers.
That alone was enough to make the manager pause and consider.
And objectively, his suggestions were reasonable. No one could argue that strengthening security was a mistake.
As Malfoy pondered the effects his proposal might have, a loud hoo-hoo and the scraping of wings sounded outside his window. A massive owl with glossy, jet-black feathers stared in with bright orange eyes, tapping occasionally on the glass with its claws.
With a resigned sigh, Malfoy stood and opened the window.
"Only an owl this size could carry that much," he muttered, eyeing the huge bundle tied to its talons.
Inside were all sorts of snacks and daily goods sent by Narcissa—licorice wands, sugar quills, chocolates of every kind, even desserts baked by the family chef. Naturally, his stomach could never handle such excess.
"Perhaps this counts as a pleasant burden," he thought, surveying the pile of treats. But he did not open anything yet. Instead, he took another sheet of parchment.
It was time to report his safety.
After the basilisk incident, he had been bedridden for days. When the news reached Narcissa, she nearly stormed Hogwarts to confront Dumbledore. Protective in daily life, she became nearly unrestrainable when hearing her precious son had almost died.
Outside the immediate family, Malfoys were notoriously fierce. If Narcissa had arrived at Hogwarts in that state, chaos would have been inevitable.
Lucius barely managed to stop her. Otherwise, the school would have suffered.
When Malfoy finally returned home for break, he endured another medical examination and mountains of nourishing food. He found it exasperating—but how could he reject genuine concern?
The incident had damaged Lucius's standing on the school board. Yet because Dumbledore shared responsibility, Lucius was not removed.
Logically, Lucius should have blamed his son for the fallout. But he didn't. Not at all.
He told him instead:
"The glory of pureblood must be defended. But you do not need to sacrifice yourself for it. Be more careful next time."
To use a crude analogy—Malfoy's actions were like a student injuring himself while studying for an exam, and his parents spending a fortune on hospital fees. What parent could scold him?
That was how Lucius and Narcissa saw it. Their beloved son had risked his life defending pureblood honor. He was wounded, nearly died, and was still suffering minor aftereffects.
Yet the belief they clung to—
Blood purity, hereditary supremacy—
One day, they would learn how laughable it truly was.
Even Voldemort courted pureblood families only to use their influence, their gold, their names. Blood supremacy? He himself was a half-blood.
It was pitifully naïve to imagine that after gaining power, Voldemort would allow those families to rule beside him, or that they would remain "second only to one."
If he ever seized true power, the first heads to roll would likely be those very purebloods.
Cooperation?
Far inferior to absolute control.
His ambition was far greater than ruling society.
His ambition was to conquer even life and death.
---