As thick fog spread across London and Greyback's dispatched squads were captured one after another, the city's abnormal state did not go unnoticed.
Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire
Moonlight poured through the treetops, casting twisted, sinister shadows across the cool grass of the silent night. Branches swayed, blades of grass bent low, and the wrought-iron gates at the estate's entrance creaked gently in the wind. The letters at the top—MALFOY MANOR—rocked softly.
From deep within the manor grounds came an echoing, furious voice carried by the wind:
"…those filthy scum, rats from the gutters, treacherous cowards who bend with the wind—"
Inside the castle, on the ground floor, yellow lamplight spilled from an open window. Dobby Apparated into the hall, a tray floating beside him, piled with snacks meant to accompany drinks.
"…when I first took office, I should have purged those traitors and weaklings immediately!"
Hearing the shouting, Dobby shrank back in fear. But obedience, carved into his bones over centuries, forced him to overcome his terror. He knocked softly.
"Who is it?"
"It is Dobby, my master. Madam instructed me to bring refreshments."
"Come in."
Dobby lowered his head and pushed the door open.
The hall was vast, its ceiling soaring like a giant's cathedral. The décor was austere—tall windows, decorative draperies, a massive table, and a fireplace at its far end.
Two figures stood before the fire.
One was tall and slender, long platinum-blond hair slicked back, velvet robes shimmering even in low light. A finely crafted cane rested in his hand, lending him an air of elegance and authority.
Dobby bowed deeply.
That was Lucius Malfoy, master of the house.
"Put it down," Lucius said coldly, clearly displeased by the sight of the rag-clad house-elf.
The tray floated over. Lucius picked up a piece of fried pork rind and gestured to the man beside him.
"Try some, Cornelius. Narcissa rarely cooks. Now—what's happening in London?"
"What else?" Cornelius Fudge snapped. "A pack of blasted Aurors openly disobeyed my orders to help that cursed red-haired boy. And do you know their excuse? Acting heroically!"
Mentioning it only enraged him further. Fudge grabbed a fried egg and stuffed it into his mouth, grease and yolk spilling as he chewed furiously. He washed it down with a gulp of sherry.
The sight made Lucius's stomach turn. He discreetly spat out the pork rind.
After a moment's thought, Lucius spoke calmly.
"Weasley is arresting Greyback's followers. The Wizengamot approved the operation. Procedurally, there's no fault."
"You truly believe that?" Fudge snapped. "If the WAC can act independently of the Ministry today, tomorrow they'll be raiding Dark wizards! What use is the Ministry then?"
Lucius's expression was indifferent—almost contemptuous.
He knew perfectly well that those beasts under Greyback were recruited by Fudge himself, intended to sabotage the WAC Assembly. No explanation was necessary.
What Lucius hadn't expected was Vaughan Weasley—apparently isolated—suddenly gaining support from multiple wizarding families.
That worried him.
"Which families were involved?" Lucius asked.
"The Travers cadet branch, for one. Those fence-sitters have gone mad. Old Arleth Travers openly backs Vaughan Weasley," Fudge growled.
"My informants say there are two or three more families involved, though they're staying hidden. But among the remaining pure-blood families outside the Sacred Twenty-Eight, there aren't many possibilities."
"Do you have proof?" Lucius asked.
Fudge fell silent.
Lucius sighed inwardly. "What do you plan to do next?"
"I need support, Lucius," Fudge said earnestly.
"Weasley, his clique, and that scheming Dumbledore—they're openly challenging magical order, the International Statute of Secrecy, and the authority of pure-blood families!"
"They support Weasley because they see opportunity. Just like those scoundrels who once backed Grindelwald—"
He grew increasingly hysterical.
Lucius did not interrupt. The danger was real.
When Fudge finished, Lucius asked evenly, "What kind of support do you want?"
"Everything—manpower, funding, influence. I need the full political strength of the pure-blood families."
You must be dreaming.
Lucius nearly laughed out loud.
Suppressing his irritation, he smiled politely.
"Don't be absurd, Cornelius. You know that's impossible."
"Short-sighted!" Fudge roared.
"My authority is slipping! Yes, Greyback was my doing—but how did Weasley's people locate them so precisely?"
"The Aurors are compromised. Even the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes has been infiltrated!"
"And worse—Arthur Weasley is pushing legislation through the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office to conduct a full inspection of illegally held Muggle and magical items."
Fudge sneered, glancing around the hall.
"If that law passes… do you really think Malfoy Manor won't be investigated?"
Lucius's Rage
The table exploded, slamming into the wall.
Dobby cowered in terror.
Lucius rarely lost his composure—but when he did, it was unforgettable.
Despite trying to make himself invisible, Dobby was soon noticed.
Lucius drew his wand from his cane. Lightning lashed out.
Dobby screamed, smashing his head into the floor.
"Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"
Blood trickled from his forehead.
Only Narcissa Malfoy's arrival stopped it. She seized Lucius's wand and spoke gently.
"Enough. Dobby, go to the apothecary and treat yourself."
Dobby bowed repeatedly and fled.
As he limped away, he heard Narcissa's voice:
"Lucius—what are you doing?"
Their voices faded.
A Diary Revealed
Later, Dobby encountered Draco Malfoy, eavesdropping on the stairs.
Draco noticed the burns.
"…Did Father do that?"
They listened.
"…We can't side with Fudge… Weasley is only twelve…"
"…Perhaps I must send it away…"
"…He gave it to you…"
"…Send it to Harry Potter."
Draco froze.
From above, an object floated down—
A diary.
Draco didn't understand.
But Dobby did.
Dark mist rose from it. Something powerful stirred within.
"My goodness…"
WAC Headquarters, London
Vaughan Weasley stood beneath the fog-choked sky, wearing a vivid purple-red robe. Amelia Bones stood beside him.
"Impressive magic," she said.
"Thank you."
"Fudge will respond."
"He has few options," Vaughan replied. "He'll turn to the pure-bloods."
"You're forcing his hand with Arthur's bill."
"I'm forcing one family's hand," Vaughan smiled. "To make them give something up."
"A diary."
Only Vaughan and Dumbledore knew the truth.
A Horcrux.
Moments later—
"Talking about diaries again?"
Fog parted.
Albus Dumbledore, weary but smiling, approached.
"Trading information again?" he asked.
"Bring something worth trading."
"…So it is that diary."
"Mm-hm."
"You know, the ring nearly killed me."
"Shame."
They bickered.
Amelia rubbed her temples.
"You're 111 years old, Albus. Do you truly intend to argue with a twelve-year-old in public?"
Dumbledore beamed. "Absolutely."
Aftermath
Capture teams returned.
Greyback had escaped.
But the net tightened.
As Vaughan watched the fog lift, he knew—
The diary was moving.
And Voldemort had just lost another piece of himself.
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