Chapter 251: The Horcrux Diary
Lucius Malfoy sat deep in thought. He couldn't quite grasp Phineas's motives—nor could he see the path ahead for himself or his family.
Too many uncertainties loomed. Would the Dark Lord return? And if he did, would the fate of House Malfoy unfold as Phineas had predicted?
Lucius still felt unwilling. He didn't just want Malfoy to become part of the Oath family again—he wanted more. He wanted the prestige the Black family now held. That was the position he truly desired.
But Lucius also understood a deeper truth: Phineas's offer wasn't entirely dependable.
Joining the Black family, as Phineas proposed, might offer protection by aligning Malfoy with a powerful name—one that even the Dark Lord might hesitate to cross. But there was another, darker possibility.
If the Dark Lord returned and no longer respected the authority of the Elder Council—or no longer feared the Black family—then the Malfoys would be in a far worse position. After all, no tyrant tolerates betrayal or defection.
And there was something Phineas hadn't told him.
If the Malfoy family truly defected to the Blacks, the Dark Lord would retaliate. He'd have no choice. If Lucius could break free and survive, it would set a precedent for every other pure-blood family under the Dark Lord's thumb. They'd all follow Lucius' lead, and the Dark Lord would lose control of his inner circle.
Therefore, for the Dark Lord, punishing the Malfoys wouldn't be optional—it would be essential.
In other words, no matter which path Lucius chose, the outcome would be the same: the Dark Lord would strike at Malfoy.
Lucius finally broke his silence. "Phineas, if I truly align the Malfoys with the Blacks, the Dark Lord will retaliate."
Phineas nodded. He didn't lie or evade the truth.
"Yes. In fact, the moment you claimed you acted under the Imperius Curse, after betraying so many of your former allies, your fate was sealed. And with a manor like yours—such a visible symbol of power—there's no doubt. The Dark Lord will come for you."
Lucius crossed his legs, eyes narrowing slightly. "Then why choose at all? If the outcome is the same, what's the point?"
Phineas understood the unspoken demand: Lucius wanted something in return. A guarantee.
Lucius knew the risks either way, but if he joined the Blacks, there was a sliver of hope—if the Black family was willing to oppose the Dark Lord when the time came.
That was the real issue. Lucius wanted assurance—an ironclad promise that if the Dark Lord came for the Malfoys, Black would intervene.
Phineas hesitated.
Was it worth it?
On one hand, absorbing Malfoy into the Black family meant wealth and influence—possibly even gaining a voice in the Elder Council. On the other, it came with risk. Lucius would expect support when the Dark Lord inevitably returned.
Phineas was torn. Should he take the safer route and avoid the burden? Or take a gamble—invest in a dangerous ally who might, one day, repay the debt?
But without risk, there could be no reward.
Phineas drew a breath. "Lucius, if the Malfoys formally align with the Black family, I will do everything in my power to help restore your position in the Elder Council. And when the Dark Lord returns—because he will—we will do everything possible to ensure the Malfoy family survives."
It was a carefully worded promise.
He didn't say they would restore Lucius' position, only that they'd try.
And "ensuring survival" meant saving Draco.
If Phineas could hide Draco in 12 Grimmauld Place, the ancient Black home protected by powerful enchantments, that might be enough. It would preserve the Malfoy bloodline, even if everything else burned.
Lucius, of course, understood every nuance.
He didn't need the Malfoy legacy saved—he needed his son saved.
That was all that truly mattered.
So when Phineas made his offer, Lucius nodded. "Good. I trust you'll keep your word."
The deal was struck. Phineas stood and extended his hand, which Lucius shook. Together, they signed a magically binding contract: the Malfoys would swear fealty to the Black family.
From this day forward, everything the Malfoys did would be in service of Black.
In return, Black would use its influence to return Lucius to the Elder Council, and would act to protect Draco when the Dark Lord returned.
The contract shimmered, sealed with ancient magic.
"Very good," Phineas said. "Then it's settled. Now, let's deal with the Malfoy item."
Lucius stiffened. "The diary?"
Phineas nodded. "It's not a token of surrender. But it's his—and you know what it is. It has to be destroyed."
Lucius paused. He suspected Phineas had made some secret pact with Dumbledore—or perhaps was simply more informed than he let on.
Still, he gave a quiet sigh. "He gave it to me years ago. I suspected it was a Horcrux. Giving it to you... I suppose I can finally breathe again."
He led Phineas to the study.
The room was lined with bookshelves, three sides full of carefully arranged volumes. A wide desk stood before a tall window, scattered with parchment, quills, inkpots, and a letter opener.
Phineas scanned the shelves. Most books were common magical texts—some rare, some collectible, but all sanctioned by the Ministry.
Clearly, the Malfoy family's true magical inheritance was kept elsewhere.
"There used to be more here—books on the Dark Arts," Lucius said, sensing Phineas's thoughts. "But after the Ministry began its crackdowns, I sold them. Better to reduce suspicion—and we needed the gold."
Phineas nodded. He understood. This was the tragedy of the old families.
Thanks to the Ministry and the Elder Council's restrictive decrees, magical knowledge was disappearing. The days of power like Grindelwald's were gone. Spells that once burned cities were now barely remembered.
Entire families were dying out.
Even the great houses—Selwyn, Lestrange, Riche, Black—were shadows of what they once were. And the Malfoys were no different.
Lucius moved to the shelves and pulled out a history of the magical world. A secret compartment clicked open behind it. From within, he withdrew the diary.
"To be honest, I'd thought about selling it," Lucius admitted. "The Ministry told me Arthur Weasley has proposed another search of pure-blood homes. It's already been approved. They'll be here within months."
He handed the diary over.
Phineas examined it. Blank pages. But he could feel the oppressive aura—the soul fragment trapped within.
He smiled faintly. "Yes. This is it."
He placed the diary on the desk.
Lucius watched in silence as Phineas drew a dagger from his robes. It was carved from the fang of a basilisk—a gift from the creature itself.
Deadly venom glistened on the edge.
Without a word, Phineas plunged the dagger into the diary.
A terrible scream echoed from the pages—inhuman, soul-shattering. Black ink exploded from the wound, hissing as it hit the desk and spilled to the floor.
The diary smoked. The poison sizzled and burned a hole through the center.
Even after the ink dried and the scream faded, the smoke continued to rise—first black, then turning white, like fire struggling to ignite.
At last, the diary was still.
It would never open again.