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The footman, his body rigid with fear, barely managed to knock on the study door. "Master Lucius," he whispered, his voice trembling. "A… a guest has arrived. Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, from Hogwarts, and… Miss Hermione Granger."
Lucius Malfoy felt a blinding white throbbing behind his bandaged ear. Lockhart. Granger. The two people who had so thoroughly humiliated him at Flourish and Blotts were now standing on his doorstep, at the absolute worst possible moment. His rage warred with his fear for Draco, and he forced his emotions into a tight, cold box.
"Wait," he commanded, his voice a low hiss. He straightened his velvet robes. "I will greet them personally."
He knew why they were here. They weren't here for tea. They were here as the official, visible representatives of Hogwarts and the Ministry, here to pass judgment on his son. For Draco's sake, he had to grovel. He had to be perfect. He had to swallow his pure-blood contempt and embrace the most hated Mudblood in the British Isles.
He opened the massive, wrought-iron gate himself. Gilderoy Lockhart, beaming and completely oblivious to the danger, stood beside a small girl in black robes, who regarded him with a calm, unnervingly knowing smile. Every muscle in Lucius's face twitched. He forced his lips into a brittle, welcoming line.
"Professor Lockhart, Miss Granger," he said, the words tasting like ash. "Welcome to Malfoy Manor. Please, follow me."
Inside the gloom of the living room, Lucius led them to the sitting area, indicating the heavy, oppressive velvet chairs. Lockhart looked around the cold, ostentatious room with ill-concealed envy.
"I wonder what brings you here today," Lucius said, dispensing with the pleasantries. He needed to know the demands immediately.
Lockhart glanced at Hermione, his signal clear: You're the boss.
"We are here to make a deal, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said, her voice clear and precise. "On our own behalf. A deal to save your son."
Lucius sneered. "My son is a Malfoy. He does not require saving from a pair of… teachers. I apologize, but I won't be needing your services. You may leave now." It was a reflexive act of arrogance, a desperate, final attempt to assert his status.
Hermione stood up with a rustle of black robes. "Very well. Professor Lockhart, we'll return to Hogwarts. Let's not waste Mr. Malfoy's time while his son is still unconscious and facing charges from the Ministry."
"Draco?" A voice, sharp with anguish, cut through the room. Narcissa Malfoy hurried in, her eyes wide, her maternal fear overriding all social protocol. "Please, forgive Lucius's rudeness! We are listening. Miss Granger, please, tell us what you need." She walked to her husband and squeezed his arm, a silent, powerful warning: Do not ruin this one chance.
Lucius watched, silent and seething, as Narcissa bowed to the Muggle-born witch. He finally noticed that Lockhart, a man whose fame he loathed but respected, was standing behind Hermione like a bodyguard, his adoration for the girl utterly obvious. He realized, with a terrifying jolt, that the person truly in command of this negotiation was the child.
"To show my sincerity," Hermione said, her voice softening slightly for Narcissa, "I will wake Draco up now. Then we can talk."
Narcissa rushed Hermione toward the bedroom with frantic haste. Lucius, defeated and speechless, could only follow.
In the vast, gloomy bedroom, Draco lay still and unnaturally pale. Hermione stood beside the bed and, with a complex, silent wave of her wand, channeled the pure, raw soul energy she had acquired from Tom Riddle back into the boy. Draco's color returned instantly. He twitched, groaned, and his eyes fluttered open.
"Mom?" he mumbled, disoriented. "What… what happened?"
His eyes focused, and he saw his father, Lucius, standing there. And then, he saw the figure behind him, smiling gently. The last thing Draco Malfoy consciously remembered was the horror of the Forbidden Forest, the crack of the gun, and the terrifying, cold indifference of the Gryffindor Witch.
His eyes widened into two saucers of pure, catatonic terror. "AAAAAH!" he shrieked, his body arching violently off the bed. He stared at Hermione, his mind completely broken by the nightmare that was now standing in his bedroom. Then, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted again.
Narcissa was beside herself. "What was that, Lucius?!" she cried, clutching her husband's arm. "He saw you! He was terrified! You have terrorized our son!"
Hermione shook her head, her tone innocent. "I suspect he has been pushed too far, Madam Malfoy. He saw Mr. Lucius's severe, dark expression, and it just… broke him."
"Lucius!" Narcissa roared, her rage a magnificent, desperate thing. She glared at him with an absolute fury. "Get out! Get out of this room! You've done enough!"
Hermione, the brilliant strategist, had just executed a flawless psychological maneuver. She had isolated the threat and established her moral authority in one move.
Lucius was silent, watching his son's unconscious form. The raw, animalistic terror in Draco's eyes before he passed out had shaken him to his core. Was he truly that terrifying?
"Madam Narcissa, please," Hermione said gently, stepping in. "Mr. Lucius and I will return to the living room. We have business to discuss. You stay here with Draco."
Lucius, utterly defeated, turned and left the room, his shoulders slumped. He walked back to the living room, a slow, humiliating walk. He had seen his son's terror, and it had humbled him more than any Auror interrogation ever could.
He stopped in the center of the room. "Thank you," he said, the word coming out as a choked, painful whisper, a sound of profound personal humiliation. "Thank you for trying to help him."
He straightened his robes, forcing the arrogant mask back into place, his grey eyes cold but steady. "Now, Miss Granger. Tell me. What is the price for saving the Malfoy name?"
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