HP: Redemption of The Platinum Boy

Chapter 67: Narcissa's Paranoia + Side Story Four: Lucius's Ambition (Lucius's Perspective)

The following day, Lucius Malfoy heard through the Ministry of Magic's "special channels" that they were about to deploy Dementors to guard Hogwarts. This caused him to grumble over the breakfast table.

"They've gone mad!" He frowned in disgust. "So many children at Hogwarts are completely defenseless against Dementors. Are they sending those creatures to catch criminals or to throw a feast for those vile things?"

Narcissa's composed façade crumbled at his complaints, and her expression darkened.

"Even if you deployed every Dementor from Azkaban, you couldn't catch Peter Pettigrew. He's already escaped once. The Ministry is wasting its time," she sighed.

"You can't say that—what if we get lucky..." Lucius said, "but I still don't approve of letting Dementors anywhere near the school."

Narcissa remained silent. She hadn't told her husband about her visit to the old Black townhouse yesterday, nor had she mentioned that Animagi could evade Dementors. She knew her husband had always despised her cousin and looked down on the blood traitor.

If Lucius knew she'd been dealing with Sirius Black, or worse, struck a bargain with him, he'd probably lecture her endlessly about the potential risks. But she had no time for his ramblings—she was far too busy!

"Cissy, isn't this rather excessive?" After breakfast, Lucius, who was exercising the two Deerhounds around the manor, observed the house-elves working industriously—they were busily reinforcing and heightening the manor's walls—and asked in surprise, "Weren't the statues and lanterns on the walls your carefully designed works? Weren't you rather proud of them? And now you're simply demolishing them?"

"If Peter Pettigrew's Animagus form were an elephant or a wild boar, the target would be far more obvious," Narcissa expressed her concerns to her husband. "But he transforms into a rat! He could appear anywhere, at any time."

"Very well," the usually decisive head of the Malfoy family waved his hand dismissively at his anxious wife. "Modify it as you see fit, as long as you feel secure."

"Proceed," she said coldly, crossing her arms as she supervised the house-elves' work, her posture resembling that of a merciless queen prepared to burn her adversaries at will.

Narcissa had become somewhat paranoid ever since she'd learned from Sirius Black how Peter Pettigrew had evaded the Dementors.

On one hand, she'd abandoned all hope that the Dementors would capture the wretched rat. On the other, she worried that Pettigrew would employ the same method to infiltrate Malfoy Manor undetected and harm her precious son.

Consequently, this paranoid mother completely renovated Malfoy Manor. Additional detection and shielding charms were cast around the grounds, preventing even a mosquito from entering.

In fact, since that visit to Harry's, Draco hadn't been permitted to leave Malfoy Manor again—Narcissa always felt it was unsafe outside.

Narcissa's paranoia also caused some collateral damage:

Draco's beloved eagle owl, Joan, had entered a period of professional stagnation—she hadn't delivered post in ages.

One morning in mid-August, Draco, perspiring heavily, returned from Quidditch practice with his Nimbus 2001. Passing the Owlery, he found Joan listlessly plucking her own feathers with her beak. Clearly, the series of changes at Malfoy Manor had made her anxious, and the absence of post made her believe she was redundant.

"Merlin, Joan, don't do this," he pleaded with her. "I still adore you; you haven't fallen from favor. You've always been my favorite owl. It's not your fault—I simply haven't had any letters for you to deliver."

Joan released a pitiful cry and regarded him with her mournful brown eyes.

He offered her some owl treats. "Eat something, don't be melancholy. Hold on for a few more days..."

Joan glared at him resentfully, buried her head beneath her wing, and resolved to ignore her young master.

"Mother, my owl is becoming depressed." Draco couldn't help mentioning to his mother over breakfast that day. "She needs to work occasionally."

Narcissa didn't care about an owl's wellbeing; nothing mattered more than her precious son's safety. "Draco, don't let your guard down. Enemies can track your location through owls."

"But Mother, you can't protect me forever. I'll be returning to Hogwarts soon—term starts in a fortnight." His grey eyes studied his mother, not noticing the letter that rarely appeared at Malfoy Manor beside her plate—it bore the familiar Hogwarts seal.

Narcissa subtly drew the envelope closer, her blue eyes brimming with worry. "Draco, if you leave Malfoy Manor, no one can truly protect you, do you understand? You'll face dual risks: one from Peter Pettigrew, and another from the Dementors."

"I understand. However, fleeing is futile. I want to become powerful as quickly as possible so I can defend myself even when facing danger." Draco forced a smile at his mother.

"Draco, what do you mean?" Narcissa studied her son and asked softly.

"No one can guarantee Peter Pettigrew won't come looking for me. What's certain is that the Dementors will arrive at Hogwarts—I want to learn the Patronus Charm." He'd wanted to learn it for so long in his previous life, but unfortunately, he'd never had the opportunity.

Once he'd been branded with the Dark Lord's vile Mark, the Patronus became an impossibility.

He'd never witnessed a Death Eater conjure a Patronus—perhaps because bearing that Mark inflicted damage upon the soul. Those with compromised souls weren't qualified to produce a Patronus.

Merlin knew how deeply he'd envied those who could summon their guardian spirits.

"Of course." Narcissa's eyes brightened and she said quickly, "The Patronus Charm—that's certainly an excellent idea."

"Who will teach him?" Lucius unconsciously touched his left forearm. There, hidden beneath the luxurious fabric, was a Mark—the greatest obstacle to him casting the Patronus Charm.

"I will." Narcissa rotated her wand, which was adorned with silver studs, and cast a silent Patronus Charm.

The two men at the dining table held their breath, watching the lady of the house unleash her exquisite magic.

A silver robin emerged from her wand-tip.

"It's beautiful," Draco couldn't help murmuring, afraid a louder voice would startle the bird. The robin circled them once, then slowly ascended toward the ceiling, dissolving like mist.

"Honestly, are the Defense Against the Dark Arts professors at Hogwarts complete incompetents? They don't even teach the Patronus Charm! Come to the dungeons this afternoon—I'm going to give you some intensive training." After the Patronus faded, Lucius took a sip of tea, cleared his throat, and addressed his son with a stern expression.

"Yes, Father." Draco nodded to him, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

"Hogwarts deteriorates every year! The curriculum becomes more elementary annually—it's laughable!" Lucius scoffed. "There used to be useful hexes taught, but they've gradually vanished from the classroom in recent years. I've no doubt this is Dumbledore's doing. But I believe that given the current circumstances, you need to know them."

Even if he couldn't teach the Patronus Charm, Lucius still knew quite a few dark spells that could be employed against that scoundrel Peter Pettigrew.

This was fairly typical Lucius Malfoy behavior—he would never directly express concern for his son, but would instead teach him an arsenal of curses, awkwardly concealing his emotions beneath a stern façade.

For the next several days, Draco frequently practiced offensive spells, defensive charms, and some questionable dark magic in the empty dungeons beneath the manor—Lucius, who supervised from the sidelines, was remarkably enthusiastic about it.

"Excellent, Draco, your spellwork is quite precise." Lucius arrogantly brushed dust from his nose and said with satisfaction, "You performed the Sandstorm and Blasting Curses admirably. Next, practice 'Levicorpus.' It's a spell invented by Severus, and I personally find it quite effective."

If someone could create a Marauder's Map of Malfoy Manor, they would discover that Draco's name frequently appeared in the underground potions laboratory.

During his month in Bath, he and Hermione, capitalizing on their nearly daily meetings, had efficiently completed their Hogwarts summer assignments together. This allowed him to dedicate some free time to researching and refining the formula for treating Dragon Pox, though progress remained sluggish.

"Dobby, clean these filthy cauldrons for me," Draco said irritably, then took a quill and made several more notations on the parchment, striking out some ingredient proportions.

A small portion of his time was devoted to Quidditch training. According to his memories from his previous life, Flint would still be the Quidditch team captain this year. He wasn't the sort who was easy-going, nor did he care about past relationships—he was quite demanding whenever he reselected teammates.

Draco wanted to be the best player—simply "securing a position on the Slytherin Quidditch team" wouldn't satisfy his ambition. Since his rebirth, Quidditch was one of the few pursuits that could ignite his passion, and he couldn't help wanting to excel, to prove himself, and to win the Quidditch Cup for Slytherin in the new school year.

"How many Quaffles did you release today? How many did he catch?" Narcissa asked Dobby, who was tidying the Quidditch pitch, as she passed by one morning.

"Two hundred throws, two hundred catches, Mistress!" Dobby chirped in his high-pitched voice as he gathered the Quaffles scattered across the ground.

Narcissa hummed approvingly and continued her walk.

One training method for Seekers was using Muggle golf balls to practice accuracy and reflexes in catching.

Draco could have practiced far more—what difference would three hundred additional throws make?

But he hadn't been feeling well lately.

For some inexplicable reason, Draco had felt mentally exhausted and emotionally burdened recently. Memories of his previous life haunted him, and he woke every morning from nightmares.

He was perpetually surrounded by negative emotions. Whether due to the traumatic memories associated with the manor itself or regression from his mental reconstruction, those memories were like floodgates opened, raging through his consciousness, dousing his wounded soul in brine, causing him to suffer silently every day.

This bleak and wearisome August—that was his reality. Draco sighed.

It made the brilliant and pleasant July that had just passed seem as unreal as a shattered dream.

All the laughter, joy, and delight that girl had brought him seemed to have vanished on the wind.

He remained that lonely, cold, unloved, broken boy.

In the deepest darkness of night, he would suddenly wake in terror, feeling an emptiness in his palms and an ache in his soul.

In this state of mind—without Dreamless Sleep Draught—he would lie awake until dawn.

Of course, Draco always concealed these feelings expertly, continuing to play the role of a son who set his parents' minds at ease.

The day before term began, Narcissa held up Draco's previous year's robes, saying, "They're several inches too short." She regarded him with pride and affection.

Boys of thirteen or fourteen began their growth spurts. Perhaps due to exercise, he'd grown considerably taller than before, and his chin appeared more angular.

"Shall we purchase something new?" Lucius suggested to Narcissa, still perusing his newspaper, his statuesque face seemingly devoid of emotion, though he glanced at Draco's sleeve from the corner of his eye.

"Is Diagon Alley safe?" Narcissa asked warily, her expression still showing hesitation.

"The Ministry has increased security in Diagon Alley today. Harry Potter is purchasing his books tomorrow, which is sufficient to make Fudge nervous—he's extraordinarily protective of his position." Lucius lowered the newspaper, revealing a calm expression, and patiently reassured his wife, secretly relieved.

Would Narcissa regain some rationality after Draco departed for Hogwarts?

"Very well, we'll visit Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. We also need to purchase several new textbooks." Her husband's calm and composed demeanor softened Narcissa's resolve.

"Which books does he require?" Lucius folded the newspaper in half and casually placed it on an octagonal carved mahogany side table beside him.

"Intermediate Transfiguration and The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3, and several new elective course books: Numerology and Grammatica, The Rune Dictionary, The Monster Book of Monsters..." Narcissa extracted the parchment from the envelope and read the book titles softly.

"Oh—" Draco sighed reluctantly.

Care of Magical Creatures! This class was pure torture for Draco.

He still vividly remembered the ferocity of the Hippogriff and the countless Blast-Ended Skrewts.

However, if he didn't select this course, he'd have to take Muggle Studies. Setting aside whether Lucius and Narcissa would suffer apoplexy on the spot due to his choice to rebel against their family's principles, Draco himself would find it difficult to face Professor Charity Burbage—she'd died directly before him in his previous life, a memory far from pleasant.

He also didn't want to take Professor Sybill Trelawney's Divination class. He couldn't tolerate the tragic expression that frequently appeared on the woman's face. More importantly, Draco worried that the eccentric Seer might utter some outlandish revelation about the details of his rebirth.

Professor Trelawney might seem peculiar, but Draco shouldn't underestimate her. She was the great-great-granddaughter of the famous Seer Cassandra Trelawney, and she'd made some intriguing prophecies.

She often made irresponsible predictions to her students, from which Draco had suffered considerably. Most importantly, she'd made the prophecy that led to Harry's parents being targeted by the Dark Lord.

He didn't know precisely what the prophecy orb contained, but the Dark Lord clearly valued it immensely, even ordering the Death Eaters to steal it.

It was because of that cursed prophecy that his father had been imprisoned in Azkaban, and the Dark Lord had lost what little goodwill he'd retained for Lucius due to his incompetence. From that point on, the Malfoy family's standing among the Death Eaters had plummeted.

In short, maintain maximum distance from Divination professors! No one could determine whether their predictions were mere fabrications or grounded in truth. Better to keep well clear.

Compared to the previous two, Hagrid the half-giant was considerably more endearing—the physical and emotional harm inflicted by the Hippogriff seemed trivial in comparison. Draco felt decidedly ambivalent about this.

"The Monster Book of Monsters? That doesn't sound like a proper textbook title." Lucius noticed his son's displeasure and drawled, "Hogwarts's judgment in selecting professors deteriorates constantly. I heard they've decided to make that uncouth gamekeeper the Professor of Care of Magical Creatures. What was his name—Hagrid? He didn't even graduate from Hogwarts; he was expelled midway through..."

Narcissa gave a haughty shrug and didn't respond.

Please! They weren't the same class of people—she wouldn't even deign to discuss the gamekeeper.

"He is rather rough around the edges. Hagrid always prefers dealing with dangerous magical creatures and ventures into the Forbidden Forest daily, yet nothing ever befalls him. I suspect he might actually possess genuine expertise," Draco explained to his parents.

As long as he didn't attend Divination and didn't give Professor Trelawney an opportunity to say anything alarming, he'd reluctantly accept even having to defend Hagrid.

"That's remarkable. Are you friends with him? You're actually defending him?" Lucius regarded his son with a strained smile and a threatening expression, as though he intended to hex Draco if he confirmed it.

"Certainly not. But he was recommended by Professor Dumbledore, wasn't he?" Draco returned his father's gaze with feigned innocence.

These verbal sparring matches between father and son invariably concluded with his childlike, guileless expression. There was truly no benefit to confronting one's obstinate father directly—that was the height of foolishness.

"Foolish boy, stay away from Dumbledore, and keep your distance from those savage Gryffindors!" Lucius was clearly deceived by his son's expression. He frowned, stroking his snake-headed cane thoughtfully, and instructed Draco, "That gamekeeper isn't ordinary. I suspect he has giant blood. Giants are a violent and belligerent species—they don't exercise restraint."

Draco remained silent. As long as the conversation didn't alter his elective choices, he was willing to nod obediently to Lucius.

Side Story 4: Lucius's Ambition (Lucius's Perspective)

Lucius Malfoy had been experiencing certain troubles lately.

He should have been among those wizards who lived extraordinarily comfortable lives in the wizarding world.

He possessed the finest wife in existence and the most promising son. The old man had retired from active leadership, and he was now head of the noble Malfoy family.

He could recline upon a mountain of gold for the remainder of his life. He could scatter Galleons daily and listen to their melodious clinking.

However, Lucius Malfoy harbored his own ambitions.

Accumulating greater wealth for the Malfoy family, attaining elevated status in the wizarding world, seizing increased influence across various industries, and ensuring his wife and son received absolute respect from everyone in any social setting—these were the matters requiring his consideration each morning upon waking.

He was in his prime and extraordinarily wealthy. Regardless of what formidable obstacles blocked his path, or what concealed pitfalls from the past might suddenly appear to trip him, he could typically overcome those impediments with Galleons.

Seeking profit amid clinking glasses, gaining advantages through power-and-money transactions, and employing schemes amid the treacherous nature of human relationships—these were games Lucius Malfoy played tirelessly.

This was his ordinary routine, a stroke of fortune most wizards could only fantasize about.

Logically, this smooth existence should continue indefinitely, with no one capable of opposing him, and he should remain the center of his universe.

However, lately, certain matters kept arising to sour his disposition.

His elaborate scheme to plant the cursed diary at Hogwarts not only failed to achieve any substantive impact but also nearly jeopardized his seat on the Board of Governors. Fortunately, his son had been astute enough to send word regarding the situation at Hogwarts, and with Cissy's shrewd counsel, he'd managed to extricate himself from the entire affair unscathed.

—And Arthur Weasley, who poked his nose into everyone's business, remained firmly entrenched in his position, just like Albus Dumbledore, that irresponsible and eccentric Headmaster.

Then, during a moment of mild frustration, he'd suddenly realized that the reason his troublesome yet clever son could obtain so much insider information was likely because he'd been spending considerable time with those Gryffindors.

This worried him tremendously.

Lucius found himself caught in a dilemma:

On one hand, he knew Draco was correct. He needed to cultivate proximity to Harry Potter, to firmly secure this descendant of a pure-blood family who might possess extraordinary magical talent. Harry Potter, who could even destroy the Dark Lord's cursed diary, clearly did possess genuine ability.

On the other hand, he couldn't ignore the disturbing fact that Draco had captured Peter Pettigrew by collaborating with Arthur Weasley's twin sons.

Arthur Weasley, that ill-intentioned blood traitor, was desperately attempting to surround his progeny with Potter. Given they were all Gryffindors, this was virtually inevitable, and Draco, who wished to cultivate a favorable relationship with Potter, would unavoidably have to interact with the Weasleys' diluted-blood offspring.

Two fists couldn't defeat four hands.

If his son were bullied by those children because of his father's enmity, he would absolutely march to Hogwarts to settle accounts with them. However, another subtle possibility concerned him even more: if his son didn't become enemies with the Weasley children but instead befriended them, would the Malfoy family follow the Black family's example?

Just like that blood traitor Sirius Black, who was led astray by several Gryffindor friends, severed ties with his family, and fled home?

Currently, everything remained under control.

His son neither blindly displayed any particular affection for the Weasley children, nor was he foolish enough to brawl with them at school.

He appeared to have managed his relationship with the Weasley children admirably, maintaining a delicate equilibrium.

He'd even managed to earn an Order of Merlin for his meritorious service.

In the days immediately following that news, Lucius had practically strutted whenever he visited the Ministry of Magic.

Arthur Weasley... if his twin sons hadn't cooperated with Draco and surrendered that rat, he would certainly have faced severe consequences! The notion of an Animagus lurking in his residence for over a decade was laughable.

His clever son! The child remained somewhat naive, unaware of people's malicious hearts, and oblivious to how many dangers were concealed within Hogwarts.

But his father always protected him, always believing he would achieve greatness!

The father was invariably too indulgent with Draco—he'd never been like that with his own father!

Lucius had once worried anxiously that his son would likely be spoiled, given Abraxas's permissiveness.

But the child showed no signs of being spoiled—he was so mature he didn't resemble a thirteen or fourteen-year-old boy at all.

Consequently, this excessively worried father sometimes felt like a fussing old grandmother fretting unnecessarily, which frustrated him considerably.

Finally, before he could even finish admiring his son's Order of Merlin, Peter Pettigrew had escaped from Azkaban.

Would Draco face retaliation?

Lucius appeared calm and composed externally, but internally he was somewhat anxious.

Any head of household would worry about his heir's safety.

Then he'd realized something was wrong with his wife.

A shadow had fallen across her beautiful face—this was more disturbing than everything else combined.

Cissy should be enjoying her beloved tea in peace and tranquility, hosting her favorite salons in the library, wearing her most tasteful jewelry, and facing everyone with aristocratic pride.

How could she remain indoors all day, like a frightened bird, with the first thing she did each morning upon waking being to fret about their son's safety?

Now she was even pressuring Lucius, demanding he learn to become an Animagus.

"How old are you? Still pursuing such endeavors?" He'd turned to look at her, asking in bewilderment, which earned him a cold snort from Cissy.

Narcissa had suddenly seized his impeccably smooth collar and slammed him against the wall. He could even detect the faint scent of irises on her.

Her captivating blue eyes stared unblinkingly at him, her crimson lips parted slightly, radiating breathtaking beauty.

He'd gripped the wallpaper on both sides, bewildered, his snake-headed cane hitting the floor with a thud.

Her rosy lips drew closer and closer. Lucius's throat worked, and he'd already forgotten this was a corridor of Malfoy Manor that anyone might traverse.

"I'm not jesting. Learn it immediately!" Lucius watched as his wife leaned close to his face, her crimson lips near his ear, her usually clear and indifferent voice becoming sultry. "When you can manifest it, you may visit my chambers tonight."

Then she'd turned her head and pressed a kiss to his lips before gracefully departing like a proud swan.

"Wait! Cissy, this could take years!" Lucius called after her retreating figure, his face slightly flushed. "Could you grant us more time?"

This was the first occasion in Lucius Malfoy's life that he'd felt genuinely desperate.