Lucius Malfoy knew his family's history all too well. If he were to summarize it in a phrase, it would be: duplicitous opportunism, profit snatched through cunning and force.
To find even one act worthy of public praise in the Malfoy legacy? That was harder than becoming Minister for Magic itself.
"Perhaps," Lucius said suddenly one evening, "perhaps we should… do something good, Narcissa."
Narcissa Malfoy, sipping her tea delicately, froze. Then she looked at her husband as though he had grown a second head. "Lucius, what nonsense are you talking? Malfoys doing good deeds?" Her blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. "No one cursed you, did they?"
Lucius's lips twitched.
"No," he sighed. "I merely want to polish the Malfoy reputation."
He tapped the newspaper on the table. Narcissa glanced at it, then let out a soft, disdainful laugh.
"Dearest, it's just an article. Written by a student, no less. Hardly worth your anxiety. He hasn't touched our family yet. If he does write nonsense, we can settle it directly. And if you're worried, why not simply warn him in advance?"
"Don't!" Lucius's voice cracked sharper than intended, and he sprang from his chair as if stung. "Don't be reckless, Narcissa. Tom Riddle is not what you think."
She frowned. "You mean the boy? I know he's talented, Lucius. Draco is terrified of him, but—"
"There are no buts." Lucius cut her off harshly. Her lips parted, temper flaring—but before she could unleash it, Lucius's hand pressed over hers. His voice dropped. "My love. Do you trust my instincts?"
Narcissa hesitated. But then she nodded. She knew her husband's faults, but one thing was undeniable: Lucius Malfoy always had an uncanny sense for danger. That sense had kept them alive when Voldemort fell, when others were dragged to Azkaban.
"Good." Lucius leaned closer, lowering his voice even further. "When I went to Hogwarts over Draco's… incident, I had every intention of confronting young Riddle. Of putting him in his place. But when I met his gaze…" Lucius's pale face tightened. "It was the Dark Lord's gaze. That same disregard for life itself."
A shiver rippled down Narcissa's spine.
"You're not joking?"
Lucius's expression was grim. "Would I jest about this? His arrogance, his ruthlessness—it eclipses even the Dark Lord's youth. Think on it, Cissy. Voldemort in his school days was the model student—Head Boy, charming, untouchable. No one would have believed he'd become the one whose name we dare not speak."
He gestured sharply. "But this Tom Riddle? He flaunts his tyranny. He strikes students, humiliates professors, sneers at Snape, openly defies Dumbledore himself—chased a professor out of the school with the whole of Slytherin at his side. And what happened? Nothing. He still walks Hogwarts, unchallenged, untouchable."
Lucius's lips curled thin. "We are not his enemies now. Draco remains on cordial terms with him. Better it stays that way. As for these bloodline essays of his—let him place House Malfoy at the back of the line. If he withstands the pressure of the great families, we yield. If he crumbles, then he will perish. Either way, we bide our time."
Narcissa studied her husband. The severity of his tone left no room for debate. For the first time, she, too, felt a whisper of unease. She inclined her head. "Then let the other fools test him first. We'll watch and see what this Tom Riddle is truly made of."
"Exactly." Lucius smiled faintly. Marrying Narcissa, raising Draco—these, he mused, were his greatest triumphs.
…
Hogwarts. Potions class.
Snape's glare was sharp enough to cut glass, but Tom ignored it entirely. His quill scratched rapidly across the enchanted notebook—WhatsApp.
Across the Atlantic, Tom's article had been reprinted in major American publications. Tina Goldstein saw it at once. Within minutes, her neat handwriting scrawled across the page in agitation.
[Grandma Tina: Little Tom, why on earth would you write something like this? Stop at once! You've torn away the last veil of dignity the pure-bloods still cling to. Do you realize what you've unleashed?]
[Tom: Grandma Tina, my whole life is a tightrope. Do you think I'll make it to the other side?]
[Grandma Tina: Speak plainly.]
[Tom: There's no turning back. The arrow's already left the bow.]
[Grandma Tina: Merlin's beard… you didn't even consult us? Not even that old fossil Nicolas?]
[Tom: No. Teacher's too old. I don't trouble him with… trifles.]
[Grandma Tina: Trifles? TRIFLES? This is going to bring the wrath of half the old families down on you!]
[Tom: British pure-bloods are trash—(except the Greengrasses). Those abroad? If they want a word with me, they'll have to pass through Dumbledore first. Otherwise, they're not qualified.]
Tina paused, blinking behind her reading glasses. And then her eyes gleamed, wicked and delighted.
The little scoundrel. He had just shoved Albus Dumbledore into the line of fire, making him the shield against every vengeful family.
A sly smile tugged at her lips. Yes, it was reckless. Yes, it was dangerous. But oh, how she loved it when someone clever made Albus squirm.
[Grandma Tina: Fine, brat. You always find a way to wriggle out. But don't get careless. You're spending the summer with Nicolas anyway—I'll send Newt to join you. A public appearance, the two of you together. That should keep the old vultures quiet.]
[Tom: …All right.]
His mood was complicated. A little wry, a little amused. He hadn't expected that, because of him, Newt Scamander might actually leave America for Paris. And judging by Tina's sly tone…
Was it possible she already had allies of her own hidden there?
Well, even if Dumbledore's looming presence wasn't enough to deter trouble, the Rosier family's quiet influence could shield him from most inconveniences.
He exhaled. Never mind. Let Newt stretch his legs. Being cooped up in America all the time must be suffocating for him anyway.
Their correspondence ended—just as the class bell rang.