After adjusting his leg once more, the old sir finally spoke:
"By rights, since I've handed the family over to Quaid, I shouldn't meddle in these affairs anymore, but... young lady."
He looked earnestly into Lys's eyes, his tone gentle yet carrying a hint of approval. "I heard from a few of those school board lads that you and your brother seem to have suffered some grievances due to Quaid's negligence. I hope this boy has some competent people under him. I think highly of you—you're remarkably clear-headed."
Seeing Lys remain silent, the old sir showed no reaction and continued: "In earlier years, Quaid was young, and I indulged him. He wanted to prove himself no weaker than others, but he simply wasn't capable in any respect."
Noticing Lys's slight frown, he pressed down with his palm. "This is fact. Even if I don't say it, you sharp-minded young people and those old codgers can all see it clearly."
Lys forced herself to offer a few complimentary words about Menier Quaid: "Mr. Karkaroff's abilities and competence are quite impressive. You're being rather harsh."
"Perhaps he is excellent, but as head of the Karkaroff family, he must be more excellent." The old sir ignored Lys's diplomatic words and pressed on.
"You said you hoped to borrow the Karkaroff family's influence to avoid greater contact with Voldemort when the time comes."
Seeing Lys draw in a breath she couldn't quite conceal, the old sir continued with satisfaction:
"You should understand that for us truly upper-tier families, Voldemort is simply a young man—yes, a young man. After all, I'm already quite ancient. Pure-blood heirs are all so precious. When Quaid was born, his father was already past sixty... cough"
Here, the old sir paused.
He knew the young woman before him had need of Karkaroff.
But regardless of whether that matter was trivial for Karkaroff, those with requests should maintain a properly deferential attitude.
Lys stared at the chair that had changed occupants for two seconds, then compromised by rising and walking to the desk's side to pour the old sir tea, habitually adjusting the temperature before offering it.
After sipping his tea and sensing Lys's conciliatory attitude, the old sir continued:
"In any case, such a young man—unless he truly achieves complete dominance over Britain—represents merely an opportunity worth investing in, or from which we might profit."
"But for you children and ordinary families, he spells utter catastrophe. I can understand your actions throughout. Though somewhat constrained by family obligations, this is precisely what makes you trustworthy."
This verbal pressure made Lys feel anger flare within her chest, yet she recognised the truth of it.
"Moreover, you were once a member of that organisation. He won't release you."
The smile playing at the old sir's lips no longer appeared benevolent to Lys—she perceived it as pure intimidation through power:
"So long as you remain Karkaroff's ally and serve Karkaroff's interests, we Karkaroffs welcome all exceptional young people."
Lys's silence puzzled him momentarily before he chuckled: "Karkaroff descendants never require a witless mother. You may rest assured on that score."
Lys glanced up, remained quiet for two seconds, then said, "You're too kind. I was simply momentarily lost in recollection."
Noticing the old sir beginning to shift his leg frequently, Lys immediately took the hint and made her farewells.
She refilled the teapot, adjusted the temperature properly, then departed.
As Lys stepped through the Karkaroff estate's main gates, Menier Quaid stood before his uncle with head bowed.
The old sir sipped his tea gently and exhaled:
"Quaid, I'm old. Having lived over a century for Karkaroff, I'm already weary. But when will you become a competent family head?"
Menier Quaid kept his head down, his expression falling directly under the old sir's scrutiny.
"I know you work tremendously hard. You're so much more accomplished than your peers... but it's insufficient! We stand at the Karkaroff family's apex. Whether it's the weight pressing from above or the burdens we bear behind us, what you're doing now simply isn't enough!"
The old sir sipped his tea and asked: "The Karkaroff family has produced a new heir. What does this signify?"
Menier Quaid's expression grew grave as he replied: "The several branch families lose their competitive standing. It means fresh rounds of resource conflicts and factional divisions."
The old sir seemed reasonably satisfied with this answer, but...
"Since you understand this, why did such a situation still arise?! How many are waiting to observe your response? How many have already begun courting and agitating your brainless fiancée's family?"
"Do you truly believe this was merely feminine jealousy? These are orchestrated undercurrents!"
The old sir's expression blazed with fury.
"Now how many of your subordinates face testing, harassment, targeting—and you actually imagine those people have no survival options beyond you?"
"They seek wealth, advantage, stability, status. Should you prove unwilling to provide these someday, they'll simply find another perch!"
"This Stalys Black can't navigate political intrigues, so she spoke plainly to you. But how many eyes behind her await your stance? She won't abandon ship easily, but once she does, it won't be her alone. If Karkaroff won't retain someone who achieved such growth in barely a decade, what will the others speculate?"
"Even with personal motives, bloody well suppress them! At least for several years—until that woman's child reaches an age for proper instruction, before the family's resource priorities restabilise—your attitude had better keep them comfortably nested under your control!"
Drawing breath, his tone carried a whisper of regret—but only a whisper:
"Such a waste—someone who's consumed Soul-Stabilising Draught. Otherwise, I might have assisted her."
"Rein in your petty schemes, Quaid. I'll grant she's more captivating than your fiancée and genuinely exceptional. But with such a chaotic background, even as a mistress you'd need to consider how your people would interpret your intentions and test your boundaries."
The old sir gripped his walking stick. Before departing the study, he cast Menier Quaid a final glance: "And that Igor—you compensated him far too generously initially. A perfectly respectable school turned into a bloody shambles. Furthermore, even should Voldemort manage to rise again, someone will ensure he doesn't remain standing long. The Karkaroff name cannot appear at his side again. Find an opportunity to eliminate him."
Menier Quaid acquiesced with the same deference he'd shown in youth, then regarded the family head's ring upon his finger with bitter amusement.
He'd simply wanted some respite, to indulge small desires that might bring him pleasure.
He was already exercising restraint, yet it seemed inadequate... woefully inadequate.
Must he also become like his uncle before the Karkaroff family could remain as it once was—stable and glorious...
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