LightReader

Chapter 117 - 117: Loyalty and Diligence

Sagres calmly regarded the pure-blood aristocrat who had once been so arrogant but was now reduced to begging.

Lucius's complete submission truly exceeded Sagres's expectations; he had assumed the man would attempt hollow excuses or cloak himself in talk of bloodline superiority.

It seemed fear was indeed a most practical tool, and Lucius was, after all, a clever man. Such a person was far easier to control than a fool like Fudge.

Of course, even clever men required the occasional reminder.

"I warned you two years ago, but you clearly treated my words as nothing more than wind through your ears…"

"Sir, we didn't…" Lucius tried to defend himself.

Sagres shook his head, cutting him off. "Perhaps I wasn't clear enough then. So, I will reiterate today—"

His indifferent gaze slid over their necks as he slowly uttered words filled with quiet menace. "In front of me, put away your petty cleverness, your pure-blood arrogance, and all your underhanded schemes. Bury them deep. Do not let me sense even the faintest trace of them in any of your so-called 'minor matters.' Otherwise..."

"I will have no qualms about seeing the Sacred Twenty-Eight reduced to eighteen families—or even eight."

The couple stood frozen, silent as crickets in winter.

"At the same time, Lucius, you should be truly grateful that no lives were lost because of this."

Sagres's eyes moved from the immobilized Dobby, to the tear-streaked Narcissa, and finally came to rest on Lucius's ashen face.

"If a child had died because of your foolishness, Lucius—even if that child were Draco—your fate would be the same as Violetta Crabbe's: nothing more than a death footnote in the Ministry of Magic's files. And Malfoy Manor would exist only as a name in history books."

A deathly silence followed.

Only Narcissa's muffled sobs broke the air.

Lucius stood rigid, cold sweat soaking through the silk of his robes. Sagres had not shouted or raged, but Lucius had no doubt that every word would be carried out if tested.

"I completely understand, sir." Lucius's voice was dry and hoarse, trembling with the shock of survival. He bent his noble back in a deep bow. "Thank you for your mercy. The House of Malfoy will remember your teachings."

Sagres said nothing. His gaze shifted from the terrified couple to the stiffly frozen House-elf.

He studied Dobby in silence, a glimmer of thought flashing through his eyes.

It was said in the Wizarding World that the ancestors of House-elves had been "Earth Vein Elves"—a race of subterranean humanoid beings, masters of earth magic, who could mend rock strata and foster crop growth.

They had once built a civilization deep underground, the remnants of which now lay sealed in the Egyptian Ministry of Magic's secret vaults.

But as early as the Metal War of the third century BCE, the race had been all but annihilated. The scattered survivors were sold off by Goblins to Wizards, reduced to little more than collateral.

Later, medieval Wizards had used cruel genetic Alchemy to forcibly graft the "loyalty" of magical hounds and the "shame" of Boggarts into the blood of the Earth Vein Elf descendants, shaping the House-elves into slaves for generations.

Over the centuries, they became utterly unrecognizable.

The immense magic and forging skills of their ancestors had vanished, leaving only a faint resemblance in appearance and their long lifespans.

More tragically, thousands of years of enslavement and brainwashing had carved subservience and servility deep into their very souls. Today's House-elves were less like living beings and more like breathing tools.

"This House-elf named Dobby…" Sagres's low voice cut through the silence.

"He's yours, Your Excellency! From now on, he is your property!" Lucius spoke without hesitation, making the decision instantly.

Sagres snapped his fingers casually. The crisp sound fell like a pardon, and the invisible bonds restraining Dobby dissolved at once. The elf collapsed to the floor with a heavy "thud."

"You may refuse." Sagres looked down at him, his tone flat.

Dobby lifted his large, tennis-ball-like eyes timidly, staring fearfully at his new master. Yet from the corner of his vision, he dared a glance at Lucius. The cold warning in his old master's eyes was unmistakable: Refuse, and I'll make your life worse than death.

Dobby's small body trembled violently.

He bowed his head deeply, his voice no louder than a mosquito's buzz, weighted with the despair of resignation: "D–Dobby is willing…"

Sagres nodded, and then his figure vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, taking with him Dobby—who had gained no freedom at all, merely exchanged one master for another.

Malfoy Manor sank back into deathly silence, leaving only a pure-blood couple utterly subdued by fear.

After Sagres brought Dobby to the safe house hidden deep within the Forbidden Forest, he gave the elf no further notice.

What occupied his mind when his gaze had swept over the trembling House-elf earlier was not discipline, but how best to investigate the magical origins of House-elves.

This was not his first attempt. His previous studies had sharpened his skill with wandless and wordless casting, but they had yet to reach the deeper truths he sought.

Dobby, however, interpreted Sagres's silence and scrutiny as the calm before judgment. The elf's heart pounded in his chest, his small body quaking uncontrollably.

His mind reeled with the "sins" he had committed: taking it upon himself to block Harry Potter from returning to Hogwarts, sealing the platform, intercepting letters… each one a gross violation of a House-elf's "duty."

Had this new master—Mr. Greengrass, infamous for his ruthlessness and rumored to have slain many pure-blood wizards—asked specifically for him from Lucius Malfoy only to mete out punishment for these transgressions?

The more Dobby dwelled on the thought, the greater his terror grew. His huge eyes welled with tears, and he could already imagine his fate: a brutal punishment, or perhaps… complete erasure.

But Sagres simply left him in the Forbidden Forest cabin, as though he had forgotten his existence.

Dobby was dumbfounded. Summoning all his courage, he timidly asked about his duties: "R–respected sir, Dobby… what does Dobby need to do?"

"Nothing for now." Sagres's voice was flat, and he didn't even turn around. "Stay here."

The command left Dobby utterly bewildered.

The safe house was small and sparse, furnished only with a table and a few chairs, its emptiness unsettling.

There was no kitchen to tend, no fireplace to clean, no garden to prune. He felt like an old trinket, casually set aside, stripped of purpose.

The gnawing anxiety of uselessness ate at him.

In the end, he could only pour all his misplaced "loyalty" and "diligence" into the few objects before him.

He wiped the wooden table and chairs again and again, scrubbing so hard that the surface nearly shone with his anxious reflection, as if the relentless polishing could ward off the suffocating idleness and the dread of the unknown.

_______

o(*≧▽≦)ツ💫 Read up to 12+ chapters in advance on P@treon/DarkDevil1 👉 Get early access & exclusive perks!✨

More Chapters