The Seed of Vengeance
"Who's that arrogant fool? We should kick him right in the—"
Percy was about to continue, but his mother's serious look made him close his mouth instantly.
"I didn't say anything," he muttered quickly, raising his hands in surrender to avoid being scolded for swearing.
Harry's expression was also tense. That man had looked at his mother with disdain, as if she were someone dangerous or wicked. However, unlike his slightly more impulsive brother, he chose to stay silent.
"It's fine; don't pay attention to him," said Mark, approaching calmly. His relaxed tone seemed to ease the tension in the air, and his eyes wandered with curiosity toward the hanging robes and hats displayed around the shop.
Sally let out a quiet sigh, relieved by his timely arrival.
"I didn't know you were around," she said softly.
She knew that the people stationed outside were the protectors assigned to watch over her, Harry, and Percy, in case someone recognized the boy. Still, Mark wasn't supposed to be there.
"Ah, I figured someone had to look after you," he replied with a playful smile. "Dorien was supposed to come, but honestly, you don't want that guy here—it'd be like bringing a wolf into a flock of sheep." Then, with a lighter tone, he added, "Besides, I've always wanted to see this place."
His eyes stopped on a shimmering robe that looked as though it had been woven with threads of gold, and he examined it with genuine interest.
"Wait, you've never been here before?" asked Harry, surprised. He had always assumed Mark, being a wizard, must have visited Diagon Alley countless times, at least to buy potion ingredients or maybe magical clothes.
Mark glanced toward the seamstresses, who, with professional discretion, quietly stepped away, pretending not to hear a thing.
"We've got the measurements; you can come back for your robes in half an hour," announced Madam Malkin with a pleasant smile. "Or you can wait here while I finish them," she added before disappearing between floating fabrics and mannequins.
When she was gone, Mark nodded as if acknowledging her wise decision.
"I never had the chance to come before; I didn't really need to," he explained. "Those people always handled whatever I needed—materials, ingredients, anything. And to be honest, they didn't give me much freedom until recently."
His voice turned more thoughtful as he went on,
"The old man was afraid that if I ever found this place, I'd end up devoured like the rest of the wizards. So he sent me to study the magical books left by my ancestors… or whatever they managed to recover little by little. And besides, I was busy with school, then university. Didn't have much time. When I finally finished learning everything they demanded, they sent me to work. Absolute slave drivers."
Sally smiled faintly, amused by his complaint.
"Wait, you went to university?" asked Percy, his face showing both disbelief and curiosity.
"Obviously," Mark replied, straightening up proudly. "And one of the best in England, mind you. At fifteen. I'm a genius. Magic, studies—learned it all on my own."
Harry looked at him suspiciously.
"Mm… you probably used intelligence potions."
Mark coughed violently, nearly choking, and his face gave him away completely.
"Whatever! I already had a guaranteed job and enough money to live comfortably. If it weren't for that magical contract, I'd be on a big yacht right now, drinking martinis while someone massages my back," he said grandly, lifting his chin with exaggerated pride.
But when he glanced down, he noticed the kids had already wandered off, clearly uninterested in his tales. He frowned, offended. That was exactly why he didn't get along with them—they lost interest so fast that talking to them felt like mockery.
"So, did they finally give you permission to come?" asked Sally kindly. After all, Mark had come to help her; she couldn't ignore him the way her sons did.
"Yeah. I'm not so easily manipulated anymore; I'm not dropping everything to come here and try to become the king of wizards. Especially not when the so-called nobles of this world are a bunch of idiots," he said calmly, though his eyes kept drifting back toward the golden-embroidered robe with a hint of longing.
"Mom, let's go buy a pet!" interrupted Percy enthusiastically. "I hope it's a horse!"
"A horse? The letter didn't say anything about horses, idiot," Harry shot back immediately.
"I'm a knight; a knight needs his horse," Percy replied seriously—so convinced that he actually left his brother speechless.
Harry blinked a few times before finding a counterargument.
"But we're going to a school for wizards, not knights."
"Mm, that's true," Percy admitted with mock wisdom, nodding. "Then let's find something that can serve as a mount—like a giant lion. It counts as a cat, right? And we're allowed to bring cats!"
Harry looked to his mother for help against his brother's absurd logic. Sally simply smiled and shook her head slightly, amused by her son's impossible plans.
Percy noticed her reaction and frowned.
"Hey! Don't laugh at me!"
Sally and Harry both burst into a small laugh before running out of the shop, still chuckling, with Percy grumbling behind them—though even he couldn't help but laugh a little as he followed.
Mark trailed after them with a resigned smile, but paused before crossing the door. He turned back, his gaze falling once more on the golden-embroidered robe. After a brief moment of hesitation, he picked it up carefully. He left several gold coins on the counter, added a stylish hat to his purchase, and, satisfied, finally stepped out after the group.
…
In a mansion that rose over a vast estate, with an immense garden full of vegetation and sculptures clipped from hedges, Lucius paced back and forth while Narcissa and their son sat on the sofa, staring at him intently.
"Those bastards; arrogant, stupid, filthy bloods," he muttered, stringing insults together as if each word were another lock to be opened. His fury reflected not only the humiliation he had suffered that day but the public affront that had taken place in Diagon Alley, precisely where the most people could see him.
His mind devised a thousand ways to take revenge, although many would be useless or could end with the knights bringing him back to the house in handcuffs. He knew he would be watched now; he remembered clearly the blond man who always wore a smile that never reached his eyes. Lucius promised himself that next time he would not be so kind.
Kind. The thought echoed with irony in his head as he recalled the four years he had spent locked in a place full of Muggles: shared cells with repulsive creatures, communal bathrooms, the prohibition against using magic under threat of being sent to that permanent darkness. At first it had seemed an alternative to being near Muggles, but over time it became another kind of hell. Lucius relived with rage those painful, humiliating, disgusting years.
"it is better to leave it be; we do not want to get into trouble," she tried to soothe him, her voice gentle. Since he had been freed thanks to the Ministry's intervention, Lucius was a different man: paranoid, stripped in large part of his former noble aura.
Even Narcissa now felt a certain detachment. He had spent so much time surrounded by Muggles that, in some way, he no longer seemed the same. Sometimes she thought it would have been preferable if he had remained in Azkaban rather than be sent to that place; still, the marriage had to continue not only for their son but for the family line and the honor of the house.
Lucius looked at his wife with contained irritation; he took a deep breath, as if trying to tame the emotions that threatened to erupt. Then he saw Draco sitting on the sofa, his gaze full of rancor, recalling what had happened earlier.
An idea crossed Lucius's mind and, without overthinking it, he approached his son. Narcissa frowned when she saw her husband move toward Draco; during those four years she had tried to influence the boy's upbringing to moderate some of Lucius's zeal for blood purity. She shared the tradition of pure blood, but not with the extremes her husband had reached; she had never come to worship the Dark Lord; she preferred, instead, to keep the family safe and away from dangerous connections that could compromise their son.
"Draco, you will go to Hogwarts," Lucius said, fixing the boy with a look full of intent. "You will meet the children of that filthy woman. You must listen to me and carry out what I tell you." His eyes shone with the light of vengeance; if he could not reach the mother, he would strike at the lives of those brats, children of that woman's bloodline.
Narcissa listened to her husband's words with dismay; that speech corrupted all the work she had tried to do during his absence. But she could not oppose him: Draco had lost his father for four years and, upon reuniting with him, clung to him all the more. Lucius's words took root in the boy's mind.
"Let word spread at Hogwarts; make their lives there unbearable so they return to their filthy world of knights and Muggles," ordered Lucius, coldly outlining the plan that sought to tear their peace away.
Draco nodded, convinced he was hearing his father's wisdom. He lifted his head with pride and a look that mirrored his father's thirst for revenge. To him, his father was a hero; whatever he said had to be done, without question.