Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their candlelight spilling down softly. The three figures seated around the round table stayed silent, the room falling into a hush.
Lucius and old Nott exchanged a glance. One was clueless about the prior conversation and hesitant to ask, while the other, having just read the script, was grappling with emotions too tangled to voice.
"Your story's unique, but there's a pressing issue." Melvin spread out the script, its final page displaying a sparse family tree, dwindling to a single, lonely sprout at the end.
"What issue?" Lucius asked coolly, a faint smile playing on his lips.
He'd never dabbled in scripts or films before, yet his first attempt had earned praise from the shadow mirror's founder. Though he kept his composure, a flicker of pride warmed his chest.
"How do you plan to manipulate the Memory Cancellation Squad? Make every wizard in Britain—no, the world—forget their impressions of the Malfoy family, so you can stuff these outrageous, absurd stories into their heads?" Melvin asked, dead serious.
Lucius paled, his smile vanishing. It reappeared, faintly, on old Nott's face.
Over their long history, the Malfoys had left their mark. No detailed records existed, but wizards' long lives and oral traditions had cemented a stereotype about the family.
From their cunning ancestor Armand, greed and guile were etched into their blood. Before the Statute of Secrecy, the Malfoys never stopped cozying up to Muggle nobility, even intermarrying at times.
Some obscure wizard tale claimed Lucius Malfoy I had courted Elizabeth I, only to be spurned. Rumors whispered he'd cursed her in spite…
Through magical prowess and sly flattery, they'd annexed Muggle lands around their estate, filling their vaults and storerooms to the brim.
Once the Statute took effect, the Malfoys pivoted overnight, mingling with its supporters, denying all Muggle ties, and embracing rabid pure-blood ideology.
Wealth and resources secured their grip on wizarding Britain. Growing piles of Galleons freed them from mundane worries, letting them chase power. They never aimed for the Minister's seat but always reached for its strings.
They backed friendly candidates in elections, even hiring dark wizards for dirty work.
In the late 18th century, Septimus Malfoy was the most infamous patriarch. The half-blood Minister, Ankthes Osbott, took Malfoy gold repeatedly during his campaign and tenure, caught red-handed by reporters with ledgers exposed. He was seen as the Malfoys' puppet, worse than Fudge years later.
In the '60s, Minister Nobby Leach, the first Muggle-born Minister, faced relentless attacks from Lucius's father, Abraxas Malfoy, and resigned after a mysterious illness.
Then there were Nicholas Malfoy, Brutus Malfoy, Stina Malfoy… their names loomed large, their deeds infamous.
"People say you'll never find a Malfoy at a crime scene, but their fingerprints might be all over the wand." That well-known wizard saying summed it up.
"I'm aware some ancestors' actions were controversial, which is why my story omits them. Are you prejudiced against all Malfoys?" Lucius countered haughtily. "We helped refine the Statute of Secrecy, made key contributions during the Goblin Rebellions, and funded multiple wizarding villages!"
Nott's expression twisted oddly. "Wizarding villages, yeah, I remember. Forty years ago, Theofferton was a barren wasteland. The Malfoys funded housing, built streets, gave the settlement shape."
Lucius nodded, sipping his tea. "That's in the archives."
"Sold the houses at sky-high prices, bankrupting the wizards who moved in. Rented shops at obscene rates, with tenants slaving for Malfoy rent decades later. And don't forget the usurious loans." Nott caught Lucius's look and paused. "The Notts made a tidy profit trailing you."
"Just tidy?" Lucius drawled, smirking.
"Alright, our fortune nearly doubled over decades—not just Theofferton, but Upper Flagley, Tinworthy…" Nott muttered. "The Malfoys made more."
Lucius let out a smug, sly chuckle.
"…"
Payoffs, land grabs, compound exploitation…
Melvin got the picture. The wizarding war's reckoning thirteen years ago had toppled their stable pyramid, forcing Death Eaters like these to lie low and giving ordinary wizards a chance to rise.
"Stop. I'm not here for your pure-blood crime saga," Melvin said, tapping the parchment. "Your story? Unless you Obliviate every wizard or bribe them with Galleons, no one's buying this nonsense."
Lucius couldn't argue. Nott's reaction proved even fellow pure-blood Death Eaters found it distasteful. "So how do I fix it?"
Melvin thought, choosing his words. "Drop the Malfoy family epic. Focus on wizarding history—Ministry founding, Goblin Rebellions, Statute of Secrecy. Pick a century around a major event to show wizarding Britain's evolution."
"And the Malfoys?"
Melvin pointed to the notorious names on the family tree. "They're background figures, half-hidden, maybe comic buffoons. Then, at key moments, they make 'historically correct' choices—like joining the war or refining the Statute."
Smuggle in bias, hide small details under big themes. Muggle media had perfected this playbook.
Lucius blinked, mulling it over, then lit up. "Play the fool to defuse hate, then build a noble image?"
Melvin's gaze held a spark of surprise. Classic cunning Malfoy—seasoned Death Eater, master of manipulation. He'd been stuck on whitewashing his family's name, but once nudged, he caught on fast.
"That's it… that's it…" Lucius murmured, answering himself.
Nott was slower, pondering before grasping the plan's brilliance.
"Not just those pivotal moments!" Lucius's pale gray eyes gleamed, reflecting the candlelight like burning ambition. "We could craft a full wizarding history, like scholars writing books—factual for big events, but slipping our agenda into the margins… Professor Lestrange, your genius impresses me!"
"Slow down. It's a massive project."
…
From the window, night had fallen, streetlights flickering on one by one.
Hardened wax anchored colored candles in the crystal chandelier, their flames swaying, casting flickering shadows. The young professor at the head of the table drained the last of his tea, leaned back, and exhaled deeply.
The limping pub landlord pushed the door open, carrying a tray of iced beers. "Malfoy and Nott just left."
Melvin nodded, not lingering on it. "How's business lately?"
Old Will paused. "Pretty good. I got a batch of mead from Rosmerta—sells like hotcakes…"
"Summer's here. Iced beer's a hit. Talk to Wright, get Bagman to sell more Quidditch match recordings…"
They chatted about pub operations. Old Will went quiet, then couldn't hold back. "Professor, I've got to say, pure-blood families are rotten, especially those two trial-dodging Death Eaters. Their word's worthless—betrayal's in their blood."
"No worries, Will," Melvin said, smiling. "Deals tied to mutual gain are solid until bigger profits or threats show up."
For now, nothing outshone the shadow mirror's potential, and Voldemort hadn't returned.
Will gulped half his beer, spitting. "What's the point of working with them?"
"Lucius sees reputation as a currency—more valuable than Galleons or jewels. The Malfoys traded honor for gold before; now they want to buy it back." Melvin's tone carried a playful edge.
"Shadow mirrors need their gold?" Will didn't get it. "Can't the club scrape together enough?"
"You lot don't need to buy a good name." Melvin shook his head.
…
Meanwhile, two pure-blood wizards—former Death Eater allies—strolled a country lane in Wiltshire.
Their robes, embroidered with family crests, rustled in the evening breeze, cut from fine silk. Tucked in their pockets were damning invitations—letters listing Nott family crimes, some decades old, far predating the professor's age. How he'd uncovered them, Nott still couldn't fathom.
Nott glanced at his old friend, former comrade, fellow conspirator.
"Suspecting me?" Lucius asked softly.
Nott's face, pale in the dark, relaxed at the question, though his eyes still flickered with doubt. "I just… don't understand."
"When did you understand?" Lucius shot back, his tone laced with faint mockery. "When you joined the Death Eaters after graduation? When you flipped on Bellatrix at the trial? Or just now, in the pub?"
"If… I mean, what if he comes back?"
Nott's face grew paler.
"I don't know."
Lucius paused. "Once you've chosen, don't waver."
…
Back in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, it was mid-May.
The weather was turning hot, the air stuffy with an odd smell. Every lesson required opening all the windows to let the breeze from the Forbidden Forest and Black Lake sweep through. Students near the windows could see the bright scenery outside, making it hard to focus.
Today, Professor Gaunt was substituting again.
Melvin sat at the lectern, flipping through a magical history book from Mould and Dust Publishing, penned by a pure-blood wizard. It was stuffed with biased rants, making it a fun read. He wore a faint smile, pausing to savor passages or gaze out, relaxing his eyes, utterly at ease.
Up front, a young witch scribbled furiously with her quill. Hermione finished a note just as Professor Gaunt cleared his throat, raising his voice slightly:
"Who can tell me why you shouldn't use Incendio against Graphorns?"
Second-year classes were in end-of-term review mode, with heavier homework loads and more question-and-answer sessions. Gaunt's lessons remained lively and engaging.
The classroom chatter stopped. Not just Hermione—half the class turned to the boy in the third row.
Harry pretended not to notice, flipping a parchment page, doodling a broomstick with his quill.
"Mr. Malfoy, your answer."
"Well done. Ten points to Slytherin."
"Next question…"
"That's usually Gryffindor's points," some students muttered, but class was in session, so they didn't dwell.
Hermione keenly sensed a shift in Gaunt. He no longer favored Harry or Gryffindor in questions or lingered for post-class chats. He wasn't Harry's fanboy anymore.
She stole a glance at Professor Lestrange, wondering what caused it.
The bell rang, and Gaunt's figure vanished abruptly. Melvin snapped his book shut, grabbed the golden cup, and strode out, swift and smooth, sure to beat the students to the Great Hall.
The kids were used to it—Professor Lestrange was always a bit different.
Hermione grabbed her bag, hurrying to catch up, her words tumbling out fast. "Professor, Professor, I've got a question."
Melvin slowed, gesturing for her to go on.
Her last question about the apparition and cup had gone unanswered, so she tried a new angle. "Is Professor Gaunt upset with us? These past few DADA lessons, he's not only skipped Harry but ignored all the Gryffindors."
Melvin stepped onto the spiral staircase, waiting for Hermione to stand steady. As it turned toward the left platform, he answered softly, "Because Professor Gaunt doesn't like Harry."
Hermione froze. "Huh?"
"Surprised? What answer were you expecting?"
"But… he used to…"
"He only acted friendly to dig into why Harry's the Boy Who Lived, fishing for intel."
"So this change means…" Hermione muttered, "he got what he wanted."
Lost in her swirling thoughts, she didn't notice Melvin step off the platform. She missed the turn, watching his back fade around the corridor's corner.
---