"You mean…"
Lucius once again felt the same sensation he had experienced before Voldemort—the terror of standing with one foot hanging over a cliff, ready to plunge to his death at any moment.
Only this time, Lucius had long since accepted that he might lose his life, even the Malfoy name itself. That fear could no longer shake him.
He remained capable of clear thought, and therefore would not become some mindless sycophant blindly following orders.
"My meaning is simple," Ranrok said, amusement lacing his voice. "You only wish to deal with that brat Voldemort's subordinates. There's no need for them to attempt some earth-shattering event like attacking Azkaban…"
Lucius's heart tightened.
They had decided on the Azkaban plan mere moments ago. How did this goblin know?
Had he been here the entire time?
What kind of Disillusionment Charm would that require?
And earlier—just one raised finger had shattered their defenses completely. This level of magic and mastery rivaled Voldemort's… perhaps even Dumbledore's.
What kind of monster was this creature?
Even while reeling at Ranrok's magical prowess, Lucius hadn't lost his reason. Meeting that hidden gaze, he asked with a flicker of hope, "Are you saying… you might act yourself?"
If he truly was an equal—or superior—to Voldemort, then not only would Voldemort's followers stand no chance, even Voldemort himself might not survive.
"Are you joking? You want me to deal with that group of riffraff? Do you take me for a fool, Lord Malfoy?" Ranrok snapped, his sharp voice tinged with anger.
Lucius flinched, but still forced himself to argue through clenched teeth. "But aside from Azkaban, I see nowhere capable of trapping all of them at once. Foolish as they are, many wield dangerous dark magic."
As soon as the words left him, Lucius noticed the faint trembling beneath Ranrok's cloak.
Fear?
He must be going mad. A being like this—fearing that rabble?
Sure enough, the absurd thought had barely formed when he heard Ranrok let out a strangled, uncontrollable laugh.
"Heh… hahaha—Midgard, did you hear him? He said 'powerful dark magic.'" Ranrok laughed until he was short of breath, as though hearing the joke of the century.
But a cold chill crawled up Lucius's spine.
"Listen, Lord Malfoy," Ranrok abruptly cut off his laughter, voice turning icy. "I'll give you a place. Any excuse will do. If you can't think of one, ask little Midgard—she'll show this thick-headed man how to lure them over. The point is: bring them. All of them."
"Bring them… all? And then?" Lucius asked, dazed.
"Heh heh heh… and then?" Ranrok lifted his head. Through the hood's shadow, Lucius caught a sliver of his face—withered, scarred, like old dead bark. The sight sent a shiver straight down his spine.
"Then you go hide somewhere quiet and watch the people you despise die miserably," Ranrok said, baring a twisted smile. "Of course, if you're sick of living, you can join them. But I doubt you're that foolish… are you?"
Lucius's mouth went dry. He swallowed hard.
"I understand," he managed. "I'll lead them to the designated location. May I know where that location is?"
"The place is…" Ranrok started, then abruptly stopped, sounding irritated. "We'll prepare a Portkey when the time comes. Just get them there."
Another unknown, unspeakable place.
Lucius swallowed again.
"Then… those wolves…" Lucius glanced at Midgard, trying to understand the relationship between this new monarch of Knockturn Alley and the terrifying Ranrok. "No offense—I'm simply worried about collateral—"
"There will be no collateral. They must answer for what they've done," Midgard said coldly.
"Little Midgard is right," Ranrok said with a low chuckle. "Since they chose betrayal, let them walk that path straight to death. There is no turning back—and we will not allow one."
Ranrok turned his crimson gaze toward Lucius. Those eyes were like a beast's—dangerous and unblinking.
"That applies to anyone. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Malfoy?"
Lucius swallowed for the third time. "You're right."
It was clear the warning was meant for him.
"Well then, little Midgard, that settles it. We should go—if we stay any longer, someone might invite us to dinner," Ranrok said. He turned, and with Midgard beside him, walked toward the door. The moment they crossed the threshold, both vanished without a trace.
Only after the two terrifying figures disappeared did Lucius finally exhale, rushing to help his stunned wife up from the floor.
"Narcissa, are you all right?" Lucius asked urgently.
"I'm fine… but that man… who was he?" Narcissa stared fearfully at the still-open door, as though expecting him to reappear.
"I don't know. But he's dangerous." Lucius checked her injuries—just a few scrapes—and sighed with relief. Then he shouted: "Dobby? Dobby! Where has that useless elf gone—?"
With a crack, a ragged House-elf appeared, trembling. "S-sorry, Master. Dobby was attacked. Someone knocked Dobby unconscious."
"Knocked you out?" Lucius's expression darkened. "Did you see his face?"
"N-no… Dobby didn't even have time to see," Dobby whispered.
"Useless creature," Lucius snapped. "Fetch Essence of Dittany."
"Y-yes, master!" Dobby vanished, relieved he was spared a beating, and returned moments later with the potion.
After tending to Narcissa and himself, Lucius sent Dobby away. Husband and wife sat together in silence.
The feeling of surviving disaster clung to them both.
"Will they… come back?" Narcissa whispered.
Lucius paused, then nodded grudgingly. "They will. It's clear Ranrok intends to use me."
...
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