Chapter 56: Christmas Dinner at the Malfoy Family
The crushing sensation of Apparition was worse than Regulus had expected.
Orion's magic wrapped around him with steady force, and Regulus felt as though he were being driven through a narrow rubber tube at speed. For one awful heartbeat his insides seemed briefly squeezed, then everything snapped open again.
When his shoes struck solid ground, the Malfoy family's castle stood before him.
Moonlight spilled over ivory white stone, giving the walls a cold sheen. Spires cut into the night like spears, and beyond the gates the gardens were trimmed with obsessive precision. Along the paths, magical lanterns lit one after another, as though the manor itself were drawing breath.
The gates stood open. Two house elves in neat collars bowed low in welcome, the Malfoy crest stitched into the fabric at their throats.
The air carried a rich tangle of scents: champagne, roasted chestnuts, and sharp magical spices. Somewhere deeper inside, string music drifted out, low and melodious, perfectly suited to a pure blood banquet.
"Quite a few have arrived," Orion said, straightening his pitch black robes. His fingertips brushed the Black family brooch at his chest. "Stay close. Speak little. Watch more."
Regulus nodded. His eyes moved to the guest list near the entrance, the names embroidered in gold thread.
Lestrange. Carrow. Nott. Yaxley. Cuthbert. Travers. Goyle. Crabbe.
Most of the Sacred Twenty Eight were represented, families whose leanings were clear enough without anyone naming them aloud. Mixed among them were faces from neutral pure blood lines, people who had come to observe rather than commit.
They stepped into the main hall.
The marble floor had been polished to a mirror shine, catching the glow of enchanted chandeliers and reflecting the reliefs carved into the pillars. Those reliefs depicted past Malfoy heads striking pacts with magical beasts, dragons and griffins rendered in proud stone, their edges gilded in gold.
The furniture was dark walnut, carved with intricate acanthus patterns along arms and backs. The cushions were velvet in silver green, cool and smooth beneath Regulus's fingertips, yet firm enough to keep posture perfect.
In one corner stood a life sized silver sculpture of the first Malfoy head holding a wand aloft. A diamond set into the wand's tip caught and split light, scattering tiny points of brilliance across the floor like drifting stars.
Guests filled the room. Robes ran mostly to silver green, dark green, and deep red. Wizards held champagne flutes and spoke in low, measured tones. Witches moved like swaying curtains of silk, their laughter soft and carefully placed.
All along their path, people stopped to greet Orion.
"Mr Black, it has been too long." A wizard with a handlebar moustache lifted his glass. The head of the Yaxley family, his gaze sharp beneath the courtesy. "And this is Regulus?"
"Yaxley," Orion returned with a small nod. He gestured, a minimal introduction that still carried weight. "Regulus."
"A handsome young man," Yaxley said, his eyes lingering with open appraisal.
Regulus inclined his head. "Mr Yaxley."
They moved on.
A short, stout wizard approached, smiling with a practised warmth that never reached his small eyes.
Old Crabbe.
He took Orion's hand with a measured grip, the kind of greeting that meant as much as a contract among pure blood families.
"Orion."
"Crabbe," Orion replied, his voice flat enough to hide any feeling.
He stepped aside and tipped his chin at Regulus. "This is Regulus."
Crabbe's gaze swept Regulus in one quick assessment, then settled into approval that felt more like calculation than fondness.
As they passed deeper into the crowd, Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa stood near the centre of the hall receiving guests.
Lucius wore perfectly tailored silver green robes. His blond hair was combed to immaculate precision, and a wand inlaid with sapphire rested lightly in his hand as though it were an accessory rather than a weapon. His smile was reserved, but he looked high spirited, every line of him proclaiming the Malfoy family's peak influence.
Narcissa stood beside him in white robes, her blond hair gathered into an elegant bun. She carried herself with quiet dignity, already possessing the poise of a mistress of the manor.
"Uncle Orion. Regulus." Narcissa spoke first, voice soft, her gaze resting on Regulus a moment longer than necessary.
"Lucius. Narcissa." Orion offered Lucius a light handshake. "Is your father well?"
"Father is resting inside. He will join us shortly." Lucius's eyes slid to Regulus. "Regulus."
"Mr Malfoy." Regulus held himself with proper composure.
Lucius shook his hand, warmth on his face, charm in every movement. "Call me Lucius. Narcissa speaks of you often. The most outstanding Black."
"Lucius," Regulus replied smoothly, then looked to Narcissa with a polite smile. "Cousin Narcissa."
"Regulus."
Lucius stepped aside with an inviting gesture. "Please. The champagne and refreshments are ready."
On a raised platform to one side, the string musicians played on without pause. Guests gathered into small circles, breaking and reforming like currents, their topics circling the same familiar prey: shifts within the Ministry of Magic, Lord Voldemort's movements, and the exchange of favours and resources that kept old families afloat.
Regulus followed Orion to a quieter corner. A house elf appeared soundlessly at his elbow, and Regulus accepted a flute of champagne.
He did not drink. Not yet.
His gaze moved over the room, mapping faces and positions, storing expressions like evidence.
This was what Orion had taught him. A social gathering was an intelligence field. Truth hid in the smallest details.
Before long, a ripple of attention ran through the hall.
Abraxas Malfoy stepped onto the platform.
He was older than Orion, his hair already greying, but he carried himself with restless energy. His silver green robes were embroidered with complex patterns, and the wand in his hand was said to contain a phoenix feather core, a detail that always drew respectful murmurs.
The conversations below softened, then faded, as eyes turned toward him.
"Thank you all for coming to Malfoy Manor tonight," Abraxas said. His voice was amplified by magic, steady and strong, carrying the command of a man accustomed to being obeyed.
"The wizarding world stands at a crossroads. The old order crumbles. A new power rises.
"We, the pure blood families, who hold magic and resources passed down for a thousand years, should lead this transformation."
His gaze swept the crowd as though weighing each family's value.
"Some call these turbulent times. I call them an opportunity. The strong set the rules. The weak rely on them. We must be the ones who set the rules.
"The glory of pure blood did not appear from nothing. Our ancestors earned it with magic, wisdom, and blood. We have a responsibility to continue that glory, and push it higher still."
His tone sharpened.
"The weakness of the Ministry of Magic has allowed half bloods and Muggle borns to act without restraint, staining the purity of wizardkind. But now, a great wizard leads us to sweep away the filth and rebuild order.
"As long as each family contributes its strength, nothing will block our path."
The speech was not wildly radical, but it did not need to be. Each line pulled at pride and fear, binding pure blood interests neatly to the rise of Lord Voldemort, speaking directly to the thoughts of most of those present.
Regulus watched Abraxas as he spoke, but his own heart remained mostly unmoved.
Abraxas was powerful and clever, and he had brought the Malfoy family to its zenith, but he underestimated one thing.
Lord Voldemort's need for control, and the narrow cruelty that came with it.
Dragon pox had taken Abraxas just as the Malfoys stood at their peak. It was hard not to wonder whether that timing was truly coincidence.
An ally who was too influential, too entrenched, and too difficult to control was never what Lord Voldemort wanted.
As Abraxas finished, applause rose across the hall. He nodded once and stepped down, immediately swallowed by eager guests.
The formal speech gave way to freer conversation. Circles broke apart and reformed, alliances shifting with the movement of champagne glasses.
"Regulus."
Regulus turned.
Avery's father, head of the Cuthbert family, approached with Avery at his side. Lord Cuthbert wore a broad smile that looked effortless, practised, and utterly unreadable.
Avery wore dark green robes. He carried himself more stiffly than he ever did at Hogwarts, clearly aware of every eye that might judge him. Still, when he saw Regulus, there was a flicker of closeness in his gaze.
"Mr Black. Regulus." Lord Cuthbert beamed. "Avery owes much to your care at school."
"Mr Cuthbert, you are too kind," Regulus replied evenly.
"Regulus, see you at school," Avery said, his voice deliberately formal, as if he were trying on adulthood for size.
Regulus's smile softened just a fraction. "See you at school."
He had barely watched them move away when a sharp, eager voice cut through the noise.
"Regulus!"
Bellatrix Lestrange strode toward him in deep red robes, flamboyant and unrestrained. Rodolphus Lestrange followed at her shoulder, tall and severe, his expression tight but his eyes carrying a fanatic spark that matched hers too well.
They were already engaged, and soon to be married. Among Lord Voldemort's followers, their loyalty was known to be absolute.
"Cousin Bellatrix. Mr Lestrange." Regulus inclined his head, reserved, his tone deliberately cool.
"Look at the pride of our House of Black." Bellatrix seized his arm with too much force, her eyes bright with feverish devotion.
Her voice rose, loud enough to draw glances from nearby circles.
"That Lord has already noticed you. It is a supreme honour. The Blacks should stand at the very front, serving the great cause."