(Gilderoy Lockhart)
The meeting finally adjourned in a flurry of low conversations and hastily gathered robes. The Wizengamot chamber, which had felt oppressively tense only minutes earlier, slowly returned to its usual air of polite hypocrisy. People smiled again. Hands were shaken. Promises were made that everyone knew would be selectively remembered.
I was just about to leave, already mentally cataloguing everything that had gone wrong, when a familiar voice stopped me.
"Lord Lockhart."
I turned, surprised despite myself.
Lucius Malfoy stood a few paces away, posture immaculate as ever, silver-tipped cane resting lightly in his hand as though it were an accessory rather than a statement. His expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes were alert, assessing, weighing.
That alone was unsettling.
"Yes, Lord Malfoy?" I replied pleasantly, inclining my head just enough to be polite without appearing submissive.
"I was hoping we might speak privately," he said. His tone suggested this was less a request and more a negotiation already decided. "At your convenience, of course."
Now that truly caught my attention.
Lucius Malfoy did not seek people out unless it benefited him. He certainly did not offer courtesy unless it was calculated. And yet, there he was, making a point of being seen approaching me, of all people, in the aftermath of a politically volatile meeting.
"I would be happy to," I said after a brief pause. "Do you have a place in mind?"
A faint smile touched his lips, thin and sharp. "Actually, I thought I would leave that choice to you. As a gesture of goodwill, to prove this isn't a trap."
That raised every internal alarm I had.
Goodwill from Lucius Malfoy was never free.
Still, refusing outright would have been foolish. If nothing else, this was an opportunity. Information flowed far more freely over wine than over council benches.
"In that case," I said lightly, "why don't we make it something informal? The Three Broomsticks. Dinner, perhaps."
Malfoy's eyebrow lifted a fraction, as if he hadn't quite expected that answer. Then he nodded.
"Very well," he said. "This evening, then."
"This evening," I agreed.
He inclined his head once more and turned away, already dismissed me from his attention as though the matter were settled beyond dispute.
I watched him go, the soft tap of his cane echoing against the marble floor.
Whatever Lucius Malfoy wanted to discuss, it wasn't trivial.
And it certainly wasn't just dinner.
…
Amelia Bones reached me just as I was preparing to leave.
"Lord Lockhart."
Her voice cut cleanly through the lingering chatter, brisk and unmistakably hers. I turned to find her standing with her shoulders squared, Wizengamot robes still perfectly arranged despite the hours of argument. She looked exhausted in the way only people who carried real responsibility ever did.
"Madam Bones," I said, offering a respectful nod.
She studied me for a moment, then inclined her head in return. "I wanted to thank you. Personally."
That was… unexpected.
"For the donation," she continued, "but more than that, for forcing the room to move. If you hadn't stood when you did, we would still be arguing about committee structures and press releases."
Her mouth tightened slightly. "And nothing would have been decided."
"I'm glad it was useful," I said honestly. "Though I can't say it was pleasant to watch."
A humorless huff escaped her. "That's the Wizengamot for you."
I hesitated, then asked, "Is it always that inefficient?"
She looked at me then, really looked at me, and for the briefest moment the iron-clad Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement slipped.
"You don't know even half of it," she said quietly.
There was no exaggeration in her tone. No drama. Just bone-deep fatigue.
"Politics here isn't about solving problems," she went on. "It's about avoiding blame. About making sure the fallout lands on someone else's desk." She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "You forced them to confront reality, even if only for an hour. That made all the difference."
"I'll take that as high praise," I said mildly.
She allowed herself a small, genuine smile. "It is."
Then her expression hardened again, duty reasserting itself like armor snapping back into place.
"If you hear anything," she added, lowering her voice, "anything at all that might help us track the escapees… I would appreciate knowing."
"You'll be the first," I promised.
She nodded once, satisfied, and turned away, already being intercepted by another cluster of council members demanding her attention. Watching her go, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy.
She was trying to hold back a flood with parchment and procedure.
That never ended well.
I was just about to leave when another presence made itself known.
"Lord Lockhart."
Cygnus Greengrass stood before me, hands folded neatly behind his back, his expression carved from the same stone as the old families themselves. That alone told me it was a serious matter, considering he usually acted far more amicably around me.
"Lord Greengrass," I greeted.
"I hear you have accepted an invitation from Lucius Malfoy," he said, not bothering to disguise the fact that this was not a question.
Word traveled fast.
"I have," I replied evenly.
His eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but in appraisal. "Then consider this a courtesy warning."
I waited.
"Malfoy does nothing without purpose," Cygnus said. "If he has approached you now, it is because he believes you are useful. Or exploitable."
"That's true of most people in this room," I pointed out.
A thin smile flickered across his face. "Perhaps. But Malfoy is… consistent."
He leaned in just enough that his words were meant for me alone.
"A Death Eater will always be a Death Eater," he said quietly. "No matter how polished the cane. No matter how generous the donation."
I held his gaze. "You believe he hasn't changed."
"I believe he hasn't repented," Cygnus replied. "There's a difference."
He straightened, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. "Be careful, Lord Lockhart. Power attracts attention. And Malfoy has always known how to use attention to his advantage."
With that, he gave a short, formal nod and walked away, melting seamlessly back into the departing crowd.
I stood there for a moment longer, listening to the echoes of footsteps and distant voices fade down the marble corridors.
Two warnings in the span of minutes.
One about a system rotting from within.
The other about a man who had survived every purge, every scandal, despite having been on the losing side of a war.
Dinner at the Three Broomsticks was suddenly looking far less casual than I had suggested.
And far more interesting.
…