Lucius forced himself to stay composed as he set down his knife and fork.
"Dobby, bring me another set of cutlery."
"Yes, Master Malfoy," Dobby replied quickly from where he was serving dishes.
Only after the house-elf presented a fresh set did Lucius speak again, his voice trembling slightly. "So… have you made any discoveries?"
His feelings were a tangled mess.
Once, he had been among the Dark Lord's most devoted—well, perhaps not the most loyal, but certainly one of the most capable—followers. And now, faced with the idea of the Dark Lord's possible return, he found himself unsure how to feel.
By logic, he should have been thrilled—longing for the Dark Lord's comeback, for the day when the Death Eaters would again rise to power and dominate the wizarding world. The Malfoy family could shed its slow decline and bask once more in glory.
But fear twisted beneath that hope.
Twelve years ago, he had escaped trial and punishment only by renouncing his allegiance to the Dark Lord. Worse still, not long ago, he had treated an important object entrusted to him by Voldemort as a burden—passing it off to the youngest Weasley girl just to get rid of it.
If the Dark Lord returned, Lucius knew exactly who would be first on the list for retribution.
He couldn't even tell what he truly wanted anymore.
Watching him wrestle with his thoughts, Tver said lightly, "Results? Quite a few."
"I've mastered Dumbledore's most advanced Transfiguration spells—and even learned to weave powerful magic into them."
"As for other forms of magic, the Headmaster even demonstrated Gubraithian Fire to me. It burns eternally unless willingly extinguished."
"He's also an expert at clever teaching tricks. With the right setup, he can make—"
"I mean," Lucius interrupted suddenly, "the part about the Dark Lord."
Narcissa and Draco froze mid-motion, their forks suspended in the air as they stared at him wide-eyed.
"Forgive me," Lucius said, aware of his impropriety, "but you must admit—the Dark Lord's affairs are… of greater concern."
At that, Tver's teasing expression faded. For the first time that afternoon, his face turned serious.
"Dumbledore believes Voldemort isn't truly dead. On the contrary, he's been seeking a way to return."
"So you're saying—"
"I'm saying it's only a matter of time before he comes back to the wizarding world. It could be now, or it could be ten years from now—but one way or another, he will return."
Lucius's face remained calm, but his hands clenched tightly around the silver cutlery. The fine metal bent slightly under the pressure, and deep imprints formed in his palms.
"If I remember correctly, Mr. Malfoy," Tver said evenly, "you claimed during your Wizengamot trial that you were acting under the Imperius Curse, didn't you?"
His gaze locked sharply onto Lucius's flickering eyes. "I wonder… when the Dark Lord returns and hears about that, how do you think he'll react?"
Lucius's eyes darted briefly—then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
"Ha, that's something you'd have to ask the Dark Lord himself."
Tver grinned and raised his wine glass toward him.
"Not exactly something we can know for sure right now," he said after taking a sip—then paused, looking down at the glass in surprise. "This must be from a Muggle vineyard. It's actually quite good."
At that, Lucius lifted his chin with a touch of pride, the gesture almost identical to Draco's usual smugness.
"I still maintain a few connections with Muggle aristocrats. Our family owns quite a number of antique artifacts from their world," he said. "They may not be as wondrous as magical items, but I'm told they're worth a great deal among Muggles."
In truth, most of the non-magical items decorating the house had been acquired from Muggle nobility centuries ago.
Nearly a thousand years earlier, the first Malfoy had come to England, drawing immense wealth and influence from the Muggles around him—including this grand and lavish manor.
To preserve those symbols of past glory, Lucius had even set aside an entire room just to display them. Every object in that room, he often thought with satisfaction, was worth more than the entire Weasley family's belongings combined.
Tver set down his glass with an expression of mild admiration.
"Uncle Lucius truly lives up to his name. I've heard the Malfoys built mountains of wealth from the Muggles centuries ago.
Our family's not so lucky—these days, we can hardly earn anything in the wizarding world. We're just sitting on what little we have left, watching it dwindle."
The pride drained from Lucius's face, replaced by a faint shadow.
Because sitting on dwindling wealth was exactly the Malfoy family's reality.
He had once hoped that serving the Dark Lord would secure their fortune—that their family's glory would finally begin. But before that dream could take shape, Voldemort had been defeated by a mere infant.
Instead of profiting, Lucius had lost a fortune trying to escape punishment.
Now the Malfoy family had fallen so far that even the Ministry of Magic dared to raid their ancestral manor.
Twenty years ago, even the Minister himself would have bowed his head in respect.
Unfortunately, the family's accumulated wealth had dwindled to less than a third of its former glory. Most of the treasures from three centuries ago were now nothing more than unsellable Muggle antiques.
Unless—
"Unless we find a way to profit from the Muggle world again."
As if reading Lucius's thoughts, Tver spoke in a calm, tempting tone.
Lucius stiffened, immediately checking his own mind for intrusion—but found nothing.
He stared warily at Tver's unchanged expression. "The International Confederation of Wizards would never allow such a thing."
"Then we'll make them allow it."
"How could they possibly—"
Dobby suddenly Apparated before them, trembling.
"Master, the Ministry people are here again."
"Damn it!" Lucius slammed his utensils down, irritation flashing across his face.
"Them again?" Narcissa frowned.
"Who else? This is their third search this month!"
Lucius took a few deep breaths before forcing a polite smile back onto his face.
"Bring them in, Dobby." He turned to Tver. "My apologies—you'll have to witness this unpleasant scene."
"I understand."
Tver gave a last, regretful glance at his plate before following the Malfoys to the entrance. He really had been enjoying Dobby's desserts.
Moments later, a group of people marched briskly into the hall.
At the front was the short, stout Minister for Magic—Cornelius Fudge himself.
But Tver's eyes went straight to the woman behind him—Cynthia.
It had been half a year since they last met. She still wore that same dark red trench coat, but the youthful softness in her face had vanished. Her steps were confident, sharp, the click of her heels echoing decisively against the marble floor.
Among the entire group, she carried herself with more authority than even the Auror trailing behind her, who was grinning and winking as if to lighten the mood.
Her eyes swept once across the four people standing in the doorway, then settled briefly on Fudge and Lucius as they exchanged polite greetings.
"—Ah, right, allow me to introduce someone," Fudge said, stepping aside to reveal Cynthia. "This is Cynthia Vasyka, Barty Crouch's most trusted assistant."
"From the Department of International Magical Cooperation?" Lucius's brow furrowed. "And what business brings you to my home?"
Expressionless, Cynthia stepped forward, her tone cool and professional.
"We're currently investigating a shipment of dark magic artifacts recently smuggled into the country. Rumor has it that Malfoy Manor contains quite a number of such items, so we thought we'd pay a visit."
Lucius let out a low, cold laugh as he looked her over.
"How considerate of you to invent all these reasons to search my home. And what about that Weasley? What excuse did he use this time?"
"Because we have evidence you're hiding things that shouldn't see the light of day!" Mr. Weasley's voice rang out from the back of the group.
"We all know there's nothing here, Lucius," Fudge interjected awkwardly. "It's just a routine inspection. Once we're done, we'll be on our way."
He looked caught between two sides—his Ministry duties and his Ministry's biggest financial supporter.
Lucius gave the group a long, icy look before stepping aside to let them in, not bothering to hide his disdain.
That, however, brought Tver fully into view.
"And who might this be?" Fudge asked in surprise.
"Tver Fawley," Tver replied warmly, extending his hand. "From the Fawley family."
"Ah—of course." Fudge clasped his hand, realization dawning. "Hector Fawley would be your—?"
"My grandfather."
"Well, your grandfather's leadership—yes, I've always admired him," Fudge said hesitantly.
Tver didn't linger on the small talk. Fudge and his team had official business, and he was still a guest in the Malfoy home.
At last, Tver gave Lucius a meaningful look—then, under Draco's reluctant gaze, took his leave from the manor.