Chapter 173
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"That's enough for now."
Looking at the empty ancestral house — aside from Mrs. Black's screaming portrait and the house-elves — Draco was somewhat distracted. Pansy should have reached home by now, while he still had to remain here for a while to continue brewing the potions Salazar had left behind.
Besides that, Draco had been conducting many experiments.
Most of them were tedious.
Some were even related to darker magic.
"Perhaps I could already walk the path of a necromancer," Draco mocked himself. "But if I really did that, Dumbledore might consider me more troublesome than Voldemort."
In one corner of the laboratory, several Dementors were forced back, shrinking together in fear. The tip of Draco's wand emitted silvery mist — upon closer inspection, it formed the shape of a rooster.
The Patronus Charm still made the soul-devouring creatures instinctively afraid.
The Dementors hovered close to the ground. They wanted desperately to escape, but they were bound by an oath and had no choice but to cooperate with Draco's experiments.
"So you can feel fear as well?" Draco said coldly.
He had no good impression of these creatures. If not for research related to the soul, he would never have brought them here.
The knowledge Salazar had left him was not limited to potions and Occlumency. As one of the founders of Hogwarts, Salazar's mastery extended far beyond that. In terms of knowledge alone, he was no less accomplished than Ravenclaw.
In his later years, Salazar had traveled across most of Europe. Ancient manuscripts, hidden relics, and forgotten legacies had allowed him to advance even further along the path of magic.
Among the four founders, Salazar was likely the most knowledgeable in the field of the soul.
Godric Gryffindor had never been interested in such matters. Among the four, his legacy contained the least research material. He disdained knowledge he considered abstract or impractical.
Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw had also avoided magic considered dark by most wizards — the former because she found it cruel, the latter because she found it inelegant.
Only Salazar had continued down that path.
He had been a true wizard.
And he had paid for it with loneliness.
Meanwhile, the other three had devoted most of their time to teaching and nurturing students. Much of their research had been sacrificed to build a better environment for future generations.
Magic was not omnipotent.
It could make life more convenient, but it could not easily create wealth.
Building a castle capable of educating students required enormous resources. Maintaining it — potion ingredients, magical creatures for study, teaching materials — was a bottomless expense.
As pioneers, they had walked a narrow road full of thorns.
Hogwarts existed because of their selfless dedication.
Neither path was right or wrong.
As one of the founders, Salazar naturally knew the Patronus Charm. He had also researched Dementors extensively. Their ultimate weapon — the Dementor's Kiss — was worse than death. When they kissed a wizard or Muggle, the soul was sucked away, leaving behind an empty shell.
Draco wondered if such a fate might one day be used against Voldemort.
Over centuries, Dementors had multiplied greatly. Their numbers were no longer a concern. Bound by oath, they would obey Draco if necessary.
More importantly, Voldemort likely could not produce a Patronus. Most dark-hearted individuals were incapable of casting the charm.
There were rare exceptions — people who genuinely believed their actions were righteous.
Voldemort was not one of them. He knew exactly what he had done, yet felt no remorse.
In some ways, the former type was even more dangerous — appearing ordinary until the moment they revealed their true nature.
For now, Dementors might become Draco's trump card.
The problem was that his research had made little progress.
True advancement always came through repeated failure.
Draco had personally experienced their power many times. During some experiments, he had even refrained from casting a Patronus, allowing his emotions to be partially drained.
It had not helped much.
Voldemort's willpower was extraordinary. After losing everything overnight, he had hidden and endured for over a decade. To achieve immortality, he was willing to abandon anything.
Draco even suspected that if only a few Dementors approached him, Voldemort might be the one to frighten them.
Only the Kiss might truly affect him.
"Did you ever study Dementors?" Draco had once asked Salazar.
"In our era, they were rare," Salazar had replied. "I wanted to capture some for research, but whenever we encountered them, Godric would summon his griffin-shaped Patronus and destroy them immediately. He had absolutely no tolerance for such creatures."
There had been no resentment in Salazar's tone — only helplessness.
A thousand years had passed. Their disagreements were long buried in history.
They had simply walked different paths.
With no guidance to rely on, Draco had no choice but to continue experimenting alone.
Although he now had two house-elves, they were intelligent beings. Even if he could not treat them as equals, he could not use them as experimental subjects either.
"It's time to prepare for the future."
A thought came to him.
"Would you like to visit your homeland?" he said to the Dementors, not caring whether they understood.
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The Quidditch World Cup
After remaining at the Black house for some time, Draco returned to Malfoy Manor.
Narcissa's letters had been arriving one after another, each urging him to come home. His potion work and experiments were finally complete, and the Dementors had been arranged elsewhere.
It was time to return.
After giving Kreacher instructions, Draco left the house to be guarded by the elf alone.
Life at the manor was quiet and repetitive — experiments, studying Salazar's teachings, and daily magical training.
His knowledge was already sufficient.
What he needed now was practical application.
Simply becoming an encyclopedia was nothing to be proud of.
Time passed quickly.
Soon, the Quidditch World Cup approached.
"Draco, your father managed to obtain some of the best tickets," Narcissa said mysteriously during dinner one evening. "A private box."
"Really? That's a pleasant surprise," Draco replied, showing just enough excitement to satisfy her.
"If Fudge were still in office, our seats might have been even better," Lucius said, dabbing his lips with a silver-threaded handkerchief. "His ears were much easier to bend than Crouch's. Still, Crouch is far more efficient. Fudge was greedy and foolish — and didn't even realize it."
For him, retirement was probably the best outcome.
"For the Ministry as well," Lucius added.
He glanced at the ornate quartz clock.
"I have to go," he said quietly. "The creature belonging to that Azkaban keeper injured someone again. Several prisoners were badly hurt. I must decide whether to send them to St Mungo's or leave them be."
Narcissa looked worried.
"It won't affect my work," Lucius reassured her. "Few people care about the rights of Azkaban prisoners."
He stood, took his silver snake-headed cane, and prepared to leave.
"Don't worry," he whispered to Narcissa. "She is still your sister. I'll handle it."
Narcissa relaxed.
"Goodbye, Father," Draco said, accompanying him to the door.
After Lucius left, Narcissa turned back to her son.
"Draco," she asked meaningfully, "how are things between you and Pansy?"
She looked quite pleased with herself.
Draco's mouth twitched slightly. He chose not to mention the potion incident.
"We get along well enough," he said lightly. "She just causes a little trouble sometimes."
"That sounds wonderful," Narcissa said happily. In her eyes, tolerance meant affection.
"You'll see her again soon. Our box is next to theirs."
"What a coincidence, Mother," Draco replied absent-mindedly.
He had little interest in the World Cup itself.
But he had his own reason for attending.
During the event, he needed to deal with a gambler — and a lunatic.
That was part of his plan for the coming year.
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Before the match, the Malfoy family moved into their tent.
With house-elves, there was no need for manual work. Dobby had already transported furniture and supplies overnight.
Though it appeared to be a tent, the interior was magically expanded — practically a second home.
Luxurious carpets covered the floor.
Even the marble fireplace from Malfoy Manor had been installed.
The World Cup had not yet begun.
But everything was ready.