A/N: Thank you for all the love and support and also for the criticism. I'd like to thank everyone that became a member whether it was for one month or continued support, whether it was smallest tier or the highest each and everyone of you has helped me. I am not the writer who mentions every member at the end of a chapter, but I've always kept it in my mind. I am writing this without AI assistance, as for why that is important I am a very self conscious person English being my third language, But I didn't want to write this with AI. Purpose of this interruption is that I'll be posting chapter more frequently on P@treon from now. Hopefully on Webnovel too in near future. Keep enjoying the story
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I was talking with the heirs and young masters of various families, taking full advantage of an opportunity that rarely presented itself.
While I recognized many of them from Hogwarts, most of those interactions had been superficial. We shared classes, exchanged greetings, and occasionally crossed paths in the corridors, but that was where it ended. Here, however, things were different. Away from school uniforms and house rivalries, they represented the future of their families.
The older students who had already graduated interested me even more.
Several worked within the Ministry.
Others held junior positions at the Daily Prophet, St. Mungo's, Gringotts liaison offices, or family businesses. A few were already being groomed to inherit important responsibilities. Connections formed now could prove useful years down the line.
The conversations flowed naturally enough.
Politics.
Business.
Hogwarts.
Ministry reforms.
The state of magical Britain.
Everyone seemed determined to measure everyone else while pretending they were simply enjoying a festive evening.
As one conversation concluded, my attention drifted toward the upper levels of the ballroom.
A flash of blond hair caught my eye.
A slight smile appeared on my face.
On the second floor, partially hidden behind an ornate railing, a small figure was peering down at the gathering below.
Trying very hard not to be noticed.
Draco Malfoy.
At a glance, he couldn't have been more than nine years old.
Unlike the confident heir he would become at Hogwarts, this Draco was still a child. Curious enough to investigate the party below but clearly not allowed to join.
After excusing myself from the current group, I made my way toward one of the side staircases.
The second floor was considerably quieter than the ballroom beneath it.
The music became distant.
The conversations softened into background noise.
By the time I reached the upper gallery, Draco hadn't noticed me.
He remained leaning slightly over the railing, eyes fixed on the crowd below.
I walked up behind him.
"You must be Draco."
The boy nearly jumped out of his skin.
He spun around immediately, eyes wide, one hand instinctively moving toward the small wand holster attached to his dress robes before he remembered he wasn't actually allowed to carry a wand yet.
For a moment he simply stared at me.
Then his expression shifted into the careful arrogance young pureblood children often adopted when they felt uncertain.
"Who are you?"
The response almost made me laugh.
Almost.
"My name is Alastair Salvius-P."
A flash of recognition appeared in Draco's eyes.
"You're the one who broke the hourglass at Hogwarts."
I couldn't help chuckling.
Apparently that was my reputation now.
"That's one way of putting it, I suppose."
Draco stepped closer immediately, his earlier caution forgotten.
"I want to be like you."
That wasn't the response I expected.
"Oh?"
Draco nodded enthusiastically.
"I want to beat up Dumbledore and those mudbloods too."
I nearly choked on air.
Of all the things I expected to hear tonight, that was not one of them.
A moment later I reached over and flicked him lightly on the forehead.
"Ow!"
Draco immediately covered the offended area and glared at me.
"What was that for?"
I took a moment to recover before answering.
"First, I didn't beat up Dumbledore, nor can I, nor do I particularly want to. Second, as the heir of a noble family, you should learn that there are certain words you don't casually throw around. Especially not in public."
Draco's expression shifted slightly.
He knew exactly which word I meant.
"Why can't I?" he asked stubbornly. "Father says it all the time."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Does your father work with those people when he visits the Ministry?"
Draco opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then opened it again.
"That's different."
"How?"
"They work for us."
The answer came quickly.
"They're supposed to. We're better than them."
There wasn't much conviction behind the statement.
Mostly repetition.
The kind children repeated because trusted adults had said it often enough.
I leaned against the railing beside him.
"So you've never seen your father working with a half-blood?"
Draco hesitated.
"Well..."
"Or asking one for information?"
Another pause.
"Maybe."
"Or needing one to approve paperwork?"
That earned a frown.
I pointed toward the ballroom below.
"Have you ever seen any of the people down there publicly insulting half-bloods and muggleborns during one of these gatherings?"
Draco looked down.
There were dozens of influential witches and wizards below.
Not one of them was doing that.
"No."
"Do you know why?"
He shook his head.
"Partly because Dumbledore has enormous influence and openly supports muggleborns. More importantly, because the world doesn't work that way. Half-bloods and muggleborns are everywhere. The Ministry employs them. Businesses employ them. St. Mungo's employs them. Whether people like it or not, everyone ends up working together eventually."
Draco frowned thoughtfully.
For the first time since we'd met, he actually seemed to be considering something rather than repeating it.
Unfortunately, that only made him look more confused.
Part of him clearly thought my argument made sense.
The other part had spent nine years hearing something entirely different.
Watching him struggle with it, I decided this was neither the time nor the place for that discussion.
He was still a child.
There would be years for politics later.
"Forget it," I said. "Those are problems for adults."
Draco looked relieved.
Then immediately suspicious.
"Why are you smiling?"
"Because I brought you something."
His suspicion vanished instantly.
That, at least, was normal child behavior.
Reaching into my inner pocket, I withdrew a small circular device roughly the size of my palm.
The metal disc was smooth and polished, with a crystal lens set into the center.
Draco's eyes widened.
"What is it?"
"A prototype."
"A prototype of what?"
"Something I'm working on."
I placed the device in his hands and tapped it lightly with my wand.
The lens glowed.
A moment later a projection burst into existence above the disc.
A dragon appeared.
Not a crude drawing.
Not a simple image.
A dragon.
Its scales gleamed beneath invisible sunlight as it circled lazily through the air. Every few moments it opened its jaws and released streams of flame that illuminated the projection in flashes of red and gold.
The creature looked so realistic that it seemed as though someone had somehow shrunk a real dragon and trapped it inside the device.
Draco stared.
The earlier conversation vanished completely from his mind.
His mouth slowly fell open.
The dragon banked sharply, roared silently, and swept past his face before climbing once more into the air.
As Draco remained completely engrossed in the projection, his eyes following the dragon's every movement as it circled above the device, a familiar voice spoke from behind me.
"That is a very interesting device."
The voice was calm.
Controlled.
Cold.
I turned around slowly.
Lucius Malfoy stood a short distance away, his expression composed and unreadable. Judging by the timing of his arrival, he had likely heard at least part of my conversation with Draco.
Perhaps more than part of it.
His gaze lingered briefly on the projection before returning to me.
"Your ideas are certainly unique, Mr. Salvius," he said. "Though some of the thoughts you share might be considered... dangerous."
The emphasis was subtle.
Most people would have missed it.
I didn't.
"You may call me Alastair," I replied politely. "After all, you were a friend of my father."
Lucius inclined his head slightly.
I continued before he could respond.
"And I inherited more than simply the Salvius name. I also inherited the P family name and legacy."
I allowed a brief pause.
"And its oaths."
The reaction was immediate.
Barely noticeable.
A slight twitch near his jaw.
A brief tightening around his eyes.
To anyone else it would have been invisible.
To me, it was confirmation.
He understood exactly what I was referring to.
For several moments neither of us spoke.
Below us, the ballroom continued its festivities completely unaware of the conversation taking place on the upper gallery.
Eventually Lucius broke the silence.
"It seems you have been quite thorough in your study of family records."
"I try to understand what I've inherited."
"A sensible approach."
His tone remained calm, though I could almost see calculations moving behind his eyes.
"Then you are also aware," he continued, "that the obligation in question concerned protection against the Dark Lord and his followers."
The wording was careful.
Deliberately careful.
I smiled faintly.
"An obligation which you ultimately failed."
That made him pause.
Only for a second.
But he paused.
"Voldemort may be gone," I continued quietly, ensuring the conversation remained between us, "yet many of his supporters remain free. Some occupy positions of influence. Others continue pursuing the same ambitions they always held."
The temperature between us seemed to drop slightly.
"And some of them," I added, "may eventually decide that House Salvius-P is inconvenient."
Lucius studied me for several seconds.
For the first time since meeting him that evening, the practiced social mask slipped slightly.
Not enough to reveal much.
Enough to reveal irritation.
Perhaps even annoyance.
Eventually he exhaled slowly.
"If I were to hear of such intentions," he said carefully, "I would naturally attempt to discourage them."
His gaze remained fixed on mine.
"And if necessary, provide warning as early as possible."
There it was.
Not an admission.
Not a surrender.
But an acknowledgment.
The closest either of us would come to discussing the matter openly.
I inclined my head.
"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."
The tension eased immediately.
Both of us understood the conversation had reached its conclusion.
Neither side had won.
Neither side had lost.
The important thing was that the board had been laid out clearly.
Before leaving, I glanced one final time toward Draco.
The boy remained completely oblivious to the political maneuvering occurring around him.
One hand held the projection device while the other repeatedly attempted to poke the dragon as it flew past. Each failed attempt only seemed to increase his determination.
A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
At least one Malfoy was enjoying the evening for the right reasons.
Leaving father and son behind, I descended the staircase and returned to the ballroom below, where dozens of conversations continued and the real game of noble society carried on beneath the glow of enchanted chandeliers.