CHAPTER NINETEEN
LUCIUS MALFOT ADJUSTED his cane, the silver serpent head glinting under the weak morning sunlight. His piercing gray eyes scanned the moor with the cool precision of a man accustomed to power, his lip curling faintly at the chaotic scene before him. He moved with deliberate grace, the tail of his cloak sweeping behind him, black as an omen. Narcissa followed, her presence as commanding as ever. The faint shimmer of silver embroidery on her tailored silver fur coat caught the morning mist, giving her the appearance of a spectral queen surveying her dominion. She walked with an elegance that seemed almost defiant in the face of the muddy terrain. Behind them trailed Draco and Lyra, their youthful anticipation only slightly dimmed by the elder Malfoys' stoic air of superiority.
Lyra Black, her sharp features softened by a mischievous grin, cast her eyes across the bustling field of mismatched tents and wizards clad in unfortunate attempts at Muggle fashion. She leaned toward Draco, her voice low and sarcastic. "It's like a convention for the fashionably inept. I almost want to applaud the effort—or lack thereof."
Draco smirked, the same sardonic edge in his tone. "Careful, cousin. They might overhear and think you're volunteering as their stylist."
"Perish the thought," Lyra replied, brushing an imaginary speck off her sleek black jacket that she paid over a hundred pounds for.
Ahead of them, Lucius came to a halt as two Ministry officials shuffled toward him. The wizards, clearly overworked and underwhelming, looked as if they had been plucked from a lineup of mediocrity. One wore a tweed suit that clashed violently with his thigh-high galoshes, while the other had committed the dual sins of donning a kilt and poncho.
Lucius raised a single eyebrow, his expression teetering between distaste and disdain. "You're late," he said crisply, his voice slicing through the air like a blade.
The wizard with the clipboard nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to respond. "M-Mr. Malfoy! Apologies, sir. We're, uh, short-staffed today with the number of arrivals—"
Lucius waved a gloved hand to silence him. "Spare me your excuses. I trust you haven't overlooked the arrangements I requested?" His tone was polite in the way a dagger might be polite when poised at your throat.
The man fumbled with his parchment, scanning the list in frantic silence. The second wizard, still fiddling with the peculiar golden watch, muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Typical."
Lucius turned his icy gaze on him. "I beg your pardon?"
The wizard froze, his face draining of color. "Nothing, sir. Nothing at all."
The man with the clipboard straightened up, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead despite the cool morning air. "Y-you're in the Executive Pavilion, of course. Best tent on the grounds, as per your specifications. If there's anything else you require, the site manager will be available to—"
Lucius stepped closer, towering over the man with an aura that seemed to drain the warmth from the air. "Anything else I require? Let me be abundantly clear: I didn't request the best tent. I demanded it. Should there be any... discrepancies, you will personally find yourself explaining them to the Minister for Magic. Do I make myself understood?"
The wizard nodded so vigorously that his glasses slipped down his nose. "Yes, sir! Perfectly, sir!" Lyra almost snorted at this.
Lucius leaned back, a satisfied smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Good. See to it that no one disturbs us unnecessarily. And kindly refrain from embarrassing yourselves further in my presence."
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FLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT ► harry potter ¹
RomanceFLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT | "Everything's in order in a black hole. Nothing seems as pretty as the past though" ━━he stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even with...
