Banquet Matters

Malfoy Manor.

As midnight approached, the lights still shone brightly, and music and bonfires filled the snowy night. Although snow was falling in the courtyard, it wasn't cold at all.

People gathered in twos and threes, forming groups of varying sizes, and discussed different topics.

The women gathered around the white peacock on the pavilion, discussing the styles of evening gowns and the colors of scarves; the Pure-blood Families talked about business, specifically entry permits from the American Magical Congress; Quidditch enthusiasts discussed betting and football teams...

In a corner of the courtyard, Sanctimonious gathered together. These people had once been Death Eater, but had managed to escape trial.

Shared experiences and common interests bind them together. Although the group is estranged and harbors calculations against each other, they also share a subtle sense of identification.

When the topic of the vulgarity of United States wizards came up, Flint, a well-informed member of the Pure-blood, glanced at Crabbe beside him, raised his goblet, and quipped:

"I heard your son has been imprisoned by the Ministry of Magic? The charge brought by Headmaster Dumbledore is manipulating Basilisk and threatening the safety of Mudblood students. Ha, you should be glad this is in England; if it were the American Magical Congress, he would have been executed."

The Pure-blood Families members surrounding them burst into laughter.

Seeing Old Crabbe's grim expression, a middle-aged wizard from the Rosier Family patted him on the shoulder. "Christmas, don't be so serious! Spend a little money to smooth things over, and we can pick him up before the holidays are over."

Old Crabbe, with the physique of a bear, was wearing a large shirt, his fat still bulging out of the fabric. His face remained gloomy as he glared at Fudge not far away with his bear-like eyes. "We've already spent a lot of money on the Werewolf last time. That fool Vincent, who doesn't know his own death, might as well die in Azkaban."

Although he said that, everyone around him knew that Vincent was his only son and they certainly couldn't let the Ministry of Magic imprison him in Azkaban.

Flint's eyes darted around, then he took a few steps forward. The others knew he was about to whisper something, so they quickly moved closer, forming a circle around him.

Flint revealed what he had learned. "Vincent was personally sent to the Ministry of Magic by Dumbledore, and that damned Moody is also involved in this case. A lot of people are watching this, and even if you have money, you might not be able to get in."

Old Crabbe's face grew even uglier, his flabby cheeks bunching up, making him look fierce and ugly. Everyone around him could feel the violent aura emanating from him.

Flint glanced at Fudge again and earnestly advised Crabbe, "Don't worry about the law. Just find a way to get him out of the Ministry of Magic and then send him abroad. Whether it's United States or France, changing his identity is easy."

Those around them chimed in agreement:

"Yes, Dumbledore is getting old."

"His influence is no longer as great as it was decades ago; his reach is not as far as it used to be."

Nobody cared whether Vincent had actually broken the law or threatened the safety of the Muggle students...

After all, which of us here doesn't have some Dark Arts items hidden in our homes, and which of us doesn't want to clean up those Mudblood? It's just that there isn't enough incentive for them to put it into practice.

"Things might not be as we think," the middle-aged wizard from the Rosier Family spoke up, his voice even lower. "There's also a hidden theory in the Ministry of Magic that when Albus Dumbledore handed Vincent over to the Ministry of Magic, he suggested that this matter involved that person!"

When he spoke of that person, he subtly touched the outside of his arm—the location of the Dark Mark —with his wine glass.

The onlookers unanimously understood his meaning, and the scene fell silent for a moment.

"Is it true... I mean, has that one really returned?" Flint looked at Old Crabbe and cautiously probed.

Although Old Crabbe was not as clever and shrewd as Lucius, he still keenly sensed that the way people looked at him had changed, and that they were starting to feel a sense of rejection towards him.

The blatant apprehension and suspicion concealed a deep-seated fear—a fear of the Dark Lord.

However, because he was the first to make contact with the Dark Lord, the others dared not openly confront him. They feared that if the Dark Lord were truly resurrected, Crabbe, with Voldemort's power, would retaliate against the others.

A sense of absurdity rose in Old Crabbe's mind...

They certainly don't want the Dark Lord to return, they don't want another supreme master above them, a master who can take their lives at any time.

But if the Dark Lord truly returns, they will be the most devout and loyal Death Eater.

"I don't know the specifics either," Old Crabbe said, and everyone around him waited quietly for him to continue. "But I've never seen the Dark Lord with my own eyes. It must have been that idiot Vincent who was bewitched by some Dark Arts artifact and summoned a Wraith."

Flint stared intently at his face, eagerly asking, "Is that Wraith related to the Dark Lord?"

Old Crabbe was silent for a moment, then shook his head and repeated, "It's just that Vincent, that fool, was bewitched by Dark Arts items."

The tense atmosphere immediately relaxed. Flint downed the drink in his glass and chuckled easily, "Oh, of course! Hogwarts Castle has existed for thousands of years; it wouldn't be surprising to find all sorts of Dark Arts items there. If you ask me, the Ministry of Magic should be searching Hogwarts the most."

"Yes, yes!" the onlookers echoed, their faces bearing fake smiles.

They certainly wouldn't easily believe Old Crabbe's nonsense, each harboring their own schemes, but none showed any sign of it. After all, they were Death Eater had escaped trial; if they hadn't been cunning, they would have died long ago in Azkaban, their souls fed to the Dementor, their bodies thrown into the sea to feed the fish.

The middle-aged wizard Rosier seemed more relaxed. "Just like the rumors circulating in the Ministry of Magic, this is just Dumbledore's excuse. He's trying to seize Fudge's power and become Minister for Magic."

"That's right. After all, everyone knows that if the Dark Lord really returns, only Dumbledore can rival him. As soon as news of that person spreads, there will definitely be people recommending Dumbledore for the position of Minister for Magic."

"Haha, what a clumsy trick."

"To be honest, while Dumbledore's magic is powerful, these tricks are really too clumsy."

"That's right!"

Taking another glass of wine from the tray of a passing Veela waiter, Flint, no longer under pressure, drank slowly this time, adopting the demeanor of a Pure-blood nobleman. "If you ask me, this matter is easily resolved. After Vincent was only controlled by Dark Arts object, so he is certainly innocent."

A knowing smile crept across everyone's faces, for they had used this very excuse to escape punishment years ago: they were controlled by a curse, influenced by Imperius Curse, threatened by Dark Arts...

Although they committed many evil deeds as Death Eater, they were inherently good and innocent.

Old Crabbe's expression softened, and he discussed with the others how to apply traditional skills to his son.

In the shadowy corner of the backlit corridor, Dobby, the House-elf, tiptoed past, trying his best to hide himself and avoid disturbing the guests' enjoyment that evening.

If he could, he would rather stay in the Kitchen than come out.

But it has to deliver the freshly baked, piping hot food to the long table. Fortunately, the first half went smoothly, and now it can simply retreat back to the Kitchen.

Dobby took cautious, small steps, when a gaunt, human-shaped shadow suddenly loomed over it. "It really is you!"

Sirius Black Black grabbed Dobby the neck and, using his long robe as cover, carried him to a secluded room unnoticed by anyone.

"Do you recognize me?" A dangerous glint shone in his sunken eyes, and a thick killing intent emanated from Black, making Dobby tremble.

Malfoy invited almost all the Pure-blood Families. As the only remaining member of the Black family and practically the sole heir, not to mention Narcissa was his cousin, Black easily obtained an invitation to the banquet.

After nearly a semester of investigation, Black hadn't gotten any useful clues, but then at the banquet, he caught up with the House-elf, Dobby.

Christmas presents... Black grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.

Dobby trembled uncontrollably and stammered, "I... I know you. You are Mr. Black, Narcissa's cousin..."

"Still not being honest!" Black's face twitched. "Either you confess everything, or I'll go talk to Malfoy. Your master would be more than happy to chop off your head! I think you'd be too!"

"No! No, Dobby doesn't want to, Dobby wants to live!" the House-elf cried in a high-pitched voice, its face showing fear and despair.

Black released his grip on its neck. "Do you recognize me now?"

He wasn't worried about Dobby escaping; the House-elf ' owners were in the manor, so it couldn't escape.

"I know, Dobby knows, you are Mr. Harry Potter's godfather," Dobby said tremblingly.

"Explain yourself clearly. Why did you intercept Harry's letters during the summer vacation? Why did you prevent him from returning to school? Did you know about the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets of Secrets beforehand?" Black demanded.

"Oh, summer vacation! Summer vacation! Master!" Dobby went into a frenzy, tears and snot streaming down its face, and it kept pounding its head with its fists.

"Dobby must not speak! Dobby must not speak!"

"Dobby is a bad elf! Dobby is a bad elf!"

The House-elf clenched its fist and pounded its head with all its might, quickly breaking the skin. Horrifying dark blood mingled with snot and tears.

Black's face was contorted with disgust as he gruffly shouted, "Enough! Shut up!"

Dobby's behavior reminded him of the House-elf at Black family manor, the eccentric Kreacher. But Black also understood that this was a way to make the House-elf betray its current owner, so it wasn't surprising that Dobby was engaging in these self-harming acts.

"You stay here and wait!" Black said, then got up and left.

A moment later, Black re-entered the room, followed by Narcissa, the mistress of the Malfoy Manor, who was dressed in an elegant evening gown.

"Hey Sirius Black, the white peacock is about to spread its tail feathers! Why did you call me here?" Narcissa complained.

Narcissa was in a good mood tonight, and even her cousin, who had been imprisoned in Azkaban for ten years, seemed more agreeable to her.

A few months ago, Old Crabbe led a pack of Werewolf and wreaked havoc on her living room. Because of this, Lucius even made sure Malfoy stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas, leading Narcissa to wonder if the Malfoy family was in trouble.

But the grand banquet tonight dispelled her concerns. Almost all the prominent officials of the Ministry of Magic were there, and her husband was having a pleasant conversation with the Minister for Magic at the banquet...

As for the Werewolf, they will be driven out of the Britain Kingdom under the full and intensified implementation of the Anti-Werewolf Law.

"I want to buy this House-elf from you. You know, Black family manor hasn't been cleaned in over ten years; it's so filthy it's practically uninhabitable," Black said, pointing to Dobby on the ground.

Narcissa glanced at the filthy Dobby with disgust, then quickly looked away, not wanting her eyes, which had just been admiring the white peacock, to be tainted. "I remember the Black family had their own House-elf. Are they dead? They couldn't have escaped, could they?"

"Sirius Black probably wanted to take Dobby away, Dobby sees it as a betrayal of his master, so he's punishing himself, "Narcissa guessed casually.

House-elf are not rare creatures; as long as you have money, you can always buy or trade them from other Pure-blood Families.

Narcissa hesitated when she suddenly had to sell her servant.

Dobby lay on the ground howling, snot, tears, and blood falling onto the carpet. Narcissa's brows furrowed, and undisguised disgust flashed in her eyes.

"You mean Kreacher? It's too old, too old to move, and it's been begging me to cut off its head all day long." Seeing that Narcissa's refusal wasn't firm, Black continued, "I just want to renovate the old house as soon as possible and sort out the jewelry, antiques and stuff."

"I don't want to bother looking elsewhere. If you agree, I can offer this much." Black held out his hand, gesturing a price that would tempt Narcissa.

In an effort to cultivate a relationship with Fudge, the Malfoy family has recently incurred significant expenses. They donated a large sum to the Ministry of Magic, secretly sent a large sum to Fudge, donated a large sum to St Mungo's's, and covered the costs of tonight's Christmas party...

The price Black offered was enough for Malfoy to recoup some of his losses.

Narcissa suppressed her joy and nodded reservedly. "I need to discuss it with Lucius. In any case, we'll need it for tonight's banquet."

"Of course." Black smiled with satisfaction.

Neither of them glanced at Dobby lying on the ground, and they walked out of the room together.

What are your plans for the future?

"I don't know, let's leave it at that for now."

"If you ask me, you should marry a girl of Pure-blood and have a few children as soon as possible. We can't let the Black family bloodline die out."

"Hmm," Black replied casually.

"Look at the Weasley. They say they don't care about Pure-blood, but their actions speak louder than words. After all, they've had so many children, haven't they? Don't be like Andromeda. I remember she had a daughter with Muggle named Tonks..."