Wiltshire, England, was one of the areas with a relatively high concentration of British pure-blood wizards, much like Godric's Hollow and Ottery St Catchpole.
Malfoy Manor also stood in this sparsely populated yet picturesque area.
Several other pure-blood families lived nearby, and unfortunately, the headquarters of the Pure-blood Association was also close by, inside a dark castle.
The normally quiet castle had seen a constant stream of visitors lately, though all of them came and went in a hurry.
In a lavishly furnished conference room, only twelve or thirteen people sat around a large round table with twenty-eight seats.
The Pure-blood Association, once at the height of its power and able to dominate all of Britain, now looked rather short on successors.
Many families had either died out, like the Gaunts, or were still locked up in Azkaban, like the Lestranges.
Another seven or eight sacred pure-blood families had simply left this loose organization, including the Bones, Longbottom, and Crouch families.
A sinister-looking middle-aged man with bloodlust and madness in his eyes turned to Lucius and sneered.
"Lucius, has your son still not uncovered the extent of Shawn's power or the secret behind its growth? Didn't you say little Draco was very close to Shawn?"
This was the deranged Old Nott, Theodore's father.
His allies immediately joined in the mockery.
Flint said, "Heh heh, surely the Malfoy family hasn't been the first to switch sides again and already thrown in its lot with the new Chosen One?"
Travers said, "I wouldn't rule it out. It's practically a tradition, after all. Ha ha."
Lucius wore magnificent gold-threaded robes, with a classical elegance reminiscent of a bishop. He stood out sharply among the black-robed crowd.
He held his head slightly high, his expression revealing neither pleasure nor anger, and made no reply