Draco didn't rush to make a choice, but instead asked, "Father, wasn't everything you and Mother did for the sake of carrying on the family tradition?"
Lucius sneered, "Since you know this, why do you act so recklessly?"
He walked slowly to the desk, his snake-headed cane tapping lightly on the surface, producing a crisp sound.
"You think this is just sorting? No." Lucius's voice was icy cold. "These are four knives plunged into Malfoy's heart."
"The first cut, politics." His eyes swept across Draco's pale face. " The Carrow family sent a letter 'concerning' about Sorting Justice; the Nott family remained silent; and Mrs. Zabini began speaking at the tea party about 'blood and education.'"
"My political network, built up over many years, has cracked for the first time because of you, and the position on the School Governor is now a hot potato."
"The second cut, social interaction." A mocking smile curled at the corner of his lips.
" The Parkinson family dinner, the Greengrass Family declined the concert, and that idiot Bulstrode publicly declared, 'Hats have more courage than some people.' Your mother and I received 'condolences' instead of invitations. Every fake smile says: Look, the Malfoy family have become the biggest joke."
"The third blow, economic." He lowered his voice, making it sound even more dangerous.
" The Gringotts Goblin are looking at us differently now. The partners in Knockturn Alley are 'reassessing the risks.' Those top businesses built on the ' Malfoy ' brand—magical creatures, antiques, cross-border trade—are avoiding us like the plague. Galleon will flow away because the sign says ' Gryffindor.'"
He leaned forward, casting a shadow over Draco.
"The final blow, the fatal blow," he whispered almost in Draco's ear.
"Our greatest asset, the legitimacy of Pure-blood, the glory of Slytherin, has been shattered by your own hands."
"The entire Wizarding World has seen it: the Malfoy heir is Gryffindor at heart."
"When the Dark Lord returns," he uttered the name.
"What does it matter if one's son is Malfoy of Gryffindor? He's a traitor, a stain, trash that needs to be cleaned up first."
"By then, politics, social life, wealth... will all be burned to ashes in the Fiendfyre. The Malfoy name may come to an end."
He straightened up, resuming his icy demeanor.
"So, Draco, to answer your question. We are certainly here for the legacy. But you have lit four fires, intending to burn that legacy to ashes."
"Now you understand? The path you have to 'choose' is not your own, but that of this family, of the thousand-year-old ' Malfoy,'—whether to continue living or to slowly die in disgrace."
Lucius returned to his original position, his back to me, as if he had already made his final judgment.
"Father."
Draco's voice sounded exceptionally clear in the silence.
"You're right, we're the target of everyone's criticism now. Every gaze is like a knife."
Draco paused for a moment, then met the icy scrutiny in the depths of his father's grey eyes.
"But when has the Malfoy family ever not walked a tightrope?"
A chilling clarity was ripped open by Draco.
"Perhaps... this 'humiliation' can serve as our best smokescreen."
Lucius's eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Let everyone—the Ministry of Ministry of Magic's adversaries, wavering allies, and even... more dangerous enemies—"
Draco lowered his voice, his expression mirroring that of Lucius when he spoke.
"Let them all think that something has gone wrong with the Malfoy family, that they are weak, and that there is internal strife."
"When everyone was focused on Gryffindor's jokes, when we were 'forced' to keep a low profile, when I was 'forced' to accept 'correction'..."
At that moment, a very faint light flashed in Draco's eyes.
"Who would notice that, in the shadows, Galleon are flowing into more crucial channels? And who could guard against a seemingly 'troubled' Malfoy, who is reweaving an even more secretive alliance?"
Draco concluded, "Let them laugh, Father. When they've laughed enough and let their guard down, that's when we're ready to 'return,' in a way they'd never expect—that's the perfect time."
The study was eerily quiet.
The firelight danced on the wall, as if accompanying Draco's words.
Seeing his father remain silent, Draco changed his tone, speaking in an even colder voice.
"Or, to put it another way, Father, the empire you've built is solid, but even the strongest castle needs to know which bricks are loose."
"This incident... is like the most powerful Prior Incantato, illuminating the faces hidden in the shadows."
" Carrow's 'concern, 'Nott's silence, Zabini's gossip, the Parkinson family's canceled dinner..."
Draco counted them one by one.
"Each of them wore their stance on their sleeve. This 'list' is something we couldn't buy no matter how many Galleon we offered."
"Now we know who to be wary of, who to win over, when to do it, and with whom..." Draco paused, then uttered the cold word, "We should repay them."
"A moment of indifference has revealed the true colors of all 'friends,' preventing them from stabbing you in the back when your life is in danger. That's the price to pay."
Draco raised his eyes and looked directly at Lucius.
"Perhaps it's worth it."
The study became even more deathly silent.
The fire burned in the fireplace, and the light and shadow danced on Lucius Malfoy's sculpted profile.
He remained silent for a long time, only scrutinizing his son standing before him with his all-seeing eyes.
The eleven-year-old boy was pale and thin, having just experienced a night of upheaval.
But the words he spoke at that moment sounded like those of a strategist who had spent half his life immersed in the world of power.
Lucius finally moved.
He slowly walked to the desk, his fingers tracing the smooth surface, as if trying to feel the warmth beneath the cold wood.
Then he turned around, his gaze returning to Draco.
The gaze remained stern, but the pure, offended anger that had preceded it seemed to have been replaced by something more complex.
Evaluate.
trade off.
And a very faint, almost distorted... interest.
"Smoke bomb," Lucius repeated slowly, his voice echoing in the silence, "A touchstone."
He remained silent for a moment, and a tiny crack appeared in the ice in his eyes.
"It seems," Lucius finally spoke, his voice still cold but less judgmental, "That tattered hat, at least, didn't completely rob you of your ability to think."
His words sounded like a reluctant affirmation.
Narcissa, standing in the corner, gently shook her head.
She looked at Draco, her eyes filled with complex emotions.
pride!
fear!
And a profound sense of powerlessness!
This is not the son she wanted to see!