"Lucius, believe me, this matter is not that serious."
Lucius's eyes blazed at Dumbledore's calm demeanor, his voice sharp. "Dumbledore, hand over the boy who injured Draco, or this will not end!"
Dumbledore and Snape exchanged glances, their expressions hardening.
Snape spoke first, his tone measured. "Lucius, Sean and Draco fought a pure-blood duel. As a Slytherin alumnus, you know its significance—its binding magic."
Lucius's face tightened.
He hadn't known it was a pure-blood duel.
Turning to Snape, he demanded, "Severus, why would Draco engage in one?"
"Sean Bulstrode challenged Draco," Snape said evenly. "Draco agreed to duel Harry Potter but broke the agreement, then tipped off Filch to trap Potter. Sean deemed this despicable, a stain on Slytherin's honor and pure-blood pride. He challenged Draco to a pure-blood duel and won. That's the full account."
Lucius's gaze darkened, his voice low. "Severus, you seem quite protective of this Sean Bulstrode."
"I'm stating facts," Snape replied, his eyes devoid of warmth.
Lucius and Snape's bond stretched back to Hogwarts, where Lucius had mentored the younger Slytherin.
Their paths converged as Death Eaters, but Voldemort's fall fractured their closeness.
Snape, now Dumbledore's man, kept Lucius at arm's length, their friendship a shadow of its past.
Lucius turned to Dumbledore, his tone icy. "Dumbledore, Sean Bulstrode must face consequences, or I'll convene the school board to discuss replacing the headmaster."
Dumbledore's expression didn't flicker.
Snape stood silent, a statue beside him.
As Lucius opened his mouth again, a fourth voice cut through from the doorway.
"Lucius, it's late. Best not to let tempers flare."
Lucius recognized the voice instantly.
He turned, nodding curtly to Gideon Bulstrode, his aggression dimming. "Mr. Bulstrode, you…"
He trailed off, realization dawning.
Gideon, with a faint smile, settled into a chair across from Dumbledore.
"Dumbledore, the nights are chilly lately," he said. "Not kind to old bones like ours."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Quite right, Mr. Bulstrode. Hot chocolate to warm you?"
"Too sweet," Gideon replied. "A glass of hot pumpkin juice will do."
"Of course."
Dumbledore tapped his desk, and four steaming cups appeared: hot chocolate for himself, piled with sugar; hot pumpkin juice for Gideon; and hot butterbeer for Lucius and Snape.
Snape ignored his, his demeanor cold.
Lucius, too furious, left his untouched.
He studied Gideon, voice slow. "They say you dote on this grandson who's rejoined your family. I thought it mere gossip, but it seems rumors hold truth."
"Sean bears the Bulstrode name," Gideon said, sipping his juice. "Family rules bind us, but my Squib son, Adrian, and his wife are still dear to me. When my grandson faces trouble, I step in."
"Step in, you say…" Lucius's smile was sharp, mocking. "And how will you compensate me and Draco?"
"A shop in Hogsmeade's heart—prime location," Gideon offered.
The Malfoys' wealth stemmed not just from ancient vaults but from sharp commercial acumen.
Hogsmeade, bustling with third-years and beyond, was a goldmine.
A central shop was worth a fortune.
Lucius met Gideon's gaze, seeing no jest.
Suddenly, Draco's injuries seemed less grievous—a boy's scrapes, easily mended.
Such trials could forge him.
"I'm satisfied with this compensation," Lucius said. "I accept."
Pure-bloods avoided haggling; it cheapened their dignity.
Gideon smiled, satisfied. "With compensation settled, let's discuss another matter."
"Another?" Lucius's brow arched, a flicker of unease stirring.
Gideon's voice was calm, deliberate. "Per pure-blood duel rules, the loser must either avoid the victor or serve as their follower at Hogwarts. What will the Malfoy heir choose?"
Lucius's face darkened, his voice a growl. "Are you, the Bulstrodes, challenging the Malfoys?"
"Challenging?" Gideon's expression feigned confusion. "You sought compensation for Draco's injuries, and I provided it. Now I claim my grandson's rightful victory. How is that provocation?"
Of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood families, many had waned.
Even the Gaunts, direct heirs of Salazar Slytherin, had crumbled into obscurity.
Yet a few clans endured, their influence unshaken.
Among them stood the Bulstrodes.
Though they kept a low profile, only a fool would mistake their restraint for weakness—unless Lucius's mind had been addled by a house-elf.
In truth, the Malfoys faced a steeper decline.
A shadow seemed to curse their bloodline: for over a century, each generation bore a single heir, not always gifted.
This thinned their strength, generation by generation.
By Lucius's time, their vaults, though vast, were strained.
His misstep in backing Voldemort cost half their fortune when the Dark Lord fell.
Now, the Malfoys quietly sold off ancestral artifacts to sustain their grand estate, their wealth a facade of former glory.
The Bulstrodes, by contrast, thrived.
Each generation was rigorously trained, ensuring even modest heirs could uphold the family's legacy until a prodigy emerged to expand it.
No Malfoy could afford to cross such a house.
Lucius knew this, his resolve wavering, but pride held his features taut.
He met Gideon's gaze, voice steady. "Draco is the heir of our family. His life must be glorious and proud. I can let go of the issue of the Bulstrode family, but you must also cancel the consequences of the pure-blood duel."
Gideon studied Lucius, his expression unreadable.
This Malfoy, though no genius, had a keen sense of profit and loss.
Had Lucius not tethered his fortunes to Voldemort, the Malfoys might have held steady, their decline postponed.
A lean dragon still loomed larger than most.
Gideon had no desire to clash openly with the Malfoys.
Their Ministry ties, though weakened, could still bite if cornered.
Pushing Lucius too far was unwise.
"It was just a fight between two children," Gideon said smoothly. "Though it went too far, its nature remains unchanged. Mr. Malfoy, your restraint earns my gratitude. I owe you a favor."
His words were polished, a balm to Lucius's pride.
Lucius's expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing.
With a curt nod to Dumbledore and a farewell glance at Snape, he turned, his robes sweeping as he strode from the headmaster's office, leaving Hogwarts behind.
The candlelight flickered, the room's warmth lingering as Gideon sipped his pumpkin juice, a faint smile playing on his lips.
As Lucius's footsteps faded, Gideon turned to Dumbledore, his tone light but weary. "Dumbledore, if you have nothing else to do, I am leaving too. I am too old to stay up late."
"Gideon, don't you want to check on Sean and Miles?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling behind half-moon glasses.
Gideon shook his head, a wry smile crossing his face. "Those two don't care to see me. Let them thrive at Hogwarts. I'll visit during the holidays."
He rose, his robes rustling, and strode from the headmaster's office.
Beyond Hogwarts' wards, he vanished with a soft crack of Apparition.
Dumbledore, sensing Gideon's departure, waved his wand, and the steaming cups on his desk disappeared.
He turned to Snape, his voice grave. "Severus, are you prepared for the Philosopher's Stone's defense?"
"I'm ready," Snape replied, his tone clipped, eyes shadowed.
"The one seeking the Stone won't relent easily," Dumbledore said, his gaze steady. "We must remain vigilant." He paused, peering over his glasses. "Severus, how is Harry faring?"
Snape's jaw tightened, his voice bitter. "He is just like his father, an insufferable boy."
"Severus," Dumbledore said gently, "you must be patient. Harry is not only James's son but Lily's as well. You know this, don't you?"
Lily's name stirred a pang in Snape's chest, a flicker of pain crossing his dark eyes before it vanished, buried deep.
He said nothing, turning to leave, his cloak billowing.
But Dumbledore spoke again, his voice soft yet firm. "Severus, Mr. Sean Bulstrode seems to matter to you. He's close to Harry, so I trust you'll guide him toward the right path."
Snape paused, then turned, his lip curling slightly. "So you think this child has gone astray now? Because he's near the great savior, he needs leading to the so-called right path?"
Dumbledore's expression remained kind, unshaken by the sarcasm. "Severus, you know that's not what I meant. I only see a gifted boy. I hope you'll nurture his potential, nothing more."
Snape's eyelids lowered, his gaze averted.
He strode to the office door, hand on the handle, but paused, back to Dumbledore. "Rest assured, I've brought him into my Potions Club. He has a rare talent for potions. I'll ensure he pursues that path and doesn't squander it."
With that, Snape swept out, the door closing softly behind him.
Dumbledore watched him go, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips.
He reached into his desk drawer, plucked a Cockroach Cluster, and popped it into his mouth, savoring its peculiar crunch as the candlelight danced across the room.