Chapter Text
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It had been a tiring day. But then again, these days, he hardly had any other kind. Right after finishing his twelve-hour shift at the Auror Department, he had to head to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Tonight, he planned to discuss with Harry and Remus their next theories about what could be the final Horcrux—where Voldemort had hidden the last fragment of his fractured soul. They needed to figure it out if they were ever to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all.
Wearily, he rubbed the back of his neck and finished his cold coffee. True, there were rumors that the Wizengamot intended to convene all weekend. Fortunately, it was the Ministry’s internal security that was responsible for managing such affairs. Another half an hour, and he could finally leave.
A sharp knock on his office door suddenly spiked his irritation. Was some urgent matter, which absolutely required his consultation, about to ruin his evening plans? Damn it.
“Come in!” he called, his tone official, strong, and cold.
“Good evening…”
He looked up, the curse he was about to mutter caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected this—at all. Trouble, it seemed, had arrived unannounced.
“For Merlin’s sake, what happened that brought you here willingly ?” he asked, forgoing the nicety of a proper greeting.
The man standing before him wore a wry, cynical smile, one that had become his trademark. No one else could quite manage that smirk.
“May I take a moment of your time? This is important,” the visitor said, stepping into the office with an air of pride and shutting the door behind him, neither waiting for an invitation nor a formal reply.
“Oh, is this like one of those new jokes? ‘A reformed Death Eater walks into the Head Auror’s office…’?”
“I’d laugh, Shacklebolt, but today hasn’t exactly given me much to smile about.”
“Not that you’re known for your sense of humour, Malfoy,” Kingsley replied, leaning back comfortably in his chair and eyeing the pale man carefully.
Despite the lack of a definitive conclusion to the Battle of Hogwarts, Malfoy didn’t look as terrible as he had back in May. It seemed that, in some way, his master’s protection had allowed him to regain a semblance of health. Interesting…
“I need… a favour,” Malfoy began slowly.
“Favour? What, did a white peacock escape from your gardens, and now you need me to retrieve it?” Kingsley sneered.
Lucius responded with his trademark cynical smile, a familiar expression that Kingsley found both irritating and calculated.
“No. Let’s start with this—do you know what the Wizengamot is planning to vote on this weekend?”
“I’ve heard rumours,” Kingsley replied, his tone sharp with contempt. “In my opinion, it’s a band-aid solution, not a real answer to the problem. That said, it doesn’t concern me. I turned forty in April. I don’t have sisters, and there are no unattached witches left in my family…”
“In your blood family, no. But I’m certain you have… emotional ties,” Lucius interjected, locking eyes with him before slowly settling into the chair opposite Kingsley’s desk.
Kingsley’s fingers twitched, and a shiver of unease ran down his spine.
“If you came here to threaten me…” he warned, his hand instinctively moving toward the wand strapped to his forearm.
“I’ve already told you, Shacklebolt,” Lucius said smoothly, “I’m here to ask for a favour.”
“What favour?” Kingsley growled through clenched teeth.
“It’s about the new law.”
“Oh, I guessed it wasn’t about the aurora borealis affecting the fertility of Mooncalfs. Get to the point, Malfoy!” Kingsley snapped, his patience wearing thin.
Lucius grimaced and, to Kingsley’s surprise, pulled an elegant silver hip flask from the inner pocket of his coat.
“Care for a drink? The finest Firewhisky from my father’s old collection,” Lucius offered.
“Spiked with what?” Kingsley asked, eyeing him skeptically.
“Nothing, though, considering what awaits me, I’ve thought about adding a Draught of Living Death” Lucius quipped, twisting his lips into a bitter smile before uncorking the flask and taking a long, deliberate sip.
Kingsley allowed himself a faint smirk before reaching into his desk for a clean glass and his own bottle of whisky. There was no way he’d drink anything offered by a Death Eater.
“What do you want, Malfoy? Spit it out,” Kingsley demanded, the weight of the day returning as weariness settled in again.
“You’re lucky you don’t have a wife,” Lucius sighed heavily.
“Debatable. From what I know, your beautiful wife is alive and well, so what’s the issue?”
“My beautiful wife is a formidable force when she sets her mind to something,” Lucius admitted, his lips curling into a faint smile.
“And I assume her determination has something to do with your visit?”
“The new law doesn’t affect us directly, but as you can imagine, it will affect my son.”
“Ah, yes, your only heir. Not that I listen to gossip, but the young witches I know seem to speak highly of him. I doubt you’ll have any trouble arranging things, especially if you sweeten the deal with a vault records. The Sacred Twenty-Eight must already be rubbing their hands with glee,” Kingsley said with a sneer.
“The war isn’t over yet, Shacklebolt,” Lucius replied sharply, meeting his gaze with unexpected intensity.
“I’m perfectly aware of that. Just as I’m aware that Severus Snape brewed an antidote to Veritaserum ages ago,” Kingsley shot back.
Lucius took another sip from his flask, his fingers briefly rubbing his temple. His usual poise seemed to falter under the weight of the moment.
“I promised Narcissa that Draco would never suffer because of me again… and that I would never force him into anything.”
“Are you implying he’s in danger from us ? We’ve got far bigger problems right now than your spoiled only child,” Kingsley replied with a sharp look.
Lucius hesitated before responding. “I’ve come with a proposition.”
“So, are you asking for a favour or proposing something? Because I’m beginning to lose track,” Kingsley muttered, irritation creeping into his voice.
“I have a proposition, but I know I need your help—and your favour—for it to be received,” Lucius explained calmly.
“Normally, I’d throw you out the door and curse you on the way for wasting my time. But you mentioned a witch connected to me, someone like family. I know a few such witches. If this concerns one of them, I want to hear it.”
“Unfortunately for me, it does,” Lucius admitted, taking another heavy sip from his flask.
“Well then, Malfoy, I’m listening.” Kingsley leaned back in his chair, grabbing his glass and taking a measured sip.
Malfoy’s explanation had to be important—important enough to risk this meeting. Kingsley was acutely aware that such a visit could draw the interest of others within Malfoy’s circle, or perhaps even the Dark Lord himself.
And that could only mean one thing—something big was about to happen.