Chapter 58
Lucius Malfoy sat in his study, the fire casting a warm glow across the room, though it did little to chase away the chill settling in his bones. The letter from Draco lay open on his desk, the elegant script of his son’s handwriting causing a deep furrow in his brow. Draco had asked for a copy of the betrothal contract with Astoria, a request that, under normal circumstances, would not have troubled Lucius. But these were not normal circumstances.
He took a long, slow sip of his brandy, the rich liquid doing little to ease his growing anxiety. Severus Snape’s recent letter had only exacerbated his concerns. According to Severus, Draco was still entangled with the Muggle-born girl, Hermione Granger. Lucius had known about their relationship for years and had tolerated it. A dalliance with a Muggle-born could be overlooked as youthful indiscretion, a way for Draco to indulge his desires before settling into the responsibilities of pure-blood life. But this—this was different. This was going too far.
"Foolish boy," Lucius muttered under his breath, his hand tightening around the crystal glass. The thought of Draco jeopardizing their carefully planned future for a fleeting romance made his blood boil. Serving the Dark Lord had not driven him to drink as much as the trials of fatherhood.
He stood, pacing the length of the room, his thoughts swirling in a storm of worry and anger. The betrothal contract with Astoria was a strategic alliance, one that would secure the Malfoy legacy and strengthen their position within the pure-blood community. Any deviation from this plan was unacceptable.
Lucius stopped at the window, staring out into the dark, sprawling grounds of Malfoy Manor. Draco would return for the holidays in a few days, and Lucius was dreading the confrontation that awaited them. He could not afford to let this matter spiral out of control. He needed to understand Draco’s intentions, to ascertain whether this request for the betrothal contract was part of a larger, more sinister plot.
Taking a deep breath, he returned to his desk and pulled out the drawer where he kept important documents. The betrothal contract was there, its edges crisp and pristine. He took it out, running his fingers over the parchment, the weight of tradition and duty pressing heavily on his shoulders.
Memories of his own youth flickered in his mind, the days when he, too, had felt invincible and unburdened by consequence. But those days were long gone, replaced by the harsh realities of power and legacy. Draco needed to learn these lessons, and he needed to learn them quickly.
Lucius sat back down, placing the contract in an envelope. He would send it to Draco, but with it, he would include a letter—one that made it clear the gravity of his son’s actions. There could be no misunderstandings, no room for error. Draco had to know the stakes, the potential fallout of his decisions.
He picked up his quill, the scratch of the pen on parchment the only sound in the room as he began to write:
"Draco,
Enclosed is the copy of the betrothal contract you requested. I trust you understand the significance of this document and the responsibilities it entails. Your actions, both now and in the future, reflect not only upon yourself but upon our entire family. We cannot afford any missteps, especially not now.
You will return for the holidays in a few days. We will discuss this matter further then. I expect you to have thought long and hard about your next steps.
Remember who you are, Draco. Remember the legacy you carry.
Your father,
Lucius Malfoy"
He sealed the letter, feeling a heavy sense of foreboding. Draco was his son, his heir, and he needed to be guided back to the path of duty and tradition. Lucius could only hope that his words would reach him, that the bond of blood and legacy would prevail over youthful folly.
As he poured himself another glass of brandy, Lucius couldn’t shake the feeling that the coming holidays would be a turning point—for better or for worse. The fire crackled in the hearth, but its warmth did little to ease the cold knot of anxiety in his chest. All he could do now was wait and prepare for the storm that was surely coming.