Chapter 78: Lumbardons, You Wouldn’t Want..
In the Muggle Studies class office, the young professor sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace, casting a few deft little spells to brew tea.
A student not yet old enough for electives sat opposite, the silence lasting a long time until the bone china cup filled with black tea slid across the coffee table to him.
“Our last conversation was during the Forbidden Forest patrol night, when we discussed the Malfoy family’s recent business moves. I haven’t heard about you arguing with Potter or Weasley in the Great Hall these past few days.” Melvin took a sip of his own brewed black tea. “It sounds like Mr. Malfoy has grown a lot.”
Draco picked up the teacup but didn’t bring it to his lips; the professor’s voice was warm and calm, as if transporting him back to that night in the Forbidden Forest.
Since he could remember, Draco’s impression of the Malfoy family had always been that of a noble pure-blood family destined for eternal victory.
Generations of ancestors had accumulated vast wealth, Father’s business acumen was effective, firmly holding the top spot among the pure-blood Twenty-Eight Families. Even through the Wizarding War, the Dark Lord’s fall, and the Ministry of Magic’s purges, the Malfoy family had not crumbled.
This surname represented wealth and status, and Draco had always believed that.
Until the last Forbidden Forest detention, when this professor’s few words pulled back the curtain hiding the Malfoy family’s shame, revealing a truth so cruel he dared not dwell on it. Whenever he was alone or zoning out in class, those words kept emerging from his memory, burrowing into his mind.
The last group fight was a serious incident; Professor McGonagall notified all the parents. Weasley received a Howler the next morning, Pansy and Daphne had their allowances cut, but Draco was barely affected.
Mother Narcissa didn’t scold him, just asked if he was injured and advised him not to be reckless and impulsive in the future, but to let the Crabbe and Goyle boys charge ahead. Father Lucius only reprimanded him a few times in the letter, with slightly harsher words than usual.
No mention of the family situation, nor any explanation of the consequences of offending Lumbardons.
At that time, he hadn’t been assigned detention yet, so Draco didn’t think much of it and replied as usual.
After the Forbidden Forest patrol night, incidents kept happening at school. When Draco wrote home with news, he kept thinking of the professor’s words. Out of some unclear feeling of guilt or regret, he didn’t relay or ask about it in the letter, but wrote in a normal tone, sending greetings to the family and passing on the news.
Two days later, he received replies from his parents; Father Lucius still treated him like a child as before, unwilling to reveal the family situation.
Fortunately, he got two pieces of news from Mother Narcissa’s reply:
First, his father had originally planned to use the matter to pressure the Board of Governors, attempting to impeach and dismiss Dumbledore, but upon learning Scrimgeour had appeared at the school, he dropped the idea.
Second, they planned to visit St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries at Easter, increasing this year’s donation.
The old Draco wouldn’t have understood the twists and turns, but after hearing the professor’s explanation, he clearly knew what such a donation meant.
“…”
Draco thought of his mother’s letter and felt his heart twitch slightly.
Melvin watched the little wizard’s flickering eyes before him; a strand of extremely faint fluctuation escaped from him, turning into imperceptible magic power that quietly merged in.
The entire process was extremely subtle.
Melvin asked, “So, what do you want to consult about?”
“Writing home takes at least half a day, and telling Dean Snape right away doesn’t feel right. I don’t know what to do, so I came to you, Professor.”
Draco held the pristine bone china teacup, his fingertips gripping the curved handle tightly. “After breakfast today, I saw Potter and the others sneaking out of the castle, so I followed them. Then I saw… saw them raising a fire dragon with that gamekeeper! A Norwegian Ridgeback!”
“They’re really careless…” Melvin shook his head slightly.
Professor Levent is in on it with them!
Draco’s heart skipped two beats, nearly spilling the tea right there.
“What’s wrong with reporting their shady secret to Professor Snape?” Melvin said in a leading tone. “No matter what they’ve done before, whether protecting the school or fighting dark wizards, no matter how outstanding they are, raising dangerous creatures absolutely violates school rules. If reported to the Board of Governors and Ministry of Magic, the gamekeeper will definitely be fired, and even Dumbledore who hired him will be affected. Even if not dismissed, his reputation will be damaged…”
“I don’t want to do that.”
“Why?”
Draco’s lips moved, but he didn’t answer immediately.
“Hagrid is different from Lumbardons; he has no ties to Aurors. Your father hates Dumbledore, you hate Harry Potter. Overall, exposing them does no harm to the Malfoy family, does it?”
“I… I don’t think so. Dumbledore has a great reputation, good relations with the Aurors, the current Scrimgeour, the soon-to-retire Mad-Eye… there are many of his people in the Wizengamot. This matter might not trouble the headmaster, but could make our family’s situation even harder.”
Draco reluctantly lifted his head to look at the professor. “In fact, I don’t understand why my father, such a shrewd man, insists on opposing the headmaster?”
Father always grumbled that Dumbledore was an incompetent and foolish headmaster, letting half-bloods and Muggle-borns ride over pure-bloods, as if the Malfoy family were staunch pure-blood supporters. But after this period of reflection, Draco no longer fully believed that rhetoric.
Pure-blood ideals were perhaps no different from charitable donations, both means to maintain and spread reputation.
Melvin was slightly surprised; the family’s difficulties and his parents’ predicaments seemed to have made him grow.
“Because your father was once a core Death Eater. He may have considered getting on good terms with Dumbledore but couldn’t gain his trust. Unable to be friends, he could only be enemies. Only by pulling down Dumbledore could your father feel at ease.”
Draco was very puzzled. “Professor Snape was also once a Death Eater.”
“Exactly.” Melvin nodded. “He gained the headmaster’s trust as a Death Eater. Do you want to ask him how he did it?”
Draco felt there was another meaning in the professor’s words; recalling that dean’s cold gaze, his neck stiffened.
After careful thought, he still nodded with difficulty, his expression stubborn. “If there’s a chance…”
“…”
Grown, but not fully grown.
Melvin looked at the still somewhat immature student before him and shook his head. “Mr. Malfoy, if I understand correctly, you’re asking me how to use this news to benefit the Malfoy family.”
Draco lowered his head to avoid the professor’s gaze, his blond hair falling over his forehead, and he gave a barely audible hum.
“Do you want to use it to threaten Dumbledore?”
“!!”
Draco paled in fright, shaking his head frantically, not even daring to think about it.
“Do you want to blackmail Hagrid?”
“…”
Draco kept shaking his head, utterly unaware of the fortune he was missing.
“Then help them cover it up and gain a favor.”
Draco hesitated slightly but still shook his head; he and Potter couldn’t stand each other, helping him would mean admitting defeat. As the Malfoy family heir, it was very undignified.
“In that case, why not talk to Lumbardons?”
Seeing the student across from him look up suddenly, Melvin said calmly, “If direct confrontation is difficult, find a way to achieve the goal indirectly, just like your father did back then.”
“You don’t want to help Potter, but you can help Lumbardons, and Lumbardons is willing to help his roommate. If I remember correctly, he’s still resentful about last time. This is your chance to get forgiveness.”
Draco’s eyes lit up, then quickly dimmed. “Will he forgive me… His parents are still in the locked ward.”
Melvin glanced at him, his gaze deep. “What do his parents have to do with you? You’re not a Death Eater.”
“I get it! Thank you, Professor. Goodbye, Professor!”
Having received guidance, Draco left the office quickly. After closing the door and walking some distance, his excitement faded, replaced by a thoughtful expression.
Professor Levent seemed to know something about the fire dragon matter; he probably knew exactly what Potter and the others were doing. He hadn’t stopped them but instead subtly guided him to profit from it.
He probably wanted to give him a chance to reconcile with Lumbardons.
Perhaps he was scheming something himself…
Draco concluded that Professor Levent was a very interesting person.
…
From behind the statue at the passageway corner, Harry, Ron, and Hermione poked their heads out from the hiding spot.
They watched from afar as Malfoy’s figure emerged from the office, quietly closing the door, even giving a knightly salute—very polite. They also saw the piercing smile on Malfoy’s face.
Harry turned his head upward, Ron looked down, and the two exchanged glances.
Hermione at the bottom felt complicated emotions.
Considering Malfoy had witnessed Norbert breathing fire and they had fled in panic just before, now seeing him leave the professor’s office in high spirits, it was hard not to guess the conversation’s content.
Hermione’s mind was in turmoil; she wanted to rush into the office for the truth, but remembering Professor Levent’s words that day, she restrained the impulse.
The two boys muttered about luring Malfoy into the bathroom for a beating.
Hermione emerged from behind the statue, her expression resolute, her voice clear. “Let’s go find Hagrid. He must take responsibility himself.”
…
The sun set in the west, dusk vast and hazy.
An owl circled above the castle; the sunset’s afterglow plated a layer of dull yellow on the tower’s outer walls. A cold wind blew fiercely, making the wizard robe embroidered with silver-green viper billow, accentuating the straight figure’s uprightness.
A figure slightly burly for his age ascended the tower, with a gold-and-red lion embroidered on his chest.
“You came.”
“I came.”
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“Huh?”
Neville was a bit dazed, pulling a crumpled note from his pocket. “Didn’t you call me here?”
“Ahem, yes, I called you here.” Draco coughed awkwardly twice and turned his head.
The evening wind was strong; standing with his back to it had been fine, but turning made his shirt collar flip up, flapping against his lips like being slapped. He smoothed it down several times before it settled.
Extremely undignified.
Neville frowned at him. “What do you want with me?”
“…”
Draco felt his cheeks heat up; the mood he’d just built was scattered by the wind, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to start.
He usually argued mainly with Potter and Weasley, wasn’t familiar with Lumbardons, didn’t know how to negotiate with him. Thinking back, their only interaction was that Forbidden Forest night, when Professor Levent had seemed to advise him to switch wands.
How had he advised it?
Imitating the professor, Draco pondered for a few seconds. “Lumbardons, you don’t want your roommate expelled, do you?”
“?”
Neville tilted his head, a question mark slowly appearing on his face.
…
At the high table in the Great Hall, several professors clinked glasses; Professor McGonagall had a smile at her lips, the other deans showed varied expressions—Professors Flitwick and Sprout in good moods, Snape still cold-faced.
Just earlier, at Melvin’s persuasion, they had agreed to take turns teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, easing the burden on the deputy headmaster.
“No, Melvin, you have to substitute too!” Flitwick said in his high-pitched voice.
Melvin wiped his mouth and smiled. “No problem, but with final examinations coming up, are you sure you want me teaching students a new course?”
“…”
Flitwick irritably poured him a glass of whiskey; he was actually quite reassured, just worried Minerva wouldn’t agree.
The chair’s wooden legs scraped harshly on the floor as gamekeeper Hagrid stepped forward. Looking at Melvin and the deans, he forced an awkward, twisted smile. “Melvin, it’s a few hours till lights-out. Come sit at my place?”
Since being expelled from school in third year, he’d been gamekeeper in the Forbidden Forest, always staying at the school. This was the first time seeking friends’ help for breaking school rules; the nearly ten-foot half-giant was extremely embarrassed.
The deans were all sharp-minded wizards; unclear on details but seeing Hagrid’s embarrassment, they grinned at his predicament.
Melvin saw the little witch behind Hagrid clasping her hands, shaking them in plea, with no intention of refusing. He lightly agreed and was dragged by sleeve toward the Forbidden Forest Hut by a few students.
Just then, the two pure-blood family heirs finished talking and came down from upstairs.
Neville opened his mouth, watching his friends leave the foyer without calling out, and sighed. “We’ll talk when they get back tonight…”
Draco walked happily toward the Great Hall, reviewing the negotiation in his mind.
Secretly meeting on the tower away from the whole school, gaining his interests with a few words—very Malfoy-esque.
Sitting on a bench, Draco finally reflected on the scene, wondering if Professor Levent was getting some benefit from it.
At the house table, some upperclassmen were passing that Professor Levent had once worn the Sorting Hat and been Slytherin. Draco agreed; no matter how close those Gryffindors seemed to the professor, he was 100% Slytherin.
…
Night fell, the grounds exuding damp moisture; the Whomping Willow’s vines sprouted new buds, spring green blooming in the Forbidden Forest edge’s bushes and grasses. Hagrid’s Hut wasn’t far; after not too long, the little wizards clustered around him reached the destination.
Fang inside the hut caught the scent, wagging his patchy-tailed rear and bounding over, circling Melvin’s trouser leg with whines of grievance.
A fire dragon’s roar came from inside the hut—immature and shrill, yet fierce.
