The Wizengamot Hall was beginning to slowly flow again, like a river held back by ancient dams. The greetings had ceased. The forced smiles were fading into neutral expressions. But there was still one group, a single group of figures who had, until now, watched everything in silence: the Malfoys.
Lucius Malfoy stood with the confidence of someone who knew the weight of the name he carried. Tall, imposing, with long, light hair combed back, he dressed with elegant sobriety. The black cape of refined fabric fell over his shoulders with studied naturalness. Beside him, slightly behind, was his wife, Narcissa. And further away, watching with contained curiosity, was young Draco.
Magnus stared at them.
The name Malfoy evoked ancient memories. It was a house that had survived the centuries, molded itself to the winds of alliances and the cycles of power. But it was not the patriarch who caught his attention. It was not Lucius, with his watchful, calculating gaze, who made him pause.
It was Narcissa.
For a moment, Magnus observed her more carefully.
Her face, with its serene, elegant features, was vaguely reminiscent of an image from a distant memory. Her unmistakable gray eyes were not merely cold—they were deep-set, reminiscent of an earlier time. There was something about the cheekbones, the delicate but firm structure, that reminded him of the old headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black.
That made Magnus straighten subtly. It wasn't vanity. It was recognition. And respect.
He walked towards them with the same measured and firm step as before, but now his gaze was directed not at the patriarch, but at the matriarch.
Lucius stepped forward to speak first, as expected.
— Lord Riddle, it is an unspeakable honor to welcome you here. — His voice was firm, studied, with just the right inflection to sound respectful without submission.
Magnus only tilted his head slightly. His eyes, however, were already on Narcissa.
— Madam... — he said, without raising his voice too much. — Allow me to ask, what is your name?
Narcissa blinked once in surprise. She was accustomed to being ignored at political gatherings. Women like her were seen as adornments, silent presences that served to affirm alliances. Magnus Riddle's direct attention was something no amount of social protocol had prepared her for.
She replied in a low but clear voice:
— Narcissa Malfoy.
Magnus nodded slowly.
"Narcissa."
The name echoed in his mind. It was the name of a star. He remembered a conversation he had had with Phineas Nigellus Black one late night in front of the fireplace in the Slytherin common room. The old headmaster spoke proudly of his family's tradition of naming its members after stars and constellations. An ancient custom, a sign of lineage, of ancestral nobility. Magnus had never forgotten it.
He looked at Narcissa with renewed interest. There was no doubt left. She was a Black.
Lucius remained silent, but his eyes darted between them. There was no discomfort or jealousy inside him. There was understanding. Magnus didn't care for the Malfoy name. But he showed deep respect for everything that reminded him of the Blacks. Lucius, shrewd as ever, already sensed that if he wanted to get closer to Magnus, it would be through Narcissa.
Young Draco stood quietly, watching with wide eyes. To him, this was more than just a gathering of adults. It was the first time he had seen anyone treat his mother with true reverence.
Magnus looked at the boy for a moment.
— Your son? — he asked, without changing his tone.
Lucius replied immediately:
— Draco. He's in his second year at Hogwarts.
Magnus just watched him for a moment longer, assessing. There was arrogance there, but also curiosity, insecurity, and potential. A mind still moldable.
— A strong name, — he said at last. — May he honor it with wisdom.
The words were not spoken as empty praise. They sounded like a judgment and a warning.
Narcisa spoke again, discreetly:
— It is an honor that you remember my family, Mr. Riddle. Few regard them with fair eyes these days.
Magnus stared at her more intently.
— True honor does not fade with time. It simply hides until it is called back by the right voice.
There was a moment of silence. No one around dared to interrupt.
Magnus, then, with a calm but firm voice, asked the question that had been hammering in his mind since he had heard the name:
— Who currently leads the Black family?
Narcissa's face darkened slightly. Lucius' jaw seemed to tighten.
She replied:
— My cousin, Sirius Black. But... he's locked up. In Azkaban.
Magnus remained absolutely still.
Azkaban.
A name that bled into his memory. He had heard of that prison. He knew the horrors it hid. But what hurt him was not the prison. It was the decay of a house that had once been a pillar of wizarding society. Phineas did not deserve this. The Black name did not deserve this.
— For what crime? — he asked, without changing his voice.
Narcissa hesitated. Lucius took the lead:
— Murder. Betrayal of the Ministry... of one's own family.
Magnus remained silent. He did not answer. But the seed had been planted.
He needed answers.
I needed to question Phineas.
And I needed to understand what had happened to the Blacks.
But not there. Not now.
For now, there was something that needed to be made clear.
He turned to Narcissa again and spoke calmly:
— If you ever need anything, Mrs. Malfoy, just send an owl. I do not forget those who honor the names that once taught me to walk.
It took Narcissa a moment to react. When she did, she tilted her head slightly. Her eyes shone, yet were restrained.
Lucius remained silent.
And Draco, for the first time, seemed to understand the weight of a true name.
Magnus walked away then, leaving behind not just greetings, but drawn intentions and unspoken vows.
The board was already in motion.
And the Malfoys, whether they liked it or not, had just become part of his next move.