Wiltshire, deep in the night. Thick fog wrapped around the neat rows of yew hedges at Malfoy Manor.
Inside the study, the light was almost nonexistent—only the occasional flicker of green flames in the hearth cast moving shadows across the walls.
Shelves displayed rare Dark artefacts that would have kept the Department of Magical Law Enforcement busy for days; they breathed out a stale, dangerous aura from the gloom.
Pop.
A scrawny creature with bat-like ears appeared in front of the black desk.
It wore an old pillowcase stained with something unidentifiable, the Malfoy silver crest sewn crookedly on its chest.
House-elf Dobby. Its eyes overflowed with terror, long fingers twisting together, its whole body shaking violently.
"Master… young Master Draco's letter… just delivered by the black eagle-owl."
Dobby's voice was high and thin. It held up a roll of parchment, the ink still wet, with trembling hands.
Lucius Malfoy did not look up.
He was slowly polishing the silver serpent head of his cane with a piece of chamois leather.
Only when the emerald eyes of the serpent could clearly reflect a century of Malfoy glory did he reach out, snatching the letter from Dobby with open disgust.
"Get to the corner," Lucius's voice was low and silky, carrying absolute command. "If you make a single sound, I will have you cleaning the peacocks' droppings in the back garden until parasites grow on your skin."
Dobby gave a tiny whimper and vanished with another pop.
Lucius unrolled the parchment.
As his eyes moved down the page, his relaxed posture against the chair back straightened unconsciously. His gaze lingered, turning thoughtful.
Draco had described every detail: the flames at Hagrid's hut, the stunted Norwegian Ridgeback, and how Harry Potter, Weasley, and that Mudblood girl had been sneaking around under cover of darkness.
Of course, the part that enraged Draco most was highlighted in heavy ink: how Dumbledore had shielded them, covering everything up with the pathetic excuse of "an accident."
The most crucial information was underlined twice:
"Saturday midnight. Astronomy Tower. Charlie Weasley's pickup."
"A Norwegian Ridgeback… at Hogwarts."
Lucius set the parchment down and stroked his chin.
This was the smartest thing Draco had done in a long time.
If he had rushed straight to Professor McGonagall like the brainless Crabbe would have, the whole thing would have stayed a minor school infraction.
Albus Dumbledore had a thousand ways to make a gamekeeper's mistake disappear—exactly as he had done countless times over half a century of gentle point deductions and meaningless detentions.
But now the letter had bypassed Hogwarts' owlery and landed directly in Lucius's hands.
This was no longer childish mischief inside the castle walls.
This was front-page, crowd-pleasing scandal.
"Albus, have you grown so old you can't even keep a dragon under control? Or have you become arrogant enough to believe the law must detour around your castle walls?"
Lucius murmured, voice lost in the crackle of the hearth.
He had caught the variable in the letter at once: Harry Potter.
With any other student it would have been a simple accident.
But the Boy Who Lived caught red-handed smuggling a dragon? That had the explosive power to blow the Daily Prophet wide open.
If Potter was caught in the act by Ministry officials, the independent kingdom Dumbledore had built at Hogwarts would finally show a crack—large enough for Lucius to slip through.
Still, one letter might not be enough weight.
Lucius rose and paced across the priceless Persian carpet.
As a Hogwarts Governor he knew the Ministry's current winds only too well.
Cornelius Fudge, that coward, publicly bowed to Dumbledore while privately rotting from the anxiety of living in the greatest white wizard's shadow.
Fudge needed a win to prove his authority—just as Lucius needed a lever to loosen Dumbledore's iron grip on the Board of Governors.
He sat back at the desk and pulled out a sheet of gilt-edged parchment.
A blunt report would only lead to endless bickering and procedure.
He needed the clean, procedural route—something that would blindside Dumbledore's old allies.
First letter: to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
Sending it straight to the stubborn, old-guard Amelia Bones in Law Enforcement would give Dumbledore time to tidy everything up.
But the new Deputy Head, Chilton, was different.
Fresh in the job, desperate for a headline-worthy success, and terrified of any stain on his record.
This letter would be the starting point of the process. Once things blew up, if Chilton dared claim he never received it, that would be career suicide.
So Chilton would be forced to act—and to show initiative.
But Chilton was a career bureaucrat; he wouldn't touch Hogwarts directly. Too risky.
Lucius deliberately emphasised two key phrases in the parchment: "Class IV dangerous creature" and "underage wizards in direct contact."
A clever man like Chilton would immediately look for the safest way to share responsibility—cross-departmental action with the Improper Use of Magic Office.
And the rising star in that office—
Dolores Umbridge—had the nose of a hyena for power and blood.
"…As a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, I am gravely concerned to learn that, due to serious dereliction of duty by certain staff, a creature listed under the 1709 Act as strictly prohibited is being kept in an unregulated state… This is not only a blatant violation of the International Statute of Secrecy, but a shocking disregard for the safety of underage witches and wizards…"
When he finished, he switched to a private note.
He needed to secure Fudge's silent approval—an insurance policy.
In the Minister's personal letter he dropped the dry legal language and used the tone of a sympathetic old friend discussing the dignity of the law.
"…Cornelius…"
Finally Lucius snapped his fingers. Dobby reappeared, ears drooping.
"Dobby, come here."
The elf shuffled forward, trembling.
"Deliver this official letter to the owlery. It must be on Deputy Head Chilton's desk by eight o'clock tomorrow morning. And—"
Lucius took a gold Galleon stamped with the family crest from his drawer.
"Give this to that greedy little clerk at the Daily Prophet.
Tell him there will be a major story this weekend about the Boy Who Lived in mortal danger and the Headmaster's negligence. If he wants to keep his column, his Quick-Quotes Quill had better be ready."
When everything was arranged, Lucius leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.
Once the gears turned, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would seek enforcement authority out of fear, and Umbridge would seize the lead out of greed.
When those two forces met inside the Ministry's paperwork machine, the net would carry both creature-control jurisdiction and administrative oversight.
All of it under Minister Fudge's quiet, desperate blessing.
"Bureaucracy is like a clumsy troll," Lucius whispered to the dying hearth fire.
"You don't need to push it over. You only need to whisper in its ear where the fattest meat is. It will smash through every wall in its path by itself."
In this way the Ministry would be forced to intervene under proper procedure, Umbridge would charge ahead for power, and Dumbledore would be trapped—forced to choose between protecting his beloved half-giant and upholding the dignity of magical law.
No matter which the old man picked, he would find himself already burning on the pyre.
"Draco, you've finally learned to use something sharper than a broom."
Lucius flicked his wand.
The hearth fire went out. Darkness swallowed the study.
The night was perfectly silent.
Only he remained, silently calculating the performance that would unfold Saturday midnight on the Astronomy Tower.