Lucius had been leading several pure-blood families in using Roger and his mother's case to challenge the Ministry of Magic. Under the banner of justice, they were steadily reclaiming influence and benefits lost during the last war, and judging from his mood, they had already made real progress. He entered the ward with the relaxed smile of a man who had found both a cause and a profit in the same place.
"Much better, Mr. Malfoy," Roger said, leaning against his pillows as he looked out toward the green lawn shining under the sun. Eleven years had passed before he finally escaped that dark prison. The warmth on his face and the clean scent of freshly cut grass made his whole body loosen in a way Azkaban had never allowed.
"The lengthy preliminary procedures are complete," Lucius said, taking a seat beside the bed. "Tomorrow, you will attend a meeting."
"A meeting?" Roger turned to him in confusion. He had already entrusted most of the political matters to Lucius, mostly because he and Jessica had neither the strength nor the network to fight the Ministry alone.
"Yes. It concerns your mother." Lucius's gaze moved to Jessica, who was still resting in the other bed.
Lucius admired her more than he had expected. She was an exceptionally devoted mother, one who had kept Roger alive in Azkaban, completed his basic education, taught him language, and somehow helped nurture wandless magic and even the Patronus Charm under impossible conditions. As a mother, Jessica Williams was remarkable.
As a representative of an old wizarding family, however, she was painfully poor at politics. She had almost no sense of how the game was played, and if Roger had not stopped her in time, Jessica would already have signed a letter of understanding under the Ministry's gentle pressure. Once mother and son abandoned their claim for compensation, the pure-blood families led by Lucius would lose their strongest excuse to claw power and interests back from the Ministry.
"The Ministry is willing to pay compensation," Lucius said. "But they want to re-examine whether your mother is innocent."
"Re-examine?" Roger sneered. "When did they examine us the first time? What right do they have to re-examine anything now?"
"You needn't become upset," Lucius reminded him. "This is, in truth, a struggle between our old families and the Ministry. At tomorrow's meeting, watch more, listen more, and don't let them push you into speaking before you understand the room."
"Our old families?" Roger asked.
"Yes." Lucius placed a stack of books on the right side of the hospital bed. "I brought you these. Read them, and you will understand something of our history and former glory."
The books included The Sacred Twenty-Eight: A Tangle of Power, Family Histories of the Wizarding World, A Detailed Study of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and Prominent Houses in Magical History. All of them centered on pure-blood families, their alliances, inheritances, influence, and the long trail of privilege and resentment that followed those names through time.
"The Sacred Twenty-Eight are no longer whole," Lucius said, leaning on his silver-headed cane. His right hand rested lightly against his chest, and his polished voice carried the air of a man presenting himself as a necessary leader. "At this critical moment, someone must take responsibility. If the remaining families do not learn to stand together, they will be broken one by one."
"The direct lines of the Black family, the Crouches, and the Gaunts are effectively gone," he continued. "Their former glory now survives only in fading books and sealed portraits. If not for Paul's letter, I suspect the Ministry would have been perfectly content to let the last heir of the Williams family disappear into Azkaban forever."
Lucius spoke with conviction, and every sentence carried a careful thread of warning. He was not merely informing Roger; he was shaping him. He wanted to bind the Williams family firmly to his side before Dumbledore, the Ministry, or anyone else could claim the boy's loyalty.
"Now, some in the wizarding world are even speaking loudly about goblin rights," Lucius said with visible distaste. "Have they forgotten that the place witches and wizards hold today was won through conflict with goblins? If the defeated are handed every tool and privilege they once used against us, then future generations may pay for our softness."
Roger listened quietly as Lucius delivered his little speech. The words were grand, polished, and dangerous in the way old prejudices often were when wrapped in history and self-preservation. Roger nodded at the right moments, because if playing the role of a pure-blood heir brought him resources and protection, then for now, he could play it well enough.
"Mr. Malfoy," Roger said after a pause, "why can't pure-blood families form an organization to speak for ourselves?"
Lucius smiled, pleased by how quickly Roger appeared to understand his ideas. The boy had not only accepted the premise; he had drawn conclusions and offered a suggestion of his own. Looking at Roger's pale, thoughtful face, Lucius could not help comparing him to Draco.
It would have been better not to compare them. The comparison immediately soured his mood. Draco had enjoyed every advantage, every tutor, every comfort, and still struggled to cast even basic spells with proper discipline. A flare of irritation rose in Lucius's chest, and for one sharp instant, he almost wished he could Apparate home and give his son a very stern lesson.
"Roger, you may not know this," Lucius said, schooling his expression again, "but the matter of You-Know-Who is still too recent. The entire wizarding world remains wary of old families. If we publicly establish an organization now, we would become the target of every frightened fool in Britain."
To be honest, Lucius was tempted. Roger's suggestion struck close to thoughts he himself had entertained more than once, but timing was everything, and open banners made easy targets.
"What about the Order of the Phoenix?" Roger asked, patting the stack of books on the left side of his pillow. Those had been sent by Dumbledore, and they introduced not only the wizarding world but also Muggle society.
Lucius froze for a moment. He knew the Order of the Phoenix quite well. He had fought against it, after all, but facing the most powerful white wizard of the twentieth century, he had no intention of offering his true opinion aloud.
"Alas," Lucius said instead, his voice low with unwillingness. "It is a pity You-Know-Who failed."
If not for Harry Potter, if only one thing had gone differently—but history did not care for ifs. The war had ended, Voldemort had vanished, and men like Lucius had survived by learning when to bow, when to smile, and when to pretend they had always been reasonable.
"Voldemort was too dangerous," Roger said plainly. "I don't think anyone truly wants more blood and death. What we want is protection for ourselves. Why can't we learn from Muggle governments and use something like a parliamentary system?"
"Learn from Muggle-born ideas?" Lucius said sharply. The disgust in his voice rose before he could fully hide it. He knew at once that Dumbledore's books had not been sent with innocent intentions.
Roger frowned, but did not argue over Lucius's phrasing. It was already 1991, not the darkest days of the Middle Ages. He believed that any wizard, when faced with rifles, artillery, warships, aircraft, and nuclear weapons, would learn to speak to Muggles with a very friendly and respectful tone.
Even Dumbledore, Grindelwald, or Merlin himself, if resurrected, would have to recognize the scale of the modern world. Magic was powerful, but arrogance was not a shield against everything. A wand could do many things, but it could not erase an entire civilization that had learned how to split the atom.
"Mr. Malfoy, power itself has no high or low birth," Roger said, picking up Muggle Political Studies from Dumbledore's stack. "Muggle wars over thousands of years have caused tens of millions of deaths. Their bones alone could fill the entire wizarding world."
Lucius did not interrupt him this time.
"I think any country that has grown stronger through conflict must have something worth studying, whether it is magical or not," Roger continued. "Around one hundred and eighty-six miles above our heads, human satellites move through orbit. They call that place outer space. Their astronauts have landed on the Moon, not by magic, but by something they call technology."
Lucius fell silent. The people he had always looked down upon had reached the Moon, while he himself had only ever looked up at it from the ground.
With thoughts and questions pressing against his pride, Lucius eventually left the ward. Jessica, who had already awakened, slowly sat up and looked at her son with quiet astonishment. His growth, his caution, and the speed with which he understood the world had far exceeded anything she had imagined.
"Roger," she said softly, "do we really have to stand with Malfoy?"
"Mum, is the Dark Mark on your left arm still there?" Roger asked.
Jessica touched her arm beneath the hospital gown and nodded.
"Then we don't have any other choice," Roger said. "Those people say pure-blood families care too much about blood, but what about them? They decided what we were before they ever met us."
He sat on Jessica's bed and leaned carefully against her side. "They have already pushed the old families to the opposite side. Our family also has a Death Eater history, so they will not see us as innocent simply because Azkaban hurt us."
"Roger, it was only me and your father," Jessica said, pain flickering across her face.
"It makes no difference," Roger replied. "When the children at Hogwarts learn who I am, some of them will call me a Death Eater's son before they ever learn my name."
Jessica gripped his hand tightly. She had not thought that far ahead. Part of her had believed everything would improve once they left Azkaban, as if sunlight alone could wash away prison, fear, and the names written in old records.
It was an unusual day, and before long, Professor Dumbledore arrived as well. He was accompanied by Professor McGonagall, who wore her square glasses and carried herself with her usual stern dignity.
"Ms. Williams, young Roger, how are you feeling?" Dumbledore asked, stroking his silver-white beard with a gentle smile. His eyes moved briefly over the books Lucius had brought, and his brows drew together by the smallest amount.
"Much better, thanks to everyone's care," Jessica said. She smiled at him warmly, because despite everything, she still held a good impression of the Headmaster.
"That is wonderful." Dumbledore smiled and drew two letters from his robes. "I think it is time for young Roger to decide."
"What are those?" Jessica asked, while Roger looked at the envelopes with quiet suspicion.
"These are invitations from Ilvermorny in the United States and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France," Dumbledore explained. "Both are excellent schools of magic. Although your Hogwarts letter was sent long ago, considering the circumstances at the time, I believe young Roger has the right to choose a different school."
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