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HRA# CHAPTER 111
🕑 Added 2025-04-27 19:38:22 +0000 UTCTruth be told, Harry couldn’t help but want to give Lucius a round of applause. The man’s mind worked remarkably fast.
If Harry hadn’t already heard about his still-living godfather, Sirius Black, from James Potter, he might not have noticed anything amiss in Lucius’s words.
Sirius Black, born into a family of Slytherins for generations, was sorted into Gryffindor, leading to a complete break with his family—let alone with Lucius, his brother-in-law.
Eleven years ago, when Voldemort was still at large, Sirius and the Malfoys were the purest of enemies, with no trace of familial affection. Well, they might exchange a curt greeting when they crossed paths, but that was it.
Yet now, Lucius was acting like Harry’s doting uncle…
“I think I know what you’re after, Uncle Lucius,” Harry said, ignoring Lucius’s attempt to steer the conversation. He locked eyes with the blond man. “Why not try me yourself?”
“…If you don’t mind,” Lucius replied, his throat bobbing slightly, the smile fading from his face.
Activating a mechanism in the study, Lucius led Harry down a stone staircase, torches flaring to life along the walls until they reached a vast, stone-paved chamber.
Thanks to the Extension Charm, Harry wasn’t the least bit surprised by the sudden appearance of a massive space in a wizard’s home.
“I never imagined I’d be dueling a first-year wizard,” Lucius said, standing opposite Harry, his expression peculiar. “This feels a bit too…”
“Childish?” Harry finished for him. “I’m not interested in the grudges between your generation or the rivalry between our houses.”
“If you paid attention to what Draco told you over the holidays, Uncle Lucius,” Harry said, raising his palm, “you’d know you’re the challenger here.”
A brief silence followed.
The next moment, Lucius raised his cane—a snake’s head carved at its tip, concealing his wand. “Stupefy!”
The red spell shot out swiftly and accurately, a testament to Lucius’s magical prowess. He was no mere aristocrat resting on his family’s laurels.
But to Lucius’s astonishment, the spell hit Harry and vanished, like a stone sinking into the sea, leaving no trace.
In front of Harry, a patch of the floor had disappeared, replaced by a towering totem: a Stoneclaw Totem.
Rather than striking Harry, Lucius’s spell had hit an invisible stone wall, at best leaving a shallow dent in the earth.
“Go ahead and cast freely, Harry,” Lucius said with rare kindness. “This is Malfoy Manor. The Ministry’s restrictions on underage magic don’t apply here.”
That much was true—Harry had seen Draco casting spells in the garden that afternoon without a care. But he had no intention of following Lucius’s suggestion.
To clear the Ministry’s accusations of underage magic from earlier that day, Harry needed to keep his wand untainted.
Without responding, Harry unleashed an attack—a chaotic blend of rock, flame, water, and lightning—that struck where Lucius had stood moments before, melting the stone floor into flowing lava.
The searing heat drew a bead of cold sweat from Lucius’s brow.
But Harry’s assault didn’t end there. He knew what Lucius wanted, but he had no intention of giving it to him—not entirely.
The room, once lit only by flickering torches and tinged with a chill, now glowed with an orange-red hue. Spells occasionally sliced through the air—Lucius’s counterattacks.
Despite not having fought in years, Lucius remained agile. Under Harry’s deliberate restraint, Lucius dodged a blast of wind with a desperate roll, the gust so fierce it flung molten lava into the air, singeing the edge of his lavish robe.
But Lucius had no time to care about such trifles.
Heat.
At first, Lucius used standard spells—Stupefy, Reducto—the kind common among wizards. But as Harry gradually increased the pressure, Lucius’s magic turned darker, spells that could land him in Azkaban.
Gasping for breath, Lucius felt as though every drop of moisture in his body had evaporated. His blurring consciousness fixated on a crimson totem.
Red light pulsed across the totem, flames leaping from its top like fiery sprites. A red-and-yellow aura encircled it, the air itself seeming to pulse and expand around it.
Lucius tried to destroy the totem responsible for the chaos, but his efforts were futile.
His spells couldn’t so much as scratch it. Even the giant serpent he summoned was ignited the moment it lunged at the totem, writhing in agony until it crumbled to ash.
In that moment, Lucius knew he was defeated—utterly outmatched by a boy far younger than himself.
“I understand what you’re worried about,” Harry’s voice cut through the bubbling of the lava, slightly distorted but clear enough to reach Lucius’s ears. “You know that, in others’ eyes, Draco, as my apprentice, is tied to me, marked by my name.”
The room was no longer merely tinged with orange-red. As Harry spoke, it seemed to ignite entirely. Lucius watched in horror as the ceiling melted into viscous, golden-red liquid, dripping dangerously close to him.
“This makes you anxious. You don’t know if I have the strength to match my reputation or if I’m worth the Malfoy family staking its heir on… That’s reasonable…”
The entire room had melted, save for the small patch of floor where Lucius lay, having stumbled backward and fallen, staring up at Harry. The golden-red lava, radiating waves of heat, took the shapes of fish, birds, and beasts, leaping from the molten tide. They bore the forms of animals, even mimicking their cries, yet their bodies were boiling lava.
This was the only magic Lucius could still recognize: Transfiguration.
Such exquisite Transfiguration, as if an entirely new species had been created.
But what truly despairing was the figure standing amid the steaming heat—the Boy Who Lived. His hands were empty.
Wandless, silent magic. That level of power…
It was as if Lucius had been plunged into a molten hell. The overwhelming heat seared his sanity, nearly robbing him of thought. All he could see was golden-red, and behind Harry, a giant rose—a colossal figure forged of lava, raising its right fist and swinging it down toward Lucius!
Eyes closed, Lucius gave up resisting—Boom!
Boiling lava, an even deeper wave of heat, and Harry’s voice, clear as a chilling breeze.
“I think you’ve found your answer, Uncle Lucius.”
Realizing he wasn’t dead, Lucius’s eyes snapped open, gasping for air.
The lava giant loomed face-to-face with him, so close Lucius could see the molten rock flowing within it, its right arm having just grazed past him.
Turning to his left, Lucius recalled tossing the snake’s head from his cane aside at the duel’s start. Now, it was buried beneath the lava giant’s fist, along with the stone floor.
“Yes,” Lucius rasped, his chest heaving, licking his dry lips. “I understand. I understand…”
And just like that, the world seemed to lose its soul—or so it appeared to Lucius.
The unbearable heat vanished rapidly, along with the golden-red glow. It cooled, drained away, leaving only its final form.
The lava giant, still poised with its arm beside Lucius, lost its fiery radiance. It solidified, reverting to its original state.
Deep gray stone, as if it had always been so.
As Lucius’s gaze wandered, he saw the leaping fish and beasts frozen in place, their final actions preserved as silent stone statues.
The entire room was the same. The all-consuming heat was gone in an instant. The ceiling, once surging with molten waves, now resembled a stalactite cave, as if it had been this way for centuries.
The torches remained on the walls—or at least where they’d been—untouched.
Between their flickering flames, the underground chamber was illuminated once more.
But Lucius knew what he’d just experienced was no illusion. If the boy before him wished, he could plunge Lucius back into that hell at any moment.
Trembling, Lucius reached out to touch the stone statue that had been the lava giant. Its rough surface still held a faint warmth.
Unlike the clumsy shamanic spells Draco had shown off at the start of the holidays, Lucius now understood the true meaning of “elements” and the power they held.
A power that could upend the wizarding world’s very foundations.
“Need help getting up, Uncle Lucius?” Harry asked calmly.
“…No, no need,” Lucius scrambled to his feet, still reeling as he surveyed the room.
“Sorry for wrecking your chamber,” Harry said softly. “But I think you’ll want to keep it like this?”
“Of course,” Lucius turned, forcing a ingratiating smile. “It has its own… unique significance. Let’s leave it as it is.”
He thought it would serve as an excellent reminder.
Notably, as Harry made his way back to the study through the deliberately spared passage, he turned a corner and spotted a familiar figure—or rather, a familiar house-elf: Dobby.
Dobby had clearly been watching for some time. His wide eyes were filled with shock upon seeing Harry, as if he’d never imagined Harry Potter could wield such power—something he hadn’t heard of before.
Dobby seemed eager to say something, but Lucius soon caught up. The moment he saw Dobby, his brow furrowed.
“Dobby? What are you doing here?” Unlike the warmth he showed Harry, Lucius snapped at Dobby. “I warned you not to appear in front of guests. You’re a disgrace to the Malfoy family!”
To wizards, a proper house-elf should serve its master invisibly, unnoticed.
“D-Dobby heard noises below. Dobby was worried for Master,” Dobby stammered, but Lucius had no patience for excuses.
“Get out! Go to the kitchen and take your punishment. Don’t show yourself to guests again!” Lucius glared at Dobby, then turned to Harry with a smile. “Sorry, Harry, for the embarrassment… What are you waiting for, Dobby?”
Dobby scurried off, his final glance filled with confusion and disbelief. He could never understand why the brave, powerful, and just hero Harry Potter was being warmly received by his wicked master—when, for years, his master had spoken of the Potters with nothing but contempt.
How utterly bizarre.
Harry and Lucius returned to the study in Malfoy Manor, but this time, everything was different.
If Lucius had spoken to Harry earlier with the condescending ease of an elder, now his demeanor was almost… servile.
“So that’s a house-elf? Named Dobby?” Harry asked, feigning curiosity as if seeing one for the first time. “I read that only ancient pure-blood families have house-elves.”
“Yes, Harry,” Lucius said deferentially. “Dobby is indeed a capable house-elf. If you don’t mind, I’d be happy to transfer him to the Potter family. It would be his honor to serve you.”
“With Dobby, managing the Potter estate would be easier, and he’d take care of your daily needs,” Lucius added with another ingratiating smile. “Consider it a small gift?”
Harry was stunned.
He began to wonder if the Malfoys had some goblin—or rather, fairy—blood in their veins. The kind that would bend to anything for gain, with no principles, no limits, capable of contradicting themselves without a hint of shame, heedless of others’ stares, so long as they achieved their goals.
House-elves were rare treasures in wizarding society. Despite the many at Hogwarts’ kitchens, Ron had mentioned how Mrs. Weasley longed for one to help but could never afford it.
Though scorned by Slytherin pure-bloods as blood-traitors, the Weasleys were a prominent, ancient family.
Yet Lucius offered a house-elf without blinking, as if it were no more significant than a common goblet.
“What about you?” Harry couldn’t help but ask. “Malfoy Manor is vast. If you give Dobby to me, Uncle Lucius, how will you manage?”
“Just call me Lucius, Harry,” Lucius said with a smile. “As for us… don’t worry. The Malfoys have other house-elves.”
In truth, Dobby was Lucius’s least favorite among their elves, always spouting inappropriate remarks. Sending him off to gain favor was a win-win.
“Impressive,” Harry said, almost amused, clapping his hands. “Uncle Lucius? Lucius? Impressive. Truly impressive.”
“So, eleven years ago,” Harry continued, as Lucius’s face paled, “is this how you dealt with Voldemort? Obeying him, flattering him, offering wealth and outward loyalty to make him the Malfoys’ steadfast ally—is that right?”
In an instant, Lucius Malfoy felt as though he’d been plunged back into that molten hell, sweat beading on his forehead, a chill running down his spine.
He hadn’t expected Harry to ask such a blunt, sudden question.
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
