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HRA# CHAPTER 110
🕑 Added 2025-04-26 19:45:24 +0000 UTCThere was no doubt about it—this was a conspiracy, a frame-up. That deranged house-elf clung to the notion of preventing Harry from returning to Hogwarts until the very end, offering no reasons, no explanations, and certainly no consideration for what Harry would do with his future if he couldn’t go back.
Harry was almost amused by how infuriated he felt. He hadn’t expected Dobby to go to such extremes.
All because Dobby wanted to protect Harry Potter—so Harry was supposed to just follow its whims?
From everything Dobby had done so far, Harry could believe the house-elf meant well. But Dobby was undeniably an oddity among its kind—wild, erratic, yet surprisingly cunning. It even knew how to exploit Ministry of Magic regulations to achieve its goals.
Unfortunately, its cleverness had limits. Dobby seemed oblivious to how easily its crude attempt at sabotage could be exposed. Most importantly, Harry already knew its name.
He’d saved the letter, but for now, the more pressing issue was that he’d barged uninvited into Malfoy Manor. By wizarding law, such an act could genuinely land him in trouble.
No actual fighting broke out.
Though Lucius Malfoy’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point, and he activated every defensive ward in the manor, he exercised remarkable restraint. Harry couldn’t tell if this was because of the phoenix perched on his shoulder or the scar on his forehead.
Harry wasn’t unreasonable. Since he was the one who’d trespassed, he had no intention of doing anything out of line—unless, of course, Lucius seized the chance to eliminate him and revive the Death Eaters’ glory.
The turning point came when Draco Malfoy burst out of the manor’s front doors, his face alight with excitement, shouting, “Mentor! Have you come to visit my home?”
Draco had likely broken free from his mother’s grasp to rush out, as Harry caught sight of a woman in a brown robe hurrying after him. She quickly pulled Draco behind her, probably assuming the manor was under attack and intending to hide.
With Draco’s exuberant, joyful cry, things could hardly spiral further downward.
And so, everything settled back to normal. The animated statues returned to their seats, the rippling lawn smoothed itself out, and the white peacocks resumed their leisurely struts across the grounds. Harry, meanwhile, entered the manor as a guest of the Malfoy family.
Harry had once heard Severus Snape’s opinion of the Malfoys. In Snape’s words, the family had always despised Muggle-borns, prided themselves on their pure-blood lineage, and were arrogant yet astute in reading the times. They were also immensely wealthy and skilled at using their fortune to win allies.
Snape’s description wasn’t far off. The interior of Malfoy Manor could only be described as opulent, yet it avoided the gaudy impression of nouveau riche. The weight of historical legacy blended seamlessly with the manor’s grandeur.
The ceiling of the entrance hall soared so high it was almost out of sight, adorned with an enormous crystal chandelier. If you looked closely, you could see gemstones embedded in its frame, glinting faintly. The entire manor followed this aesthetic—neither tacky nor dismissive, with a subtle air of intimidation.
It was an odd sensation, to be honest. Harry knew the man before him, proudly recounting the Malfoy family’s glorious history, had been a Death Eater eleven years ago—and likely still bore Voldemort’s mark on his arm.
“Septimus Malfoy,” Lucius said leisurely, gesturing to the murals on the walls. “He held considerable influence over the Ministry of Magic in his day… perhaps more than just influence.”
He gave a reserved smile, and Harry could read its meaning—Lucius was implying that the Malfoys had effectively controlled the Ministry during that era.
The long corridor was lined with ancient portraits, their subjects clad in ornate wizarding robes, gazing down at Harry with cold, appraising eyes. Occasionally, they murmured to one another.
Display cabinets showcased precious magical artifacts. Harry spotted a serpent-shaped ring set with an emerald, a faded wand with visible cracks, and even a phoenix tail feather, which prompted a soft trill from Faw translating to the Malfoys about Dobby. Instead, he claimed Fawkes had been flying him around aimlessly and happened to land at Malfoy Manor.
Lucius clearly didn’t buy the story, but thanks to Draco’s enthusiastic demeanor, he chose to treat Harry with high hospitality.
Though Lucius reprimanded Draco for his lack of composure, Harry could see the affection he held for his son. Narcissa Malfoy was the same. It wasn’t surprising, really—Draco’s attitude before Harry had humbled him at the start of term screamed “spoiled child.”
Lucius even arranged a lavish dinner to welcome Harry.
“I hope you feel at ease and enjoy yourself, Harry,” Lucius said from the other end of a solid ebony dining table, flashing a crocodile-tears smile. “After all, if you trace our lineages back far enough, our families share a kinship.”
Lucius’s gray eyes gleamed with surprise. He saw no trace of nervousness in the young boy across from him—not even after witnessing the Malfoy family’s wealth and receiving such a grand reception. A twelve-year-old shouldn’t be this composed.
For a child of that age, being treated as an adult and welcomed so lavishly should be thrilling, not to mention the countless other details.
“Of course, thank you for your hospitality, Uncle Lucius,” Harry replied with a slight nod. “Compared to Muggle society, the wizarding world is indeed small, and wizarding families are growing ever scarcer.”
Harry’s subtext was clear: it was hardly unusual for wizarding families to claim some distant connection, and there was no need to make a fuss about it. Though it was a distancing remark, Lucius’s eyes lit up, as it only highlighted Harry’s maturity.
Lucius knew all about the Boy Who Lived’s upbringing—cruel Muggle relatives, years of mistreatment. By all accounts, a child from such a background should be awestruck by the wonders of Malfoy Manor, things he could only have dreamed of.
The long table, crafted from exquisite wood, was set with silver cutlery and crystal goblets, each piece a collectible in its own right, engraved with intricate serpentine patterns. Overhead, a massive enchanted cloud drifted across the ceiling, with magical creatures occasionally darting through its wisps.
Even Fawkes had been given a bowl of delicacies mixed with rare herbs.
Yet the boy showed not a hint of awe or enchantment.
It was as if he’d seen greater, grander things—as if his gaze held a touch of judgment.
Well, the Malfoy family’s collection and decor were impressive, but compared to the ostentatious, bone-deep extravagance of Silvermoon City’s blood elves, they still fell short.
Those graceful female blood elves were truly… ahem!
Harry reined in his thoughts.
“Is this… rose silver?” Harry asked, examining the fork in his hand. “It is. This matte finish reminds me of the writings in Grimaldi’s alchemical journal—only dragonfire quenching can strip metal of its sheen, leaving only the warm luster of bloodlines.”
“…I hadn’t expected such refined knowledge,” Lucius said, sitting up straighter, barely suppressing a pleased hum. “Excellent taste.”
That hit the spot—Harry’s words scratched Lucius’s deepest itch, making him so delighted that his fake smile melted into a genuine, restrained one.
“Hogwarts’ library does hold many unexpected treasures,” Harry said with a touch of regret. “Sadly, there’s little on Grimaldi’s research.”
In truth, the Hogwarts library had barely a handful of books on practical alchemy—fewer than five in total. This only heightened Harry’s anticipation for Nicolas Flamel’s invitation.
He needed more knowledge.
“That’s why I say your discernment is admirable, Harry,” Lucius said, raising an eyebrow. “Grimaldi’s journal has long been lost. The Malfoy family is fortunate to possess a fragment… If you’d like, you’re welcome to view it in the study after dinner.”
“Thank you for your generosity, Uncle Lucius,” Harry said sincerely.
Beyond the Daily Prophet, Lucius had other, more discreet channels for gathering information. Most notably, he had a fervent admirer of Harry Potter right at home—his son, Draco Malfoy.
When Draco returned home at the start of the holidays, every other word was “Harry,” “Mentor,” or “I’ll follow my mentor to restore this world’s elements.” Though Lucius said nothing aloud, he was privately rattled. Narcissa, meanwhile, watched her son’s excitement with doting affection, believing everything Draco did was perfect.
Draco’s fervor even backfired on Lucius, making him wonder if Rita Skeeter’s recent articles held some truth—that everything, from Hogwarts to these… elements, was orchestrated by Dumbledore.
But today, now, Lucius had abandoned those suspicions entirely.
Throughout the dinner, if Lucius closed his eyes, he wouldn’t have felt like he was speaking to a child but to a seasoned, powerful wizarding master.
Poised, erudite, measured, Harry’s words weren’t bland, predictable flattery but precise, hitting the very points that secretly thrilled Lucius and Narcissa. They’d often mocked less discerning guests for their ignorance.
“Try this dish, Harry,” Narcissa said warmly, her attitude now openly friendly. “Roast pigeon with dragon’s blood sauce—a Malfoy family specialty. The flavor is unique. You’ll like it.”
A faint, metallic tang, not off-putting but almost invigorating. It was like swallowing a spark of fire, warming and tenderizing the pigeon.
“…Quite good,” Harry said after a bite. “Brings back memories.”
It tasted like orc cuisine.
“Thank you for looking after Draco at school, Harry,” Narcissa said suddenly, her voice thick with emotion, eyes glistening. “He’s grown so much, and neither Lucius nor I noticed… oh…”
“I showed them the two spells you taught me, Mentor,” Draco said, patting his mother’s back awkwardly. “The Stone Arrow and Stoneskin. They were amazed.”
More like alarmed, especially after Draco planted a totem in the ground and turned their garden upside down.
“And your earth elemental,” Harry added, then continued, “I haven’t taught you much, honestly. Your growth comes from your own experiences.”
“I won’t lose, Mentor,” Draco said through gritted teeth. “I’ll show those fools the power of us shaman priests. They’ll bow their stupid heads before us.”
“Bold words, Draco,” Lucius said, clapping lightly. “But until you succeed, keep such thoughts to yourself.”
“Sorry, Father,” Draco said earnestly. “I will.”
Lucius nodded, saying no more, but he was quietly pleased.
Though Draco tried to hide his school struggles from his parents, Lucius, as Snape’s friend, was well aware of his son’s challenges.
Initially, Lucius had been furious, ready to lash out at the families who’d harmed his son. Snape had restrained him.
As Snape relayed Draco’s growth and changes, Lucius and Narcissa felt only pride, tempered by heartache for their son’s trials.
This was why Harry, despite arriving uninvited, was received so grandly. Draco’s growth and the strength he’d gained to fight back stemmed from the Shamanic Circle—and from Harry Potter.
Lucius could scarcely believe it at first.
After dinner, Lucius invited Harry to the study under the pretense of showing him Grimaldi’s journal. Harry knew it was just an excuse.
“Thank you for your influence on Draco, Harry,” Lucius said seriously once they were seated. “You’ve given the Malfoy family an exceptional heir.”
“He’s my apprentice,” Harry said with a slight nod. “It may sound absurd to you, but Draco has learned my unique magic. That’s undeniable. The shaman’s code will guide him for life.”
“Of course, I have no objections,” Lucius said, his face slipping back into that initial fake smile. “In fact, I’ve recently heard… rumors, circulating among pure-blood nobles and esteemed older wizards.”
“Phalangius Wildsmith?” Harry asked, catching Lucius’s drift.
“Precisely,” Lucius nodded. “Though it hasn’t been announced publicly, the Scrying Potion has shown many visions never seen before… It won’t be long—months, perhaps—before your name echoes through the wizarding world again. I’d wager at least a First-Class Order of Merlin.”
“So, you want to know if I discovered the elements myself, or if Dumbledore found them and pinned the credit on me?” Harry said, well-versed in the Malfoy family’s reputation for prioritizing profit, much like goblins with their gold.
“I appreciate your candor, Harry,” Lucius said with a fake smile. “And I believe we could have a broader future together. You may not realize, but you haven’t lost all your family… You still have a godfather alive.”
After a brief pause, Lucius studied Harry’s expression, quickly realizing Harry already knew. There wasn’t a flicker of shock.
“Sirius Black—your godfather,” Lucius continued. “You may know where he is, but what I’m saying is that Sirius is Narcissa’s cousin. Which makes me, in a sense, your cousin-in-law.”
In a few words, Lucius had positioned himself as Harry’s wizarding equivalent of Vernon Dursley—not a Muggle uncle, but a magical one.
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
Comments
Vick
Dobny tried to trap Harry but he got a UNO reverse card and get connection.
