Gazing at Gawain's icy expression, Lucius opened his mouth, yet no words came out.
Part of it was because his body had grown frail after spending far too long in Azkaban. But more than that, this man in his forties was so overwhelmed that his eyes nearly brimmed with tears.
First, there was Gawain Robards. During his years as a Death Eater, Mr. Malfoy had thoroughly investigated every senior official at the Ministry of Magic… He had always believed Robards to be a loyal servant of the Ministry. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that his true identity was a follower of Gellert Grindelwald.
More importantly, this was a spy who had infiltrated the British Ministry of Magic and climbed all the way to the position of Head of the Auror Office. The price Grindelwald's followers must have paid to achieve that was surely immense.
And now, Robards had risked exposing himself to break him out of Azkaban.
The young man named Christopher Patrick had also kept his promise.
And he himself had not even sworn loyalty to Gellert Grindelwald yet…
Yet they were willing to pay such a heavy price for him.
He was moved—an emotion he had not experienced in many years. The blood in his veins, long frozen by the Dementors, now seemed to burn once more. It even stirred in him an impulse to lay down his life for his new master.
The two of them moved cautiously until they reached a stretch of beach by the sea.
There was a battered dugout canoe waiting there.
Gawain helped Lucius into the wooden boat and tossed him a dark gray wand.
"It belonged to a death row inmate in Azkaban. I don't know who," Gawain Robards said in a low voice. "Destroy it after you return, so there's no evidence left behind… And don't mention me to anyone."
Lucius nodded quickly.
With that, Gawain Robards left without a backward glance.
And so, seated in that ramshackle canoe, Mr. Lucius Malfoy drifted across the North Sea for several hours…
By the time night had fully fallen, he was far enough from Azkaban that his strength had returned enough to properly hold a wand.
He chose to Apparate.
With a violent twist of space and a rush of vertigo, he vanished into the vast sea.
...
Mr. Lucius Malfoy reappeared on a narrow path bathed in moonlight. Low, dense brambles lined the left side of the road, while on the right stood tall, neatly trimmed hedges.
Straight ahead loomed an ornate iron gate, its knocker shaped like the head of a Welsh Green dragon.
Beyond the gate lay a vast manor.
The lady of the house sat alone in a pitch-dark drawing room.
The room was spacious, a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, deep purple walls adorned with numerous portraits…
Everything about the place spoke of wealth.
Yet with Christmas fast approaching, there were no decorations anywhere in the manor. The entire estate felt lifeless and desolate.
Worse still, much of the surrounding grounds were in disarray. Since the master of the house had been arrested, Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, had led several raids here. Most of the wreckage left in the manor was the result of those searches.
"Draco…" Narcissa Malfoy called softly. "Dinner's ready."
"Just a moment, Mother!" Draco replied in a low voice from the steps at the front of the sitting room.
It had only been half a year since everything changed, yet Draco had grown noticeably thinner. His face was even paler than before.
He stared at the yew hedge beside him, brows tightly furrowed, as though lost in thought.
He didn't even notice the white peacock striding proudly past behind him.
Suddenly, Draco's expression changed.
He seemed to hear something—an unusual sound coming from the gate.
That was strange. In the past six months, the manor had hardly received any visitors… Was it Aunt Bella? Or someone else? Draco wondered.
He strode quickly toward the entrance, and when he finally saw the figure standing by the gate—
"Father…" Draco's voice trembled.
...
A few minutes later, in the dining room of Malfoy Manor.
Lucius was devouring sandwiches and gulping down pumpkin juice. For him, this meant something—only half a year ago, he would have sneered at such 'inferior' fare food and drink.
Narcissa and Draco sat across from him, both of them visibly thrilled, barely able to contain their joy.
For the first time, that bitterly cold Christmas at Malfoy Manor carried a hint of warmth.
Once Lucius had nearly finished eating, Narcissa ventured cautiously, "My dear, was it the Dark Lord who sent someone to rescue you?"
Lucius paused, set down his food, and gently shook his head.
"Then how did you…?" Narcissa asked, astonishment written all over her face.
"A young man. He said his name was Christopher Patrick," Lucius replied evenly.
"Christopher?" Draco looked just as shocked.
"He also said… he's your friend, Draco," Lucius added, turning his gaze to his son.
"Yes… Christopher… Christopher… he is my friend…" Draco stammered. "I never thought… it would be him… that he would be the one to save you…"
Lucius nodded solemnly, then said in a grave tone:
"Narcissa, Draco… no matter what happens, you must not tell anyone that I've returned. Not even your sister, Narcissa."
"Not even Bella…" Narcissa Malfoy drew in a deep breath and nodded.
"Father, does that mean… you've already…" Draco looked terrified.
"That's right." Lucius gave his son a meaningful look and gave a slight shake of his head. "I have to leave. It won't be long before news of my escape from Azkaban spreads. It won't be long before the Ministry's search teams arrive."
"Then what should I do, Father?" Draco asked anxiously. "You know about my orders…"
But the panic on Draco's face gradually faded, replaced by a strange calm. He murmured under his breath,
"Wait… If it's Christopher… I think… I know what to do…"