Dobby wasted no time.
The moment Victor confirmed it, the house-elf vanished with a sharp pop.
Less than a minute later, hurried footsteps echoed outside the room.
The door opened, and Narcissa entered first, Lucius just behind her. They stopped the instant they saw Victor standing there—upright, steady, and looking directly at them.
Narcissa's breath caught. "Victor?"
He turned his head toward her without hesitation. "Mother."
She crossed the room at once, searching his face. "Your eyes," she said softly. "You can see?"
"Yes."
For a heartbeat, she simply stared. Then relief washed over her features, controlled but unmistakable. She reached out, touching his cheek as if to be certain he was truly seeing her.
Lucius stepped closer, gaze sharp and assessing. "Fully restored?" he asked.
Victor met his eyes evenly. "Fully."
Lucius exhaled slowly. "Good."
It was only one word, but it carried weight.
Lucius nodded once, slowly. The tension didn't vanish from his shoulders—but it eased. "The healer was correct, then. A self-resolving condition."
"Seems like it," Victor replied.
Lucius's eyes narrowed slightly. "You will still be examined again. Thoroughly."
Narcissa shot Lucius a look. "Later," she said firmly. Then she turned back to Victor, her voice softening. "You're certain there's no pain?"
"None," Victor replied.
She drew him into a brief, tight embrace—controlled, composed, but unmistakably relieved.
Lucius cleared his throat. "Then you should prepare for Christmas," he said. "And for the party. We will be receiving a special guest."
Victor lifted an eyebrow. "Special guest?"
Narcissa released him and smiled, the kind that hinted at carefully kept plans. "Yes. Someone important. And," she added, "there's a surprise for you as well."
Only she knew how close this Christmas gathering had come to being cancelled or delayed. With Victor injured and his condition uncertain, nothing had felt settled. But now—now that his sight had returned—she was certain the event would proceed as planned.
Everything would go smoothly.
Victor hesitated. "A surprise… gift?"
"Can I know what this surprise is?" Victor asked. He had never liked being on the receiving end of surprises—he preferred being the one giving them.
Narcissa smiled, already amused by the question. "No," she said simply. "That would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?"
Lucius inclined his head in agreement. "You will find out soon enough."
Victor sighed, knowing when he was outvoted.
Whatever they had planned, it was clearly unavoidable.
That evening, Draco arrived home from Hogwarts for Christmas, and soon the two of them sat facing each other with a wizard's chessboard hovering between them.
Draco squinted at Victor over the board.
"Brother… why did you lose your sight and then get it back in ten days?" he asked. "What even happened?"
Victor moved a bishop, unfazed. "Some things can't be explained."
"Oh." Draco accepted that immediately, as if it were the most reasonable answer in the world.
They played in silence for a few moments, the clack of pieces filling the room.
"So," Victor said casually, "did anything interesting happen at Hogwarts while I was gone?"
Draco snorted. "That mud—"
He stopped, Victor's gaze finishing the warning for him: complete that word, and I'll make sure you never say it again.
Draco cleared his throat and corrected himself quickly. "That… bushy-haired Gryffindor girl. She kept annoying me, asking where you suddenly disappeared to. Said you were in the infirmary."
Victor's mouth twitched. "That's called concern, Draco," he said calmly. "It means I have good friends."
Draco frowned, nudging a pawn forward. "Unlike those two buffoons who follow you everywhere."
"You mean Crabbe and Goyle?"
"They're not my friends," Draco said defensively.
"They're… underlings."
Victor's rook slid across the board, knocking a piece aside with a sharp crack.
"Exactly," he said dryly.
"It's better to be alone than surround yourself with foolish underlings. And if you must choose—clever enemies are far better than foolish friends."
Draco paused, staring at the board, then frowned.
"…You make it sound like a lesson."
"It is," Victor replied, already eyeing his next move.
He shifted another piece, tone measured rather than lecturing. "I'm saying this for you, foolish brother. You need to be better at choosing both your friends and your enemies. As Malfoys, we don't get the luxury of mistakes—choosing the wrong side can be fatal."
Draco frowned but didn't interrupt.
"We don't make enemies for the sake of pride," Victor continued. "We make connections. Allies. So that when a situation turns disadvantageous, we have people to lean on—or use."
The final piece moved.
The king toppled with a sharp crack.
"Checkmate."
Victor leaned back. "So remember this: always have a backup plan. Never trust anyone blindly. Everything comes after family. Fame, money, reputation—all of it. Family comes first."
Draco stared at the board for a long moment.
Then, quietly, he nodded.
"So, Draco," Victor said casually, leaning back against the cushions, "do you know what Mother and Father are preparing for Christmas?"
Draco shrugged, clearly unconcerned. "How would I know? I asked for a new Nimbus flying broom," he said, as if that settled the matter. "That's all I care about."
"So… you don't know," Victor said, already having expected that answer.
"Don't know what?" Draco asked, glancing at him now.
Victor gave a small shrug. "They seem to be planning something special for the Christmas party. A surprise."
Draco's eyes brightened instantly. "For me too?"
Victor let out a quiet snort. "How would I know? If you're that curious, go ask them yourself."
Draco leaned back, thoughtful now, a faint grin spreading across his face. "A surprise, huh…"
***
Two days later, Christmas night arrived at Malfoy Manor in full force.
There was no Christmas tree—nothing so common—but the manor itself was transformed. Pale enchantments shaped falling snow along the high ceilings and window arches, never melting, never cold.
Silver and emerald banners bearing the Malfoy crest lined the walls, and floating lights drifted lazily through the halls like slow-moving stars.
Pure-blood families arrived one after another, their cloaks rich and formal, their voices low and polished. The manor buzzed with restrained laughter and calculated pleasantries.
At the head of it all, Narcissa and Lucius stood side by side, impeccable as ever, greeting guests with practiced grace. Lucius spoke softly, his tone measured and authoritative. Narcissa smiled, composed and elegant, guiding conversations with effortless control.
In the great dining hall, a long table stretched beneath chandeliers, already laden with dishes—roasts, enchanted pastries, shimmering goblets, and delicacies prepared to impress rather than comfort.
House-elves moved silently between guests, ensuring nothing was ever empty for more than a moment.
Victor and Draco sat with the other children of the invited families, both dressed in tailored black wizarding suits edged subtly with silver. Draco, naturally, was holding court.
"I told you," he was saying loudly, chin lifted, "I'm already better than most Gryffindors. Potter's just lucky."
A few boys laughed; others nodded, clearly unsure whether they believed him or simply didn't want to argue. Pansy Parkinson sat close to Draco, voicing her agreement readily. She was a Slytherin in the same year as him, and she always took his side.
Victor listened with half an ear, his expression carefully neutral. He let Draco boast—it cost him nothing.
Christmas at Malfoy Manor was never about warmth or tradition.
It was about power. About appearances. About reminding everyone exactly where the Malfoy family stood.
'Hmm. No special guests,' Victor thought dryly. 'Just the same people as every year.'
The usual families were present—the Parkinsons, the Bulstrodes, and a handful of other familiar names. Predictable. Orderly.
'Where is the surprise Mother and Father were talking about?'
*****
A/N : 🔥 On Patreon, the story has already been updated up to Chapter 43 🔥
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