Hogwarts' Golden Glory

"Lucius, my dear friend," Nott's voice was sticky like honey mixed with poison, "your master is disappointed by your recent... silence. Very disappointed."

Lucius finally turned around, his face bearing a carefully practiced, slightly arrogant indifference: "Silence is a necessary precaution, Evan. The Malfoy family's influence needs to be used at crucial moments, not wasted on meaningless ostentation. Especially now, with those Mudblood sympathizers in the Ministry of Magic becoming increasingly rampant."

"Caution?" Nott walked to the desk, his withered fingers tracing a barely visible dark mark across the polished mahogany surface—a sign of dark magic's corrosive influence. "What I've heard is different. I've heard your eldest son is up to no good in the Scottish Highlands, hanging out with that Mad-Eye Auror. And you're sitting here, drinking tea, reading the newspaper, pretending you know nothing?"

Lucius's heart clenched, but his face remained impassive: "Kane is still a child, and his actions do not represent the Malfoy family's position. Besides, the master once said that the transgressions of young people can be tolerated to some extent, as long as they eventually return to the right path."

"Tolerance?" Nott suddenly sprang to his feet, slamming his fist on the desk. A crack appeared in the heavy mahogany surface, the edges of which quickly turned black and carbonized, as if burned. "Master's werewolf plan has been disrupted! The entire tribe is in turmoil! And you call this 'deviation'?!"

Lucius felt a chill run down his spine. He knew Kane had gone to Morag, but he hadn't expected this...

"I...I'll handle it," Lucius said with difficulty. "I'll call Kane back and discipline him severely—"

"It's too late," Nott interrupted him, pulling a small black bottle from his robe and placing it on the cracked desk. The bottle was made of opaque obsidian, and the stopper was some kind of dark red crystal. Even through the bottle, Lucius could feel the evil aura emanating from it—a twisted, thirsty magic that writhed within like a living thing.

"What is this?" Lucius took a step back, finally gripping his cane.

"A test." Nott grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow with nicotine. "A loyalty potion personally crafted by the master. Drink it. If you truly pledge your loyalty, it will enhance your magic, bringing you closer to the master's greatness. If you harbor disloyalty..."

He didn't finish speaking, but his meaning was clear.

Lucius stared at the bottle. He could feel the roar of dark magic within—the unmistakable mark of the Dark Lord's power. To drink it meant either becoming a more loyal servant or dying in excruciating pain, his soul drained away as nourishment.

There is no third way.

At least, before Nott came, he thought there wasn't.

The shadow in the corner of the study suddenly flickered.

Nott whirled around, wand in hand in an instant: "Who—"

His words stuck in his throat.

Because what emerged from the shadows was not the house-elf or guardian he had imagined.

He was a teenager.

Kane Malfoy wore a simple black travel robe, with a dark golden bird perched on his shoulder—its feathers shimmering strangely in the fireplace firelight, its silver eyes calmly watching Nott, as if assessing some harmless insect.

"Kane..." Lucius's voice tightened, "How could you—"

"Good evening, Father." Kane's voice was as calm as if he were discussing the weather. "And Mr. Nott. Evan Nott, a member of a branch of the Nott family, was warned by Wizengamor in 1982 for illegal black magic experiments, but escaped trial due to 'insufficient evidence.' Since then, he has been moving between Eastern Europe and the black market, handling...sensitive matters for certain important figures who are reluctant to appear in public."

Nott narrowed his eyes: "You know quite a bit, kid."

"I'm doing my homework." Kane took two steps forward, the firelight from the fireplace illuminating his face.

The boy was thirteen, but his gray eyes held no childishness, only a cold assessment. "Like I know you're missing a section of your right middle finger—not congenital, but cut off by guards four years ago when you tried to steal a vampire relic in Bulgaria. You used dark magic to attach a section of fairy metal, but the nerve connection isn't perfect, so your ring finger twitches involuntarily when you cast spells now."

Nott clenched his left hand tightly. No one knew about this except himself and the black market doctor who was present at the time.

“I also know,” Kane continued to approach, his steps as steady as if he were strolling in his own garden, “you just returned from the black market in Romania three days ago. Besides my father’s ‘testing potion,’ you also brought three other ‘gifts’—for Crabbe, Goyle, and… your uncle Nott, right? You wanted to use these to solidify your position in the family, since your branch has had little say in the Nott family since your father died.”

Nott's expression changed drastically. His uncle, old Nott, was indeed hesitant about whether to rejoin the Dark Lord, and he did want to use this "merit" to elevate his own status. But he had only written these plans in his diary; even the Dark Lord was unaware of them—

"You peeked at my things?!" Nott hissed, raising his wand. "How dare you—"

“I don’t need to peek.” Kane stopped five steps away from Nott, the phoenix on his shoulder gently flapping its wings. “I can calculate. Based on your behavior patterns, interpersonal relationships, and recent activity patterns, I can deduce the most likely motive. This is logic, Mr. Nott, not magic.”

Nott felt a chill run down his spine. The boy's tone was too calm, unnaturally so.

"Kid, you think you can scare me with your knowledge of the black market?" Nott forced a sneer, but his hand holding the wand trembled slightly. "I've dealt with more trouble than you've eaten meals—"

"For example?" Kane tilted his head, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "Three years ago in Knockturn Alley, you helped a smuggler deal with two rivals using a modified Imperius Curse, making them kill each other. Two years ago in Vienna, you helped an Eastern European dark wizard kidnap a Ministry of Magic official's family member in exchange for confiscated dark magic items. Last year in Bucharest—"

"Shut up!" Nott waved his wand. "Crunch in the Heart!"

A beam of red light shot towards Kane.

Lucius's heart nearly stopped; he instinctively raised his cane, wanting to cast a spell for defense—

But Kane did not dodge.

He didn't even use a wand.

He simply raised his left hand. Palm up, fingers spread. A silver rune appeared in his palm—not the common runes, but an older, more complex variant of runes. The rune spun, expanded, and transformed into a translucent shield, blocking his path.