Outside the crimson tube, my parents were bordering on desperation. Their eyes never left the curtain of blood that enveloped us; although they were familiar with my skills in hemomancy, seeing that impenetrable, vibrating veil was incomprehensible to them. The fear of the unknown, of what was occurring within that silence, kept them in a state of high alert.
But inside, the atmosphere was entirely different. I was the calmest person in the Ministry—an icy stillness that was shredding the nerves of the "proud pureblood wizard."
"Well? Don't you find it to be an exceptionally generous deal?" I asked, keeping my hand extended with an open palm, offering an Unbreakable Vow as if it were a casual greeting.
"Hmph... as if I need to bargain with a child," Lucius grumbled, averting his gaze with a feigned contempt that barely managed to hide his agitation.
"Don't be naive, Lucius. Do you think I can't read what's crossing your mind?" My tone shifted, taking on a tinge of scorn. "You think that by rejecting my offer and making me disappear later, you can track down the Stone on your own. You plan to eliminate me, ransack my home, and claim the prize without paying the price. Do you truly believe me to be that stupid after having orchestrated this entire spectacle in front of the Ministry?"
Lucius held my gaze, and for a second, I saw the flash of someone who has been read perfectly. The Philosopher's Stone was a massive temptation, but his instincts dictated that snatching a treasure from a Weasley child would be child's play. His means were vast and his cruelty sufficient... or so he thought.
"Do you think I would leave such a glaring flaw in my plan?" I asked with a mocking smile. "The Stone is not on my person, Lucius. And you won't find it even if you tear The Burrow apart or turn the wizarding world upside down."
At that moment, I caused the blood membrane behind me to turn translucent. With my thumb, I gestured over my shoulder toward the motionless formation of my bodyguards.
"Do you think they are here out of charity? That they serve me because they enjoy my company? You ought to know how deep and turbulent the waters of the Dragons of Albion truly run."
Lucius couldn't help himself; his eyes locked onto my guards, searching for the silver emblem on their uniforms: two dragons intertwined in perpetual circular flight. Like many great lords of the nobility, Lucius had observed the rise of that organization with growing unease. What had started as a small business had become a shadow stretching over the most lucrative trades in the region.
The Dragons of Albion were powerful, mysterious, and lethal. They steered clear of Ministry politics, but their mere existence made the most influential patriarchs nervous. If that organization hadn't shown a lack of interest in monopolizing traditional industries, the great families would have already united in a desperate war against them.
No one had managed to bend the Dragons of Albion. Many had tried—through force, bribery, or sabotage—but the organization stood like an impregnable fortress. You couldn't buy their staff, you couldn't trace their supply lines, and their products possessed technology that defied any analysis. They were unbeatable in the courts and lethal in the shadows; any dark force sent to eliminate them ended up vanishing without a trace. The meteoric downfall of a criminal syndicate that tried to seek revenge against them served as a bloody warning to the rest: you do not play games with the Dragons. Even the Ministry, with all its legal hurdles, hit a brick wall when a certain establishment of information and pleasure—a brothel holding massive leverage over influential people—stifled any attempt at an investigation. Many came to the conclusion that both establishments might share a powerful alliance or belong to the very same organization.
Lucius could not comprehend what these mercenaries were doing protecting a child. He knew the Dragons moved for gold, but the Weasleys had neither the capital nor the influence to hire even a single one of those men.
"Think it over carefully, Lucius," I said, breaking the silence with a serenely unsettling voice. "I am not stupid. If you do not accept, the Philosopher's Stone will fall into their hands. They currently guard it, but they won't know exactly what they have in their possession until tomorrow. I have had to bargain harshly and I have my debts, but if we resolve this under my terms... everyone will have a chance to win."
Lucius scrutinized me, searching for a crack in my mask.
"If you truly possess the Philosopher's Stone, why risk it with me?" he asked gravely. "With it, you could amass a fortune that would make any pureblood family pale in comparison."
"The Stone is magnificent, Lucius, but it is a sun far too bright for someone of my position," I replied, moving with a calmness that set his nerves on edge. "It is dangerous, it draws eyes I cannot evade, and I do not have the power to protect it. Amassing wealth with it would take decades of discretion that I cannot afford. In contrast, your material fortune is immediate, solid, and built on foundations I can manage. If I win, I obtain the power I need right now; if I lose... well, then I no longer have a reason to care."
My words were logical, almost icy. This was not the rhetoric of an impulsive Weasley, but the calculation of a strategist who had spent months preparing every response. With every passing second, every word, I managed to make Lucius's interest grow at the exact same pace as his dread.
"So you have orchestrated this chaos just to wager on my heritage? Why?" Lucius asked, his intrigue finally eclipsing his hatred. "Why risk yourself with such a twisted plan that could condemn you at any moment? I do not need the Philosopher's Stone. I could walk out of this veil right now, expose your lies, and let time bring the truth to light. You would end up ruined, Weasley... if you don't rot in an Azkaban cell first."
He held my gaze, judging me with a fierce scrutiny, attempting to decipher the inner workings of my mind.
"He who does not gamble, does not win... and I have come to play," I replied, returning a look charged with naked ambition. "Yes, it is risky, but the reward justifies the danger. I have no intention of living in misery, and the Malfoy fortune is the first major step I intend to climb. Besides, we both know you won't pass up this opportunity. You may not lack gold, Lucius, but the Stone would elevate you to a scale of power no one has reached in centuries. You could buy entire ministries, dictate international treaties... and even if none of that mattered to you, the temptation to live a little longer is a poison no one rejects."
"You underestimate me. I have no reason to accept," he countered, crossing his arms with a gesture of superiority. "Risking the legacy of my ancestors on the words of a child makes no sense."
"Is that what you think?" I questioned, arching an eyebrow. "At this point, you are the one with the most to lose in the short term. Even if you try to blame me, the truth will not come out today, and I have no intention of renouncing the Duel of Honor. You and I are going to fight. If I die, I lose nothing; I wagered everything a long time ago. But you... even if you win, you gain nothing more than clearing an honor that is already stained. Wouldn't it be better to obtain a legendary bounty from the trap I've caught you in?" I stepped closer, dropping my voice to a provocative whisper: "Or is it that, after all, you don't trust your ability to defeat me?"
Lucius frowned, his jaw muscle tightening with rage. It was irritating, almost unbearable for him to admit that I was right. He couldn't read me; I didn't behave like a child, nor even like a simple insidious, conniving youth. Standing before him was not a second-year student, but a cunning adversary, akin to one of his troublesome old rivals.
"Let us make an Unbreakable Vow, sealed with a magical pact, and may the best man win," I declared, extending my right hand while using my left to reveal a dragon-hide parchment bearing the terms of the challenge.
"I am beginning to understand perfectly why, despite your lineage, you ended up in Slytherin," Lucius murmured. It was almost a compliment—a bitter acknowledgment that we shared the same predatory nature.
He snatched the parchment with a sharp movement. I remained silent, impassive, as his grey eyes analyzed every clause of the magical contract. I didn't care about his opinion or his respect; I only cared about his signature. After what felt like an eternity, he addressed me again.
"And the witness?" Lucius asked cautiously. He was accepting the deal, yes, but he wouldn't allow a single comma to be left to chance. As a veteran predator, he knew that an agreement without a solid anchor was just an empty promise, and he had no intention of risking his assets without absolute guarantees.
"Your wife..." I answered confidently. "It's best to keep this a secret. Let's not let outsiders meddle," I said, glancing in the direction of my family and Dumbledore.
I made an imperceptible gesture, and the barrier of blood collapsed, turning into an inert puddle on the marble floor. The outside world rushed back in all at once. Not only were Dumbledore and my parents watching us with eyes starved for answers, but Fudge and a retinue of officials had crowded the perimeter, anxious to crack the enigma of our private chat.
"Narcissa!" Lucius called out, his voice regaining that imperious tone of command.
She was startled, but her mask of aristocratic coldness did not falter. Needing no further instruction, she broke through the crowd with swift, rhythmic steps and took her place beside her husband. My family and Dumbledore tried to move forward, seeking to break the isolation, but my guards, doing their duty, stepped in with firmness. Before anyone could protest, the crimson wall rose once more.
The crowd drew back amidst murmurs of astonishment and frustration. As Dumbledore had suggested, duels that transitioned into dialectical discussions were an "accepted" tradition, but they were typically grueling processes of negotiation between the parties, and if they failed, they defaulted back to a duel of wands. It was merely an excuse used by certain wizards in the past who didn't want to die over a matter of honor. Even so, what we were doing was an anomaly: a child and an adult debating private justice at the very heart of public power.
Fudge looked to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. His face was flushed with the rage of being excluded; he hated that an "eccentric student" was keeping him in the dark within his own Ministry. He cursed me silently but dared not intervene; Lucius Malfoy remained his primary financial backer and an untouchable figure of status. On the other hand, Dumbledore remained motionless, his eyes intensely analyzing the structure of the veil; I could practically feel his gaze on the back of my neck. He knew I was hiding something, and his patience was running thin.
This time, however, I was "considerate." I manipulated the veil to make it translucent, allowing the spectators to see us from the outside, but nothing more. It was a calculated gesture to calm my parents, so they could see I was still standing and "safe." But the transparency was just another lie. I used a distortion to project a false image: from the outside, we only appeared to be conversing with solemn gestures—a tense but conventional negotiation. No one, perhaps with the exception of Dumbledore, could tell that the reality within the circle was something entirely different.