"We are finished," I said, withdrawing my hand with cold detachment. The others mirrored the gesture, breaking the physical connection. "A word of advice, Lucius: do not enter that arena confident that victory is yours by right. You will not find it easy to defeat me."
"It is a pity," he replied, and for the first time, I detected a shred of genuine sorrow in his voice. "You could have restored the Weasley name, returning them to their rightful place among the nobility... if only you hadn't made the mistake of choosing me as your enemy."
"Whatever you say. I will expect you tomorrow at noon," I stated.
With a sharp movement, I banished the curtain of blood. The din of the Atrium struck us once more, but the atmosphere was entirely different. Everyone present—Fudge, the Aurors, Dumbledore, and my family—instantly noticed that the very air around us had shifted.
I changed my expression in the blink of an eye. The calculating calm vanished, replaced by a feigned, feverish rage. I shoved Ginny toward my parents with theatrical abruptness so they would pull her to safety. Then, before the astonished gaze of the crowd, I unleashed the shout that would set the printing presses of the entire wizarding world ablaze:
"THERE WILL BE A DUEL OF HONOR!" I roared, causing my parents to turn as pale as white marble. "Tomorrow at noon! No seconds, no restrictions, and under the victor's sentence!"
"Red!" my mother screamed.
"NO!" Arthur exclaimed, lunging forward to reach me.
But I gave them no opportunity. I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit with firm strides. A second later, I vanished into thin air, turning invisible right before their eyes. While chaos erupted and the Aurors desperately searched for a boy who was no longer there, I simply dissolved the clone that had been acting in my stead.
The chaos in the Ministry Atrium overflowed like a river bursting through a dam. Many had expected the situation to be resolved with a diplomatic handshake or an administrative fine, but no... a Duel of Honor was going to take place. The air grew thick, heavy with a toxic mixture of horror, morbid curiosity, and an almost primitive excitement.
I had vanished, leaving behind an absolute vacuum of answers that only served to infuriate the masses. But the crowd's hunger for information wasted no time finding new targets.
My family was surrounded in a matter of seconds. A tide of hands, notebooks, and flashing cameras hemmed them in. Everyone was shouting at the same time, demanding a statement from my father as the current head of the Weasley family. They wanted to know how a patriarch could have allowed his youngest son to issue a challenge of such magnitude. What had previously been whispers transformed into a brutal public interrogation.
Ginny became the primary target. It pained me to leave her there, alone before the wolves, and I knew I owed her an apology. Having been the only person inside the veil with me, everyone viewed her as the key to the secrets of the negotiation. Journalists lunged at her like sharks sensing wounded prey. Were it not for my parents, who wrapped her in a protective embrace to form a human wall, she would have been physically crushed in their pursuit of a statement.
Lucius did not escape the siege either, but the aura of danger emanating from him kept the rabble at a safe distance. No one dared to be as invasive with a Malfoy as they were with a Weasley; the fear of political power and retaliation ran deep. However, Lucius had neither the patience nor the time to waste. With a look of absolute disdain, he delegated the political handling to Narcissa and strode away. He had investigations to conduct and preparations to finalize; the wounded pride of a Malfoy is a dangerous engine, and he had no intention of leaving anything to chance for tomorrow.
Dumbledore was intercepted as well. The Hogwarts Headmaster found himself bombarded with ethical questions: how was it possible that a student so young was orchestrating a duel to the death under his stewardship?
Amidst the crowd, Rita Skeeter stood out as the most relentless. Her quill was already dancing across her parchment at frantic speed, distilling venom before even receiving any answers. She hurled questions designed to wound, aiming to provoke a reaction she could twist into a scandalous headline, completely indifferent to the emotional state of a family on the brink of collapse.
My parents were on the verge of losing control. The uncertainty regarding my whereabouts, the fear over what Ginny might have seen, and the constant harassment had pushed them to the limit of their endurance. It was then that Dumbledore's imposing presence made itself felt. His voice, amplified by an authority that required no spells, resonated through the room, bringing a sudden, heavy silence.
With an icy calm, the Headmaster requested composure and dignity. Only through his intervention did the "piranhas" back off enough for my family to reach the fireplaces and escape into the Floo Network. They were in no condition to answer anything; they only wanted to be home and to get answers of their own.
Dumbledore was the last to depart after offering a few brief, protocol-driven words. Although his face maintained the mask of a mild-mannered, wise old man, those who knew him well—or those who knew how to observe—could detect a dangerous severity in his blue eyes. The board had been moved in a way he had not foreseen, and the Headmaster had lost his patience.
Of all the day's key players, only Narcissa remained in the center of the hurricane. As an aristocrat of the highest birth, she possessed the discipline required to hold back the crowd; her voice was capable of satisfying the curious without revealing a single real secret. She knew exactly which strings to pull.
The crowd had thinned slightly; the fastest reporters had already departed to feed the printing presses that would, in a few short hours, flood Great Britain with the story of the century.
"Do you believe this duel will clear the Malfoy name? Are you not afraid that the Ministry's investigations will continue after the combat?" a journalist asked, throwing a desperate dart.
"My family has no guilt to clear," Narcissa replied with implacable confidence. "It was the Weasley family who unjustly framed us. We do not deserve to carry this stigma, nor to be insulted with a challenge of honor, but the Malfoys do not back down from the provocations of their enemies."
She stood firm, though tension ran up her spine. She was defending a lie with the elegance of a queen, managing the press... until the crowd parted in two.
A silence began to descend upon that area of the Atrium. People instinctively stepped aside, some out of respect and others out of the sheer morbid desire to witness a clash. Andromeda Black, the unexpected new Lady of the House of Black, was advancing slowly. Her ascent had been the greatest political scandal of the year; a "blood traitor" returning to claim the throne of one of the darkest and most powerful families in the country. She dressed with an opulence that eclipsed Narcissa's sobriety and emanated an aura of natural authority that required nothing more than her mere presence.
Upon seeing her, Narcissa tensed involuntarily. That was her sister. Blood of her blood, yet separated by a chasm of years and resentment. She had not seen her since her banishment, and she never imagined her sister would return not as a suppliant, but as the master of her old lineage.
"Hello, Cissy," Andromeda said with a radiant smile. "I see everything has been decided. It's a pity I missed the negotiation... In fact, I shouldn't even be here. I snuck away; I hope he doesn't get too angry with me."
Andromeda gave a playful wink, with the lightness of a young girl who had just committed a piece of mischief. Narcissa froze, staring at this attitude in absolute disbelief. There was no trace of the resentful sister she expected, nor the coldness of a political rival, nor the noble rigidity that her new title demanded. It was something far more unsettling: a woman who felt so secure in her power that she could afford to be informal.
"Andromeda..." Narcissa managed to say, regaining her composure. She straightened her back, treating her sister with the same distance she would accord any other Lord. "I mean: Madam Black. What brings you here?"
Resentment vibrated in the subtext of her words. Around them, murmurs erupted. Onlookers devoured the scene, commenting on the irony of seeing the "disowned" sister turned into the superior of the "exemplary" sister. Andromeda ignored the whispers, keeping her sparkling gaze fixed on Narcissa, as if watching a private performance that she found immensely entertaining.
"Am I not allowed to see my own sister?" Andromeda asked, tilting her head and feigning hurt. "We haven't seen each other in an eternity, Cissy, and you haven't deigned to visit me since I took my place as Lady Black. I have been restoring our ancestral home... I hope to receive you soon."
The warmth of her tone left the crowd bewildered. Since her ascent, Andromeda had forged a reputation as a relentless woman of iron determination, yet here, before the camera flashes, she radiated a closeness that seemed to disregard decades of exile and politics.
Narcissa was the most confused of all. One part of her searched for the trap, the diplomatic deception, but another... a small, long-buried part, faltered. Bellatrix was lost to the madness of Azkaban, and the rest of the Blacks were little more than ashes and screaming portraits. The thought of regaining her sister, of returning to the days of afternoon tea and confidences from their youth, was a dangerous temptation. Her blood still boiled over the inheritance stripped from Draco, but the intrigue regarding how Andromeda had managed to climb to the very top consumed her.
"I have not had the time, and with current events, I doubt I shall have it anytime soon," Narcissa replied, recovering her mask of aristocratic serenity. "But when this is over, I shall certainly pay you a visit. We can chat over afternoon tea."
"Splendid... I shall be looking forward to it." Andromeda let out a light giggle, covering her mouth elegantly. "And I don't doubt for a single second that we shall see each other when all of this passes."
Then, to the astonishment of the onlookers, Andromeda stepped closer and wrapped her arms around Narcissa's waist in what appeared to be an affectionate embrace. Narcissa tensed, her muscles turning to stone, but before she could pull away, her sister's breath brushed against her ear, bringing with it a chill that had nothing to do with the surrounding room.
"Sincerely, as a sister... I advise you to spend these final hours by your husband's side," Andromeda whispered. The tone was no longer playful; it was a raw, honest compassion that froze Narcissa's blood.
Narcissa froze entirely. There was no protest, no attempt to break away. She stood motionless, trapped in an embrace that felt like a farewell.
"And if not, plan for Draco's future," Andromeda continued, her voice barely a thread imperceptible to the rest. "Red will not take reprisals against him, so long as the boy does not go looking for trouble. Come find me when... you will have a place in my arms to comfort you, Cissy."
Andromeda pulled back with a radiant smile, as if she had just shared a trivial secret. Narcissa stared at her with frantic alertness in her eyes—a silent question demanding answers. Andromeda caught the look, and her lips barely moved.
"My daughter runs the Dragons of Albion," she murmured in a nearly inaudible tone. "I know far more things than you imagine—things you are not yet permitted to know."
Without another word, Andromeda turned around. Her dress billowed elegantly as she walked away, leaving unanswered questions in her wake. No one dared to stop her.
Narcissa could not stay for another second. She felt she had to warn Lucius. It was already known that her sister's daughter ran that place—at least in theory; her husband had investigated it. But her prolonged absence and the difficulty of contacting her, along with a certain lack of accountability regarding such a peculiar business, had led many to believe she didn't actually hold a very high position, or that it was mostly symbolic, lacking real power... but it seemed that was not quite the case.
Yet it was the warning about her time with Lucius and the future "comfort" that had left a bitter taste in her mouth. Andromeda was not speaking of a possibility. She was speaking of a funeral...