"And that Muggle girl—are you serious about her?" Abraxas asked casually. "I've seen her before, haven't I? The one Slughorn praised so highly?"
"Yes, Grandfather," Draco replied.
Two questions, one answer.
"She's excellent. I hear she topped the year." Abraxas pursed his lips. "I'm not surprised you'd take a liking to a talented girl. Slytherin has always valued talent and ability."
"Yes, she's very clever too," Draco said cautiously.
"Is that why you like her—simply because she's clever?" Abraxas asked.
Draco hesitated, unsure how much he should reveal. Not knowing where his grandfather stood, he didn't rush to answer, and instead turned the question back on him.
"Are you, like my parents, trying to talk me out of it?"
"Of course not," the old man said calmly. "Child, I respect you. Young love is always worth celebrating."
Draco eyed his grandfather with suspicion, sensing this wasn't so simple.
"Son, I should remind you there's a difference between courtship and marriage. Courtship can be spontaneous, but marriage is far more complicated. Your parents may think you're still too young to hear certain things plainly, but I think you ought to know them sooner rather than later."
Abraxas walked leisurely down the stone steps, leaning on his cane.
"Understand—I'm not saying this to break you two apart. I want you to think it through fully before you commit to anything, and to know the rules of our society well. You should know what each choice will cost you, rather than discovering it too late to change course."
His voice wasn't loud, but it was perfectly clear.
"The Malfoy family believes in lifelong commitment. If you choose her, it's for life."
"I understand," Draco said softly, following behind him.
"Then let's set your romance aside for a moment and discuss pure-blood marriage from a purely academic angle," Abraxas said. "Do you know the benefits of marriage between pure-blood wizards?"
"It reduces the chance of producing a Squib," Draco said. "But the downside is obvious too—purebloods are growing rarer, and the dangers of inbreeding are becoming more pronounced."
"Trying to bring up the Gaunts again? Since you've studied the family tree, you'll know the Malfoys have always been careful in choosing marriage partners, avoiding pure-blood families with close kinship ties," Abraxas said. "We would never let our descendants fall into that trap."
"Yes, and there are more than a few marriages to Muggles, Muggle-borns, and half-bloods in the family tree," Draco pointed out gently.
"That was before the International Statute of Secrecy," Abraxas said, waving the point aside.
"Go back a few centuries, and nearly every pure-blood family intermarried with half-bloods. They simply refuse to acknowledge that history now—their thinking's regressed. And look how many pure-blood families are dwindling as a result," Draco said boldly. "If wizarding society wants to grow, it needs to increase its population. It should encourage marriage between purebloods and Muggle-borns, instead of clinging to the past while pure-blood lines grow thinner and thinner."
Abraxas glanced at him, surprised, but chose to let the more rebellious remarks pass for now.
"Not bad, child. At your age, you're already thinking about the development of wizarding society as a whole. As for growing the wizarding population, I'll admit that's good for the wizarding world at large."
He paused, then added, "But that doesn't mean it's good for pure-blood families specifically—it dilutes our power and diminishes our influence."
"Abandoned by those decaying pure-blood families, is that it?" Draco asked sharply. "Losing a few insignificant friends?"
"It's not so simple. Wizarding society runs on two sets of rules—the open rules for ordinary wizards, and the hidden rules that govern pure-blood families." Abraxas chose his words carefully. "The Ministry of Magic is still controlled by pure-blood families—it isn't the open, fair institution it claims to be. Do you understand?"
"I know there are interest groups involved—" Draco said.
"It's more than that. It's not just factions pulling strings behind the scenes—it's about the careers of each family's descendants. Look around. Then and now, how many key officials at the Ministry are Muggle-born?"
"I have noticed most key posts are held by wizards from pure-blood families," Draco said quietly.
"Do you think that's a coincidence? The Ministry's power centers naturally exclude Muggle-borns and favor purebloods. And no pure-blood family seeking to grow its influence would ever willingly give up its foothold there—the clearest sign of which is each family sending its descendants into the Ministry to work."
"It's not hard to imagine," Draco murmured. "But there are always some talented Muggle-born and half-blood wizards at the Ministry."
"Of course. I'll admit there are always a few who rise despite the odds—the ones from humble backgrounds who achieve great things. They pass rigorous selection, carry lofty ambitions, and are admitted to the Ministry against the odds..." The old man shook his head, visibly impatient.
"I imagine there's a 'but' coming."
"Exactly! But you must understand—once they arrive at the Ministry full of ambition, they rarely achieve much of it. Instead, their talents get exploited until they're worn down into competent little cogs in the machine!"
Draco glanced at his grandfather and fell silent at the bluntness of it.
"They'll never truly rise. Behind every wizard who holds real power lies a tangled web of family connections and endless favors traded between them! It's not as though just anyone can become a senior Ministry official," Abraxas said, his tone shrewd and world-weary. "The same is true even of the Minister for Magic."
The inner workings of Ministry appointments were something Draco had never given much thought to in his previous life.
Neither Lucius nor Abraxas had ever discussed it with him at length.
Now that the subject had come up, he found himself wanting to know more.
"But I haven't heard of many cases of children simply inheriting their parents' posts. Even the most capable second-generation Ministry families rarely just inherit a position—surely they're chosen through some kind of process?" he asked.
"Child, you're still too naive. Ability? Selection? What a joke. If the younger generation of a family isn't especially gifted—if they're just an ordinary wizard with no great ambitions, content to live comfortably and coast—then they're the easiest of all to manipulate."
Abraxas laughed dismissively. "Let me give you a small example, and you'll understand. The daughter of the Director of the Floo Network Authority has already secured a post at Broom Regulatory Control before even finishing Hogwarts. Meanwhile, the son of the Director of Broom Regulatory Control will be transferring to the Floo Network Authority within the next year or two."
He studied his grandson's expression, and added meaningfully, "In just a few exchanges, an entire transaction of power has taken place. Do you see the trick of it?"
Draco glanced at his grandfather, and understanding dawned.
"On the surface, the two departments look entirely separate. But in truth, they both fall under the same Department of Magical Transportation. Through this exchange, each family secures inherited influence—and even increases its overall grip on the department."
Abraxas smiled, pleased at his grandson's quick grasp of it.
"Isn't it remarkable? Relationships between people are like the fine threads behind a puppet—intricate, and rather beautiful in their own way. Pull one thread, and countless others tremble."
Draco managed a strained smile, his chest heavy.
"If even a small exchange of positions involves this much scheming, it's not hard to imagine what intermarriage between pure-blood families can achieve—the merging of power and wealth into one smooth, uninterrupted current."
The old man pressed on, continuing to pour his worldly wisdom into his grandson.
"Look at Arthur Weasley—the one your father can't stand. As a pure-blood 'traitor,' he's always been pushed to the margins at the Ministry. The wizards ranked above him are hardly more capable than he is; frankly, most of them are rubbish."
He sneered. "The only real difference is that the Weasleys lack the pure-blood families' approval, let alone the advantages that family connections bring. His son, Percy, is genuinely talented, but in a few years' time, that brain of his—the one that earned twelve O's—will likely be ground down to nothing by his superiors, and he'll struggle to rise any further."
"What makes you say that?" Draco asked, frowning.
"You don't come across talent like that every day—twelve O's!" His tone couldn't help but carry a faint echo of Hermione Granger's own emphasis on the word. "I would have thought he'd earn some extraordinary attention for it."
"What's so special about talent? With as many staff as the Ministry employs, drawing in the best Hogwarts graduates year after year, do you think there's any shortage of talented people there?"
The old man shook his head. "I'll tell you this much: most Ministry posts don't call for exceptional talent—they call for obedient dogs. If someone isn't obedient enough, no matter how gifted, they'll be tamed."
"Tamed—" Draco echoed softly, feeling a weight settle in his chest.
Abraxas asked, with evident interest, "Do you know how to tame someone talented but unruly—someone with lofty ideals?"
"I'd like to hear it," Draco said, keeping his tone casual.
"Through constant suppression—denying every strength he has," the old man said calmly.
Draco stopped in his tracks, caught off guard.
"Before long, he becomes like clay—shaped and rolled however you like, stripped of confidence, obeying orders from above without ever questioning whether they're right or wrong." The old man waved a hand. "I've seen it happen more times than I can count."
Draco found it hard to name what he felt, hearing this.
For a moment, the method didn't feel unfamiliar to him at all.
He'd experienced something like it himself—as Lucius's son, and later, as a Death Eater.
"This is the kind of discrimination and quiet exploitation that pure-blood 'traitors' and their children face in the workplace. On the surface, they seem to have bright futures. In truth, they're being slowly ground down." The old man's tone was cruel, almost matter-of-fact. "And I imagine Muggle-borns and half-bloods have it worse still."
"Percy Weasley—what a shame. Twelve O's, wasted," Draco said, with real regret.
He thought of Hermione again, unbidden.
What would the future hold for a girl as brilliant as her?
If she built a career in the wizarding world, would she face the same harsh realities?
"Who's to blame but his father, for betraying pure-blood ideals, consorting with Muggles, and getting himself shunned by pure-blood society?" Abraxas said calmly. "If the Malfoys were ever to marry into a Muggle family, it would only be worse."
"Wouldn't a marriage into a Muggle family dilute the stain of having been a Death Eater?" Draco asked bluntly.
"Oh, child, don't be naive. 'Honoring pure blood' and 'being a Death Eater' have always been two separate things. It's only that some fanatics confuse the two and treat them as one and the same," Abraxas said. "On this point, I think your father has always been a bit muddled—he's never drawn the line clearly."
"So you're saying pure-blood families look down on both Death Eaters and Muggle-borns alike?"
"Of course—it's always been that way. The old, established, shrewd pure-blood families keep to themselves. They disdain getting their hands dirty. They've never truly sided with the Dark Lord, nor with Dumbledore."
Abraxas walked slowly down the mountain, sighing like a weary old bard.
"They stand only on their own side... their own interests, forever."
Draco walked behind him in silence, absorbing his grandfather's words.
"We've wandered off topic, haven't we?" Abraxas glanced back and smiled. "Let's consider this: if the heir of a pure-blood family were to marry a Muggle, how would the Ministry react?"
Draco said nothing. Perhaps the chill in his chest had grown too sharp, for his face had gone somewhat pale.
He watched his grandfather quietly, waiting as those thin lips parted.
"On the surface, the Ministry would say nothing—might even offer a few polite, politically correct words. But behind the scenes, every connection your father has spent years building would vanish, and the doors to pure-blood high society—doors generations have worked to open—would close to that path forever."
He glanced at Draco's grave expression and delivered his cold, realistic conclusion.
"The Malfoy family's standing in wizarding society would be set back at least fifty years."
Draco kept his voice steady with effort. "It's not hard to imagine."
"And look at your mother. Your father's agreement to the alliance with the Black family was, in my view, the best decision he ever made. They got along well, didn't they?" the old man said, his tone indifferent. "I'm glad for them."
"I think most people hope for a marriage built on genuine affection," Draco said slowly.
"Not entirely," Abraxas said. "What mattered most was what your mother brought with her—the Black family's web of connections was the finest dowry she could have offered. Think of it: nearly every pure-blood family is tied to the Blacks in some way. Through blood and marriage, almost anything can be arranged."
"That's a rather cruel thing to say about my mother," Draco said softly, studying the old man's gaunt, indifferent profile.
He resolved never to let his mother learn what had been said here.
"Feeling sorry for her? I think Narcissa understands perfectly well why. Why do you think your mother throws herself into social gatherings so eagerly? Purely for pleasure?" The old man saw nothing wrong in the question, and answered it himself. "It's for the family's interests—to keep those close ties intact."
"I can see that," Draco said. "She's certainly devoted to the social niceties."
"She opened new supply channels for potion-ingredient imports over tea; she settled a legal dispute in the dragonhide trade at a salon; and not long ago, she resolved a gold-mine mining license through a distant Black aunt's husband's niece-in-law."
"That's the true value of pure-blood marriage alliances," Abraxas said sagely. "Without Narcissa's blood ties, half our business dealings would be impossible. Your father's money and connections alone were never enough—if he wanted people's cooperation, he first had to knock on their doors. Your mother is the one who opened them."
"I'm glad to know how vital my mother is to this family," Draco said evenly. "She's a remarkable woman."
"Of course she is. Remarkable, and stronger than your father," the old man said solemnly. "One in a hundred. Not every man is fortunate enough to have what your father has."
Draco studied his grandfather, unsure how to respond to such casual disregard for his mother's happiness, paired with such extravagant praise for her usefulness.
"Little Dragon, I'm not asking you to find someone as capable as your mother. I'll be perfectly content if you find an ordinary girl from a pure-blood family—the sort who causes no trouble, brings no burden to the Malfoy name, and isn't shunned by pure-blood society—so the family can go on developing smoothly and steadily."
Abraxas glanced at Draco's slightly furrowed brow, then added, with a touch of self-importance, "Of course, that's just an old man's wishful thinking. The choice remains yours. Fortunately, I won't live to see the Malfoy fortune squandered, so why should I fret over it?" He waved a hand. "This is your future—the family legacy you're set to inherit—so naturally you'll want to plan for it yourself. Still, you have many years ahead of you, and many days yet to live. Draco, act with care."
"Can you accept that I might make my own choice?" Draco asked hesitantly. "Even if it's only to try?"
"The Malfoy name has shone for centuries, and it shines still. That's not only a mark of pride—it carries a certain unavoidable duty. You must be a Malfoy first, and Draco second."
Abraxas sighed, and for a rare moment, something like melancholy crossed his face.
"At around ten years old, people often believe they have all the time in the world to try things without worrying over the outcome. But by the time you reach my age, you realize there isn't nearly as much time as you thought—nor room for so many detours."
The old man reached the bottom of the steps and gave his grandson a forced smile. "Why invite trouble and endure needless suffering? I'd rather be careful from the very start than make the wrong choice and have to correct it later. Look at your father—one wrong turn, and he's spent a lifetime taking detours just to find his way back. All of it unnecessary, wouldn't you agree?"
Draco said nothing.
He remained silent, watching his grandfather's face closely.
The old man gave him a faint smile, something almost pleading in his eyes. "I'm not asking you to change course overnight. You're only fifteen—you have room to grow into this. Adjust your thinking at your own pace. A true Malfoy always plans carefully before he acts, doesn't he?"
Draco returned a strained smile.
The old man studied his grandson's expression thoughtfully, and said clearly, into the now-gentler wind, "But promise me this—before you make any choice, think clearly about your own future, and about the family's. You return to England tomorrow, so stop quarreling with your parents. Calm yourself, try to see things from their side, and pay attention to what they're doing. Learn more about the family's affairs from your father. Or go with your mother to a few gatherings—see the effort behind all that polished conversation, and try to understand her. Will you do that?"
Draco looked at the gentle, worried old man before him, something flickering across his face.
His expression had gone pale, and he kept his clenched hands hidden behind his back as he slowly nodded to his grandfather.