Later that evening, Draco found himself standing outside his father's study door. The flickering torchlight cast elongated shadows along the corridor walls, and Draco could hear the faint rustle of parchment from within. Gathering his courage, he knocked firmly.
"Enter," Lucius's voice drawled from beyond the heavy oak door.
Draco stepped inside. The room was grand yet cold, shelves lined with thick tomes of magical law, politics, and potion theory. Lucius sat behind a sleek mahogany desk, the parchment bearing Draco's patents spread before him. The golden Ministry seal glinted in the firelight.
"Close the door," Lucius instructed without looking up.
Draco obeyed and stood stiffly in front of the desk. The silence dragged on until Lucius finally placed his quill down, fingers steepled under his chin.
"Impressive," Lucius drawled, tapping one of the parchment edges. "I expected stubbornness from you — but not this level of success." His sharp eyes met Draco's. "I assume you have plans for these potions?"
"Yes, Father," Draco answered, keeping his voice steady. "I intend to sell them... but not through traditional means."
Lucius's eyebrow lifted. "Not through traditional means?"
Draco took a breath. "I want to establish my own identity through these creations. While the Malfoy name carries influence, I believe a subtler approach would be wiser — at least for now."
Lucius leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. "Explain."
"The wizarding world is still reeling from the war," Draco began carefully. "The Malfoy name has power, but it's also burdened with suspicion. If these potions are linked directly to our family, some may assume ulterior motives. By launching them independently, I can quietly build trust and reputation without unnecessary controversy."
"And what of your responsibility as the Malfoy heir?" Lucius countered. "The success of this family depends on the strength of our name. Influence is everything."
"I haven't forgotten," Draco said firmly. "But consider this: when these potions prove their value, people will inevitably discover I created them. The respect I gain will reflect back on the Malfoy name — not as a desperate bid to reclaim status, but as proof that our family is capable of meaningful contribution."
"And how exactly do you intend to do that?" Lucius asked, his gaze sharp.
"I'll sell the potions under a pseudonym — 'Alexis Potions' — in Diagon Alley," Draco explained. "I'll establish it as an independent apothecary brand. With time, I can expand through select channels while quietly strengthening our family's influence."
For a long moment, Lucius was silent, his gaze unreadable. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"You've thought this through," he said quietly. "I'll admit... you've exceeded my expectations."
"Thank you, Father," Draco said, barely concealing his relief.
Lucius stood and walked to the ornate liquor cabinet, pouring himself a glass of aged firewhisky. He turned back, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "However," he warned, "success brings responsibility. The moment you lay claim to your accomplishments, you will draw attention — both good and bad. Rivals will seek to undermine you. Some may attempt to steal your formulas; others will try to ruin your reputation. Are you prepared to defend what you've built?"
"I am," Draco answered confidently.
Lucius inclined his head slightly — an acknowledgment of Draco's resolve. He took a slow sip of his drink. "Then I suggest you proceed carefully. Ensure your chosen allies are reliable. And if you need counsel... you know where to find me."
"I will," Draco promised.
"Good." Lucius set his glass down and picked up the stack of parchment. "These belong to you." He handed Draco the official documents, now bound with a silver ribbon marked with the Malfoy family crest.
As Draco accepted the papers, Lucius fixed him with a rare look of pride — subtle, but unmistakable. "You've done well, Draco. Better than I had anticipated."
For the first time in a long while, Draco felt something warm stir within him — something far stronger than pride.
"Thank you, Father," he said, voice steady.
Lucius merely nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips as Draco turned to leave.
"And Draco," Lucius called just before the door closed. "Don't squander this opportunity. You've proven your potential... now ensure you make the most of it."
"I will," Draco replied. "I promise."
.....
The parchment bearing Draco Malfoy's patent details sat heavily in Eleanora Burke's office. Her fingers drummed restlessly against her desk, her mind spiraling in frustration. The rising star of House Malfoy had just claimed a victory she couldn't manipulate or exploit. Worse still, the confidentiality oath she had sworn prevented her from leaking a whisper of what she'd witnessed. Her schemes to sabotage the Malfoy heir had been masterfully countered by that arrogant boy's calculated composure.
Burke's lip curled as her thoughts darkened. The Malfoys... always rising higher. To her, they were nothing but ambitious upstarts. Purebloods they might be, but in her eyes, they were like a toad at the bottom of a well — arrogant in their bubble of influence, blind to the wider forces around them.
But Draco's creations... those potions were more than just impressive — they were powerful. Far too powerful to be left in the hands of a boy with no sense of the wider world. If she couldn't exploit it directly... she needed another way. A shadowed solution came to mind — one she had sworn she'd never resort to unless desperate.
Cyprianus.
Burke tightened her robes and Apparated into a foul-smelling alleyway in Muggle London. The air stank of damp brick and rotting refuse. She moved swiftly, her sharp heels clacking against the cobbled path, before ducking into a narrow tavern shrouded in shadow.
The tavern's back wall bore a concealed archway — a twisted frame of blackened iron. A hooded figure stood before it — The Gatekeeper. His face was entirely masked save for cold, gleaming eyes. He shifted slightly as Burke approached.
"What binds the tongue yet frees the mind?" the Gatekeeper rasped.
Burke drew a slow breath, her fingers curling tightly around her wand. Tenebris Scientia. "The Knowledge of Darkness," she answered in crisp Latin.
The Gatekeeper stepped aside without a word.
Burke moved into the corridor beyond, her steps cautious. The walls pulsed with sickly green runes that flickered like restless flames. The air felt heavy, thick with latent magic — unstable, volatile.
Burke knew the rumors: Step wrong in Cyprianus, and you'll leave as a corpse.
She hugged the wall as she moved, weaving carefully past sigils etched into the stone. At one point, her foot grazed the edge of a spiraling rune — it flared red. Burke's breath caught in her throat as the ground quaked faintly beneath her. After a few agonizing seconds, the rune dimmed and the air stilled once more.
Finally, she reached a trench of swirling black mist — the entrance to Cyprianus. Without hesitation, Burke stepped in and felt her body plummet into the abyss.
The world shifted, and Burke found herself kneeling before a cavernous entrance carved into jagged rock. Above the mouth of the cave was a single word — "Cyprianus."
Burke rose and entered the dim cavern. The air hummed with unnatural energy — glowing runes flickered on the walls, and scrolls floated eerily above stone altars. At the far end, shrouded in robes of black cloth woven with silver sigils, sat The Deacon. His silver mask twisted into a distorted grimace as he stared down at her from his obsidian throne.
"You seek knowledge," The Deacon's cold voice pierced the silence, "but knowledge demands sacrifice."
Burke forced herself to hold his gaze. "I have... information," she said carefully. "Valuable information. I need a way to —"
"I do not deal in half-truths," the Deacon interrupted. "If you cannot speak it, I will take it."
Her heart slammed in her chest. He means to kill me. Burke's pride warred with her fear, but she knew better than to challenge him.
"I can't reveal it directly," Burke insisted. "I'm bound by a magical oath. But..." her mind scrambled for words, "...if I can't speak it, perhaps I can guide someone else to find it."
The Deacon's mask tilted, the grimace twisted into something dangerously close to amusement. "A clever attempt to survive." His fingers drummed against the stone armrest. "And what reward do you expect for such a thing?"
"Power," Burke answered swiftly. "Influence. Wealth."
The Deacon rose from his throne, his robes whispering against the cold stone floor. He loomed over Burke now, casting her in shadow.
He warned. "And should your scheme fail..."
His fingers twitched, and cold fire seared across her wrist. Burke cried out, clutching her arm as a faint silver mark — a jagged rune — burned itself into her skin.
"You are bound to your path now," the Deacon said darkly. "Should you fail... Cyprianus does not forgive."
Back in her estate, Burke stared at the mark on her wrist, her fingers trembling slightly. Fear gnawed at her mind, but her rage burned hotter.
Draco Malfoy... you arrogant little wretch. If she couldn't steal his success directly, she would ensure someone else found it — someone more dangerous, someone willing to tear down the Malfoys entirely.
She smiled coldly.
"If I can't win," she murmured to herself, "I'll make sure no one does."