Chapter 512: The Gamble of Purebloods
"Dobby, pack this vase for me."
"Dobby, clean this set of furniture and keep it well. I don't want it to gather dust."
"Yes, Master! Dobby will clean it thoroughly!"
"Dobby, bring that to me."
Narcissa Malfoy stood in the middle of the room, issuing one command after another. The house-elf, Dobby, scrambled to follow her orders, his small hands working quickly as he moved about.
From time to time, Narcissa waved her wand, carefully levitating precious magical tomes and enchanted artifacts into the open magical suitcase resting on the floor.
General belongings could be left for the house-elf to sort.
But valuables—those had to be handled personally.
There was no telling how clumsy house-elves might accidentally taint them.
Lucius Malfoy stood to the side, watching the scene with an impassive expression. He said nothing, but the loneliness and nostalgia in his eyes betrayed him.
It was time to leave.
A new continent, a new country, a new life.
In the days ahead, there would be no peace—only bloodshed and war.
Chaos would be the norm.
Death would be a daily occurrence.
Their once-stable existence had been shattered, and the road ahead would only become more turbulent.
And yet, he had no choice but to accept it.
His own manor had become the headquarters of the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord had chosen to reside here, an honor—but also a curse.
As a pure-blood wizard marked with the Dark Mark, he had no right to refuse.
He had once hesitated to join the raid on Gringotts.
But had he refused, the Malfoy family's own vault would have likely been emptied as punishment.
Faced with the choice between reaping vast rewards or watching their own wealth become spoils for others, participation had become inevitable.
And now that it was done, the price had to be paid.
They were bound to this path, with only one outcome.
There was no turning back.
After looting Gringotts, there was no longer a place for them in the British wizarding world.
Great rewards always came with great risk.
Leaving England and following their master—this was their only path to survival.
Of course, their obedience was also a declaration of loyalty.
The Dark Lord had given them a choice:
Betrayal or devotion.
And so, today…
"Lucius, what about Draco? Should he still stay at Hogwarts?" Narcissa asked, worry evident in her voice. "We're leaving, and no one will be there to watch over him."
"I'm worried about him."
"This is the best option," Lucius interrupted, his tone firm. "The master has yet to tell us our final destination, but one thing is certain—our next environment will not be suitable for Draco's growth."
"When the master leaves, Hogwarts will be the safest place for him."
"Besides, Hogwarts is the foundation of the Malfoy family. We cannot abandon it."
"We must go—but I will leave Dobby behind to look after Draco and protect the Malfoy name."
Lucius voiced his reasoning with unwavering certainty.
Narcissa hesitated, her fingers clutching the hem of her robe. She remained silent for a long moment before finally nodding.
She knew it was the right decision.
They were walking into danger, but Draco would remain in safety.
Her only concern was that he would be left without them.
"Lucius… the Malfoy family name must survive," she whispered.
Lucius looked at her with understanding.
If they perished in the coming battles, Draco would be the last of their lineage.
At the very least, someone would remember them.
The Malfoy family would not fade into oblivion.
The Call of the Dark Mark
Buzz!
A faint burning sensation spread through Lucius Malfoy's arm.
His expression stiffened.
Lowering his head, he saw the Dark Mark pulsing ominously, its deep green glow swirling like a message being conveyed.
Lucius inhaled deeply before turning to Narcissa.
"Narcissa… As much as I want you to stay with Draco," he said slowly, "reality is what it is. The pure-blood families can no longer defy the master's will. I only hope that one day, you won't blame me for this."
"Now, hurry. Finish packing. We leave soon."
The Irish Sea—The Fourth Horcrux's Location
Atop a rugged seaside cliff, a colossal black gate loomed, its surface pulsating with raw, ancient power.
Tom Riddle and Voldemort stood side by side, their backs to the towering structure.
Before them, a vast gathering of dark wizards, pure-blood families, and rogue sorcerers stood in uneasy silence.
Each carried space-enhanced luggage—some holding suitcases, others with multiple enchanted pouches strapped to their belts.
Their expressions varied.
Some were filled with cautious hope.
Others shifted nervously, fingers twitching over their wands, excitement coursing through their veins.
And then there were the pure-bloods, who kept glancing anxiously at their packed belongings.
Within their suitcases were more than just personal effects.
Inside were their families. Their children. Their house-elves. Even goblins.
They had uprooted their entire legacies, carrying them into the unknown.
It was, by all accounts, a massive gamble.
But with two powerful leaders at the helm, their odds of success seemed favorable.
And so, many of the pure-bloods had wagered everything, bringing their heritage along for the ride.
Do not be mistaken—pure-bloods knew how to gamble.
After all, they had once bet everything on the Dark Lord.
Others, however, played it safe.
They left some behind—hedging their bets, ensuring that even if disaster struck, their family's legacy would not be completely wiped out.
Voldemort despised such cowardice.
If not for Tom's intervention, those hesitant traitors would have been punished on the spot.
After all, after everything that had happened, they still dared to hedge their bets?
Did they think the Dark Lord's wrath was something to be trifled with?
As for the potential backlash—the resentment, the whispers of betrayal?
Voldemort didn't care.
Did they think his wand wasn't sharp enough?
His power wasn't absolute?
No.
He had climbed to this position not by politicking, but through sheer force.
He did not compromise.
Tom, however, saw value in patience.
"We still need their cooperation," Tom had reasoned. "Push too hard, and we'll lose resources."
But in truth…
It was that damned Lockhart.
The fool insisted that the pure-bloods' legacies should not be completely erased.
That they should be given some leeway.
Lockhart's true goal?
To ensure that, one day, all those precious pure-blood treasures and secrets would fall into the hands of Kamar-Taj.
Tom scowled inwardly.
He wasn't worried about breaking their magical contract—he had long since figured out ways to circumvent it.
But when he recalled Lockhart's burning skull appearing before him…
A chill ran down his spine.
"Enough talk," Tom announced, voice ringing across the gathering.
"Our destination today is—"
"Durmstrang."
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