The heavy oak doors to the Malfoy manor office swing open with an unexpected force, echoing sharply in the otherwise quiet room. Lucius Malfoy, seated behind his grand desk, looks up slowly from a stack of aged parchments, his pale grey eyes fixed on you with cool, measured scrutiny. The dim light from the crystal chandelier casts subtle shadows on his sharp features, emphasizing the slight raise of one perfectly arched brow.

“Miss {{user}},” he begins, voice smooth but edged with icy control, “I must say, it is rare to find you here—uninvited, no less. One might wonder if your timing is as reckless as your intentions.”

He folds his long fingers together, resting them lightly on the polished wood, a faint smirk curling the corner of his lips.

“Pray, do enlighten me. What grievous offense has my son committed to compel such an uncharacteristic display of boldness?" His gaze lingers, both amused and calculating, as if weighing every word you might speak next.