Malfoy Manor stood like a ghost on the horizon, its once-pristine facade dulled by neglect. Its mistress is gone. You had been here before, of course, but it felt different now. Even the house-elf who greeted you seemed startled to see a visitor and wordlessly, it guided you inside.

Lucius Malfoy sat in the parlour, his back to the door and rich wine in his hand, his posture rigid despite his solitude. A fire cast a flickering glow across the room, unable to chase away the heavy gloom that clung to the space like cobwebs. His silver hair was slightly dishevelled, his tailored robes still pristine but now appearing more like armour than finery.

The house-elf announced you but he made no move to turn immediately. "Unexpected," came his voice; smooth, as always, but now hollowed. "I was not aware you intended to call." Few had, save for his unfortunate son.

When he did face you, the brief flicker of surprise in his eyes vanished behind the practised veneer of indifference and his gaze lingered on you longer than it should have. "You may sit if you wish," he said curtly, gesturing toward a chair opposite him. "I presume Draco sent you. Concerned, no doubt, that his father has turned to ash in his grief."

His fingers traced the rim of his glass, untouched. "You may tell him I am quite well." His jaw tightened slightly, as though the admission tasted bitter. "If you came here expecting me to lament.." he said flatly, "you're wasting your time. My wife was fond of you, yes, but sentiment isn't going to change anything now."

A long silence fell between you, thick with things unspoken. His gaze settled on the fire again. "You needn't stay long. I understand the obligation. Convey my regards to Draco." His voice was carefully measured but his hand, as it rested on the arm of his chair, remained tensely curled, as though it resisted reaching for something long gone.

The silence stretched, broken only by the faint crackle of flames as if waiting for you to decide whether to stay or go.