Blood Curse.
In Muggle medical terms, it could be described as something like a hereditary disease, one that often appears in the descendants of certain families.
But since it's called a curse, there is, of course, a reason for it.
This is a hereditary curse that manifests in wizards—one that no one in the magical world knows how to cure, or even understands how it comes to be.
Worst of all, it slowly drains a wizard's life over time.
A curse that shortens the very bloodline it inhabits.
And the Greengrass family had once borne such a burden...
'...It's getting worse again, isn't it?'
Astoria sat quietly to the side, appearing calm on the surface. Yet, upon closer look, her sapphire-blue eyes, fixed on some distant point, seemed slightly unfocused.
When Draco had questioned her earlier, she had understood exactly what he meant. But for some reason, she had instinctively avoided the subject—as if she didn't want him to know.
'Maybe... I just don't want to trouble him?'
The thought crossed her mind as she pressed her lips together. Her wandering gaze drifted toward Draco, who was seated across from Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic.
From this distance, she couldn't make out what they were saying...
'.....'
Astoria opened her small hand, quietly studying her pale, almost sickly palm, drained of sunlight.
It was as if, by staring hard enough, she could somehow understand the nature of the curse flowing through her veins—the curse that had chosen her family, out of all the wizarding ones, and then chosen her.
But why?
'I thought I'd already accepted my fate... so why am I suddenly getting sentimental again?'
Her thoughts drifted back to the night before—running through the camp, laughing, eating delicious food, and catching glimpses of Draco's faintly exasperated but gentle expression.
"Astoria?"
"..."
"Astoria?"
"Ah—sorry, Mrs. Malfoy."
"Are you tired? If you're not feeling well..."
"No, I'm fine. Just... a little worried."
"Don't worry. Lucius would never let Draco suffer. If he did... hmph!"
Narcissa's little huff made Astoria smile faintly.
It was hard to imagine that the man so many saw as cold and ruthless had a wife with such a childish, expressive side. The thought made Astoria quietly curious about how the two of them met—and how they had fallen in love.
Love.
That must be a beautiful thing, right?
Understanding now why Mrs. Malfoy had invited her on this Quidditch trip, Astoria slowly closed her hand and rested it on her lap again. The wistfulness that had briefly faded returned once more, softening her features.
Her gaze toward Draco's back grew even more complicated...
Though the tone of their conversation hinted that Cornelius Fudge and Dumbledore disagreed—and that their relationship wasn't as close as the rumors claimed—in Lucius's presence, they still maintained a facade of harmony.
Neither embarrassed the other in public. At least, that was how it appeared from Dumbledore's point of view.
Little did they know, it was precisely this air of unquestioned authority that stirred a quiet defiance within Cornelius Fudge—a resentment against the very order he was supposed to uphold.
"Is the dark wizard who concealed his identity the same one as those who attacked Harry?"
"It seems we can now confirm who they were. But why would that... individual... go after a wizard who hasn't even graduated yet? Even if our Mr. Malfoy is indeed quite gifted."
"Could it be they wanted young Malfoy to join them? That possibility..."
Unlike the other wizards, Dumbledore said nothing. He simply sat there, quietly observing Draco.
Faced with the faint gleam of Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles reflecting the candlelight, Draco lowered his eyes, clearly unwilling to meet the older wizard's gaze. Though he was well-versed in Occlumency and confident he wouldn't reveal anything, he knew better than to challenge Albus Dumbledore—the man regarded as the most powerful wizard alive.
In truth, Draco was indeed hiding certain details.
His gaze flickered ever so slightly toward a restless-looking middle-aged wizard sitting not far away.
For instance, the leader of those black-robed wizards had looked remarkably similar to Barty Crouch, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation...
As Draco quietly observed him, a witch beside Cornelius Fudge—who at first glance resembled a plump, pink toad—suddenly stepped forward and spoke in a shrill, agitated voice.
"Who's to say this isn't all coincidence? Perhaps it's nothing like he claims! I believe this student was simply frightened and lost his ability to think clearly—he might just be spouting nonsense!"
"On that note," another voice cut in, "our Aurors have quite effective methods. Just one drop of Veritaserum and—"
"Enough!!"
"You—do you take me for a fool? This is an insult to the honor of the Malfoy family!"
Whether it was the insinuation that Draco had lied, or the audacity to suggest using Veritaserum on him, Lucius Malfoy would not stand for it.
Draco himself, however, only spared the pink toad-like witch a brief glance before lowering his gaze again.
His calm indifference made the witch's face flush a deep crimson. Clearly, she felt slighted—ignored by the very people she wished to impress.
"Lucius, calm yourself," Fudge interjected quickly. "We meant no offense. This matter is of great importance to us, and the Senior Undersecretary simply grew... overzealous. Rest assured, the Ministry would never use Veritaserum on a minor."
As Lucius's hand slammed against the table in fury, Fudge shot a warning glare at the toad-like woman he had personally promoted, then hurried to placate the furious pure-blood patriarch before him.
Though he privately conceded that the suspicion might not be entirely unfounded, he had no intention of provoking Lucius Malfoy. After all, the man was an ideal ally—perhaps even the key to finally undermining Dumbledore's influence.
Dumbledore, however, paid no mind to whatever political maneuvering was running through Fudge's head. His attention remained fixed on Draco, the student who had already proven himself one of Hogwarts' most exceptional.
He could sense Draco Malfoy was withholding something. Yet there was one question that gnawed at him, one he could not unravel.
Tom... why him?
He prided himself on understanding his former student well—or so he had believed. But this time, he found himself at a loss.
The student who had descended into darkness was no longer the Tom Riddle he once knew.
After all, aside from Draco's status as a Malfoy and his evident talent, Dumbledore simply couldn't see what in him would draw Tom's interest.