Malfoy Manor. Lucius Malfoy stared at the latest accounts, worry etched into his face as he rubbed at his temples.
His wife, Narcissa Malfoy, fumed at his side. "Those Werewolves, honestly. Do they think we're a bank? They come to us with their hands out for everything. We gave them our shop in Diagon Alley, and they're still not satisfied."
Lucius sighed and set the ledger down.
"Something's wrong," he said. "Ranrok isn't the sort to drain a pond dry just to catch the fish. If he's doing this, there's a reason."
Narcissa wanted to roll her eyes, but decided it wasn't dignified. She clenched her jaw instead. "He's not even human. He's a Goblin!"
"Whatever his race, he's dangerous," Lucius said quietly. "His ambitions are far bigger than this. He wouldn't throw away an ally like me over a little gold."
Lucius Malfoy wasn't sure whether he was trying to convince his wife or himself, but the truth was, he was torn.
What, exactly, did Ranrok want…
"Looks like if I didn't come, you'd die without ever knowing the answer."
A cold, sinister voice cut through the room.
Lucius and Narcissa snapped their heads up—and there they were: Ranrok and Midgard, one tall and one short, walking toward them at an unhurried pace.
"Mr. Ranrok." Lucius sprang to his feet at once. "My apologies for not receiving you, I—"
"No need." Ranrok's grin was all teeth. "I didn't come here with goodwill. Tell me—who are you loyal to now? Me, or Voldemort?"
Lucius went rigid, sweat breaking out along his back.
"Of course it's you, Mr. Ranrok," he said quickly, forcing steadiness into his voice.
"Oh? Is it." Ranrok's eyes narrowed. "Then why haven't you cut yourself off from Voldemort completely? Are you waiting for a chance to play traitor again?"
His gaze slid over Lucius like a viper, the malice in it undisguised. Lucius's body trembled despite himself.
"N-no… you must have misunderstood." Lucius managed a strained smile. "How could I possibly think that?"
"Is that so?" Ranrok began to close the distance, step by step. His footsteps tapped softly against the polished mahogany floor, each sound distinct, measured—like Death itself at his back, creeping closer with every beat.
"I'll ask again," Ranrok said, stopping right in front of him. "You truly have no such thoughts?"
He was small—so small he looked as if a stiff breeze might knock him over—yet Lucius didn't dare so much as twitch.
"I… I truly have no intention of betraying you," Lucius said, the words scraping out of him.
"Ah…"
Ranrok settled himself in front of Lucius and lifted a hand. A ball of dark red-black flame danced at his fingertips.
The flame was unnervingly docile, licking at Ranrok's fingers like a puppy, leaving him entirely unharmed.
Lucius's pupils shrank. Terror flashed across his face.
He knew that fire. Fiendfyre.
Demonic fire. The most violent, ravenous blaze there was—able to devour anything, even the wizard who unleashed it. Yet in Ranrok's hand it behaved like a trained pet.
"Even Fiendfyre behaves for me," Ranrok shrieked, the sound sharp enough to sting. "So I find it hard to believe anyone could be more difficult to tame than it is. Lord Malfoy, do you think you're more formidable than Fiendfyre?"
"Of course not!" Lucius blurted. "I have no disloyalty toward you, none at all."
He was terrified Ranrok would snap and set Fiendfyre on his entire family.
He and his wife were even planning a second child. This was not the time for anything to go wrong.
But why had Ranrok come here in person? Why did he think Lucius still had ties to Voldemort? Lucius knew his own situation—he had no contact with Voldemort whatsoever.
With his current reputation as a turncoat who'd just sabotaged a batch of Death Eaters, going anywhere near Voldemort would be begging to die.
And yet Ranrok wouldn't come throwing accusations for nothing. There had to be a reason…
Unless… he was testing him. Forcing a reaction, seeing whether Lucius was still connected to Voldemort at all.
Lucius's mind spun. Something surfaced—something that made his blood run colder—but he wasn't sure.
That thing should only have been known to him and Voldemort. No one else had been there at the time.
Lucius didn't dare gamble on it.
"Mr. Ranrok…" he said cautiously. "Could you give me a hint?"
"Oh?" Ranrok tilted his head. "You need a hint from me?"
He flicked a finger. The Fiendfyre dropped onto the floor.
In the blink of an eye, it swallowed the floorboards and surged outward.
Narcissa screamed and threw herself against Lucius. Lucius went paper-white, staring at the fire in sheer panic.
But it didn't spread without end. Instead, the Fiendfyre curled into a ring of flames, hemming the Malfoys in on all sides.
The most savage fire in existence, and yet under Ranrok's control it didn't waver, didn't slip, didn't threaten to break free.
Ranrok stood outside the circle and looked in at them.
"I'll give you one more chance," he said. "Tell me—why are you hiding something connected to Voldemort?"
Something connected to Voldemort.
That phrasing shattered Lucius's last shred of hope.
"You've misunderstood," he said hurriedly. "I didn't mean to hide anything of Voldemort's. I truly didn't know what that thing was for."
Fiendfyre continued to burn, feeding on everything in the room and turning it into fuel—yet somehow leaving the structure of the manor itself untouched.
Outside the ring, Ranrok was little more than a silhouette through the glare and thick smoke. Lucius couldn't make out his expression at all.
"Is that so?" Ranrok's voice held a faint, mocking amusement. "You didn't know."
He let the words hang, then asked, "So what do you choose now?"
"I'll present it to you immediately," Lucius said, clinging to Narcissa as if she might anchor him. "I swear I didn't know what it did. Please—give me one chance. I'll fetch it right now."
Ranrok fell silent.
Only a few minutes passed, but they stretched like years. During that time, the Fiendfyre twisted into the shape of a monstrous fire serpent, hissing at the Malfoys from within the ring.
Just as Lucius tipped into despair, certain he was about to be swallowed whole, the raging Fiendfyre vanished.
In an instant, the inferno filling the study was gone, leaving only heat-warped air, charred walls, and blackened furniture.
"Then I'll give you another chance, Lord Malfoy," Ranrok said, his tone half-smile, half-threat. "Don't disappoint me."