The Prisoners of Hogwarts

Chapter 196 Lucius's Confession

Chapter 196 Lucius's Confession

Lucius's throat was so dry that he could not make a sound, and he could only try to maintain a weak breath, like a stranded fish waiting for the judgment to come.

He didn't even dare to look at Narcissa beside him, fearing that any slight movement would bring about a devastating blow.

As if sensing his worries, the executioner kindly comforted him, "Don't worry, your wife won't be woken up."

Lucius spoke, his voice so hoarse it startled even himself: "Thank you... for your kindness, sir."

"Recently at Hogwarts," the Hangman continued in his monotone voice, as if stating a fact unrelated to himself, "there has been a disturbing attack. A cat has been petrified, and someone has written in blood at the scene—about an ancient legend, the Chamber of Secrets in Slytherin, and its heir."

He paused briefly, letting the words "secret chamber" and "heir" echo in the silent air, intensifying the pressure on Lucius's mind.

"I think," the hangman's voice remained steady, "that as a member of the school's board of trustees, someone with knowledge of Hogwarts affairs—"

"You must know about these influential school board members, right, Lucius?"

Lucius's heart was pounding in his chest; of course he knew.

If nothing unexpected happens, the so-called attack was caused by the diary that I secretly slipped into the Weasley girl's basket!

At the time, the Ministry of Magic was frequently searching their manor, and that thing was like a red-hot coal; keeping it would only lead to disaster. After the Dark Lord's downfall, it was no longer a symbol of glory, but irrefutable evidence that could drag the entire Malfoy family into Azkaban.

It must be dealt with, and quickly.

As for why it was that Weasley girl—a cold sneer rose in his heart at the thought.

This is all her father's fault, Arthur Weasley.

That bloodline traitor, the Mudblood supporter, repeatedly led his men to cause trouble for the Malfoys, tarnishing the glory of purebloods.

Putting the diary into the girl's basket is a perfect solution that kills two birds with one stone.

This would not only get rid of this most dangerous trouble cleanly and efficiently, but also make Arthur Weasley pay for his rudeness, and even create some trouble for that annoying Dumbledore.

The risk was almost zero, and the reward—just imagining the pain and humiliation Arthur might face—was enough to give him a sense of satisfaction.

So when the opportunity arose on the streets of Diagon Alley, everything just fell into place.

He wasn't targeting the girl herself; she was merely the most suitable vessel.

But now, cold reality has dealt him a heavy blow; that near-zero risk has struck in the very way he least wanted to see...

The immense panic was like being doused with ice water.

Although he didn't understand why the hangman would suddenly pay attention to things inside Hogwarts, his survival instinct told him that since the other party had come to him and directly stated his identity as a "Board of Governors," any attempt to conceal, argue, or shirk responsibility would be futile and fatal.

He must confess, immediately, right now!

"Yes—yes, Your Excellency—" Lucius's voice was hoarse and trembling, almost incoherent. He struggled to sit up as a sign of respect, but his stiffness and fear prevented him from moving more than once. "I—I know—about the attack—I know something—"

He swallowed a non-existent saliva, struggling to organize his thoughts. Under the silent yet immense gaze of the hangman, his mental defenses crumbled completely: "The Ministry of Magic—those—those officials," he carefully avoided the insulting words, "they've been searching my estate frequently and without reason, like hounds that have caught the scent of blood! I—I have to get rid of some—some collections that might cause misunderstandings."

Lucius gasped for breath, feeling as if his lungs were being squeezed, and continued to explain urgently, "One of them—one of them is—a very, very dangerous magical artifact that the Dark Lord entrusted to me for safekeeping."

He emphasized the words "extremely dangerous," trying to imply that he was also forced into it.

“The Dark Lord himself said,” Lucius’s voice held a hint of fear as he recalled the past, which wasn’t entirely feigned, “that thing is extremely dangerous, containing dark power, capable of bringing death and destruction to the area it inhabits. I—I confess, I was momentarily confused, blinded by rage, and to teach Arthur Weasley—that man who was always against me—a lesson, in Diagon Alley—I took advantage of the chaos and slipped that thing—into his youngest daughter’s textbook basket—”

He spilled the beans almost immediately, hoping to appease the other party's anger.

"What kind of props?" The hangman's question was concise and cold, cutting off his rambling attempts to excuse himself.

"A diary, Your Excellency," Lucius replied immediately, without the slightest hesitation or concealment, "a diary with a black cover."

After listening to Lucius's account, the hangman remained silent for a moment. This brief silence felt more unbearable to Lucius than the most vicious curse.

He could hear the buzzing sound of his blood rushing to his head.

Then he saw the hangman's gaze seem to sweep over the bedside table, on which sat an exquisite silver-framed photograph of Draco, wearing his Hogwarts robes, chin held high, and looking arrogant.

The executioner reached out and, with his black-gloved fingers, slowly picked up the photo frame. By the moonlight, he examined the boy in the picture, who had inherited all the physical features of the Malfoy family but now looked incredibly young.

This action made Lucius's heart leap into his throat.

"Your son, Draco," the hollow voice spoke again, carrying an elusive undertone, seemingly merely curiosity yet simultaneously placing immense pressure on Lucius, "is also at Hogwarts. You personally placed such a dangerous, even deadly, magical artifact into the very place where he studies and lives every day—"

The hangman raised his head, the holes in his bird-beak mask seeming to pierce the darkness and stare directly into Lucius's terrified eyes.

"Aren't you worried—that something might happen to him? Or that he might be affected or harmed by the power of that diary?"

Lucius felt a chill run from the soles of his feet straight up to the top of his head, instantly freezing his limbs and bones.

I had never thought about this question before!