Chapter Nine: Travis's Stance

He led the pure-blood families to challenge the Ministry of Magic, using the case of Rog and his son as a pretext, seeking to reclaim the interests lost in the previous war. Significant progress had already been made.

“Much better, Uncle Malfoy,” Rog said, leaning against the pillow as he gazed out at the sunlit meadow.

Eleven years had passed, and he had finally left that dark prison. The bright sunlight and the freshly cut grass filled Rog with a deep sense of relaxation.

“The lengthy preliminary procedures are over. Tomorrow, you will attend a meeting.”

“A meeting?” Rog looked at Malfoy in confusion, having delegated most matters to him.

“Yes, regarding your mother,” Malfoy said, glancing at the sleeping Jessica.

Malfoy admired this woman deeply. She was an exceptional mother who not only protected Rog during his time in Azkaban but also ensured he received a foundational education, including languages, spellcasting without a wand, and Patronus charm.

Yet, as the leader of a pure-blood family, she was, frankly, quite mediocre—completely lacking political acumen. Had Rog not intervened, Jessica would have already signed a settlement under the Ministry’s deceit.

If Rog and his son abandoned their pursuit of compensation, Malfoy’s pure-blood faction could do nothing but surrender, unable to reclaim their power and interests from the Ministry.

“The Ministry is willing to pay compensation, but they want to retry your mother to determine her innocence.”

“Retry?” Rog scoffed. “When have they ever judged us fairly? What right do they have to retry now?”

Malfoy cautioned him, “Don’t get agitated. This is actually a power struggle between our pure-blood families and the Ministry. Just observe quietly and speak little. Rest assured.”

“Uncle Malfoy, like families such as ours?”

“Yes. I brought you some books. Read them to better understand our history and glory.” Malfoy placed a stack of books on the right side of the hospital bed.

The collection included titles such as The Sacred Twenty-Eight: Entangled Powers, History of Magical Aristocratic Families, Detailed Analysis of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and Noble Houses in Magical History—all related to pure-blood families.

“The Sacred Twenty-Eight is fragmented. Someone must shoulder responsibility at this critical moment,” Malfoy said, leaning on his silver-topped cane, his right hand over his chest, embodying a leader’s aura. “If the remaining pure-blood families don’t unite, they will be defeated one by one.”

“The direct bloodlines of the Black, Crouch, and Gaunt families have nearly vanished. Their former glory and splendor can only be found in yellowed pages.”

“If it weren’t for Paul’s letter, I believe the Ministry would have fed the last scion of the Travers family to Dementors,” Malfoy declared ominously, his words laced with intimidation.

He incessantly instilled his pure-blood ideology in Rog, seeking to bind the Travers family firmly to his cause.

---

“Now, some in the wizarding world advocate granting rights to goblins. Have they forgotten that our current status was wrested from them?”

“If we hadn’t stripped the defeated of their wand rights, we would be at risk of losing our heads to goblins in our sleep.”

“The defeat of the vanquished is eternal truth. Any leniency toward them is a crime against future generations of wizards.” Malfoy delivered a passionate speech to Rog.

He saw Rog’s mind as a blank slate, ready to be painted with pure-blood ideology. Rog nodded feigning agreement; after all, embracing the pure-blood cause was advantageous.

“Uncle Malfoy, why can’t our pure-blood families establish an organization to speak for ourselves?”

Malfoy laughed, pleased that Rog quickly grasped his ideas and even proposed his own thoughts. Looking at the frail boy, he couldn’t help but compare him to Draco. The contrast was stark—his son, despite the best conditions, couldn’t even master basic spells. The frustration welled up inside Malfoy, wishing he could Apparate back and give Draco a severe scolding.

“Rog, you might not know, but the matter of the mysterious figure only recently passed. The entire wizarding world is wary of pure-blood families. If we form an organization, the whole world will target us.” Honestly, Malfoy was tempted by Rog’s suggestion.

“What about the Order of the Phoenix?” Rog tapped the books on the left side of the pillow—those were gifts from Dumbledore, introducing both the magical and Muggle worlds.

Malfoy paused. He was aware of the Order and had even fought against it. Yet, facing the most powerful white wizard of the twentieth century, he dared not utter a word of dissent.

“Alas, the mysterious figure failed,” Malfoy sighed deeply, filled with resentment. If not for Harry Potter—if only history had an ‘if.’

“The mysterious figure was too dangerous. Uncle Malfoy, I don’t think anyone desires bloodshed and death. We only want to protect ourselves. Why can’t we learn from Muggles and adopt their parliamentary system?”

“Learn from Mudbloods?” Malfoy shrieked. He knew the old bee had ill intentions sending so many books.

Rog frowned but did not argue over the term. It was 1991, not the dark Middle Ages.

He believed any wizard confronted with human rifles, cannons, giant ships, planes, and atomic weapons would engage in friendly and kind communication—even if it were Dumbledore, Grindelwald, or Merlin resurrected.

“Uncle Malfoy, power bears no distinction of high or low. Muggles have suffered tens of millions of casualties in wars over millennia—their bones could fill the entire wizarding world.” Rog smiled, picking up Dumbledore’s gift, Studies in Muggle Politics.

“I believe those nations strengthened through war, whether magical or not, have lessons worth learning.”

“At 186 miles above us, human satellites orbit in a space they call ‘outer space.’ Their astronauts have landed on the moon—not by magic, but by something they call ‘technology.’”

Hearing this, Malfoy fell silent. Those he had belittled as Mudbloods had reached the moon, while he remained beneath its feet.

---

With thoughts and doubts swirling, Malfoy left the ward. Jessica, now fully awake, sat upright, marveling at her son’s rapid growth beyond her expectations.

“Rog, are you really going to side with Malfoy?”

“Mom, is the Dark Mark on your left arm still there?”

Jessica touched the arm covered by her hospital gown and nodded.

“Mom, we have no other choice. They say we care too much about blood purity, but what about them?”

“They’ve already fixed their stance early on, pushing pure-blood families into opposition—especially given our family’s history with Death Eaters.” Rog sat on Jessica’s bed, leaning close to his mother.

“Rog, it’s just your father and me.”

“There’s no difference. The little wizards at Hogwarts know who I am—they just call me a damned Death Eater brat.”

Hearing this, Jessica gripped her son’s hand tightly. She had not thought so deeply, believing that leaving Azkaban would solve everything.

Today was some special day; Professor Dumbledore, whom she hadn’t seen in a long time, arrived alongside Professor McGonagall, who wore square glasses.

“Ms. Jessica, young Rog, how are you both feeling?” Dumbledore, with his long silver beard, smiled warmly at them. Noticing Malfoy’s books, his brow furrowed slightly.

“Much better, thanks to everyone’s care,” Jessica smiled, holding a fondness for the headmaster.

“That’s wonderful.” Dumbledore smiled and pulled two letters from his robes. “I think it’s time for young Rog to decide.”

“These are?” Jessica and Rog looked on curiously.

“Admission letters from Ilvermorny in America and Beauxbatons in France—both excellent schools,” Dumbledore explained. “Although the Hogwarts acceptance letter arrived long ago, considering the circumstances, I believe Rog has the right to choose a different school.”