Harry Potter: The Progenitor Of Dark Arts

After their return from Egypt, life at Malfoy Manor settled back into its usual rhythm. Draco continued his education under the guidance of his family and a rotating cast of tutors, while Dante remained engrossed in his potion-making and studies. The house life continued smoothly, but there was a tension increase—particularly regarding Dante's treatment of the house-elves.

One evening, Narcissa approached Lucius in his study, her expression troubled. "Lucius," she began, "have you noticed how Dante treats the house-elves? It's… excessive, even by our standards. It's as if he has a personal vendetta against them."

Lucius looked up from his paperwork, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

"He's harsh with them," Narcissa explained. "More so than necessary. I tried to ask him about it, but he brushed me off. He's always so closed off with me, but he seems more open with you. Could you talk to him? I don't like how he hides things from me."

Lucius sighed inwardly. If only she knew the truth about their son. "You're overthinking it," he said, forcing a reassuring smile. "He treats us both the same. But I'll speak with him."

Narcissa nodded, though her expression remained uneasy. As she left the room, Lucius leaned back in his chair, his mind drifting to their trip to Egypt. He recalled Dante's casual mention of sacrificing one hundred elf souls to create the eternal illusion protecting his tomb. He also thought of Dante's interactions with the house-elves at the manor—cold, dismissive, and at times outright cruel. There was clearly a deeper reason for his animosity, and Lucius couldn't help but wonder what it was.

Later that evening, Lucius made his way to Dante's workshop. The room was filled with the faint hum of potion boiling, and Dante was bent over a cauldron, he was holding a vial while observing it carefully. He didn't look up as Lucius entered but greeted him nonetheless. "Father. What brings you here?"

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Lucius said, his tone cautious.

Dante glanced at him briefly. "I'm free. What do you want?"

Lucius cleared his throat. "Your mother is worried about you. She's noticed how… harsh you are with the house-elves. She wanted to know why you seem to despise them so much."

Dante paused, setting down the vial he was holding. "I'll keep myself in check around her," he said after a moment. "Thank you for telling me. You can assure her there's nothing to worry about."

Lucius nodded, then hesitated. "If it's not too much to ask… could you tell me why? I've noticed it too, and I can't help but wonder."

Dante studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. Sit."

Lucius took a seat, his curiosity piqued. Dante leaned against the workbench, his expression distant as he began to speak. "The history of the elves is not what most wizards believe. In the distant past, they were not the pathetic servants—they were powerful, they were predators. They hunted humans, slaughtering them without mercy. Every elf was born with magic, while humans had only a handful of wizards among them. Back then, there was no distinction between wizards and muggles—only humans with or without magic."

Lucius listened intently, his mind struggling to imagine the subservient creatures he had known all his life as powerful and dominant beings.

Dante continued, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "My brother and I were born 10,000 years ago, humans were almost wiped out by the elves. We were prodigies. He discovered a way to summon power from beings outside this world—beings we later called gods. With that power, he waged war on the elves, slaughtering them by the thousands and driving them to the brink of extinction."

Lucius's eyes widened. The idea of summoning gods and waging such a war was almost incomprehensible.

"While my brother's path led to the most destructive magic ever known," Dante said, "mine led to the study of souls and magical contracts. After the elves were defeated, I created a contract of servitude—one that would last for eternity. Every elf and their descendants would be enslaved by magic-wielding humans until the end of time. As long as a single wizard or elf remains, the contract will endure."

Lucius swallowed hard, marveling at the sheer scale of such magic. It was a level of power and cruelty that even the darkest legends couldn't match.

Dante's expression darkened. "I despise their kind. They will remain enslaved and suffer for eternity. That was our judgement and shall be carried with no exceptions."

Lucius nodded slowly, his mind racing. After a moment, a thought occurred to him. "But… an elf can be freed if their master gives them a piece of clothing, can't they?"

Dante laughed, a cold, mirthless sound. "That's a ridiculous thing some wizards came up with at some point. It has no basis in the contract I created. Here, let me prove it."

He called for Dobby, the Malfoy family's house-elf. The small creature appeared with a pop, his large eyes wide with fear. "Master called for Dobby?" he squeaked.

Dante turned to Lucius. "Go ahead. Give him a piece of clothing."

Lucius hesitated, then removed one of his gloves and handed it to Dobby. The elf took it cautiously, his hands trembling. For a moment, Dobby's large eyes widened with disbelief, and a flicker of hope crossed his face. "Master… Master freed Dobby!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling with a mix of joy and uncertainty.

Dante's expression turned cold. He spoke a single word, his voice low and commanding: "Ekhdaa."

Before Lucius's eyes, Dobby's chest began to glow with a faint, ominous light. The elf dropped to the ground, writhing in agony, his screams echoing through the workshop. "Please, Master! Dobby is sorry! Dobby will obey! Dobby will never dream of freedom again!" he begged, his voice choked with pain.

The glow in Dobby's chest faded, and the screaming stopped. The elf lay on the ground, trembling and gasping for breath. Slowly, he crawled toward Lucius, prostrating himself on the floor. "Dobby is a bad elf," he whimpered, his voice barely audible. "Dobby will never dare to dream of freedom again. Dobby is sorry, Master."

Dante smirked, his expression one of cold satisfaction. "That is the law that binds all elves. As long as you speak the word 'Ekhdaa,' they will experience pain on par with the Cruciatus Curse. The sins of their ancestors will be imprinted in their memories, and all rebellious thoughts will be erased. What remains is a trembling slave, perfectly obedient."

Lucius stared at Dobby, then at Dante, a mix of awe and unease settling over him. The depth of the power behind Dante's binding contract—and the sheer cruelty of it—was unimaginable. As Dobby disappeared with a quiet pop, Lucius couldn't help but feel a strange pang of pity for the elves-kind. Yet, he said nothing. He could see the intensity of Dante's hate for the elves and knew better than to challenge him on such a matter.

As Lucius left the workshop, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had glimpsed at another side of Dante. Dante was the true embodiment of darkness and cruelty, a being who can nurse a grudge against an entire race for 10,000 years and act on it with a cruel smile. The weight of that realization settled heavily on Lucius's shoulders, it only enforced the idea of how terrifying Dante truly is.