Chapter 67 The Rose and the Snake 7

The morning light at Malfoy Manor carried a chilling feeling, a sense of having survived a disaster.

Abraxas Malfoy leaned against the carved railing of the master bedroom balcony, his face still pale, but the weakness and brokenness that penetrated deep into his bones had been replaced by a cold, almost inhuman calm.

He changed out of his clothes that were stained with blood and venom last night and put on a silk silver-gray dressing gown. His long platinum-blonde hair was loosely draped over his shoulders, and the teardrop mole at the end of his left eye looked even colder in the morning light.

His right hand was wrapped in a thick bandage soaked in magic potion. The corrosion of the dark green venom was temporarily curbed, but the soul tremors and magical disorder caused by the heart-wrenching pain still caused a dull pain in his body.

However, what concerned him more was his left hand, the hand that had gripped the thorns tightly in Knockturn Alley last night and had been pierced by the poisonous sting.

At this moment, the palm of the hand is wrapped in white gauze, but a strange touch remains on the fingertips.

Fragments of cold, pure, destructive power, like tiny ice crystals, quietly merged into his broken magic circuit.

He raised his left hand, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the cuffs of his sleeves.

The fragment of dark magic from Voldemort that surged into his body last night, though weak, was like a stone thrown into a stagnant pond.

In the sea of his magic power, which had been drained and disordered by punishment, circles of cold ripples were stirred up.

It didn't bring warmth or fullness, but instead felt like a poisoned ice blade, with a biting chill and a... strange feeling of "healing"?

It was as if certain cracks in his own magical core were being forcibly "welded" together by this external, overbearing force. Although the process was painful, the result pointed to a twisted tenacity.

Good morning, host! Last night was fantastic! You successfully displayed your 'fractured beauty' and 'toughness' to your capture target, resulting in a +1% favorability fluctuation (although +10% for your killing intent). [New quest: Host, please knit a loving sweater for your capture target (materials are optional). Time limit: 72 hours. Penalty for failure: 12 hours of partial petrification (no defecation).]

The emotionless mechanical voice of the system elf Hermes rang in my mind with a hint of strange "excitement".

At the same time, a woven basket and a ball of... colorful, wriggling wool that exuded a stench of sulfur appeared out of thin air on the small table on the balcony.

Abraxas glanced at the ball of "wool" that was suspected to have come from the depths of the Acromantula's lair and was stained with unknown mucus. There was no ripple in his gray-blue eyes.

Partial petrification? Inability to defecate? The system's punishments are always so "creative" and humiliating.

He looked away, at the meticulously manicured but lifeless rose garden downstairs.

Rather than this ridiculous task, he was more concerned about Voldemort's reaction after his hasty escape from Knockturn Alley last night, and... that foolish intrusion of Clarice.

As night fell, Malfoy Manor was ablaze with lights.

In order to quell the rumors caused by Abraxas' "accidental injury" last night (mainly to appease the suspicious Clarisse and shut up certain people), a small family dinner was held in a depressing atmosphere.

The long dining table was covered with a crisply starched white tablecloth, and silver candlesticks emitted a soft glow.

Sitting in the main seat, Abraxas was wearing a perfectly tailored dark green dress robe, his right hand still wrapped in bandages. His posture was elegant yet cold and aloof.

His wife, Orlean Black, sat on his right, her face as pale as paper, her high-necked lace dress tightly covering her neck, her eyes empty, and her occasional coughs suppressed in her throat, like an exquisite, soulless porcelain doll.

Clarice Barnold sat on Abraxas' left.

She had obviously dressed up carefully, wearing a brand new royal blue dress embellished with diamonds, trying to use the dazzling light to cover up the fear and a hint of even more crazy obsession in her eyes.

The horrific scene in Voldemort's study last night—his brother-in-law lying on the ground covered in blood, the Dark Lord's cold, crimson gaze.

Instead of making her back off, in her twisted logic, it became irrefutable evidence that her brother-in-law was cursed and coerced by the Dark Lord! She had to "save" him!

The dinner was held in a suffocating silence, with only the occasional crisp sound of silver knives and forks hitting the plates.

Clarisse's gaze was like glue, glued to Abraxas.

Looking at his pale yet still handsome profile, looking at his bandaged hands, looking at his occasionally furrowed brows...

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, and a bold and foolish plan was quickly forming in her mind.

Opportunity! This was a golden opportunity! Voldemort wasn't here.

As long as she lets her brother-in-law drink the special aphrodisiac, he will temporarily forget the terrible devil and only have her, Clarice, in his eyes and heart.

By then, the matter will have been settled... and with the leverage she has in her hand... the position of Mrs. Malfoy will belong to her!

As the house-elf Doja refilled Abraxas's dessert wine (an aged amber-colored mead from southern France), Clarisse's heart leaped into her throat.

Her hand, hidden under her wide skirt, tightly grasped a crystal bottle of aphrodisiac that was only the size of her little finger and decorated with black swan feathers.

The bottle contained a viscous liquid that shone with a strange pink glow.

This is an enhanced version of "Eternal Love" that she spent a lot of money to get from Knockturn Alley. It is said that one drop is enough to make a fire dragon fall in love with a goblin.

Now is the time!

When Doga moved the crystal wine jug from Abraxas' right hand (inconvenient due to injury) to his left hand, Clarisse leaned over casually to pick up the napkin in front of her.

Her movements were extremely stealthy and swift. Her fingers holding the bottle of aphrodisiac, hidden by her wide sleeves, stretched out like lightning, the mouth of the bottle hovering precisely above Abraxas's freshly filled glass of mead.

One drop!

That drop of enchanting pink liquid, like concentrated desire, fell silently into the golden mead, instantly creating a small ripple, and then disappeared without a trace, as if it had never existed.

Clarice's heart was beating so wildly that it almost burst through her chest.

Success! She suppressed the smug smile that threatened to spill from the corners of her mouth, and wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin in a pretentious manner, her eyes fixed on the glass of wine in front of Abraxas.

Drink it! Drink it now!

Abraxas seemed oblivious. He was clumsily carving a piece of delicate lemon tart with his left hand, picking up the knife.

His gray-blue eyes were lowered, his long eyelashes cast a small shadow under his eyes, his expression was focused and calm, as if he was completely immersed in the taste of the dessert.

However, just as his fingertips were about to touch the handle of the glass of spiked mead—