Malfoys

'Damn that boy's not even here and his popularity keeps growing' Lucius Malfoy's arms shook as he stared down at the Daily Prophet. Across the top, in large letters, it proclaimed" "Boy-Who-Lived's Birthday: What Are You Doing to Celebrate?" 'CELEBRATE? For the boy who was my master's downfall? Who destroyed my plans for the future and made ME hide my allegiance—who humiliated me and made ME stand trial in front of the Wizengamot for things that should not even be crimes! Forced ME claim to be unable to resist the Imperius Curse!' Malfoy sneered. 'Hell, if the brat was old enough, he'd be a major political power, easily able to overshadow the Malfoy's ancient influence. There was nothing to celebrate about the day getting closer!'

"I'd rather celebrate his death!" His death… Now there was an idea. He could kill the boy… No, death curses were too easily traced back to the caster. But there were plenty of equally powerful curses aimed to incapacitate or irreversibly damage that could not be traced back to the caster, that would equally negate the Boy-Who-Lived's influence. In fact, he knew that his library had some dark curses that could get past almost any wards—any light ward, most dark wards, in fact any ward not anchored in blood. The Potters were too Gryffindor to use that sort of ward, and there were no blood relatives left to give the boy those wards.

How was he going to celebrate the Boy-Who-Lived's birthday? He was going to send the boy a gift of curses. And, Lucius Malfoy got up from the table and headed to his office, he was going to send them now.