If it wasn’t the man of the hour.

Lucien didn’t care for his words. He heard what had become of his sister and was quite frankly very much beyond words at this point. The Minister didn’t get it. He supposed the man was much like the children in that regard; he could not see when the time for negotiation was long past. The stand they had made at the gates of Hogwarts--no, no the muggles who put an end to his parents very much saw to that. There was no reasoning, only doing.

This needed to be done and would not end diplomatic words and false pleasantries.

As if to demonstrate this, Lucien shot a quick succession of spells at Charles--severing hexes, meant to cut deeply at the man. His spells would speak for him. They were the only words he cared to exchange. This would come to an end, one way or the other.

He was relentless in his fire, his rage of many years, accumulated from many slights, pouring out.