Ball
"We'll take it," Adrian said briskly, cutting off the agent's rambling about some old wizard who had previously owned the shop.
"We want to launch our products into the market quickly," Adrian said, turning his gaze toward the street outside. Snow had begun to fall, casting a soft glow over the bustling crowd. "I want this place ready by Christmas."
The dealer, who was a gruff old man, protested at first; however, he calmed down once Adrian got that extra bit of gold from his pouch.
Two days later, the Malfoy Manor gleamed under a canopy of silver and green lights. The political ball was a tradition amongst pureblood families, a gathering where alliances were forged, deals were made, and power was quietly bartered over glasses of aged elf-made wine. The Malfoys had attempted to make this a rather relaxed gathering. The ballroom was grand, its high ceilings adorned with delicate chandeliers, the marble floors polished to perfection.
Adrian arrived fashionably late, dressed in dark emerald robes embroidered with subtle silver lining. This was the first time he had actually bothered to dress up for an event like this.The moment he stepped through the manor's towering entrance, he was greeted by his sister, Evanna.
"Adrian," she said with a happy smile. "Finally you decided to dress up, and guess what? You actually look presentable."
"Forget about that," he shot back. "Where's our gracious host?"
"Malfoy is around somewhere," Evanna replied, glancing over the crowd. "His father's busy entertaining half the ministry. Even Cornelius Fudge has showed up."
Adrian's gaze swept across the room. The room was filled with high-ranking officials openly discussing politics. Adrian noticed his father and Lucius chatting away with Fudge. He also noticed Dumbledore, who was reluctantly invited upon the insistence of Fudge. The minister had wanted to reconcile with Dumbledore as they stood there momentarily having an engaging conversation with Hector Rowle.
Rowle was the Ministry's rising star in law enforcement, the successor of Alastor Moody. He was a man who had made enemies, and not just among criminals.
"Adrian."
He turned to see Daphne Greengrass approaching, her ice-blue robes complementing the natural elegance she carried. She was poised, confident, and unreadable as ever.
"Daphne," he greeted. "How has your vacation been?."
Oh, it's definitely been interesting. "Reading your letters has been entertaining."
The evening progressed smoothly, with light conversations, laughter, and whispered negotiations filling the air. Adrian hung out with Daphne and then with Malfoy. He played the game of politics; however, he played it well enough to avoid entanglement. Just as the party was continuing, a sudden shift occurred.
It was subtle at first. A sudden hush in one corner of the ballroom. The clinking of glasses stilled. People turned, their expressions shifting from casual interest to growing alarm.
Adrian's gaze snapped toward the disturbance, and his breath caught. Hector Rowle stood rigid, his face frozen in shock. A thin, almost invisible line of red traced across his throat, and for a brief, harrowing moment, silence engulfed the room.
Then, the blood came.
Rowle staggered forward, his mouth opening as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he collapsed onto the marble floor, the crimson pooling beneath him a stark contrast to the pristine white flooring.
Screams erupted.
Chaos followed. Witches and wizards recoiled, some reaching for wands, others stumbling back in sheer disbelief. Lucius Malfoy panicked before barking orders, while several Aurors surged forward. Adrian remained rooted in place, his mind racing. This wasn't a Death Eater attack—not here, not now.
But the timing. The precision.
Someone had planned this to perfection.
Dumbledore, who stood there, was talking to Rowle and stood there astonished; he was right there, yet he was unable to detect anything. Albus Dumbledore stood still, his magical aura engulfing the room. With urgency, his sharp blue eyes scanned the room. "Everyone, remain calm," his voice rang out, firm and unwavering. "The perpetrator will be found."
"Who could have been the perpetrator?" That was the unanswered question that nobody could figure out.
Fudge burst on with conclusions stating that the remnants of the Death Eaters were the ones to blame. The British wizarding world would turn its attention to hunting Gabrielle Lestrange, while the true culprits—
Remained in the shadows, unseen, untouched, and one step ahead.
Adrian exhaled slowly, glancing at Evanna. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes locked on Rowle's lifeless form. For the first time that evening, the festive lights and the grandeur of the ballroom all seemed hollow.