Chapter 21 : A Friendly Warning

Lucius Malfoy stood by the grand window of Malfoy Manor, a goblet of red wine in hand. The crimson liquid swirled lazily, reflecting the light from the chandelier, casting a glow that only amplified his aristocratic features. The werewolf attack on the Marshalls had been a daring move, one that gave him immense satisfaction. The thought of unsettling the reclusive but feared family brought a thin smile to his lips. Yet, a shadow of vexation clouded his thoughts; despite his efforts, none of the Marshalls had been injured.

He turned away from the window, his eyes falling on a parchment lying on the mahogany desk. It was a missive from Fenrir Greyback, his reluctant accomplice in the plot. Greyback had been lured by a substantial monetary reward of 5000 Galleons and the promise of being allowed to hunt non-magical people after the attack. The werewolf had hesitated, knowing the danger of attacking a Marshall, but Malfoy's promises had finally swayed him. Now, with the attack failed, Greyback was a liability.

Lucius sat at his desk, dipping a quill into the inkwell and scribbling a quick note. He had arranged for Greyback to be smuggled out of the UK, ensuring that no trail led back to him. The werewolf would be sent to the continent, where he would be harder to trace. Folding the note, Lucius sealed it with a flick of his wand, the Malfoy crest gleaming in the candlelight.

With Greyback's escape arranged, Lucius turned his attention to more immediate matters. Tonight, he would host a grand party, a display of his influence and power. Cornelius Fudge, the new Minister of Magic, would be the guest of honor, along with several key members of the Ministry and prominent figures from the dark and grey factions. It was an opportunity to solidify alliances and show the magical community that the Malfoy name still commanded respect.

He strode to the fireplace, throwing in a handful of Floo powder. "Vincent, Gregory, come to the study," he called. Moments later, the hulking figures of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle appeared in the doorway.

"Ensure that everything is perfect for tonight's event," Lucius ordered. "The guests must be impressed. And make sure the house-elves have prepared the ballroom to my specifications."

The two men nodded, their expressions blank, and left to carry out his orders. Lucius returned to his desk, reviewing the guest list. There were no members of the light faction invited; this gathering was strictly for those who understood the necessity of maintaining power and influence.

As the day wore on, Malfoy Manor was a hive of activity. House-elves scurried about, polishing the silverware, arranging flowers, and preparing an elaborate feast. Lucius took a final walk through the ballroom, his eyes sweeping over the elegantly decorated room. He wanted everything to be perfect.

As evening fell, the guests began to arrive. Lucius stood at the entrance, greeting each one with a practiced smile and a firm handshake. Cornelius Fudge arrived in a flurry of green robes, his face beaming with the self-importance of his new position.

"Ah, Lucius, what a splendid gathering," Fudge exclaimed, clapping Malfoy on the shoulder. "You do know how to throw a party."

"Thank you, Minister," Lucius replied smoothly. "I thought it important for us to gather and discuss the future of our community."

They moved into the ballroom, where the sound of clinking glasses and murmured conversations filled the air. Lucius made sure to introduce Fudge to all the key guests, reinforcing his own influence by association.

Among the attendees were key members of the dark and grey factions. Thorfinn Rowle, with his towering presence and fierce demeanor, commanded attention, while the Nott family patriarch, Marcus Nott, was a staunch supporter of the darker ideals. From the Ministry, there was Bartemius Crouch Sr., a man known for his strict adherence to the law, now walking a fine line between different political factions.

Lucius circulated the room, making sure to speak with each guest, subtly reminding them of his power and influence. As he spoke with each person, his mind wandered back to the failed attack on the Marshalls. He had to be careful; Alistair Marshall was not someone to be trifled with, and Lucius knew that any misstep could bring the full force of the Marshall family down upon him.

Yet, he couldn't help but feel a thrill at the challenge. It was a delicate game, one that required careful maneuvering and calculated risks. He sipped his wine, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the laughter and animated conversations. He was in his element, a puppet master pulling the strings, orchestrating events to his advantage.

As the evening progressed, the atmosphere grew more relaxed, the conversations more boisterous. Lucius was in the middle of a discussion with Cornelius Fudge and Thorfinn Rowle about the importance of maintaining order in the Ministry when a sudden, distant sound caught his attention. It was faint at first, a rhythmic pounding that seemed to grow louder with each passing moment.

Lucius frowned, glancing towards the grand entrance. The sound grew louder, unmistakable now—hoofbeats, echoing through the night. The guests began to murmur, turning towards the entrance with curious and apprehensive expressions.

The doors to the ballroom swung open with a loud crash, silencing the room instantly. All eyes turned to the entrance as Alistair Marshall strode in, his presence commanding and fearsome. He was followed closely by his son, Henry, who exuded the same confidence and power.

The room fell into a hushed silence, the air thick with tension. Lucius felt a chill run down his spine as Alistair's cold gaze swept over the assembled guests, finally settling on him. The elder Marshall's eyes were like steel, unyielding and merciless.

"Malfoy," Alistair said, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "We need to talk."

Lucius swallowed hard, the weight of the confrontation pressing down on him. He had played a dangerous game, and now he was about to face the consequences.

The silence in the grand ballroom was palpable as Alistair Marshall stood at the entrance, his presence filling the room with an almost tangible tension. Henry Marshall followed closely behind, his expression as unyielding as his father's. The assembled guests, a mix of dark and grey faction members along with Ministry officials, watched with bated breath.

Lucius Malfoy forced a smile onto his face, though his mind raced with the implications of this unexpected intrusion. "Alistair, Henry, what an unexpected pleasure," he began, his voice betraying none of his inner turmoil. "To what do we owe this visit?"

Alistair stepped forward, his gaze fixed unflinchingly on Malfoy. "Cut the pleasantries, Malfoy. We both know why I'm here."

Cornelius Fudge, standing nearby, looked between Alistair and Lucius, clearly uneasy. "Alistair, perhaps we can—"

"Quiet, Fudge," Alistair snapped, his tone brooking no argument. "This matter does not concern you."

Fudge's mouth snapped shut, his face reddening with a mix of embarrassment and anger. The other guests exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unsettled by the confrontation.

Alistair continued, his voice cold and precise. "Last night, a group of werewolves attacked my family. Had they succeeded, you would be dealing with the aftermath of a massacre. Fortunately for you, Malfoy, my family is not so easily bested."

Lucius felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, though he forced his expression to remain neutral. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Alistair. Werewolves? In Diagon Alley? It sounds preposterous."

Alistair's eyes narrowed. "Spare me your lies. The attack was not just some random act of violence. It was orchestrated, deliberate. And I have no doubt that you were behind it."

The room was so silent that the faint clinking of a glass being set down echoed like a gunshot. Lucius met Alistair's gaze, struggling to maintain his composure. "Alistair, these are serious accusations. Do you have proof?"

Alistair took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "If I find even an inkling of proof, Malfoy, I will rip you apart limb by limb. Consider this your only warning."

The tension in the room was electric, the air thick with fear and anticipation. The other guests seemed to collectively hold their breath, waiting to see how Lucius would respond.

Lucius swallowed hard, the weight of Alistair's threat settling heavily on his shoulders. "You have my word, Alistair. I had nothing to do with this attack."

Henry stepped forward, his voice calm but filled with an undercurrent of menace. "We encountered four werewolves last night. Three of them are dead, killed by my own hands. The fourth was dispatched by my son, Hector."

There was a ripple of shock through the crowd. Whispers and gasps broke out, people exchanging incredulous looks. Hector, a mere child, had killed a werewolf? The idea seemed almost unbelievable.

Amelia Bones, standing near the back, stepped forward. "You mean to say that Hector, your son, managed to kill a werewolf on his own?"

Henry nodded. "Yes. He fought bravely and with determination. It was his first real test, and he passed."

The murmurs grew louder. The implications were clear: if Hector, at his young age, could defeat a werewolf, the strength and potential of the Marshall family were undeniable.

Mrs. Greengrass, standing near Amelia, exchanged a glance with her husband. "This is... quite a revelation," she said softly. "The Marshalls are truly formidable."

Lucius felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. He had underestimated the Marshalls, and now he was facing the consequences. He forced himself to remain calm, his voice steady. "Alistair, Henry, you have my assurances that I had no part in this. But I understand your need for vigilance. The safety of our families is paramount."

Alistair's gaze bored into him, as if searching for any hint of deceit. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "See that you remember that, Malfoy. For your own sake."

With that, Alistair turned on his heel and walked out of the ballroom, Henry and Hector following close behind. The guests parted to let them pass, a palpable sense of relief mingling with the lingering tension.

As the Marshalls exited the manor, the sound of their departure was drowned out by the hushed conversations that erupted in their wake. The guests were left to contemplate the power and fury of the Marshall family, and the stark warning they had delivered.

Lucius watched them go, his mind already racing with plans and contingencies. He had made a dangerous enemy, and he knew he would have to tread carefully from now on.

Cornelius Fudge, visibly shaken, approached Lucius. "Lucius, this... this is quite a development."

Lucius nodded, his eyes still fixed on the door through which the Marshalls had exited. "Indeed, Minister. Indeed it is."

But as he stood there, surrounded by his allies and followers, Lucius Malfoy could not shake the feeling of impending doom. The Marshalls had made their stance clear: they were not to be trifled with, and any threat against them would be met with swift and brutal retribution.

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**Chapter 19, Scene 6**

The following morning, the front page of the Daily Prophet was a spectacle of sensational news. The headline screamed, "Marshalls Repel Werewolf Attack, Disrupt Malfoy Party!" and the article detailed the dramatic events, including Alistair and Henry Marshall's forceful entrance and their confrontation with Lucius Malfoy. The wizarding community was abuzz, and reactions were swift and varied across Britain.

**Malfoy Manor**

In the somber silence of the Malfoy Manor, Lucius sat at his desk, staring blankly at the newspaper. The article seemed to mock him, and the photograph of Alistair Marshall, fierce and unyielding, seemed to taunt him.

Narcissa entered the room, her face pale. "Lucius, what are we going to do? This... this makes us look weak."

Lucius clenched his jaw. "I know, Narcissa. The Marshalls have humiliated us. We must be careful. We cannot afford another mistake."

Draco, who had been listening from the doorway, stepped in. "Father, are we in danger?"

Lucius looked at his son, a rare flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. "Not if we are cautious. The Marshalls are not to be trifled with. We will bide our time and wait for the right moment."

**The Ministry of Magic**

In the bustling atrium of the Ministry, witches and wizards gathered in small clusters, their conversations buzzing with the latest news.

"Did you read the Prophet?" an Auror named Jenkins asked his colleague, a tall wizard with dark hair. "The Marshalls took down werewolves and disrupted Malfoy's party. It's all anyone can talk about."

His colleague nodded, his eyes wide. "Yeah, Henry Marshall killed three werewolves on his own, and his son—an eight-year-old—killed one too. It's unbelievable."

Nearby, Cornelius Fudge was in deep conversation with Amelia Bones. "This is a disaster, Amelia. The Marshalls are a force to be reckoned with, and now they've made a very public statement."

Amelia's expression was stern. "Perhaps it's time we acknowledge their strength and ensure they're on our side. The Marshalls are a deterrent to the dark forces we cannot afford to alienate."

Fudge sighed, clearly feeling the weight of the situation. "Yes, but their methods... We must tread carefully."

**The Dark Faction**

At a secluded manor, the remaining members of the dark faction gathered to discuss the recent events. The atmosphere was tense, fear mingling with anger.

"The Marshalls are too powerful," said Theodore Nott, his voice trembling slightly. "We need to find a way to deal with them."

Pansy Parkinson's father leaned forward, his eyes narrow. "Lucius has assured us that he has a plan, but after this... We must be prepared for anything."

Vincent Crabbe Sr. nodded in agreement. "One thing is clear: we can't allow them to undermine us. We must stand united."

The conversation was interrupted by an owl delivering a message. Lucius read it, his face hardening. "For now, we lay low. We cannot risk another confrontation with the Marshalls. They have proven themselves formidable opponents."

**The Light Faction**

In the cozy kitchen of the Burrow, the Weasleys were gathered around the breakfast table, the Daily Prophet open between them.

"Did you see this?" Arthur Weasley said, pointing to the headline. "The Marshalls took down werewolves and disrupted Malfoy's party."

Molly Weasley looked both horrified and impressed. "I've always known the Marshalls were powerful, but this... It's incredible."

"Henry Marshall killed three werewolves on his own," Bill Weasley said, his tone one of admiration. "And his son—imagine, an eight-year-old taking down a werewolf."

Fred and George exchanged excited looks. "That Hector kid must be something else," Fred said.

"Yeah, maybe we should try to be friends with him when we get to Hogwarts," George added, a mischievous grin on his face.

"I just hope this doesn't escalate," Arthur said, his voice heavy with concern. "The last thing we need is another conflict."

In a quiet corner of the Leaky Cauldron, various members of the neutral faction gathered to discuss the news. Among them was Xenophilius Lovegood, who read the article with great interest.

"The Marshalls are truly formidable," Xenophilius mused, his eyes twinkling. "This will certainly shift the balance of power."

A wizard from the Scamander family, known for their neutrality, nodded in agreement. "It's a clear message to everyone. Don't underestimate the Marshalls."

Another neutral witch, who preferred to keep a low profile, added, "If the Marshalls are willing to take such bold actions, it might be wise to align with them, or at least stay out of their way."

As the discussions continued across Britain, one thing became clear: the Marshalls had sent a powerful message. Their strength, resolve, and willingness to act had reminded everyone of their formidable presence in the magical world.

**The Marshall Estate**

Back at the Marshall Estate, Alistair and Henry sat in the grand hall, reflecting on the events of the previous night. Hector, still recovering from his battle, rested nearby, his face pale but determined.

"You handled yourself well, Hector," Alistair said, his voice full of pride. "The magical community knows not to take the Marshalls lightly."

Henry nodded, his expression playfull.

As the day wore on, letters and owls arrived at the Marshall Estate, each one a testament to the shifting alliances and reactions of the magical community. The Marshalls had made their move, and now the world watched and waited for the next chapter in their storied history.