The sudden voice startled the couple mid-kiss.
Lucius reacted instantly, whipping out his wand and aiming it toward the source of the sound while moving to shield his wife behind him.
In front of them stood two uninvited guests—one tall, one short—both cloaked, and in no way resembling friendly visitors.
"Who are you? How did you get in?" Lucius demanded, his tone sharp despite the tension tightening in his chest.
With so many people in the manor just moments ago, how could two more have entered unnoticed?
"We walked right in, of course. No need to be so nervous, Lord Malfoy. If we meant harm, we could've acted while you two were quite… absorbed," came a chilling, muffled voice from beneath the short figure's cloak. "As for who we are—"
The shorter figure raised a hand. Beside her, the taller one lifted her hood.
A beautiful yet dangerously cold face emerged.
"Midgard Greyback?" Lucius's voice dropped into a heavy register.
A rising star among dark wizards. The uncrowned ruler of Knockturn Alley. Unlike other werewolves, this werewolf witch had unified her kind and forged a formidable faction there.
She developed businesses, building a complete commercial network in Knockturn Alley. Had the merchants of Diagon Alley not boycotted werewolves, her trade might have expanded even there.
She defeated her own brother Fenrir and seized control of Knockturn Alley. Midgard was arguably the most dangerous werewolf alive—not only because of her strength, but her symbolic presence. She was the spiritual pillar of the werewolves.
Yet this dangerous woman… stood as the subordinate of that small figure?
The unexpected reversal made Lucius's heart pound uncontrollably.
"The werewolf leader of Knockturn Alley? Welcome…" Lucius forced composure into his voice. "May I ask what brings Madam Greyback here?"
"You know perfectly well," Midgard said coldly. "You didn't miss the sight of those little rebel cubs, did you?"
She was here for the traitors? If that was all…
Lucius immediately declared, "I know nothing of their betrayal. Whatever you intend to do with them, proceed. I will not interfere."
"Lucius?" Narcissa's voice trembled. She didn't understand Knockturn Alley's affairs, nor did she know Midgard. She couldn't understand why her husband suddenly looked as though he were facing death itself.
But she knew him—he was tense, scared. That alone was enough to terrify her.
Lucius kept silent. One hand, shielding his wife, made a subtle gesture. His eyes, however, never left the small figure.
He was the one in control. But who was he?
If Midgard had come alone, Lucius wouldn't be this rattled. But the short figure radiated such pressure that Lucius found himself acting against his own instincts.
He forced himself to study the figure closely. From the height, he appeared almost like a child. But someone Midgard respected would never be "just a child."
Not a wizard, then?
A soft, cold "hmph" escaped Midgard as she turned to look at the one beside her.
Lucius's eyes tightened. Suddenly, he moved—his wand snapping up toward Midgard, while Narcissa behind him raised hers as well.
"Stupefy!" the couple shouted. Twin flashes burst toward their intruders.
"Tsk…"
A derisive sound. The small figure didn't panic. He simply raised a gray-green finger just before the spells hit.
Lucius braced for impact—but instead, something inside him tore open. His magic surged out of control, scattering wildly through his body.
The spell dissolved in mid-air.
A mouthful of blood splattered from Lucius's lips as he dropped to his knees, gasping in shock. His terrified eyes locked on the small figure.
Narcissa collapsed beside him, but Lucius had no strength to check on her. He looked up at the figure, seeing only the sharp, hooked nose beneath the hood.
A goblin.
But why? Why had his magic gone berserk just from a raised hand?
"You two are far too tense. Calm yourselves," came the goblin's high, sharp voice. "Fortunately, you didn't use anything more dangerous. If you had, the moment your magic spiraled, you would've died…"
He said it casually, as though discussing the weather.
Lucius found the blood in his mouth turning bitter.
"Y-you… who are you?" he asked hoarsely.
"Me? You may call me Ranrok," the concealed goblin replied.
Ranrok?
Who was that?
Lucius's mind raced, trying to recall any goblin of such power or notoriety. Nothing surfaced.
Seeing his confusion, Ranrok clicked his tongue. "Ah… has it been that long? Do people no longer remember my name?"
The weary, ancient tone made him sound like a relic out of time.
Midgard glanced at him sidelong, silently impressed by his performance.
"My apologies, Mr. Ranrok. My ignorance is to blame…" Lucius managed at last. "May I ask why you've come?"
"Heh. Much more polite now," Ranrok said, satisfied. "Nothing important. Little Midgard mentioned a few of her wolf cubs ran off to your place…"
"I'll send them back immediately. I'll make sure they don't join us," Lucius blurted.
"Heh heh heh… Lord Malfoy, you misunderstand." Ranrok's chuckle echoed like an owl's cry. "We're not here to retrieve them. Besides—anyone who's betrayed us once doesn't deserve to come back."
"Then… what do you mean?" Lucius asked, bewildered.
Not here to reclaim them.
So—here to eliminate them?
"Lord Malfoy, I hear your son met with misfortune," Ranrok said lightly. "Seems that little fellow Voldemort had something to do with it."
Instead of anger at having his wound reopened, Lucius's eyes lit with desperate hope.
"Y-yes… yes, you— What—no, that was rude of me. How may I be of service?" Lucius said humbly.
"Heh. Clever. I like that," Ranrok replied. "What I need you to do is simple. Do it well, and not only will you have your revenge, but your family will stay untouched. You'll remain the head of House Malfoy."