The Heir Returns

Chapter 8

Abraxas' eyes strayed to the entrance of his ballroom, decorated gorgeously by his wife, Genevive, to see a face he'd never seen before.

The man was dressed handsomely, with robes that one would only see on nobility. He'd never met the man before, which is surprising considering he knew everyone worth knowing in Britain. Perhaps he's foreign? Thought Abraxas as he observed the man from afar, tuning out the conversation he was having with some lower-ranked pureblood.

A witch was hanging off his arm, looking bored as she surveyed the room. She was attractive, though in a traditional sort of way. The duo was definitely purebred. They both carried the natural cat-like grace that pure wizards were gifted. The thought relieved Abraxas as he would rather not have filth at his prestigious party while his Lord was in attendance.

Whispers were already starting to reach him, and he listened to them in delight.

"Have you seen them before? No."

"I heard someone mention Peverell. Maybe they're long-lost descendants?"

"It can't be! The Peverell line died out ages ago. Surely British society would know if they survived."

"I just spoke with the man," Interjected a new voice apparently, he came from France, where a branch of the Peverell line had resided since the 16th century, calls himself Lord Peverell that one."

Now that indeed interested Abraxas, who listened in to the conversation of Lady Selwyn, Lady Abbott and Lady Bones more closely.

"What about the witch. Is she his wife?"

"No, his sister. She's in her mid-30s and still unmarried. There must be something wrong with her for not having wedded yet."

Abraxas decided it was enough information for now and walked toward them to investigate by himself.

"Good Evening," Abraxas started, "I'm Lord Malfoy, the host. I don't believe we've met before?" He introduced himself politely, drawing himself to his full height. It seemed as though they weren't intimidated, though. As they smiled at him, unaffected.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lord Malfoy. I'm Henri Peverell." The man, Lord Peverell, then looked to the woman to his right, "and this is my sister, Adrienne."

" 'Ello," She muttered quickly at him before averting her gaze.

The Peverells both had a thick French accent, confirming the whispers, "You're French?" he inquired, hoping the man would expand more.

"Yes, we are," Peverell replied shortly, seemingly finished. Abraxas was highly irritated. How dare the man dismiss him? He was Lord bloody Malfoy. He was practically royalty in Wizarding Britain!

Sneering subtly at them, he walked away, cobalt robes billowing behind him.

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Adelaide immediately broke out into a laugh once Malfoy was nowhere to be spotted, "did you see his face! He was always such an insufferable git at Hogwarts, glad we knocked him down a peg."

Harrison's face mirrored her expression, "A face to cherish for centuries," he nodded solemnly.

"Shall we go survey the others, brother?" She asked.

"We shall, sister."

The duo left the entrance area and strode further into the ice-themed ballroom.

Many glass chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling. Prisms transfigured to look like icicles. Snowflakes descended from the roof, yet they never touched a single person, dissipating before reaching your skin. Aside from the glass furniture, the accents were coloured the classic Malfoy Blue, gorgeously tying everything into place.