Company is Always Desirable

This was not his scene. This was so not his scene.

Dim, tasteful lights no doubt, but club lights all the same. Polished, reflective floors, clink of wine glasses and Firewhisky bottles, slightly slurred laughter. Sure, Satan's was definitely classier than most of the so-called 'wizarding clubs', but it was a club all the same. And Albus Potter was a fish out of water in a place like this.

He was seated at the bar, approached now and then by a smooth-faced barman with slicked-back hair, irrespective of the number of times he refused the 'Devil's Brew' or the 'Hell's Whisky' or whatever names the Dark-tinged club liked to impart to its even darker drinks. A curiously crimson red brew with smoke curling from the surface had drawn Albus's eyes several times, but he managed to restrain himself. He had no wish of humiliating himself before an audience that didn't give two Knuts about him. Hell, he didn't think these well-dressed, silver-tongued people smirking and smiling so gaily gave a Knut about their bloody families. He was in a snake's pit.

And you're a Slytherin. Remember?

Albus smiled faintly to himself. Well, a tame snake maybe. Or maybe a snake too scared to bare his fangs. Albus's left hand caressed his wand momentarily. He would have to try that new spell soon. A few modifications to the incantation could do wonders. His right hand was splayed, almost possessively, over a dark grey tome, almost invisible under the multicoloured lights. The title gleamed faintly: Verba Non Facta: by Raiden Prince.

Katrina-Carlotta strutted into Satan's, it wasn't the first time she'd frequented the building. She always found conversation in the establishment quite amusing, the type of people who lounged in the club were the type who tended to recognize her. The woman had even spotted an old client the other day, who had in turn rushed out the door as fast as his legs could carry him. The man had clearly been under the impression that she was after him, wanting more payment or some such thing. How idiotic people acted in the face of fear.

The dark witch scanned the room, mentally cataloging who was sitting in the strategically intelligent places, who was eyeing the room as she was, and who would likely be too drunk to remember her face the next day. She allowed her eyes to scan the room again, this time searching for interesting conversation. The woman's pupils stopped moving when they spotted Albus Potter, sitting alone at the bar. His seat was a good one, placed so one would be able to see the rest of the room and the exit fairly easily. The youngest living Du Hunt wondered if this was done on purpose or not, curiosity striking her.

She knew who Albus Potter was, any educated European did, the Potter who had gotten sorted into the house of snakes. Katrina-Carlotta could hardly blame him, from her point of view the Slytherin house was as much about survival as anything else. Considering who the young man was, he couldn't be blamed for that. All those years ago, her interest had been caught, however, and she kept an ear open for rumors of the youngest Potter male. Every whisper that had reached her ears had been out a genuinely polite young man, but here he was. Katrina-Carlotta didn't think twice about approaching him.

Gracefully sliding into the seat next to him, the woman tapped a nail twice on the bar to signal the bartender. "A glass of Barolo," she said to the club's employee as he arrived to attend her, allowing a hint of Italian accent to roll off her words as she requested the wine. Her usual accent while speaking English was a peculiar light mix of Russian and German, but the woman found herself unable to request Italian wines without a bit of accent slipping through.

Turning to the young man sitting next to her, she eyed the book sitting under Albus's hand that she had almost missed. Reading the title, she allowed a small smirk to cross her face. "That's a good book, have you finished it?" the woman asked calmly, eyeing the Potter's face. The mystery seemed to keep on growing.

Albus had almost succumbed to the temptation of trying the brew which looked like smoking blood, when the back of his neck prickled. The age-old instinct cultivated by living in seven years in the House of Snakes warned him that he was being watched. Seconds later, a woman slid into the seat next to him.

She looked almost deceptively young, but the way her back straightened and stretched languidly, body structure perfectly poised, like a dragon in its own hunting-ground, hinted to the fact that she was far older, and far more experienced. That delicate, yet strangely lethal looking hand tapped on the bar with illusory lightness, and with an almost detached eye, Albus noted that she had rather exotic features, unusually dark hair, a strong nose....

Albus's eyes narrowed by a fraction. She looked familiar, like a face oft glimpsed in portraits, or vaguely seen in newspaper clippings. Newspapers.....now that was a thought. Had he seen her somewhere? He felt a faint niggling at the back of his head, and wished absently that he could know her name, maybe that was the missing jigsaw piece that would clue him to her identity.

She saved his trouble, and initiated conversation herself, beginning with the book. The writer in Albus tried to analyze the voice, and came up with a mix of East and West European. A multilinguist then, interesting. Even as he put on the usual mask, and smiled with the faint touch of politeness and humor, Albus pondered on how to reply to her question. I suppose you could say that, seeing as how I have the fortune of being the writer of said book. A suave reply no doubt, but absolutely destructive of the pains he had taken to mask Raiden Prince's identity.

"Yes." Albus replied simply. He ran a caressing finger over the cover, appreciating the spark of brilliance that had given him the Latin title: Words, Not Deeds. "A tale of the fallacies of nighteen-century West European countries, or rather, a thinly veiled satire on the ineptness of the present British government." He had been rather inspired from George Orwell's Animal Farm, in that respect. He raised his gaze up to the woman's, and had a slight disconcerting moment, for some reason, "You like it?"

"Indeed," the dark witch replied with a soft nod, "I do remember enjoying it. The author clearly did his research, although some of the points made on certain governments I found quite debatable." In her opinion, the book had been brilliantly written, the many insults made to the British government only further endearing her towards the text. While the woman did disagree with a few things implied about the Italian government and the state of Germany, as a whole the novel was quite the political dissection. The pseudonym, for she was certain it was a pseudonym, also interested her. The woman had done her research after reading, only to find that the Prince line had died out. The witch had wondered if the author had picked the name only for it's appealing meaning, or if he held some connection to the dead family.

The fact that Albus Potter, of all people, seemed to have both read and well understood the text further fascinated her. The young man clearly was not all that he seemed, and the witch became slightly irritated with herself for believing all the rumors she had heard of him over the years. Of course the common person would not pick up the things that she would, how she loathed the ignorance of the general populace.

Wishing to know more, Katrina-Carlotta looked into Albus's eyes. The temptation to use Mind Arts was there, but the woman wouldn't dare risk such a thing when she was still uncertain if the man next to her had any experience with them. If she was reading the look in those emerald eyes correctly, which of course she was, the man likely did. His eyes read of longing, pain, hate, and restraint more powerful than the witch had seen in years. Breaking the eye contact, Katrina-Carlotta reassured herself that Albus Potter was certainly not what his outer shell let one to think.

Finally receiving her wine, the Du Hunt took a sip, and hummed softly in contentment. Her mind was anything but content though, running through emotions faster than it had in weeks. Curiosity, so much curiosity. Interest, as she wondered and pondered and analyzed. Amusement, because of course society was twisted enough to turn their innocent poster child into anything but. And lastly, something she could quite place, after realizing that the look found in the young Potter's eyes was far too similar to the one she once wore with pride.

"Debatable is it........." Albus's probing finger traced the title of the book. He resisted the temptation to ask the witch to explain, Merlin knew that he had put a hell of an effort into the tome and he wished to know every single opinion in the world that existed about it. For privacy reasons of course, fan mail to Raiden Prince had been disabled, which meant Albus had no idea if his satire was the most critically acclaimed work in the world, or used as a burning fuel in cold homes. He knew it was good of course, but that was his opinion, and Albus wasn't exactly the most confident person in the world, at least in his own abilities.

Lost in his musings, Albus glanced upwards, then resisted the urge to recoil. The witch was staring right at him. No, not at him, through him. He was being picked apart, bit by bit, perused at leisure like an open book, and he didn't like it one bit. He shifted in his seat imperceptibly, why did it feel like that gaze, unlike thousands of others which lingered on his dark hair, his emerald eyes each day, that gaze could see through where no other could? Could see the strain behind the polite smile, the quiver behind tightly clenched jaws, the turbulence beneath the calm...

He should break the gaze, the connection, the eye-contact.....but found himself unwilling to. Instead he stared right back, not stepping back, not stepping down, not quite, not yet. He stared, and allowed the witch to make of the undecipherable emotions sifting in the depths of the green sea, what she would. She was the first to look away, and Albus felt relief, and a curious sense of disappointment. Her face was reasonably unemotional, but Albus too could sense shifting emotions beneath that mask, the slight quirk of her lips due to amusement, the concentrated gaze contemplating something of great curiosity and interest. And a tinge of something to everything, which he couldn't quite place.

Curiosity must be assuaged. Who was this woman?

The beginning was rather sudden, "You don't sound like you're from around here." His tone was careful, careful not to let too much slip out. "What are you doing around these parts Miss..."

Katrina-Carlotta was still analyzing, still thinking, still trying to sort out her thoughts; when Albus spoke. He indirectly commented on her accent, and asked for her name. The dark witch had hoped she'd have more time than this, after noting Albus's reading material the woman was almost certain the Potter would recognize her name. She didn't want to send him running, he was too fascinating, too much of a mystery. She hadn't figured him out yet.

If she didn't want Albus to run at the sound of her name, she'd need to give him a reason to stay. And if he thought she had something on him, that would be a better reason than most. "Definitely not what you seem, Mr Potter," the woman murmured at a volume she was almost certain Albus would be able to hear.

It was very strange, the woman felt almost bad about manipulating Albus Potter. As if that wasn't odd enough in itself, she also had the peculiar urge to crack him open and show the young man his true potential. Her mind flickered back to a memory of herself and the Gallo twins, her Mentors, sitting by a fire. Savino had told her the story of how she became their apprentice, only from his side of the tale. It had been fascination to hear, but it had scared the fifteen year old slightly as well. To hear that the only reason the two most important people in her life, for her mentors ranked above her parents, had really agreed to take her on was based upon a gut instinct, sent shivers down her spine. The two men were her family, and Katrina-Carlotta figured that if they had acted upon such an urge, why couldn't she as well?

Glancing over at the Potter male, roughly estimating his power and strength, the witch figured that it would hardly be a hardship to take the man under her wing. "I'm not from around here," she informed her companion, "and of course, my apologies for not introducing myself, Katrina-Carlotta Du Hunt. It's a pleasure."

"Definitely not what you seem, Mr. Potter."

The voice was soft, soft enough to be ignored, to be discounted as a mere murmur. But the words were not. Albus's restless fingers, skimming tirelessly over the hard-bound book cover paused, or rather stopped entirely. His body language changed, back straightening, neck muscles tightening, his entire body slowly coiling up into a thick, tightly wound spring. Tension leaked from every muscle, and Albus's eyes widened slightly.

What did she mean? What in the name of bloody Merlin did she mean? Had she discovered the truth behind the Dean Forest incident, by any chance? Albus hadn't meant to use Dark Magic...it just happened....but if this witch knew.....she could destroy everything. Everything. Obliterate his hopes, his dreams, sever the faint ties which Albus still bore with his family, his friends. He couldn't let this come out, or be splashed on the newspapers, or....he couldn't...couldn't...

Get a grip on yourself.

Albus darted his gaze sidewards, and something niggled at him again. The woman didn't quite have that knowing gleam in her eye, nor did she behave as a blackmailer......his eyes narrowed. She wasn't playing a game with him, was she? Bloody b-

"-for not introducing myself, Katrina-Carlotta du Hunt. Its a pleasure."

Albus froze. Du Hunt. Of course. Assassin, Dark Witch extraordinaire. Quite a few liked comparing her talents to the erstwhile Bellatrix Lestrange. His right hand, the one lying idle in his pocket, inadvertently gripped his wand. This was dangerous. If word came out that he had been spotted with someone who's allegiances were so clearly Dark....he needed to move out. Fast. Even if it meant ignoring that traitorous part of his mind which was curious about conversing with a person so clearly experienced in such a delightfully complicated, twisted art. His voice was quick, "Albus Potter. The pleasure's all mine. Now if you'll excuse me Madam Hunt, I'm required someplace else..." He made a motion, as if to get up from his seat.

He was going to run. Hell, he was going to run. He couldn't, he could run, she wouldn't let him. Not now that she wanted to help him for Merlin's sake! He was tensed, coiled, coiled like a snake that was about the strike or flee. But Albus wouldn't strike, he was too smart to try that here, or against her.

If she wanted him to stay, she only had a few options. Grab him, a spell, or a threat; violence was the first option. But Katrina-Carlotta didn't want Ablus to feel threatened, having him hate her would be counter productive. So he needed to stay of his own free will, option two, fascinate him. It worked on her well enough, and judging by the book the two had been discussing just moments ago, Albus had a good mind.

"I knew you'd run, I told myself that there was a chance you wouldn't but here you are, fleeing like a little snake," her voice was soft, but loud enough, her words hadn't been designed to insult, but she supposed they might. "You are a snake, aren't you? Everyone says you're just a polite young man, but you're more than that. You know it, I know it, everyone could know it if you wished. But you don't, why?" the woman paused to collect her thoughts. "And why are you scared? Most people are scared of me, but you're intelligent enough to know that if I wanted to kill you that you would be dead by now. So why are you still afraid?" the woman asked the last sentence slowly, curiously, wanting an answer.

But then she thought of all the politicians who would only meet her in certain locations, or the people who would wear glamours while speaking to her so their reputations wouldn't take a blow. Sighing softly the dark witch met Albus Potter's eyes, having stood up at some point in an attempt to not let him get away, "it's always about the reputation isn't it?"

She pulled out her wand, and murmured a string of well-practiced words quickly with the wood pointed at her own face, which became pointy and much less tanned. "Now how about we go into a booth, draw the curtain so you don't have to worry about your precious reputation, and continue what was a completely civil discussion?" Katrina-Carlotta suggested, her tone clipped, but not threatening.

It was an art. A skill. A skill to clamp your lips shut when the person opposite you was insulting left, right and centre, and smile politely and say nothing. Non-verbal jinxes of course were absolutely allowed. It was an art, to know when to keep your mouth shut when the situation wasn't desirable, no matter how tempting the opportunity. It was a talent to put on a calm, composed, if somewhat uninterested face when you're absolutely dying out of interest and curiosity inside, betraying such feelings puts power in the other person's hand.

Albus Potter, was undoubtedly a master of all these arts.

But he was also a Potter, and by that blasted science known as genetics, he like all other Potters had a spark. Simmering, but a spark nonetheless. Of rebellion, of pride. So when Katrina-Carlotta du Hunt spoke in that voice of hers, of snakes and fear, Albus looked into her eyes and knew exactly what she was doing. Tempting him, drawing him out, dropping fascinating little hints that implied everything and meant nothing. By staying, he would be doing what she wanted. He was curious yes, but the self-preservation instinct was strong. He knew what he had to do was leave. Now.

But pride. Blasted pride. His voice was soft, quiet enough to match hers, but she would be a greater fool than he estimated if she mistook it for submissiveness, "I do not fear you Madam Hunt. Those that do, fear for their lives, their safety, their wellbeing. I care for neither."

What I do fear is the knowledge you may possess. But of course, Albus did not voice it. She was standing in front of him now, blocking his way, and Albus smiled the faint smile which hid no mirth. "Everyone cares for their reputation. Without a name, an identity, you are nothing." Good. Let her think that. She didn't need to know that his family, estranged as they were, still meant more than opinions of faceless people. Albus had no intention of letting anything about him getting back to them. Which meant, he needed to know what exactly this woman knew about him, to see if she posed any danger to him.

Albus took a barely perceptible breath. It was like the finest of chess games, a dance of manipulation and deception. He needed to step in. He gestured to a corner booth, almost chivalrously, and murmured, "Civil discussion it is."

((Albus is killing me! He's too good for little ol' me to keep up with!))

He was blank. Blank. She couldn't get anything off his face. The most miniscule flashes of irritation, yes, but that was all. And those could mean anything, considering that the words the witch had spoken were far from kind.

Perhaps, just perhaps, she had underestimated him. The woman didn't like admitting to that, but it was important to be aware of one's faults. After being wound up so tight, it was impossible to keep herself from throwing her head back and laughing at Albus's comment on reputations. "Really now? You're talking like a politician Mr. Potter. People can only ever be what they allow themselves to be, and often that requires leaving behind the views of others," the witch stated this as a fact, thinking of herself as an example. The woman figured that such a statement would apply to Albus as well, and so turned her head to leave him with his thoughts.

As she did so, Katrina-Carlotta wondered why Albus was afraid of her. The dark witch had purposely not responded to his statement, but was still curious. His voice had been soft when responding, like hers. That dangerous soft that made one think of a wild cat stalking it's prey. Most raised their voice when riled. The mystery of Albus Potter seemed never-ending.

Katrina-Carlotta nodded at the wizard, and made her way to the booth Albus had gestured towards. Finally, the witch had been almost worried there for a moment. Sliding elegantly into the booth, the woman raised her wand to draw the curtain and ensure it couldn't be opened from the outside. Pointing her wand at her face once more, her glamour was dispelled.