Dwelling in Possibility

Katrina-Carlotta stood outside the main doors to D'Eath manor, and inhaled deeply. The cold evening air swept down into her lungs like a cool, soothing balm. The woman had always loved winter. Raising her wand high above her head with her left hand, the woman murmured the incantation for the Dark Mark. Smiling up at the skull now floating ominously in the sky, the witch turned on her heel and re-entered the doors to the Manor.

Slowly making her way towards the room that the Death Eaters always met in, the assassin absently wondered who would turn up first. Lorcan was already in the building of course, as was Zada, but when one excluded those two it was far harder to guess.

Stepping into the familiar room, the dark witch smiled at Lorcan. No words needed to be exchanged between the two of them, they were both aware of what this meeting would be about. Katrina-Carlotta couldn't help but find the whole situation terribly ironic. If someone had told her a year ago that she'd be where she was now, well, she'd have slaughtered them on the spot. She'd never had much tolerance for the completely insane.

Sitting herself down next to the D'Eath, the dark witch twirled her wand absently between the fingers of her right hand. She really did hope that the Death Eaters she'd called got there soon. There were important things that needed to be discussed. It really wouldn't do for the group to break out into mass confusion. It was the last thing that she needed, considering how busy she was.

Isla smiled as she felt a sensation she hadn't felt in a very long time. The dark mark on her left arm burned, it wasn't a painful burn, but rather a gentle reminder it was there, and a meeting had been called. She grasped her wand in her left hand and apparated on the spot to outside D'Eath Manor, leaving the muggle business man she was in a meeting with shocked and confused.

She held her left arm out as she passsed through the gates, and strode up the sidewalk. Upon entering the Manor she nodded to Du Hunt and D'Eath and took a seat near Du Hunt on the left side of the long table.

He'd been scratching his fingernails for the entire walk back from The Leaky Cauldron to Borgin and Burkes. Henry had thought, perhaps maybe, going for a drink of firewhiskey would distract him from the trial and that yearning itch at the back of his neck: sugar and spice.

The death eater had been jumping back and forth from each drug and was sitting on the fence on which of the two substances was his drug of choice. Ever since failing to murder Hallie the rookie had swung more towards the spice. It packed a heavier punch, lasted for longer but the downer. Now that was the killer.

After and hour sitting staring at the bottom of his empty glass, sat alone besides a dusty barrel Henry's addicted came creeping back. First it started at his finger tips, which were raised to his lips. Unlocking the door to the shop where he was staying - his parents had kicked him out since discovering he was on trial - Henry froze. A burning sensation spread throughout his arm. It wasn't painful, nor was it refreshing it left him anchored to the ground.

The dark mark had only been acquired recently. Usually it was only given to the close circle, usually, but for Henry it hadn't been the rule. Lately Katrina-Carlotta had been using Yewbeam to do the tiresome, loathsome, boring old tasks she despised. In other words: the petty dirty work that needed to be done. As a result it had seemed necessary to stain Henry with the mark for a quick calling. How else was he supposed to respond to her summoning?

Knowing the mark would take him to the right place, no doubt Death Manor, Henry turned on the spot. Crack.

It haunted his soul. The iron gates that could only be passed by those baring the dark mark, the albino peacocks were somewhat spooky under the dark curtains of night and the memories the manor provoked - the time Henry confessed his failure. A shiver. Henry didn't want to think about that.

Knowing to simply walk straight in Henry did so, scratching his fingernails in a yearn for a high as he did so. Hesitating for a moment Henry watched as a door closed, that had to be the right room? Yewbeam wasn't used to the manor layout, being a new recruit, and he certainly didn't want to walk in a room unwanted.

Going with his gut and fighting back the fear of walking into God knows what Henry pushed open the door, his heart fluttering slightly. The death eater was pleasantly thankful, if you could say pleasantly, after all who would be thankful to be in the same room as Du Hunt. Half the death eaters feared her.

'Evening.' He muttered lowly before taking a seat two down from Blackthorn and Du Hunt. Henry didn't want to be too close.

Mad. Mad mad mad mad.......

Absolutely, raving mad. Nutters. Lunatic. Off his rockers. Lovegood. If there were any more synonyms for someone who wasn't quite in possession of his faculties, or his right senses: Albus would have applied that to himself too. These words were too few, too small, to describe the enormity of the insanity that must have possessed him to have committed an action like this.

Correction: commit. Present tense. He hadn't quite gone through with what he had planned. Yet.

But he was still standing outside Malfoy.....no correction again, d'Eath Manor. Tight, fitted woolen trousers, a black cashmere jumper, black loafers, a long, grey travelling cloak whose turned-up collars cloaked half of his face. The other half, the Glamour took care of.

Mad, yes. But there had been nothing equal to the liquid adrenaline that had raced past his veins, bubbling and frothing and taking control, when he had been standing bare-bodied in front of his full length mirror at home, wand raised to his face. The wizards and witches who were going to present there would be skilled in deceit....in possession of beady, gimlet-like eyes that missed nothing, searching, paring for deception. His enchantment had to be equal, and better than it. It was a challenge, one after so long, one that made his mind recoil in guilt and his blood sing in exhilaration. Like the seconds counting away before a Quidditch match......when you could hear your heart thump away faintly in your ears, the distant roar of the crowd either cheering or booing your name, the whistle of robes cutting through the air, the light gleaming off the Snitch as its wings tasted the air, the whooshing of the Quaffle, the promise of breathlessness and no place for qualms. Except now, the prices which hung at stake wasn't humiliation or defeat at the hands of a school-rivalry. It was life, or death. Plain and simple.

Subtle changes he thought, as his wand traced over with a barely-there tremor across his face, were the key. His hair was made two tones lighter, a little more straight and set, till it ceased to resemble the unruly Potter mop. A slight adjustment to the jaw-line, altered from its normal streamlined shape to something a bit softer, and less defined. A sharper nose, a narrower forehead, higher cheekbones. Green eyes shifting slowly into something less intense, lighter....a pale, blue-green pastel shade, reminiscent of the sea. And there he was, staring at someone unrecognisable in the mirror, essentially him and yet completely not. He pulled his hood over his head, and Disapparated.

And came to where he was now; yes, still standing outside the gates of d'Eath Manor. Katrina-Carlotta had much earlier extended the invitation to a task, which he had given an ambiguous response to. She had also mentioned the Death Eater meeting, in an off-hand manner. She hadn't asked him to come outright. Still, Albus stretched his hand outwards, breathing in, allowing the fingertips to skim across the iron bars: seeking wards.

There were none. Or rather, they'd been left open for certain people, just in case.

She wouldn't expect him to come here, obviously. But Albus still remembered the Dark witch who had stood inside a house in Layabout Lane several nights prior, concern for him openly shimmering in her eyes. He had come here, for that witch. Besides, he never quite had seen her surprised before.

He pushed open the gates -supposed to be Unplottable and unfindable yes, but not to the right people- and walked through the grounds, boots crunching on the smooth gravel. Reached the main door, stretched another hand out and allowed his palm to settle across the surface of the two entwined, silver snakes wrapped around the doorknob. A single, sibilant, almost caressing hiss. "Open."

When the doors flung open, and his eyes flicked across the dark hallway, Albus became aware of the goosebumps littering his cold skin. Power, even your own- unused, uncalled for- could do that to you. He still wasn't used to speaking in the languages of snakes.

He walked swiftly across rooms, up stairs and down corridors, knowing where to go, attributing it to sixth sense, and some part unwilling to acknowledge that the sense dealt with the ability to sense magic, nestling in some part of the house. Feel it out. Dark magic.

The moment when the door slammed open, and his own, Glamoured eyes, sea-green to all in the room except the du Hunt, met her own- was rather anticlimatic. An unreadable, fixated, compelling stare. Happy to see me?

There was a man, perhaps a little younger than him, seated two seats down from her. Albus sat himself between them, all the time, aware. Aware that his arm was covered, as it was supposed to be. Aware of his wand vibrating in his pocket. Aware of the comfortable, slick slide of the enchantment resting against his face. Aware that everyone in the room possessed the Mark.

Except him.

Beneath a thin sheen of rain she walked, drifting amongst the deceased plants and stifled shrubbery, inhaling in through her mouth and nose the salty-sweet air that had left the sea, fogbound inland.

The fire began a mere spark where the prongs lapped at her wrist and it grew, rising into life with a dark, unforgivable flame as the call was made, direct and shattering, demanding them all.

At her side, a man she had once looked upon fondly tore his hands across her arms. The glamour charms were clawed away, drawing lines of blood across her milky skin. The Dark Mark stared up, the stark coal clear for their eyes and on his arm there too laid the mirrored image. On his neck lay numbers not so different from her own.

His hand turned, rubbing away the blood in a tender motion, staining her skin scarlet. He lifted his gaze, dark and scalding to her own, quaking, terrified stare. His head inclined and she wetted her lips with her tongue as her chest heaved, her thundering heart beneath. They had to honour the call.

Through the mire, another figure stalked and another, aided by cane. Three wore the brand. The fourth bore the mind. One had the mind to tip her hair to one side, his fingertips alighting upon the runes in her skin as the spells broke all over, stealing away her safety, her health, her façade.

Caught between them, the Rookwood woman was taken by her kith and kin, rumbled away with a crack of thunder above and into the air, disappearing only to reassemble on the gravel path before a home she remembered as a child, in a more careful light.

Inside, the light was crackling in ancient braziers. The marble was as familiar as the rooms they traipsed through, abandoning sodden cloaks and hoods until suits were revealed, tailored and cut and crimped to perfection. Two heads of dark hair, one an elder mirror to his younger, the young calling to her soul as husband. The third a murkier darkness, cousin and friend.

It was the hand of Theodore that took her back. His finger twitched her hair back and nudged at her jaw. As though a weight was left to fall, the smirk appeared, the fear masked away, locked and hidden from sight. Ahead it was Augustus and Kendall who strode, dispersing into the room in which their faction had gathered.

Four of them. Four of the Purest of blood. Bowed to a vampire’s call. Or that of a woman. An old friend.

In the shadows, other familiar faces dwelled, watching furtively for the change, for their place to become clear. Blood. Family. All as guilty and cursed as the ground upon which they stood.

“Madam Du Hunt,” Theodore bowed, displaying ironic drama for her. “May the Gods bless us all for our timely arrival.”

No, Athena thought derisively as she took in the faces. The two women. The two men. Her family. Bless us for what they are to ask us to do.

Henry heard the door open, although he didn't listen to whoever had entered. The death eater simply remained with his gaze down scratching his fingernails. After this meeting he would definitely be hunting down some sort of spare money to purchase himself some sugar. It was surprising how he could keep on affording the drugs, given the fact his wage wasn't much and half of it went onto rent to the own of Borgin and Burkes where he was staying.

I wish everyone would hurry up so we can get started and leave.

Alas, his wish came true. The sound of multiple footsteps entered the room, however it was only at the sound of a male greeting his leader that pricked his ears. That voice he recognised. Henry didn't need to lift up his head or turn his gaze towards the newcomer to know the voice belonged to Theodore Rookwood.

What on earth was he doing here? Was he a death eater? That didn't make sense because otherwise he would have known about the hostage of Hallie? Unless he was aware and changed his mind? Maybe he had a personal agenda for Henry? That wouldn't make sense though? Unless Hallie still loved him? Yes, and Theodore was jealous? No. That wasn't right either.

Henry scratched harder against his finger nails.

Do I say something? No. Will he sit besides him? Hopefully not. What is he doing here? How long has he been a death eater? Did Malfoy know? How come Malfoy hadn't warned him beforehand? Where was Malfoy? Had Theodore replaced Malfoy as a death eater? What on earth was going on?

The thoughts snowballed faster and faster through his mind, matching his increased speed of scratching. Henry was in a panic, a confused state. There was no way he would be able to get through this meeting, would Theodore withdraw his wand and curse him halfway through? Would Henry find himself, at the end, lying paralytic on the grande table? Was this all one big game to the death eaters? Had his punishment for failing to kill Hallie not ended? Clearly it hadn't.

The patriarch of the D'Eath family had seen it coming--the need to take a stand, and when he and Katrina had reviewed the choices, the options had been few.  

He sat at his place in the meeting room, sipping a neat scotch, and feeling comfortable in taking a back seat.  He was back up and support for Katrina, but this was her task--to lead.   As the group began to arrive, he greeted each one with a silent nod, not wanting to draw attention to himself.  He was also watching them however.  

The Death Eaters was typically a band of power hungry folks who didn't understand a whale of a lot about getting their sights off themselves, and that could sometimes cause Lorcan to be a bit careful about them. Lorcan likened it to leaving an adolescent at home by himself with no rules.

He said nothing, and he kept a rather flat, all business look on his face, but he couldn't help wondering about each of them, as they entered, "And just what have you been up to since we last heard from you?"

One of the women he would have trusted the least with unsupervised behaviors was actually the least of his concerns at the moment.  His lovely wife Zada was, surprisingly, taking full advantage of being the lady of Death Manor and had felt no pull to work.  She'd been content leaving that entirely to Du Hunt.

Well, and the fact that Zada and Lorcan were about a month away from welcoming their first child together had certainly kept Zada home more.  Fortunately for Lorcan, Zada had been unusually blessed to not have many negative side effects of pregnancy with her first child.  Lord, how he hated all of that morning sickness and crap. His other women were moaners.  It was refreshing not having that ugliness this time. The only thing Zada hadn't really liked was the loss of her trim figure, and she loathed waddling about.

And, finding that bit too superficial for even his ego, he had found great relish in teasing her about it. "Suck it up, Zada!" had been his response when she'd bemoaned all her beautiful sleek winter clothes she had to do without this year in favor of something much more "tent-like," as she called it.  The evil glare he'd earned from her had only evoked rolling laughter from him.

She was there tonight, in the slightly chilly meeting room, seated a distance away from him, drinking tea, envying his drink, and downplaying the whole 8 month baby bump by choosing a rather slim fitting black dress and a practical black silk pashmina draped around her.  

He made a light tug on the bellpull not far from him, and when his house elf entered, he said quietly, "Bring the tea." The elf hurried off to bring the large tea service and put it on the sideboard so that those present could choose between something to warm up with or something more substantial from the liquor bottles there.

"Good evening," Lorcan finally spoke. He looked at Katrina. "Whenever you're ready, Ms. Du Hunt. The floor is yours."

Scorpius Malfoy had been spending some quality time with his youngest sister when it happened. The Dark Mark alerting him that he'd been called. Despite usually being rather eager to attend such meetings, the wizard couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed. He'd spent so little time with Francesca lately, and had been looking forwards to what should have been a relaxing evening for almost a week.

His sister was smarter than even he gave her credit for however, having spotted his slight wince and immediacy deducing the reason for it. "Go, you'll see me next week," she'd told him softly, face carefully blank. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, the wizard jumped into the Honeyduke's floo without another word to his sibling.

The two of them had never talked about his affiliation with the Death Eaters, meaning that Scorpius had no idea what she thought about it. The man figured that Cesca understood though, considering that they'd grown up in the same household.

Stepping out of D'Eath Manor's main fireplace, Scorpius smirked slightly. He wondered what father's opinion of the Manor's new ownership was. Draco had refused to talk about the subject, clearly still bitter that his children hadn't grown up in the same building he had. Setting off at a fast stride, the wizard quickly reached his destination.

The blonde entered the room just as Lorcan D'Eath addressed Katrina-Carlotta, and he relaxed inwardly upon the realization that he hadn't missed anything important. Sliding silently into the seat next to Henry, the man nodded to Katrina-Carlotta before carefully scanning the crowd.

The Malfoy found it a little odd that Rivah Trenton wasn't there, having never before beaten her to a meeting, but he quickly shrugged it off. Scorpius knew the identity of everyone in the room, but one. Scorpius's sharp eyes focused upon a man with high cheekbones and blue-green eyes. There was something oddly familiar about the wizard, the way he held himself ringing a distant bell, but Scorpius was unable to figure out what he recognized the man from. Figuring he'd worry about it later, he focused his attention back on Katrina-Carlotta just as she began to speak.

Katrina-Carlotta greeted each wizard as they entered. Some Death Eaters got nods, others got small smiles, and Theodore had even received an amused "indeed" in response to his dramatic proclamation.

One man, however, received none of these. Albus Potter had gotten a slight widening of the assassin's eyes, before the dark witch carefully wiped all signs of surprise from her face. The man was obviously under a glamor, but that hardly mattered to the assassin. He'd come. Katrina-Carlotta had hinted at it more than once, but the woman wasn't exactly expecting Albus to take her seriously an actually attend the meeting. She was glad that he had. The Death Eater would probably have to tell Lorcan the man's identity after the meeting, but the woman doubted that the D'Eath would have a problem with it.

Leaning forwards to capture the attention of everyone in the room, Katrina-Carlotta wet her lips and began to speak. "Much has happened since we last met," she stated, not bothering with trivial welcomes, "the Marriage Law, for one." The witch paused here for a few seconds, carefully surveying the faces and reactions of her fellow Death Eaters. Hopefully, they would all be on the same page with this matter.

"We need it removed, as swiftly as possible. With this law in place, purebloods will be all but extinct within two generations. Sooner than that, if we're unlucky," Katrina-Carlotta informed them in a smooth but icy voice. While the woman cared little about blood purity herself, she was aware how much it matted to many others in her presence.

"Furthermore, it will negatively affect both the education of the next generation, and the English economy," the dark witch added, aware that many had not yet come to understand all the implications of the law.

"Due to this, we need Robert Lupin back in the Minister of Magic position," Katrina-Carlotta explained, tone making it clear that disagreement with this statement would not be taken lightly. The witch figured that everyone in the room was aware of what had happened to Mr. Lupin, and therefore found no need to explain what had been all over the newspapers for quite some time. In accordance to the Daily Prophet, Mr. Lupin had become ill, but little else was publicly known. Katrina-Carlotta was well aware of the situation with the older wizard, having spoken to his daughter Khaat on the matter.

"Robert Lupin would have never allowed the law to pass had he been in office. If we have any chance of getting it repealed, we need Mr. Lupin back in power," the European explained, words clear and crisp. "Any questions?" Katrina-Carlotta asked, tone deceptively innocent even as her dark eyes pierced into the others seated at the table.

Rivah Trenton had gotten… held up, at work. There had been a not-so-little problem with a griffin that the witch had been attending to when her Dark Mark alerted her to that fact that a meeting had been called. The woman had cursed, causing her employee's to send her shocked looks, as Rivah was always professional at work.

The blonde rarely got involved in field-work these days, as being Head of a Department involved far more paperwork than anything else. However, when the problem was called in, there was only one other capable person in the office due to how late it was. Gritting her teeth, Rivah had figured her paperwork could wait. She'd been a beast specialist a few years back, and was still qualified for such situations.

Griffin finally taken care of, the witch immediately apperated to D'Eath Manor. Practically running through the halls, the witch arrived at the door of the meeting room, only to hear Katrina-Carlotta's voice through the cracks. The dark-haired witch seemed to be listing reasons why the Marriage Law needed to be removed. Patiently waiting outside the door until the other woman was done speaking, Rivah listened to the European's words.

The blonde felt herself agreeing wholeheartedly. She loathed the new law, and wanted it gone as soon as possible. Besides, Robert Lupin hadn't been a bad Minister. He was a light wizard, but slightly less obnoxious about it than most. Slipping through the door as quietly as possible, Rivah slid into the chair closest to the door.

The woman sent an apologetic look in the direction of Katrina-Carlotta, but as far as excuses went "I was wrestling a rabid griffin" was a pretty damn good one. Rivah doubted that she would need to say a word however, her appearance telling the story just as well. Her hair was slightly mussed, and there was a small smudge of dirt on the left side of her jaw bone. The bottom of her blouse was torn, clearly by claws or talons, and there was a small stain of the creature's blood on the thigh of her right pant leg. If she'd seen herself a the mirror, Rivah probably would have freaked.