Meeting Through the Snow

She should have known better. She really should. Katrina-Carlotta had left England for a few months. Well, perhaps it was more than a few. An handful of months, then. The witch hadn't been too worried, after all, the Death Eaters had been around for years and years before she'd even entered the picture. What harm could a little time away really do, the woman had asked herself. Well, now she was back, and the harm as apparent.

The organization hadn't collapsed in her absence, nothing so dramatic, but it wasn't exactly thriving either. Katrina-Carlotta was almost glad she'd been drawn back to the island by ridiculous stories of unmelting snow. It turned out that the stories were are little more truthful than she had hoped, but no less ridiculous. These types of things only ever happened when the woman wasn't around.

The ranks of the Death Eaters were smaller than she'd ever seen them, and something about that set her on edge. The witch was probably being paranoid, Katrina-Carlotta wasn't afraid to admit in the safety of her own mind that she could be rather unreasonable, but something felt off. Perhaps it was her woman's intuition, or perhaps something far more sinister. Either way, the European couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming. The Death Eaters needed more members.

Stepping outside the Manor, Katrina-Carlotta thrust her wand into the sky. Snowflakes landing softly upon her hair, the witch called the other Death Eaters to her. They needed to have a meeting.

Mason knew and saw all what have happened in the people lives and around here. But he couldn't do anything, he was jusr a boy who had graduated many months ago. He was powerless. He heard about Death Eater meeting and he decided to show up.

So boy walked into the Manor and then to headquarters. It was his first time here so it took a little time to find right room. "Hello," he said to person, who was there. Former slytherin wasn't sure who exactly the woman was but he was sure that ahe was some kind of leader since she was probably the one who send out that meeting takes place.

Scorpius Malfoy had enough problems in his life, no really, he did. The absolute last thing he needed was to be draw into some Death Eater fiasco. Upon feeling his mark burn, signifying the calling of a meeting, the blond could only help there wouldn't be any bad news. There was only so much strife a man could handle before giving up completely and moving to Castelmoron-d'Albret. Despite the rather amusing name, the tiny French village was rather quaint, and a place Scorpius was sure to be left alone. Not that the man had ever looked at properties there or anything.

Striding into the usual meeting room just behind a younger man who looked vaguely familiar, Scorpius greeted Katrina-Carlotta with a slow nod of his head. The dark witch scared him, even still, but her power and accomplishments were more than worthy of his respect.

Sliding into a seat in the center of the long table, the blond scrunched his nose at the almost empty room. It wasn't often that the ex-Slytherin was one of the first to arrive at these meetings. Scorpius could only hope that everyone else would turn up soon, so that they could get on with whatever Katrina-Carlotta had deemed important enough to call a meeting over.

Louis Weasley would more like to be eaten by a dragon then to go to one of Death Eaters meeting. Only seeing the Death Mansion caused unpleasant tingling so it's needles to say he that he wanted to leave that place as soon as possible. He apparated not far from the building, thought he could apparated in front of it he liked when he can study environment before going there, to hornet's nest, so he started walking towards the entrance gripping a wand in his pocket. Listening the sound of his steps he opened the door without knocking and slid in.

There are two reasons why he hated being here.

First – He never wanted to be Death Eater in the first place. He was raised in the family of the Order members and everything they taught him was that Death Eaters are bad, evil, and that they need to be stopped. Regardless to that, he still joined them without thinking when Corrine asked him to help her, he thought he knew what he's into, oh, he couldn't be more wrong.

The second reason came right after Corrine disappeared, he needed to get out, as soon as possible, but that wasn't as easy as he thought it will be, actually that's not easy at all. However he couldn't let them suspect anything, his relationship with them needs to be smooth, that's the only way he could earn their trust and probably, leave them, based on that, he needed to be here today no matter how much he wanted to be elsewhere.

He silently entered the room, nodding his head to greet them and sat.

This could be interesting.

Clipping his son around the back of the head for good measure after receiving the still humiliating call, Augustus Rookwood apparated from Rookwood Manor, buried deep within Sligo County in Ireland, and into what was once one of the most celebrated places in all of the country. Malfoy Manor. Only not, anymore. Upon entering, he took a moment to glance into the parlour where he could remember as a boy fluffing his lines before Abraxas Malfoy who looked at him with a steely eye and directed him to his wife who admired openly the sweetness of Raghnall Rookwood’s youngest son. There was nothing more that the purer of blood loathed than usurpers and those dirty vampires certainly qualified and Augustus loathed it.

“Father,” Kendall called out snipply, folding his arms over his chest, tucking his silver hand under his arm. Augustus turned, glancing at the man with an idle sense of disappointment, his gaze falling to the additional piece of hardware with which Kendall had been awarded upon losing his hand rather comically at the hands of his former wife. Augustus could almost taste the tension that would follow when Athena finally arrived, if she wasn’t there already, and no doubt his nephew would be in tow, Theodore’s allegiances as thick as water until it came to the Goyle woman. Augustus almost wanted to whine but suffered a look that displayed he would be on his way, knowing he could not avoid the meeting forever.

So, it was into the dining room of the formerly Malfoy Manor that the two Rookwood men walked. Kendall studiously sat as far away from his father as possible, settling down next to a boy that Augustus could not confess he really recognised. He ignored them both all the same and settled himself down to the left of their leader whom he had a bone to pick with anyway. He glanced about, making a note of the faces of those who sat there. His gaze lingered a little too long on the boy – good God they were all boys, it seemed – that he felt he recognised somewhat. He had the air of something familiar and though he wanted to say no, his gut still churned and said ‘Weasley.’ Then of course there was the Malfoy heir, a bitter irony.

“Let us not linger long, Katrina-Carlotta,” Augustus addressed the woman in an undertone, still eyeing the room. “I do believe we must be inviting Hogwarts students, yet.”

True to form, that evening Theodore Rookwood turned up on the doorstep of his former cousin-in-law, the enigmatic Athena Rookwood Goyle. She said nothing when she opened the door, merely levelling him with a sad look that he mirrored for both would be leaving their children that night. He offered her his hand and she slid it into his with a demure sort of gesture that he knew belonged somewhere else, a million miles away from the place he would be taking her. They were anomalies at the manor, he with no loyalties but to those he loved and her bearing the scars and the marks of a woman whose faith had let her down. She would spend the evening rubbing at her neck, he knew, feeling along the raised, pebbled skin for the runic-numeric numbers that, beneath her glamour charms, told of her Azkaban-worthy crimes.

They shared that. Only, he had not yet been caught and struck for it.

With her hand folded into the crook of his elbow, Theodore wrapped his cloak around the woman’s thin frame before apparating them, squeezing through the thin tunnel before depositing them on the grounds of the manor, scaring a peacock which ran off at the sight of them. Theodore made to release Athena but she kept her hold upon him, glancing at him with a firm look before beginning to walk, guiding him as much as he her, up the path towards the manor itself. Inside, it was bitterly cold as though disused. Further in, the lapping heat of the dining room warmed their cheeks and pinched them to life once more. Inside, the Death Eaters had gathered.

Theodore spotted Kendall first and his lip curled, his arm tightening around Athena. She ignored him as though he was merely furniture and the Rookwood man couldn’t help but smirk, especially at the look on the other man’s face. It was to Augustus that they took, sitting down beside him, Theodore only partially left in discomfort by the proximity to their leader. He pressed into his mind, setting up better shields against any penetration and he mentally reached out to Athena, only to be furiously rebuffed in a manner that told him she had exactly done the same. Both had things to hide of course, and crucially: people to protect. They would lie to their mothers if it meant that their children and their friends would be safe.

Athena reached forward, her long fingers feeling for the scotch decanter. She took out four glasses, pushing them across the table first to Katrina-Carlotta, then to Augustus, then to Theodore and lastly placing hers before her. Flicking her fingers, she directed the decanter to fill each glass and then set it back down, lowering her hand to the glass, satisfied that she had something to hold. Theodore and Augustus both moved at the same time, lifting the glasses to their mouths, and they side-eyed each other, an accord between them, it seemed. They had everything to play for.

"Hello everyone," Katrina-Carlotta greeted smoothly. Her eyes swept quickly over the other Death Eaters gathered before her, swiftly cataloging their strengths, weaknesses, and usefulness as she always did. Most of the faces she knew, but there was one she didn't, and the European witch was pleased for it. At least recruitment hadn't completely stagnated in her absence.

The one wizard she didn't recognize at all looked young enough to be freshly out of Hogwarts, reminding the woman that she'd need to be in contact with the Dark Followers soon. It was important, Katrina-Carlotta had found, to maintain a tight relationship with them in order to ensure optimum membership later.

The attendance of Scorpius Malfoy was certainly no surprise, nor was Rivah Trenton and Marie Voisard, the two witches having taken seats next to each other. Katrina-Carlotta quirked her lips minutely at Marie, please to see her close friend again after all these months. The Weasley though, he was a surprise. Katrina-Carlotta tried not to make practice of judging people completely on their parentage, but knew she would be keeping an extra close eye on this one all the same.

The Rookwoods and a certain Miss Goyle were also in attendance, but the dark witch wasn't even going to touch that one. She was still slightly sore with Augustus from the whole Khaat Lupin debacle, and the family politics between them all was nothing short of frustrating for Katrina-Carlotta. After all, it was hard enough leading a group of dark magic practitioners without half of them despising the very sight of each other.

"I'm not sure if you've noticed," the woman started wryly, "but our numbers have shrunk in my absence. This will not do. We need more Death Eaters. You all should be recruiting. Friends, family, strangers, I don't care- as long as you don't expose yourselves to the wrong people and get in trouble with the authorities." Katrina-Carlotta watched with amused fascination as snow continued to pile up, flakes gathering on the heads and shoulders of the gathered witches and wizards.

Nott Manor was certainly a lot quieter now that Alexander was living separately with Isadora Malfoy and her daughters had returned to Hogwarts. There was the house elf to keep her company whenever she got bored of her husband trying to get her into bed or the house cat twisting itself through her legs. Most of the time Pansy spent elsewhere, digging up dirt looking for stories.

As of later her journalistic flair had fallen from grace. No longer was she the first to get the story, the first to shock the world, the first to impress the editor of the Daily Prophet. Perhaps that was to do with the fact that the Lupins no longer needed her. During the time they were in hiding Pansy could rely on them to get an inside scoop for she sat on the fence: a death eater and a puppet of the Lupins, persuaded to write whatever they wanted the world to hear. Now they were back in power and Pansy was of no use to them. Instead she'd taken to writing for witch weekly, following the wizarding celebrities, writing articles about love affairs and divulging secrets the witch discovered beneath her invisibility cloak. Entertainment writing was fun, she'd certainly gathered an audience but she wanted to return to the big leagues.

The pair had sat down for dinner and Pansy was lightly brushing off her husbands questions of where she was last night. I was doing some research, working on a story, what more is there to say? What her husband didn't know was that his death eater wife had found herself in a twenty four year olds bed whom she met at Satans earlier in the evening. Pansy never was one for honesty and she was glad when a burning sensation rippled across the skin of her forearm: She was being called to a meeting.

Dropping their napkins Pansy and her husband apparated to D'Eath Manor. The manor brought back memories for Pansy. She'd spent half her childhood here at a pure blood party of some sorts. Pansy would hide with Vincent, Greggory and Draco, spying on their parents and listening to things that they shouldn't. That was where her love for Draco began and the memories only strengthened at the sight of Scorpius Malfoy.

Entering the room ahead of her husband Pansy seated herself besides the blonde, only noticing after she was sat that her own son, Alexander, was across the table from her.

'Evening Mother, Father.' He acknowledged with the tilt of his head as his fingers swilled the wine glass in his palm before taking a sip before turning his attention to the witch at the head of the table who re-introduced herself and commented about their lack of numbers.

It was true. Pansy, nor Alexander, could deny it as they like their companions gazed around the room to see who was still present. One of the most obvious disappearences to Pansy was Henry Yewbeam. Sadly Pansy wasn't the first to come across the fact that his body had been found dead in his Gringotts vault and, upon submitting her report to the editor, discovered the story was already set for publishing.

'For a start we could invite all of our spouses.' Pansy stated, her eyes finding her own son where an empty seat sat besides him. One day Isadora would fill that spot no doubt, understanable as she was only a student, but that wasn't an excuse for the other death eaters who left their wives, husbands and children at home whilst she hauled her weedy husband around who was only good at one thing: being a lawyer. Not that that was a too much of a blow, it did pay towards her luxurious lifestyle after all.

The thought of having to leave the comfort of her flat for a meeting was quite a bitter one for Alana. She had spent her day inside as the falling snow accumulated. She detested snow, it would ruin her expensive shoes, for one thing, but it did leave the bars bare at night, which was probably the only good thing about it. She found herself snuggled in at least three blankets planted in front of the fireplace with a glass of sangria- she couldn't think of anything more perfect. But when her mark started to burn she knew that she had to listen to it, as much as she didn't want to.

In a reluctant fashion, Lana put herself together in a form-fitting black dress and black pumps as she smoked a cigarette and finished her wine. The air outside was bitter cold with snowflakes gently falling toward the ground where they piled on top of each other, creating a mess of white mountains. Quickly, Alana apparated to Death manor for the meeting. She held her cloak close to her body as she approached the doors, thankful that inside promised warmth and more alcohol.

She entered the room without a knock or a greeting, and found a seat next to the Malfoy boy; she did not know him well, but he looked equally as unhappy to be there as she was, and she was comforted by that. She fixed herself another glass of sweet red wine before Katrina-Carlotta began to speak. She was a beautiful woman, Alana thought, but she was also quite terrifying. She was capable of great things, and that put fear into Lana's heart- all the more reason for her to admire the leader.

Knowing that she hadn't recruited anybody, Alana sat quietly in her chair. Another woman said something about spouses after Katrina-Carlotta, her name was Prissy, or something of the sort, but Lana wasn't so sure. She seemed like a powerful witch as well, and she agreed with the girl's point. Soon the seventh year Dark Followers would graduate, and would likely join the Death Eaters. That did not solve the problem of now, and Katrina-Carlotta was accurate about the lack of members. She was usually quiet during meetings, only speaking when absolutely necessary, or if she has a brilliant point. But now, she was stumped. She knew that she had been lacking, and she had no words for that. Rather, she waited for someone else to acknowledge the other woman's comment, she was sure someone would.

A plaintive look wafted in the direction of Athena and underneath the table, Augustus Rookwood extended his leg and gave a swift kick between his son’s legs. The young man clenched his jaw, trying to swallow the whine of pain that threatened to broach past his lips. He composed himself, scowling across at his father whose hand came to rest over the witch’s, a gesture which is nephew watched idly out of the corner of his eye over sips of the whisky. Athena looked up from her own drink and fixed her shining slate gaze upon his face. Augustus took a steadying breath in through his nose and brought his glass to his mouth. Her long, icy fingers curled in around his and he swallowed, hard as a stabbing sensation of hope went through him, sliding up his spine.

His wife he’d long let go of, though her memory was still etched on the back of her eyelids. His children? Well, all he had to show for it was Kendall, a poor shadow and imitation of the boy he had once hoped would make up for his father’s mistakes. He had no honest knowledge of what had become of his eldest daughter but of his youngest daughters … well, they were strangers to him, weren’t they? The Potter was more of a father to them than their own flesh, their own blood – and Athena Goyle their mother. It made the Rookwood’s stomach turn. He almost wanted to kick Kendall again, as though he was somehow the root of all of their familial problems in the last few years; when really, it was Augustus himself.

“Our spouses ought to be protected, Pansy,” Augustus intoned coolly. “This is not the country club. We do not play polo and discuss business. It’s not the kind of place our wives and partners really belong.”

Augustus had always been rather adamant with Cordelia about that. She’d always wanted to see and to understand what it was that her husband did. It was really a question of what her husband did not do. There was more blood on Augustus Rookwood’s hands than not and he did not want to mire her skin with any of that which coloured his own. He could see it in the cheeks of his former daughter-in-law and it twitched at the hands of his nephew. His son was the greenest of them all, bearing the scars of the ire of those stronger than him. It was not a place he would have wished upon Athena. It was not a place upon which he would have wished anyone he loved. But, alas, they needed wands.

“However,” he turned his gaze to Kat-Car, “the Lady Nott has a point. We do need all the help we can get. It might be prudent, in that case, to perhaps begin conversation with the Hogwarts branch. If we are to throw our loved ones under the proverbial Knight Bus, we may as well condemn our children, too.”