Peace is a Myth

Lorcan stormed back into the manor house. He was livid.  The Order had gone too far, once again.   He had always believed it was a social club of egotists that believed their own propaganda, and apparently they wanted to redefine the social order of the magical world for themselves.  Lorcan had no regard for them, and after what he had seen tonight, he was not only poised to strike at them at last, but he was itching to do it. He had the right now, and not only that but the duty to end their hypocrasy once and for all.

They had struck out at one of their own, attempting to kill the Minister, and not only had Lorcan seen it, along with exactly who had done it, but he had managed to intervene and thwart the attack. It wasn't that Lorcan was a great fan of the present ministry, but he had no personal beefs with Lupin.  In fact, Lupin's position on the key issues was a position that Lorcan found hard to argue with.  And, truth be told, there had been worse management when idiots like Gellert Grindelwald and Gideon Pierce had been left unchallenged and unchecked. 

The fact remained, though, that the Order had been unchallenged and unchecked for far too long.  And it was more than overdue for change.  He touched his wand to the dark mark on his forearm and fired the Mosmordre, summoning the Death Eaters to the manor.  If the Death Eaters were bored, he could now offer them a bit of excitement.

Ouch! That stung!

The one thing that Angelique resented about becoming a Death Eater - Well, really the one thing she resented was that she'd been forced into a position where she needed to join up with the Death Eaters. She didn't really rate them that highly, to be quite honest.

The other thing she resented was having to take the dark mark. Because it wasn't like everyone and his mother knew what that looked like by now. And it was hardly intimidating. They had gummi dark marks for sale in Weasley's for Merlin's Sake!

She apparated and found herself in a manor house, surrounded by... nobody. Angelique clenched her teeth. This was already shaping up to be hideous.

The half vampire in Lorcan liked the dark, functioned well in it, and chose often to leave some of the lights in the house dimmed so he could enjoy the shine of the moonlight through the leaded glass.  In the quiet of the night, he had heard the crack of someone apparating in, in response to his spell.


A glass of firewhiskey in his hand, he used a steady and relaxed stride down the hallway, despite how angry he was and despite how strong his desire was to see the Death Eaters take action.  His footsteps seemed to echo, breaking the silence, on the restored marble floors, the same floors that Voldemort had walked when he'd pressed Lucius Malfoy into using this house as a base of operations.  Malfoy's financial misfortune had become Lorcan's opportunity, and he had painstakingly restored the place to its full glory.

As he came into the great hall, he saw one Death Eater. Prompt.  That impressed him.  She looked confident and capable, and he was sure he saw some experience in her face.  Good.

"Thank you for being so prompt," he said to her smoothly.  "Come through to the meeting room.  You're the first to arrive. My apologies for the late hour, but I don't want this to wait."  He motioned for her towards the meeting room that was on the other side of the great room. "You may, of course, help yourself to a warm up from the liquor cabinet if you wish.  I'm sure some of the others will make themselves at home when they get here."

A wizard appeared in the hall of Malfoy Manor. His right hand was hurriedly rolling down the sleeve of his shirt. Dull eyes watched as the scarlet appeared in the material but once his cloak was donned again, the stains were forgotten as though he’d not dug the liquid from his skin in the first place. He strode down the hall, feeling the eyes of a thousand years of Pureblood history boring into him through the walls. His own family home had much of the same feel.

He forced himself to not be ungrateful but something within him rankled at the reality of serving a vampire. Nevertheless, when he strode into the meeting room he was contrite. The woman there was familiar but he couldn’t for the life of him remember her name. Lorcan was there, though – whatever kind of strange condolence that was. Theodore cleared his throat and inclined his head in a half-hearted show of respect. His heart was pulling him elsewhere, after all, but he’d made this bed. Now he had to lay in it.

“Good evening,” he uttered stiffly, his voice carrying despite his desire to remain quiet.

Another Death Eater, as pale and as anxious as the last, stepped over the threshold into the meeting room in clipped, harried footsteps. Her hands wrung together, hidden by the slightly too-long cloak she’d bought off of the rack when once upon a time she would have had it made to size. In that moment she was grateful for her rush that day. The preceding man turned a little to look at her and Athena seized forward, her hand reaching for his. She squeezed it but he merely unfurled his fingers from hers and slid his hand into the pocket of his trousers.

Closing her eyes briefly, a blink that lingered too long, she wondered where their drive had gone – their desire for politics, to demand their place in the world. Now both wanted to retire. Forever, if possible. She swallowed and glanced over to the drinks cabinet, her heart already hammering for a glass of whisky. She slipped from Theodore’s side and her long fingers wound around the handle, pulling open the cabinet door to remove the bottle. Two four fingered servings, some ice and soon the glass was in Theodore’s hand.

Their bodies sank down into chairs either side of each other and weariness was enough to hide their faintness of conviction. It’d do – and the whisky would help.

"Stop snivelling," the cold voice ripped savagely against her ear.

"I ... I ... I c-c-cant," she gasped through chattering teeth.

Sodden through to her very sinews, the witch was bloodied and exhausted, held to her feet by the fist that tugged her along by the scruff of her neck like a child or an animal. She'd been answering the call of the Order. She'd not expected to be stalked through Diagon Alley by a Death Eater. She'd not been prepared, her duelling rusty and imprecise. He'd bested her by a country mile and now, she supposed, he was bringing her to her death.

She'd always heard stories of Malfoy Manor, now owned by the D'Eaths. She'd been brought up in Hogwarts on such fodder, listening intently to Binns as he warbled through the history of magic from the beginning to end of the second wizarding war which had never formally ended in a sense. This was what was left of it - the dregs which neither faction would let be buried. And now she was going to die for it.

Augustus Rookwood forced his catch through the doors into the meeting room and Ellie crumpled onto the rug. Blood leaked from her mouth, spotting on the print, and for her trouble got another jab to the ribs from the expensive, Italian leather point of his boot. She whimpered, the sound rising pitifully into the air.

His hand seized around her hair and Ellie muted her scream as he pulled her back to her feet, thrusting her head up so that the Death Eaters gathered could see her face. Blood was trickling from her nose and the cuts on her cheeks. Bruises were already beginning to form and her hands were shaking from the Cruciatus that he'd lambasted her with when he'd finally caught her. Rookwoods liked to play with their food.

"I've caught myself a little phoenix," Augustus sneered, pointing his wand against her cheek.

Hm.  Rookwood, Goyle, Rookwood, and doormat, Lorcan thought, watching them arrive. Theodore Rookwood was nigh onto a doormat, but he had political potential. But what the devil had taken the sizzle out of Goyle? That was a sad state if he'd ever seen one.  He had hoped to be able to groom the girl into a fine, polished assassin.  But she looked like Rookwood's misery had been contagious. 


And the second Rookwood simply was masochistic enough to enjoy the suffering of someone who knew she was out powered, out numbered and out manuevered.  That took all the refinement and dignity out of all the purebloods in the room, as if the second Rookwood had just peed on the rug.  He didn't blame the girl. He blamed the Rookwood for simply being crass. Ah, well, the alpha lion usually took what he wanted, didn't he? There was only room for one alpha here, and that was Lorcan.


"Good evening," he said to them all, his voice smooth and dark, like black silk, his gaze not leaving the woman on his persian rug.  "Rookwood, you can treat your guests as you like--except when they become my guests, under my roof.  As long as she's here, she'll be treated with some sort of decorum."


He walked in between them, his back to the woman.  "Lower your wand," he said in a low threatening tone to Rookwood. "Unless, of course, you want to tangle with me. I haven't eaten tonight.  I think I could muster up a taste for Rookwood."  Lorcan didn't typically use the vampire part of his genetics, but every so often it did make for a handy threat that usually worked well to intimidate.  He lightly ran his cool fingers across Rookwood's throat until his index finger detected the slightly elevated pulse in the man's corrotid artery. "Ah. There we are.  That's the spot. Give me a reason, Augustus.  And in the mood I'm in, even a little one should suffice."

((a masochist enjoys receiving pain, a sadist enjoys giving pain, just so you know))

Angelique was immediately suspicious of anyone who was polite to her. She was an unpleasant person, so anyone who knew her had no reason to treat her kindly. She didn't drink alcohol in private, so there was no point "making herself at home", either.

She watched in uncomfortable silence - not knowing what to say to their host - as others trickled in until Augustus Rookwood pushed a bloodied up girl over the threshold. For some reason, even people much older than Angelique were always children in her mind, especially when they were bleeding.

While Lorcan took issue with Rookwood's assumption, Angelique slunk across to the girl.

"Shhh," she tried to soothe her with meaningless sounds.

"I'm a healer. I'm going to fix you up a bit, okay?" she whispered.

Augustus clenched his jaw and released Ellie unceremoniously, stepping over her when she crumpled again, landing on the rug with a dull thud. Theodore blanched, whitening back to the colour of the snow that had covered the grounds in the months prior but he made no effort to move. It was Athena who suffered to begin her rising but his hand shot out and he pulled her down into the chair before she could fully stretch into her height. She settled once more and both watched with muted compassion as Ellie struggled to her feet while Augustus found himself on the wrong end of the vampire. Theodore lifted his gaze to the chandelier in mock prayer.

“You couldn’t afford it,” Augustus’ upper lip curled. His fingers curled into his palm. “Eat the Mudblood and get away from me.” Augustus sat down as if to prove his point and managed to muster up a smirk, ignoring the glares that were being shot across the table by the children. Theodore extended his leg and connected his foot with Augustus’ shin, watching for the gaze which finally settled upon him. The younger Rookwood impressed upon his uncle an imploring look and Augustus flicked his hand through the air, shrugging it off.

Theodore could feel Ellie’s eyes on him. No, he could feel the betrayal in them more than the globes themselves. He swallowed, trying to steady himself, and he took a sip of his whisky, fixing his eyes on the wall, begging the earth to swallow him up. Ellie found her feet of her own accord and wiped her hand across her mouth, wincing as pain shot through her cheeks. She lifted her gaze and found herself shrinking back from the soft spoken woman. She nodded despite herself but fear ran high within her – something ironically mirrored in the unsettled sitting posture of Augustus Rookwood.

Lorcan watched Pyrites go offer to heal the battered woman.  He glanced at Rookwood, who seemed to be settling.  It hadn't left Lorcan's thoughts that, according to Rookwood, the woman was an Order member. Delicious. 


"Take a seat when you're able," he told her rather casually.  She didn't need to be intimidated any more.  Rookwood had scared the bejesus out of her, or so it looked. "So.  You're from the Order, are you? Well, welcome to Death Manor. I'm actually glad you're here. I look forward to talking with you later. Pyrites, if you need some supplies, you'll find just a few basics in the cellarette in the corner."


He had almost forgotten that the Death Eaters had taken to store the most rudimentary elements of a patch kit for use after combat skirmishes.  The supplies hadn't been used in awhile--too long, so far as Lorcan was concerned. 

"Our guest is most welcome this evening," Lorcan said to them, finding it intriguing that Rookwood had caught such a timid order member, especially tonight of all nights.  "Oh, Rookwood, you neglected to properly introduce her.  She does have a name, I presume? I shall need it in light of the news I have for you all.  It seems there are big troubles brewing on the Order's homefront. 

"An Order member has, for some reason, decided to strike out on one of their own. Audriana Swan attempted to poison Robert Lupin this evening.  I honestly don't care what her reasons were but we've suffered them doing whatever they please for far longer than I like while we bide our time. Incidently, so you know, yes, I did render assistance to Lupin. I could hardly do otherwise while I was in plain sight of the attack. It would hardly do for a potionsmaster to not rise to the occasion to help the Minister, now would it? I had little choice.


"My views on the Minister are my own, and he's not the subject of tonight's discussion.  What is on the table is whether or not we choose to allow the Order's sickening philosophies of near total inclusion to carry so much influence in our world, especially now. For the last couple of years, they've been making most of the political noise, and it needs to stop once and for all. I find this just far too big of an opportunity to miss. The timing could not be much better.


"Our world appears to be trying to decide if we allow more and more muggles to fall in by some apparent accident and doesn't seem to know whether or not these new interlopers should stay. We've already had wizarding blood diluted and compromised by Mr. Pierce's ridiculous marriage law.  We can't afford to not take a stand here and be heard.


"The bottom line is that I intend for us to take a hard, strong stand against the Order.  I want them gone." He glanced at the Order woman. He wanted to be sure she had heard him well.