"Dempsey, Rocciano, I assume you are both aware of the reason I have summoned you."

Kaelen Dempsey shakes his head mutely, carefully, dark amber eyes fixed on the unyielding stone floor beneath him rather than on the imposing form inhabiting the throne-like chair a few feet away. The sliver of light trickling in through the high windows is tinted a dark blue by the descending summer night, but the roaring fireplace casts everything in the room into a tumultuous dance of writhing shadows that flicker over the two kneeling bodies, Alyssa's and his own, that are currently the only other living things in the room besides the owner of the high, cold voice and the gigantic, lazily hissing snake draped over the back of her master's chair. The harsh steadiness and unfeeling cold of the floor radiates a steadily growing ache through Kaelen's knees, shooting in a quiet throb up long, spindly legs and climbing his spine until it spreads in a discomforting blanket across his narrow shoulders, his entire too-tall-too-skinny frame murmuring silent protest at holding one position for so long. He makes no motion to rise, though, the only motion of his body the fluid slide of his gaze to his left, locking onto a darker pair of orbs that flash in the firelight.

"I'm afraid we don't, my lord," Alyssa murmurs in her familiar low alto, the tones rich but grating at the same time, a caress of sound that both hurts and heals at once. Her hair falls in thick waves to the floor as she ducks her head even more, a dark curtain of black-brown that shifts to obscure her face from Kaelen's view. He knows, though, years of companionship and close observance allow him the knowledge of the carefully veiled confusion that is surely etched into her features, full lips pursed into a tight line and caramel skin pulled tight over her prominent cheekbones by the inherent tension that always seems to ripple just beneath her surface. "We left as soon as we received the summons, we didn't wait to be briefed on the nature of it."

Kaelen hums softly in assent to her statement, the cimmerian shade of the still-fresh Mark on his forearm tingling against the dark fabric of his robes. They had indeed left in a hurry, apparating into what Kaelen now recognizes as the Malfoy's study within seconds of feeling the searing, invisible flames licking along their skin. They are young, among the youngest of the Death Eaters' ranks at eighteen years of age, and both eager to please, eager to rise to favor and prove their worth, and they had not hesitated to jump at the first hint of opportunity. The tension in his own gangly frame echoes Alyssa's as he muses silently that their overzealous approach might not have been the best method, a sour expression tugging downwards at the corners of his mouth as he finally gives into the steadily throbbing discomfort seeping into his bones and shifts slightly, bowing his head a bit lower as a smooth, even tenor blooms over his lips. "We offer our sincerest apologies. We'll make sure to wait for information in the future."

"Very well, then. We shall have a conversation. I have time. Have a seat, both of you," the Dark Lord says, and Kaelen allows himself a faint spark of hope based on the fact that he can't seem to find any great displeasure in his voice.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the gilded mirror above the fireplace as he and Alyssa get to their feet, already pale skin cast into an even more stark pallor by the dim lighting of the fire and the stress pulling tight at every muscle in his body, draining the little color there was to begin with from his face.

He has Dempsey features, the spitting image of his father and grandfather in their youth; anyone who meets him inevitably informs him of this within seconds. His face is all sharp angles and defined features, chiseled jawline and elegant cheekbones brushed by the stray tousles of honey-brown hair that had been straight and immaculately styled prior to being knocked off-kilter on his journey here, the carefully maintained length falling to about the bottom of his ears. Wide eyes gleam a deep, tawny shade of amber like molten caramel in the smooth reflection, sitting just above a nose that has a slight bump along the bridge but is otherwise proportional and accented by defined brows that seem permanently arched into an expression of bored aloofness. His lips are somewhat thin but otherwise smooth and a light pink hue, the normal definitive cupid-bow shape evened out into a thin line from where they remain pursed in trepidation, a prominent Adam's apple along the slender, pale column of his neck moving noticeably when he swallows heavily and finally glances away from the reflective glass.

The chair he settles into would be extremely comfortable for someone of normal stature but only succeeds in making all six feet and four inches of him feel awkward and ungainly as he folds himself into a seated position, height accentuated by the almost painfully skinny state of his form, maybe a hundred and fifty pounds or so, give or take. Kaelen is rarely nervous and never, ever shows it but now his body betrays him mutinously, the apprehensive stutter of his hands as the slender structure of his palms and almost abnormally long, thin pianist's fingers wind themselves together in a convoluted mess in his lap saying more about his mental state than he ever could with words. He is cold, he is composed, he is collected, he is all of those things in every time and every place except for here and now, where he notes with embarrassment adding a faint twinge of pink across the snow-white plane of his cheekbones that he probably looks like nothing more than a skittish, overgrown child. Reprimanding himself internally, Kaelen stops wringing his hands on the sheer force of will power and makes an effort to hold his head a bit higher, like he would in front of anyone else in the world.

Alyssa is far more composed beside him, darker hair and skin and eyes masking the power of a growing storm that she seems to have tethered in out of respect. Her clever, agile hands brush her hair back into place with a flick of her slender wrists, petite form seeming much bigger than it is by virtue of the way she carries herself, confidence (or rather defiance that she passes off as confidence, he knows her) inherent in her posture and a quick, canny intelligence gleaming behind the deeper dark of her eyes. The human windstorm that Kaelen calls his best friend has always been flawlessly effective under pressure, normally he is too, but something about the apprehension humming palpably in the air in an eerie harmony with the buzz of the Mark against his skin sets his teeth on edge, makes something melt through the icy, haughty composure that usually sits so thick in his veins and set his body humming with an uneasiness that he isn't accustomed to. Intuition has always been one of his strong suits, and if the screaming signs of his subconscious are anything to go by, Kaelen has a sinking feeling that whatever the Dark Lord called them here for is not going to end well. Still, this sort of weakness is a lapse that he will kick himself for later, and he makes a concerted effort to draw himself up to a facsimile of Alyssa's intrepid stature, the trademark supercilious chill settling over his elegant features even though he still feels a twinge of anxiety twist at his stomach when he brings his tawny gaze level with the scarlet one across the hearth rug. "What are your orders, my lord?"

A humorless chuckle splits the air, devoid of any sort of mirth but not dripping with malice the way Kaelen would have expected it to. "Always so business-oriented, Dempsey. I was going to ask you how your family was faring. Surely your grandfather was proud to see you join our ranks."

"Very proud," Kaelen affirms with a curt nod, more uncomfortable in the situation than he lets on. "He said I was doing well, helping to restore the family honor after my father…"

"Ah, yes, that was a regrettable affair. You would think that you killing your father would have restored the family honor in Ambrose's eyes."

"My grandfather expects a lot of me," Kaelen mumbles at the mention of the very act that had been his initiation into the Death Eaters' ranks, the only reason he'd been allowed to join so young. His father's screams echo in his mind, and the memory brings a feral grin to his face, teeth flashing shiny-bright in the fire's glow. It had been too easy to end him without remorse or second thoughts, the bright-purple flash of the curse splitting the air only seconds before the shrieks of agony that had eventually petered out into silence, the floor of the study soaked through with the stains of human misery that he'd thought looked strangely pretty against the carpet (they can say all they want about the Dempseys turning their children into monsters, but Kaelen knows full well that he was born one). "I'm the last of the line, that filthy little half-breed that calls herself my half-sister certainly doesn't count."

He feels Alyssa tense up beside him more than sees it, the unexplained tension rippling off her skin in waves as dark as her eyes, sharp and drawn instantly to his across the dim stretch of space. A passing gale ghosts across her face but is gone as quickly as it came, regal features settling back into a mask of neutrality as the Dark Lord hums his assent and speaks again.

"As well he should. The Dempsey's were a proud lineage before your father produced that regrettable little mistake of his. And you, Rocciano, how does your family fare?" There is a hint of something that Kaelen can't quite place within the measured, reedy tones of his voice, but whatever it is, it makes Alyssa go all but rigid in her seat, jaw clenching and knuckles white on the arms of the plush chair. It is a rare thing to see her so obviously rattled; their years of companionship are enough experience to tell Kaelen that his friend has been knocked far enough off balance to do something extremely stupid if left to her own devices – Lyss has never been in control of her temper, a raging wildfire in perfect counterpoint to his own icy wrath – and it's that line of thought that propels his arm across the small space between them, spindly fingers brushing questioningly over her the solid set of her shoulder and a silent question simmering liquid amber in his eyes. Her gaze meets his, the untamable flame flickering in black-brown pools dying down until they hold only the reflection of the smoldering fireplace, and Alyssa takes a slightly shaky breath, nodding her thanks in Kaelen's direction even as she shrugs his hand off and fixes her feet with a stare that could cut steel.

"The terms of my initiation have been fulfilled, my lord."

"Excellent." Kaelen arches a questioning eyebrow in Alyssa's direction – even after knowing her for some eight-odd years she's never been forthcoming about her family, and he knows better than to push her – but the inquisitiveness remains locked away behind his lips for a later place and time, cut off by the unsettling sound of garbled hissing and the gargantuan snake decorating the back of the armchair across from the two young Death Eaters consequently slithering onto the floor and out of the room, scales whispering across the harsh stone. "Nagini has gone to fetch the other operative in the mission I am assigning to the two of you. It would seem that we are woefully misinformed as to the goings-on at Hogwarts School. This must change if we are to gain the upper hand, but, as I'm sure you know, it would not be prudent to simply send some of the older operatives marching through the doors under Dumbledore's nose. We need younger spies. Ones that can pass for students, infiltrate the societal structure and get information directly from the source. You both graduated from the Durmstrang Institute several months ago, yes?"

The Dark Lord pauses long enough for Kaelen and Alyssa to nod apprehensively in tandem. "Then it should not be difficult for you to appear at Hogwarts under the guise of transfer students. Seventh years, driven to another institution after you've grown disenchanted with Durmstrang. Your objective is to assimilate into the student body and avoid arousing suspicion, to gain information on the movements of Harry Potter and his friends, and to relay that information back to me through Severus Snape. In addition to this, you will also be expected to assist – ah, just in time."

A hiss announces Nagini's re-arrival, accompanied by an adolescent, male silhouette darkening the door of the study. The form is unrecognizable from the shadows, but Kaelen's eyebrows drift dangerously close to his hairline when the firelight finally casts a revealing glow on a flurry of platinum blonde hair and nervous silver eyes. "Draco?"

"Hello, cousin." Second cousin, technically, Kaelen finds the words licking snarkily along the backs of his teeth but refrains from shooting the acerbic comment into the air simply because he's taken aback at what utter hell the younger boy looks like, fingers twitching sporadically and the attempt of a smile coming out as more of a grimace. Despite their distant relationship – Kaelen's grandfather's sister had been the wife of Draco's grandfather – there is a definitive family resemblance between the two; regal posture that comes inherently in their blood, the shape of the eyes even though they differ in color, snow-pale complexions, and Kaelen can see the Dempsey bone structure, stark cheekbones and pointed chin cast into even sharper relief by the fire's shadows and the fact that Draco looks like he hasn't eaten a decent meal in weeks. There are things swirling in the argent depths of his cousin's eyes that Kaelen isn't used to seeing – Nervousness. Apprehension. Terror. He feels that instinctual foreboding humming beneath his skin again. If this situation has both Alyssa and Draco on edge, there can be nothing beneficial that comes of it. Nonetheless, here and now is not the time and place to lose his cool, and the tawny-eyed boy merely nods indifferently in response to Draco's greeting.

"Fancy seeing you here," Kaelen drawls boredly, examining the nonexistent dirt under his nails. "Heard about your initiation. Congratulations."

Draco nods mutely, pale fingers ghosting over his robe-covered forearm where Kaelen knows a Mark identical to his own is seared into the skin, probably prickling with irritation the way his own still does occasionally. "Last week. Heard about your father. Nice work."

"Thanks."

"I have given Draco a very special task," the commanding presence of the Dark Lord's voice cuts off the stiff, awkward conversation definitively, drawing all three of the young Death Eaters' attention back to him. Kaelen doesn't like the way he lingers on the word special with a malicious twist of thin, snakelike lips, likes it even less when he sees Draco's barely-noticeable cringe in response. There is something much bigger beneath the surface here, and he's not sure how deep he can delve before entering dangerous waters. "In addition to your mission, the two of you are to assist him in any way he may see fit to ask you. Keep in mind that subtlety is key in your surveillance – Rocciano, you could do with taking a few pages from Dempsey's spell book on that matter."

Alyssa, who in all truth is about as subtle as a box of Filibuster's Fireworks, says nothing, but the sour expression tugging downwards at the corners of her lips speaks volumes. Kaelen knows he will hear about it later in a raging fit about how for the love of Merlin she doesn't need subtlety when she can cut down anyone in her path with ruthless maliciousness, but he finds himself sending a silent thank-you to his best friend when she only purses her lips and nods curtly, for once seeming to know when to keep her mouth shut. The Dark Lord regards them over steepled fingers with a cold analysis that Kaelen is all too familiar with (he regards the world in the same manner and knows how a chess player looks when planning the movement of their pawns), nodding almost imperceptibly as if he's found something among their ranks worthy of approval – they will do, for now. "The train leaves September first. I trust that you all understand the terms of your tasks. Draco, you know what you are to do. Dempsey, Rocciano, I'll expect word from you in a few weeks."

It's a clear dismissal, and Kaelen and Alyssa rise from their chairs to stand beside Draco, all three of them bowing in unison before beginning to retreat from the study in silence. Hovering in the doorway behind the others, Kaelen turns slowly and regards the now-shadowed form still occupying the chair beside the fire. "We won't let you down, my lord."

"See that you don't, Dempsey. See that you don't."

The quiet hangs heavy even outside the room, the plush décor of Malfoy manor even more oppressive than usual as the three make their way past portraits that look down on them with a mixture of scrutiny and high expectations that have been sitting heavy on their shoulders for as long as any of them can remember. Draco accompanies them as far as the grand staircase in the foyer before withdrawing back to the house's labyrinthine halls, mumbling something about seeing them on the first as Kaelen and Alyssa make their way to the front door alone.

"Fucking bollocks!" Alyssa explodes as soon as the two are well outside the Malfoy's gate, kicking angrily at the ground and sending a spray of gravel flying in her wake before turning around to glare in Kaelen's direction, her stormy expression indignant. "We put all that work into getting in, and for what? To be sent back to school when we've already graduated, told to do some snooping and babysit your snot-nosed cousin for a year! What a load of tosh!"

"Second cousin," Kaelen corrects her serenely, face impassive even though he feels an echo of her indignation flare in himself, painting an icy-dark stain over his skin. In truth, the perceived injustice does needle him, silent but very present beneath his glacial composure. He hadn't been expecting grunt duty. Hadn't signed up for grunt duty. Hadn't killed his father for grunt duty (but he'd be lying to himself to say that he wouldn't have done it anyway). Still, if he allows her to get fired up now, Kaelen knows he'll never hear the end of it, so he merely sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and huffing in a pedantic tone, "We're still relatively new, Lyss. We've got to pay our dues. He's not going to put us on the front lines right out of the gate."

"Bullshit, Kae. Bullshit. Draco's fucking sixteen and he's on some top-secret assignment that we're too insignificant to know the details of. This whole thing is the most ridiculous pile of –"

"Do you want to go back and tell the Dark Lord you're not interested in the mission, then?" That shuts her up.

They walk in silence for a while longer, Alyssa seething and Kaelen mulling over the past hour's events in the sequestered recesses of his mind, robes flowing behind them along the forest path clad in dancing shadows of dusk. In all reality he has no idea where they're going or why they're walking along aimlessly like this, they should have just apparated to their respective homes as soon as they'd set foot off the Malfoy's grounds, but they both seem to have preferred the other's companionship in opposition to spending the evening alone with their newfound thoughts and anxieties. The silence is far more bearable if they endure it together.

Besides, Kaelen isn't looking forward to what awaits him back at the manor, having to explain to his grandfather what has transpired and why he'll be performing menial tasks that will do nothing to restore the Dempsey name for the next year. Ambrose Dempsey is neither a patient nor forgiving man, and never fails to remind his grandson at least every ten seconds how it is now his duty to rebuild the family's honor after his father had so effectively destroyed it. He won't take the news that Kaelen has been ordered to skulk around the halls of Hogwarts grubbing for information any better that Alyssa is currently taking it, and right now the lanky eighteen-year-old isn't inclined to deal with yet another tirade. At least he can tell Lyss to shut up if he wants.

"We'll have to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow. Get new supplies, maybe grab some lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and start on a game plan," he murmurs after a while, the descending darkness now so thick that he can barely make out Alyssa's silhouette. Kaelen sighs again, bringing a slender palm up to cover his face. "My grandfather's going to have a hippogriff over this."

Alyssa snorts, and Kaelen can almost hear her crooked, wry smile. "Doesn't he over everything?"

"Point taken."

They lapse back into quiet again, walking along the path until they reach a crossroads in a clearing where Alyssa gradually comes to a stop, rubbing her thumb along the grip of her wand uncertainly. "We should probably go home."

"We should," the taller boy nods his assent, pulling his own wand out from the folds of his robes. He eyes the length of mahogany (thirteen inches, dragon heartstring, supple, remembers getting it like it was yesterday) contemplatively, mulling over his thoughts again before looking back up at his friend, finding the glimmer of her eyes in the darkness. "You scared, Lyss?"

"Me, scared? You're fucked in the head, Dempsey," she smirks, moving over to wrap around his waist in a languid, one armed embrace before trotting away a few steps and raising her wand. "Besides, this is easy work. Foolproof. Why the hell would we be scared? See you tomorrow, then. You're buying lunch."

Before Kaelen even has time to protest that damn it, he's not paying for her to knock back a whole bottle of firewhiskey on her own like he did last time, she's gone. Why would we be scared? reverberates like a tolling bell in his head, and he heaves a heavy breath, narrow ribcage rising and falling visibly beneath his robes. Why would we be scared?

"I don't know," Kaelen mumbles to the endless night, raising his wand. "But I feel like we should be."

A flash of light, and the clearing stands empty, the wind whistling mournfully through the trees.