The boy was lying on the sofa, stretched out, his head on the squishy pillows at one end, his booted feet up on the armrest at the other end, the firelight of the fireplace flickering in his blue-gray eyes, his fair skin seeming to have color from the lights. No one disturbed his deep, careless thoughts nor did anyone disturb the room…or even think about him.
This unique teenage boy was named Scabior, no other name, just Scabior, and despite living with the Malfoys, he was not a very sophisticated young wizard but he had grown an ego and pride that even a Malfoy could never match up to.
Currently Abraxas Malfoy and his wife were upstairs with a stranger and many other men and women. This was unfortunately not new, the stranger had came by at least once a week for the past few years that Scabior could remember being here, a dark haired stranger who was passed his teens, probably early thirties or his late twenties.
The stranger was referred to as 'My Lord' by Lucius, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, and the many others that had come by, including the Blacks, Lestranges, some of their children, some just as old as Scabior but he had never been permitted to meet this so-called lord. The stranger had always come wearing black robes and a dark hood, had once came with a black diary, many times wearing that same ring, his skin color was light and his eyes almost seeming red, evil, but it didn't take a look at his eyes just to know he was evil.
Evil truly was not a word Scabior would usually use but he could never think of another word for that appearance and aura. Dark wasn't the right word and that would usually be what Scabior would describe it as, he'd even given the stranger a nickname; Dark Lord. After a few times of seeing this stranger, in Scabior's head, he'd always referred to this man, before now, as the Dark Lord, but unfortunately he'd heard a witch call him the very same thing so it lost its appeal.
He himself was getting restless lying around thinking of this stranger who had come over too many times to be ignorable and seemed too important to be just no one, besides, if he was no one, why would so many people Abraxas was unacquainted with, come over so many times and why would he be called elsewhere by a stupid tattoo on his arm? This stranger, this Dark Lord, has never once addressed Scabior and much less, he had never looked at him or had interest in him but who had many times, even now, caught Scabior's attention and deathly curiosity. The one thing Scabior knew was normal about himself was that he was so desperately curious about everything and so willing to find out what he wanted through any method he needed to do so with.
That's what was growing inside of Scabior right now, a curiosity that could be bad for him, not that it wasn't before now, but this curiosity was making him restless, he wanted to know, and he made it so he always got what he wanted, no matter what obstacles were in the way, he would diminish them and get his goal.
This man, this "Lord" was upstairs with the purebloods and halfbloods who worshipped him, the several hooded people who called themselves "Death Eaters" and in which included the Malfoys and he was merely lying around thinking about this stranger.
The just fifteen year old was slightly disgusted with himself, not satisfying his curiosity when the chance had come many times so he stood and his eyes swept the room and scanned all windows and the doors before he went to the hallway where Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had lead the stranger, seeing the stairs clearly as if he were in front of them. Because they appeared closer to him than they were, Scabior put his hand out to test it and his hand was flat on a shield which felt slightly like rubber. He snarled his revulsion, glaring at the stairs he could see too easily.
They wanted to keep him away from who had been taunting him for so long, absorbing his sanity to the point of annoyance? He thought not. Being an underage wizard, he really couldn't use magic out of school without the high possibility of expulsion but he knew two other ways. Inside this very room, there was a secret door even the Malfoys, being the owners of this manor, did not know existed. This secret door was hidden off to the side of the fireplace where a spell was cast by an ancient Malfoy housewife so no one would be able to pass through or find.
But Scabior was sneaky and he knew tricks, he had learned some things from a small few students at Hogwarts, Slytherin, who as well referred to themselves as "Death Eaters" and had said that they would later be bounty hunters for this curious Lord.
Scabior had been interested in this, he would prove himself better than them all without learning their tricks. It had taken two years but he had learned to create gaps or holes in protective spells and the shields cast by magic but he had done it. The intrusion was completely unique, learned and founded by he alone and he held pride, pride that would cause him to murder someone if they dared steal it from him or claim it as their spell.
This was one of the ideas, the other would be to go through Abraxas Malfoy's shield but the spell had a chance of being broken and would hurt Scabior and the wizard who cast the spell and he did have a little care for Abraxas Malfoy.
He opened the spell slowly and carefully, it was not literally a spell and required no wand, but he would never give up his wand to anybody he did not trust…and he trusted few, no one at school, no one at home, no one elsewhere and the little respect he did have for people was for the few who taught him something he found useful or interesting yet he still thought himself above everyone, making him a very sly, gifted, Slytherin.
Scabior smiled at his work as he found a gap, it took patience for sure and he had that, just not for many things. He checked the room again and went through the gap which snapped back in place when he was through it and he was in a bedroom.
After second year in which he'd learned the levitation charm, he'd found out that this bedroom was the grave for many men, a library full of death records and dark spells, and the only place the Malfoy housewife in the past had enjoyed. He knew this from reading the blood red diary lying on the pillow with a red feather and a tall skeleton wearing a very old-fashioned dress was and always had been, since her death, lying there, the skull on the pillow but never crumbling, a white-wood wand lying on the skeleton and dress under the hands that lie on the chest.
Her name was Roza Lilia Malfoy and she was obsessed with death and was held to be burned to death but she'd put it out and went back to her manor where she would eternally rest by having a serpent bite her and inject her with its poison. Scabior crossed the room, remembering the fun he'd had in this room when he was younger when Abraxas and his wife couldn't find him, but, a smile sneaking onto his face, he just passed to a door that was also hidden and found himself by a set of stairs, a door to his left, this one on the left being used very often.
Although young, Scabior was now very sneaky, dark, and intelligent, very sarcastic too, he gave his guardians a lot of trouble. They often threatened to curse him with the Cruciatus, or else to beat him til he bled but they'd only acted on that once. He could dodge anything, even death. That's what he kept saying to himself, he could dodge any spell, he was quick and agile and really did tick his guardians off by dodging so much that they were tired and stuck with grounding. Of course he didn't pride himself for nothing, he was sneaky enough that even grounding him never stopped him; when he wanted to do something or go somewhere, no matter why it was stated that he couldn't, he would do it. No one would stop him.
Scabior went up the stairs then into a hallway only lit by candles in brackets on the walls, the heavy carpeting muffling the sound of his heavy boots hitting the floor although it would have been quiet enough nonetheless. His senses became more alert as he saw a door with flickering lights coming from under the door and into the hall, like flames except white and green, voices, moans, and muffled yells coming from that very same room.
Moans of terror, moans that were trying to hold in screams, the yells seeming to be from angry people, not the fearful guests that were trying so hard not to scream when even Scabior knew it would be so much better for them to cry out. But there was a voice, one doing most of the yelling, it sounded male and almost snake-like, like he could breath…live forever, cold, dark, almost creepy, chill worthy but to ignorant Scabior, it sounded much like one who looked for respect through fear.
Scabior got slightly excited when a woman's fearful moan was heard, just feeling it in his gut that she was in pain; it made his heart race. Yes this was usual but excitement? He'd never felt that from hearing one in pain, he'd never liked it nor did he disapprove of it, he was msot often careless but now he seemed strangely happy.
'What 'as gotten into me?' Scabior thought, shaking the thoughts from his mind and as much of the feeling from his body, wishing against the moon and stars that he could be closer than this, that he could see what he was hearing.
But no, they did not answer his wish, nothing would but himself, but he just stuck with pressing his ear to the wall, his entire body against it, his eyes closed, as close to the door as he could be without being in front of it; that was sure to give him away. Frustrated though he was, he couldn't help but smile, pleased with himself, eavesdropping on this man that the Malfoys thought to be so powerful, so intelligent and knowing, but he was making this person out to be a fool, a fool that was possibly their lord only out of fear, nothing more, nothing less, cuz even he, Scabior, wasn't arrogant enough to think he could defeat a real wizard lord, a real man with real power and strength.
But Hell, what was real magic and real power, huh? He himself had it and he had confidence in them all, he was sure no one could defeat him and he was a great duelist, yet he would leave it until he had to do so. He could tell someone to do something and they would do it, Lucius, many students at school, both elder and younger than he, some adults he'd came across he'd intimidated, the Blacks would, they just weren't so quick to do so, and Severus Snape…well, Scabior never really bothered with Severus , maybe he was intelligent and a very good wizard but he got too much crap from James Potter and his friends and he really had no care to command someone who was too busy to do what was asked and Severus was obviously, to Scabior alone, to be a leader some day.
Thoughts left his mind and he was rather relaxed, listening in on the meeting, these wizards speaking of killing muggles and muggleborns, that half bloods would be killed as well but they could wait for a lot longer. He would not necessary go through the trouble of killing muggles and mudbloods but he would still think purebloods were better than others but still, the idea of killing those who do not deserve to have magic in their blood, that was tempting. People were a lot more interesting alive though, were they not because really, what would he get from a corpse?
On the other hand, it's not a like a muggleborn meant to be born and it wasn't a half blood's fault that their parents had shagged or a squib's fault that they had no magic in them when they deserved it more than a mudblood. But they would be taught that it was okay to breed with muggles or mud bloods then they would do so and too many would exist. All three sides had a point but one and three won over two easily so his decision on the matter was made.
Decisions came quick to him, he was a fast-thinker, very clever and cunning, and he could move around any loophole and all those valuable, useful skills just so he could have fun…but fun was a great piece of his life, one he would never let go, he loved it and he loved to tease people, play with them and misguide them.
Scabior started humming very softly to himself without even realizing it, blocking the voices in the room without noticing at all but still no one was around and no one in the room was coming towards the door, he heard everything and easily so but he didn't hear the words, just the sound of talking, pacing, and even violent jerking.
His happiness was now changing as he heard the victim give up and really scream their feelings out, not hiding themselves but his desire also increased and made him wish even more that he was in that room with the others. Scabior never viewed himself as sadistic and even now he didn't think he was. Pain was just a beautiful thing to enjoy, not something that different from the sunset's beauty, the same sweet colors, the showing true self, a release of all the stress and true pain that was hidden within and a simple thing, a misunderstood thing, pain, was the art that excited him, not that it hurt so much but that was also what kicked the art up to divine.
Very darkly romantic Scabior was, seeing what others could not, challenging who others would never, putting words together so eerie and hypnotic, the fact that he didn't believe there was sadists or evil, all just beautiful art expressing what something truly is, what it was meant to be, and just how very fragile humans were.
No one could change his twisted mind, no one would stand up to him to do so, and even if one would dare, he would back that person down and play with the little toys he could make of them, the dark little mind he had.
Scabior tasted his lips and glanced down the hall quickly, rather pleased with this new feeling he had for the screams. No one else was in the hall and it sounded like no other person was approaching him at all, not even from the room. Sneaking around had adrenaline to it and he could not say he hated it but still it was mostly the power that he liked so much, spying on the unknowing, moving between those staring right at him; it was more power than the most powerful wizard had.
It'd been an hour and still there was nothing interesting going on, other than Scabior's ego in his head, the only amusement was that he hadn't been caught so far…and he wouldn't be, not by the so-called Lord in the room. He was going to have a good ride, really.