Disclaimer: The world of magic might be ours, but Harry Potter belongs to JK.

Two chapters in one night- I like to update regularly :) Thankyou Whiskey in the Impala for the kind review. I'm very glad you liked it. Hope you stick with the story :)

Chapter Two- Band of Thieves

That night, Marla stayed in one of Hephzibah's elaborately furnished bedchambers. Sleep did not come to her easily though the house was silent.

Her mind wandered back to the day, four years ago, when Tom Riddle had begun working at Borgin and Burke's. She remembered being introduced to him as the establishment's greatest relic seeker. Burke had always prized her over the other treasure hunters for her gift of convincing the rich to part with their treasures, especially at the young age of seventeen. The truth was that rare magical artefacts had always intrigued her and so once she'd left Hogwarts after her OWL's, there was not another career that she'd consider.

She'd known Riddle at school, of course, being in the same year, but he'd been a quiet, studious boy with a close-knit group of loyal friends and though they had shared a common room, they spoke little. The time they spent together at the shop was the first that they had really spoken.

He'd changed by then. When he'd started at the shop, he'd become noticeably charming whereas at school she'd remembered him to be withdrawn. Though she had two years more experience than him, he had quickly overtaken her as Burke's favourite employee- an occurrence that bothered her little. For a start, she loved her time at the shop because it fuelled her obsession for dark relics- it had little to do with how the owners fawned over her for filling their money bags and shelves. Also, becoming their second favourite was a small price to pay for the companionship of such a remarkable figure- and Tom Riddle was indubitably remarkable. On the long evenings they spent together plotting on how to make old wizards part with their treasures, his stories and musings delighted her. She'd grown to realise that his fondness for magical artefacts was second only to hers. A particular conversation came to mind, and she smiled into her pillow.

"The last time I held the sorting hat, I could have been standing with the four founders themselves." Tom said, smiling into his goblet. "It was as if the great wizards were standing over my shoulders. It actually hurt to set it down again."

"I know exactly what you mean." Marla replied, watching him drink deeply. "Every time I hand anything of importance over to Burke, my heart mourns for it. Things like the pearl necklace I have no regard for but when I'd finally made Wilding sell us Circe's chalice, I had half a mind to keep it for myself. I could have so easily transfigured it into something else and kept it, claiming to have failed purchasing it."

"Why didn't you?" Tom said, his eyes sparkling, relishing the thought of keeping such an important piece of history.

"You know me well enough by now, my Lord." Marla said regretfully, "Can't lie, can't cheat- and I most certainly couldn't betray the trust of the men who gave me a job I cherish this much. It's a curse!" she laughed. "Still, it would have been incredible to keep it. One day, my Lord, I'll have a collection to rival Burke's."

Tom laughed and looked at her with mischief in his eyes. "I'm sure you will, Marla. And one day I'll be one of those great men whose treasures are worth seeking."

Marla set down her glass and planted her hands on her lap. "You will, my Lord," she said sincerely, "One day Lord Voldemort will be up there with Salazar himself."

Marla rolled over, relishing the memory, and allowed her mind to race at the thought of things to come.

ooo

Early the next morning, a robed figure strode noisily into the room and made his way to Marla's bed. She awoke at the sound of footsteps and quickly pulled the covers up to her neck. Peering over the blanket she saw a tall man with tailored robes and a sleek, fur-lined travelling cloak. He stopped at the foot of her bed, looking at her; undeterred by the fact he had woken her up. His white blonde hair was slightly longer than was usual for the time- it fell around his ears and about the nape of his neck- and by the look of his face, he could not have been much older than her- perhaps twenty-three or twenty-four years old. Though undeniably handsome, he had a stern look about his eyes which aged him greatly, and his gloved hands clutched a gleaming silver handle from which protruded a pale wand. She recognised him from somewhere, but in the business that she worked, she met most wizarding families and knew many faces. He didn't smile as he spoke.

"The Dark Lord wishes for you to retrieve belongings from your home. Bring only what is necessary. He will be away for the rest of the week and expects you to be settled by Sunday. He has left instructions for you to be monitored at all times. I will accompany you to London." He waited expectantly.

Marla shifted uncomfortably. "Erm, " she said, unsure of what she thought of this stranger "In that case, do you think you turn away so I can get dressed?"

He sneered at her but acquiesced, and Marla gingerly climbed out of bed and moved over to the chair on which her clothes lay, never taking her eyes off the stranger's back. "So who are you?" she asked, stepping into her grey pencil skirt and zipping it up at the back.

"Abraxas Malfoy," he said, contempt apparent in is voice.

"Ah," said Marla, buttoning up her blouse. "Abraxas Malfoy, you can turn around now." She tucked her blouse into her skirt but instead of turning around, Malfoy strode to the door,

"Lets go." he said, turning the handle. Marla started.

"Hang on! I'm not ready." She said and hurried over to the dresser where a basin of warm water lay alongside a hand-towel. She washed quickly, all the time being watched by Malfoy. Looking into an ornate mirror hung on the wall, she checked her appearance. Her blouse was creased from being strewn on the chair all night and her hair, usually so sleek, hung past her shoulders, black and lifeless. Realising her skirt wasn't straight, she readjusted it; cursing how tight it was. In an age where skirts were big and fun, she preferred hers to cling to her thighs and skim below her knees- her opposition to follow muggle fashions was something she prided herself on.

"There," Malfoy said, exasperated, "now let's go."

Still evaluating herself in the mirror, Marla muttered "Ok" and turned slowly to pick up her travelling cloak. Instinctively, she reached for her wand, before remembering what had happened to it. Looking up at Malfoy, she asked, "Do you know where my wand is?"

Malfoy nodded and reached into his cloak, pulling out her cherished eleven inch oak wand. Marla took it from him gratefully and they left the room.

The house looked different in the wintry light of day. While Hephzibah's displayed trinkets still gleamed in their excellence, the corridors had lost their warmth. The grand staircase looked larger and colder and the parlour they entered seemed empty though it was filled with expensive pieces and a number of people Marla dimly recognised.

A thickset man in black robes sat in the corner, pouring over a copy of the Daily Prophet. A short, frowning man and a rather unattractive woman whose robes were adorned with a ministry logo were standing opposite the double doors through which they had just passed. A wizard in official looking black robes stood in front of them, with an innocent looking face that sported a frown. He appeared to have been pacing before they had entered. They all couldn't have been much older than her. She got the distinct impression of a group of young adults playing at being serious. The dull sound of dialogue ceased and the people in the room looked round to face Marla.

The man in official looking robes nodded at Marla then turned to Malfoy. "Took you long enough, Abraxas," he said, brow furrowed, "I have to be at work in ten minutes. The Minister is already on my back about tardiness." Abraxas ignored the comment, looking bored. The man continued. "Be back by lunch, do you understand? Don't let her out of your sight. The Dark Lord does not easily forgive carelessness."

"Go to work, Lowman," Malfoy drawled, "and don't tell me how to do my job. Everyone, this is our new recruit, Voltaire." He turned to Marla and tilted his head in the direction of the group. "This is Wilbur Lowman, Secretary to the Minister for Magic," he said in the same bored voice. "Those two there," he said signalling to the man and the woman sat together, "are Julian Crabbe, an Enforcer, and Genevieve Locke- she works in Muggle relations." The couple nodded and Locke added "-at the command of the Dark Lord-" as if to quash the thought that it was her choice of occupation. "Him in the corner," Malfoy continued, "that's Graham Macnair." The burly looking man with the paper nodded in her direction and realisation came to Marla.

"Macnair... Crabbe... it was you last night!" Her cheeks flushed in anger and she reached for her wand but Abraxas gripped her wrist, effortlessly restraining her. She didn't put up a fight.

"If you're looking for an apology, you're looking in the wrong place," he said simply. "No one apologises for obeying orders." She pulled her hand away from his and folded her arms in contempt. Lowman grimaced as he pushed past them and left.

Locke smiled mockingly. "She's feisty," she said to Abraxas, knowingly "Let's hope she lasts the week." She turned to Crabbe and grinned and he laughed cruelly.

Abraxas turned and left the room. Marla followed him out of the house onto a large driveway.

She could now understand why the Dark Lord had chosen this site for his usage. Beyond the driveway was a large length of grass surrounding the house, about the size of a quidditch pitch, and further on the outside world was hidden by an unnaturally large hedge and numerous trees that she suspected enclosed the expansive property. The grounds were beautiful, with flower beds running along either side of the wide carriage path and here and there, the splendidly tame garden boasted greenery that only magic could maintain. With the touch of uninfringeable privacy, the grounds were intoxicating. Only Hephzibah could have pulled this off, she thought, impressed.

Abraxas turned to her. "Where do you live?" he asked in his businesslike tone.

"London" she said simply "Coppice Side Tenements. It'd be safer to apparate directly into the building. I've no restrictions on it." Abraxas nodded and they apparated.

ooo

For the rest of the week, Abraxas stayed on Marla's tail. Far from finding it a hindrance, she appreciated his company and certainly preferred it to the other occupants of the house. Though the number of them in the house varied from day to day, she learnt there were seven in total. She quickly learnt they knew their master primarily from Hogwarts, though they were all older than him. They also knew him as "Lord Voldemort" which surprised her as she had always thought of it as her name for him. The way they said it bothered her. She'd always seen it as a sign of respect and devotion but they used it with fear, and rarely said "Voldemort" out loud, preferring "the Dark Lord".

With the exception of her venture home to pick up some belongings, Marla hadn't left the grounds of the house. She spent her time with Abraxas, walking the length of the gardens, smoking and speculating on the Dark Lord's plans. Three times a day the house elf would place a tray laden with food in her bedchamber and she would dine with Abraxas, preferring that to joining the others on the first floor drawing room. She had grown to dislike the others in the group Abraxas referred to as Death Eaters.

"Death Eaters?" she asked on her second night. They were sat in her allocated bedchamber at a table they'd moved to the fireplace, working through their roast chicken supper. Abraxas had brought a bottle of German white, expressing his inability to enjoy food in the evening without wine. They were on the topic of how the Dark Lord had formed his group of followers. "Is it meant to be ironic?" She brought the crystal glass up to her lips and took a sip. Abraxas grinned knowingly.

"The Dark Lord and I were at school- must have been my seventh year, his fifth- and Slughorn invited us up, as he usually did, for a nightcap. It was us and Crabbe, Macnair, Avery, Lestrange, a boy called Goyle- he's in Tunisia now- and a boy called Barker. He used to run with us. He died last year. Don't know quite what happened to him." He pushed his plate away and reached for his wine glass. "Slughorn would go on about all sorts of inconsequential things. He loved our master and liked to know what he thought of things. I expect it's understandable, Slughorn could tell even then a great wizard from a weak one, but he would really go on and on. He wouldn't stop. And one day he was talking about a murder. You know what it was like, after the Great War, people started disappearing and dying and no one knew why. They thought it was Grindlewald all over again. Slughorn was on about a woman in England, obviously killed by a wand, but no one knew whose. He wouldn't shut up about this murder. Went on and on about it as if the Dark Lord could figure it out for him. Obviously we just sat and nodded and drank-" Abraxas lit up a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. "But then Slughorn said something that struck a chord with the Dark Lord. He said something like "Boys, there are monsters out there who feed on the lives of others- and I don't mean magical creatures- I mean men- monstrous men. These men know the significance of taking a life and don't care about the consequences. That's freedom, boys- it is indeed- but it comes at a terrible price. The murderer is free, but he's accursed." If Slughorn was trying to shock us it didn't work. Mention the word freedom to a 15 year old brought up by pure-bloods and expect attention. To us, it sounded liberating but a million miles away. The Dark Lord, on the other hand, has the inexplicable ability to get what he wants and Slughorn's story gave him a goal- freedom-"

"From what?" Marla interjected.

"I couldn't tell you," Abraxas said regrettably, "That's a mystery to me too, but it fuelled something fierce in him. He told us he couldn't remove Slughorn's word from his head- feed on the lives of others-" He took a drag on his cigarette and flicked it into the fire. ""That'll be me," he'd say to us, and we promised him we'd be there standing by him. "We'll feast with you," we'd say and he'd laugh and say we'd feast on death together when we were free men. It became a drug for us, the goal of freedom- and now here we are, Death Eaters." He smiled, as he lifted his glass to his lips, but there was sadness about his eyes.

"That was it- your goal- freedom from control?" Marla asked incredulously.

Setting down his glass, Abraxas shook his head. Marla refilled it for him. "Freedom from control developed into freedom to control," he answered. "As we grew, we saw the world for what it was and it horrified us. We are all controlled- controlled by our fear of exposing magic to muggles; of taking magic too far; of venturing into unknown magical territory. We are wizards- men far too superior to have to restrain our magic. This mentality is a curse on wizarding-kind and if we have to feast on death to free our magic, so be it." He drank deeply from his glass before continuing. "Ancient magic runs in my veins. It would be an insult to not fulfil its potential. The rubbish about controlling magic is the invention of Mudbloods and the weak. They deserve to be stripped of the little magic they have."

Marla pushed back her chair, and lifting her glass off the table, she repositioned herself on the floor next to the fire. Abraxas joined her, bringing the bottle and causing the table and chairs to float back to the wall with his wand. He refilled her glass before emptying the contents of the bottle into his own. Marla pushed the dark hair out of her eyes and look into the fire.

"So tell me, am I a Death Eater now?" she asked.

"That's of no consequence. Just don't disappoint the Dark Lord and you'll do fine." Abraxas said, wisely.

Marla stayed quiet. Somehow, she thought to herself, I think there might be more to it than that.

What do we think? Review please! Thankyou for reading! And I'm a big fan of people who review after every chapter- even if its just to say "hi" or "didn't like that bit!" To summarise- please review fanficcers!