The Series: Volume 1 follows the tales of the youth with in Voldemort's army. Their lives, tribulations, and social circles amidst war will be looked to for action. We'll see familiar characters interact from numerous points of view all working in their own areas with in Voldemort's growing number of followers. Older and darker character will taint the youth and the youth will see the consequences of their actions.

The Chapter: October 20, 1998. Roger Davies, Miles Bletchley, and Chance Warrington clean up after a mission and discuss their social plans for the coming weeks.

Chapter 3: Introducing The Muscle

The smell of blood was fresh in the air as the three masked figures stood in a row about the small Irish cottage. The three bodies of Finnigan lay unceremoniously on the ground. The bulkier of the three kneeled before the female figure and with the use of his wand levitated with great curiosity her intestines from her open wound. A sinister grin upon his face as he looked to his companions for a chuckle or a praise.

Instead one of them quickly removed his mask and left the room. His hand over his mouth as he gagged slightly and later the distant sound of vomiting followed.

"Must you really do that, Warrington?" The remaining figure asked as he removed his own mask and gently kicked the other man with his foot.

"They told us to leave the scene as dirty as possible," Chance Warrington defended as he decorated the furniture with the woman's insides. "That's why I'm here isn't it?"

"Better you than me or Davies back there," Miles Bletchley frowned at his colleague and went to write a message on the wall to his left.

"I don't understand why he comes," Chance frowned as he created a few more large open wounds on the woman's husband with his wand. "He's always vomiting for no particularly reason."

"He's good at what he does," the other man sighed.

"Vomiting?"

"Legilimency – if he didn't come we wouldn't know when we had the right information or when to properly off 'em."

"Right," Chance sighed as he stood and began rearranging the bodies about their small parlor. "But, why couldn't we get someone at least a little more entertaining like…Higgs, or Bole?"

"Luck of the draw, I suppose," Bletchley shrugged as he stood back to admire his work. He cocked his head slightly as the last letter was carved out by a directed flame on the ugly floral wallpaper.

MORE WILL SUFFER WITHOUT POTTER

Roger Davies joined the other two men as he wiped at his mouth and swallowed back. He was breathing heavy having just lost his dinner in the Finnigan's rose garden. He frowned and closed his eyes at the sight and sound of Warrington detaching the young Finnigan girl's limbs. He then proceeded to organize the parts to distinguish that her arms and eventually her head were not attached as they should have been.

"After this what d'you lot say to a drink?" Miles offered as he pocketed his wand and patted Roger on the back. "Loosen your nerves a bit, mate."

Roger frowned and swallowed again – eyes still closed. "I don't… no. I don't think so."

"Oh come on," Warrington called as the man enchanted daddy Finnigan's head to bash against the floor a bit more.

Roger Davies squirmed before his hand came to cover his mouth. "I'll be out… be outside-" he managed to mumble before darting out of the room. The cottage door slamming loudly behind him.

Miles and Chance snorted into laughter as they watched their weak stomached companion leave. It certainly was a shame the man had yet to become accustomed to the dirty part of this job. Granted it was only his third assignment, but, one would think he'd have at least started to get used to it all by now.

"So, what you say about that drink, then Warrington?" Miles asked as he stood back and watched the other death eater work.

"What time is it?" Warrington asked as he dropped the male Finnigan's head on the ground for the last time and turned to look at Miles.

Miles glanced at his wrist watch, "Almost four in the morning…"

"Yeah… can't do the drinks tonight, mate," Warrington sighed as he pulled out a handkerchief and began wiping his hands with it. "I've got to at least pretend I'd been in bed with my wife before sun up."

Miles Bletchley grinned rather amused. "How is Romilda? Still obedient as ever?"

"She's alright," Chance shrugged, "She's finally getting used to who's in charge that's for sure."

"Then why not come out for a drink with me?"

"Because," the man explained, "even if she is coming around to the fact that I rule the house – it doesn't save her on whining." Both men sighed a moment as they overlooked the final masterpiece. The three Finnigans, mother, husband, and daughter strewn across the living room and the cryptic note burned into the wall.

"Looks like we're done…" Miles announced as he patted his colleague on the back and made for the door. "You going to that Halloween Gala next week?"