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"Thank you all for coming to this … private little meeting." Evan Rosier slowly sat down in a stiff armchair; a glass of dark red wine in one hand. Around him, several other Death Eaters, in robes, sitting in similar armchairs in a circle. "As agreed, what is discussed between these four walls, must remain here. Absolutely nobody else is know this meeting ever took place. Is that understood?" Hooded figures nodded. Rosier continued. "So it seems the … more established members of our group have been expressing … disappointment. The Malfoys, the Lestranges, the Selwyns, the Yaxleys, all of 'em."

"Disappointment?" Mulciber snorted. "Over what?"

"Unfortunately, they do not believe we're … capable members. They've made snide comments about every single person sitting in this room! They do not have a shred of faith in their younger colleagues. According to a conversation I overheard between Selwyn and Malfoy, we are taking our duties for granted! We don't take our positions with pride or grace! Can you believe this rubbish?" Rosier shook his head in disdain. "It's a damn shame. They are not much older or wiser than us, yet they act as if they're so high above us. I don't know about you, men, but we do not take our duties for granted."

"We bloody don't!" Crabbe grunted. "We follow orders! We do the raids!"

"Yeah!" Wilkes chipped in. "They couldn't do shit if it wasn't for us! Strength in numbers!"

"Exactly." Rosier said. "Now, what if I told you Lucius is considering switching back to house elves permanently. He wants to be rid of the mudblood girls!" The Death Eaters shouted and argued indignantly.

"What the fucking hell?!"

"It's only 'cos he can't fuck any of 'em with that bitch, Cissy."

"Like hell he is!"

"We can't fuck bloody house elves!"

Rosier patiently waited for the noise to die down. "I do not think it would be in our best interest to get rid of them completely; however, I can't help but agree with him. The mudbloods cause nothing but trouble. Stolen jewelry, improper cooking and cleaning, they squabble and fight with each other, and now they're causing feuds! Fucking mudbloods! We aren't bringing in enough of the bitches either. We're disposing of them faster than we can bring them in! The raids are turning out less and less of 'em! Remember the raid on Potter Manor? We deliberately waited until the wedding because of all the supposed mudbloods and blood-traitors on the guest list! What did we bring back? Of hundreds of the fucking bleeders; we only got one fucking mudblood! One!" Rosier pounded his fist on the armrest.

"Mind you, that one was difficult to find." One muttered. "Over a year looking for her, I think."

"Bullshit!" Nott snapped. "We all saw Snape! He flew off the fucking handle! A bloody hypocrite, he is. Right before the raid, remember how much he stressed about rounding up mudbloods alive? Keeping the numbers up, he says. The moment we get to the place, he made Bellatrix look like a bloody fucking saint! We would have had more servants if that bastard didn't wipe them all out!"

"Speaking of Snape, why isn't he here?"

"It wouldn't be … convenient if he were to join us tonight." Rosier sipped his wine and turned to face Mulciber. His eyes glittered. "It happened again, didn't it?"

Mulciber narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"We aren't daft. The whole bloody castle knows; it's not really a secret." Rosier rolled his eyes. "Which one was it this time?"

"Not the blonde, I hope." Nott muttered. "Or the red one."

"Dark hair, tan skin, blue dress. Black eye. That one." Mulciber grumbled. The Death Eaters had mixed reactions. Some of relief, others of frustration.

"Damn idiot! You can get every fucking mudblood in the castle knocked up, but not your own poor wife! You're part of the reason why Lucius is done with the servants. Every time you get one pregnant, you make it a bloody fucking mess! Narcissa is shrieking at us about the walls and the carpets!"

"The mudbloods clean it up, not her!"

"This is all Miss Cissy's fault!" A Death Eater roared. "Ever since that breeder took her necklace, she's been wanting to destroy the lot! She has Lucius whipped!"

"Yes!" Mulciber, eager for a scapegoat, added in. "It's Cissy's fault! My Rosaline refuses me; she says it's because of that snob!" He mocked a high-pitched voice, "Narcissa hasn't gotten pregnant yet, darling. It would be improper to have a baby before her!"

"Someone should rough her up! Put 'er in 'er place!" Wilkes spilled wine on the floor.

"Now, now." Rosier rolled his eyes. "Remember who we are! Remember who they are! They are our superiors because they have pleased the Dark Lord. Each of them has made a significant contribution to our noble cause. They've been members for longer, and therefore have a higher rank. The Malfoys have been members since the very beginning! For decades, they have generously funded. Lucius has made the most generous donation yet! His own holiday home as a headquarters. He allows us to live here and eat at his table as if we were his own family." Some Death Eaters looked down at floor, slightly ashamed. "Despite their unpleasant attitude, the Malfoys are our superiors, and this is their property. The least we can do is respect their rules …" He added flatly, "no matter how pretentious."

"And what about Lestrange? What great contribution has he made?"

"Rhodolphus is … interesting, nonetheless." Rosier reflected, swirling his wine in the glass thoughtfully. "The Lestrange family have been long time sympathizers. I believe Rhodolphus and Rabastan would be the first in the Lestrange family tree to enlist officially. The arranged marriage between Bellatrix Black and Rhodolphus was extremely beneficial. As soon as Bella came of age, she has proven herself an irreplaceable asset. There isn't a doubt in this room that indeed, Bellatrix is a better witch than all of us combined. And yet, she still has infinite potential." Rosier spoke with an air of undisclosed knowledge. Almost too prideful, as his peers were becoming impatient.

"What are you getting at, Evan?"

Evan Rosier cleared his throat; ready for his defining moment. "Gents, I have a proposition that will change the very … nature of our cause." The Death Eaters stared at him blankly. Slightly annoyed his initial announcement didn't get the reaction he had in mind, he continued in a flustered tone. "Just last week, we disposed of our last breeder. McKinnon. It didn't help that our last raid didn't turn up any more blood-traitor women. However, it did produce a certain mudblood; the ginger slut. As of today, we don't have a single breeder, but a plethora of young, pretty mudbloods."

A few Death Eaters were smart enough to connect what Rosier was implying. "My God, Evan! What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

"What's he talking about?" Goyle grunted. "What's going on?"

"He's proposing we start breeding with the mudbloods!"

"WHAT?!"

The room was filled with all sorts of indignant and disgusted outbursts. Goyle went sickly pale while his close friend, Crabbe, only gapped blankly at Rosier. Nott raised his eyebrows. Wilkes started fidgeting; clenching and unclenching his fists and touching his broken nose. Some set down their glasses looking nauseous. Several others shook their heads and stood up to leave.

"Wait!" Rosier desperately shouted. Hear me out! I'm not finished!"

"I think I've heard enough of your shit for one night."

"You've got it twisted, mate. You just fuck 'em!"

"You're fucking mad!"

Within seconds, most of the Death Eaters left the room, leaving behind and empty circle of armchairs. Evan Rosier bitterly gripped a bottle of wine and started drinking heavily. Furious his idea didn't receive the praise he deserved. He was so certain he picked his audience carefully. All of them were young, obnoxious, pathetically stupid, and their brains and futures dim. They would be lucky to marry their own cousins. Breeding mudbloods would have been revolutionary! Without a doubt it would have instantly earned him a seat with his superiors. Rosier could see his fantasy slipping away from him; sitting with the Lestranges and the Yaxleys, discussing strategy, money management, and blood history. He would have made such an incredible contribution, perhaps he would earn a betrothment to Andromeda Black. Drowning in self-pity and merlot, Rosier almost missed that a few Death Eaters remained in the room. Nott, Wilkes, and Mulciber stood in front of him with wide, eager eyes. "We want to hear more."

"Fuck off."

"We want to fuck more mudbloods."

Evan stared at them blankly for a moment, then collected himself. "Erm … well …. Here's what I've learned; do you ever notice that all the wealthy purebloods have touchy rules for getting married and having children? There's protocol … a cycle of traditions if you will. Two pureblood families, that's how it starts out. Two pureblood families that are on friendly terms; be it through business, history, causes, and so on. Once the patriarchs decide the families should merge to one tree, they arrange a marriage. The arrangement can be held off for a generation or two, but usually the contestants for the marriage are betrothed from a young age. As the children grow up, they are expected to play with each other and become close friends and courtship is encouraged during schooling; that is the more modern way. For the pure, strict traditionalists; it is of no matter if the children grow to like each other or not. They'll have to marry regardless. Sometimes they don't even meet until the wedding day. This has been going on for hundreds and hundreds of years.

"A fine tradition if you ask me." Wilkes added. "It guarantees a future generation without fuss and waiting."

"Be that as it may, but think of this; what defines a pureblood status?" Rosier asked.

"Two magic parents." Mulciber stated. "But both parents must be pureblood."

"And what defines their pureblood status?"

"Purebloods."

"Possibly, but how deep must we search our family trees? They can't all be pureblood. If all purebloods only mated with other purebloods, we would have all died out thousands of years ago because of the inbreeding." The three Death Eaters slowly nodded, catching on. "As of now, our pureblood family trees are becoming tangled; the lines are blurred. Take Rabastan Lestrange; he's betrothed to a niece or daughter of Yaxley's, correct? Yaxley's wife is a cousin of Lucius Malfoy; he's married to Narcissa, the sister-in-law of Rabastan."

"Astrid, I believe her name was." Nott scratched his chin. "I think she's his youngest daughter. Not very pretty that one. Something wrong with her teeth and feet. Always limping …" He shuddered.

"Yes!" Rosier pointed out. "Our tree has become so tangled, the fruits are rotting! Ugly daughters! Ugly sons! Generations of them!"

"How exactly are mudbloods going to help?" Mulciber scowled.

"If you breed a mudblood and a muggle, what happens? Either a squib or a second generation mudblood. Now, if you breed a mudblood to a pureblood, half-blood, or another mudblood; you have a half-blood." Rosier explained. "Take that half-blood offspring and breed to another half-blood or to a pureblood, what happens? You see, per tradition, a witch or wizard can only be considered a pureblood if all grandparents and all following relatives are magic."

Mulciber shook his head. "Mudbloods aren't magic."

"Perhaps not, but they are capable of producing magic offspring! I have a theory that mudbloods may not be of direct magical prowess, but they have a gift to birth magical children if bred with stronger magical blood. Mudbloods aren't witches or wizards, but there is some magical element to them that could be the key to preserving our kind!" Rosier's eyes sparkled with grandeur. "What's more important? Keeping the tree in same garden, or spreading the roots and planting new seeds?"

Nott, Wilkes, and Mulciber were silent. They looked at each other with mixed expressions. Awe, confusion, and solemn nods. It was impossible to disagree with Rosier when he had such a profound point. Nott broke the silence first. "I'm not wasting my seed on some mudblood slut."

Rosier leaped up. "Avery, I'm not saying just any mudbloods. Mudbloods are common as cockroaches. Only certain mudbloods will be bred! The best ones! The prettiest, the handsomest, the smartest, the strongest! The ones that are capable enough to handle it!" Rosier gripped Nott's shoulders, brimming with hysterical excitement. "Think of the mudblood with the red hair. She's a looker isn't she? Gorgeous, witty, and look at what she did to this bastard's nose. As strong as an ox! You could get at least eight or nine kids out of her. She's the perfect candidate! Imagine generations of beautiful, strong, and intelligent daughters, Avery! Your family would be swimming in dowry! You would be wealthier than the Lestranges and the Malfoys combined!"

Nott was in a daze, a grin slowly twisted onto his face the more he thought about it. Wilkes looked wonderstruck. "Are you gonna tell Lucius?"

"When the time is ripe. And once I do, we won't be looked down upon anymore."

Mulciber wasn't as pleased as the others. "I don't understand it, Evan. Lucius isn't going to want to hear this from us. Now, if this came from Rhodolphus or Severus that would be different. He sits with them during dinner and they chat. Lucius tolerates us, but what makes you think this will get his attention? He's going to bloody laugh at you."

"Do you think we can have Severus tell Lucius?" Wilkes asked.

Nott was pulled out of his daydream and spat into his empty glass. "And let that sly, greasy bastard hog all the credit? Over my dead body! I can't fucking stand him anymore. He's been moody and unbearable since the raid on Potter Manor. And this!" He pointed to a sickly-looking gash on his cheek. "Look at this! I was making polite conversation, crack a joke, and he bloody loses it and smashes a fucking glass on my face!" He winced as he tenderly touched the wound. "I'm certain there's still glass in there."

"You should be happy that happened, Avery." Rosier grinned. "Since that little incident, the Malfoys aren't as pleased with Severus and his short temper lately."

"It was a single broken glass; he didn't burn down an entire wing of the castle." Mulciber rolled his eyes. "A bloody glass isn't going to make Severus lose his seat."

"A wine glass won't, but this will." Rosier pulled out a dusty book from underneath his chair. The pages were dog-eared and torn, the black leather binding was starting to crumble and fade. On the spine, in faded silver ink, "In Mollis et de Semine Regio Prince." Branded on top, was an indiscernible crest. The others looked at the book with mild disgust. "This is the … incomplete record of the Prince family line. You'll never believe where I found this. I've been doing a little light reading and found something that will be of great benefit to us. Avery, your great-grandfather Cantankerous mapped out all the pureblood family trees and histories, didn't he? Do you recall him saying anything about the Prince family?"

Nott scowled and scratched his chin. "I don't remember much of what he mentioned. I think ages ago they used to be in the higher-ups with the Lestranges, the Malfoys, and the Blacks. They were one of those strict traditionalist families, arranged marriages and all. Very particular about who they married off their children to. Not a nice family."

"And?"

"I think my grandad said something about an arranged marriage gone bad …" Nott paused. "That or they were all sent to Azkaban for practicing blood magic on muggle children. I think they're all dead or vanished anyways. That's an ancient family."

Rosier delicately opened the book. "This book is all we need to get Lucius to listen to us."