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Another night, another meeting. The Death Eaters were not well known for their high morals; but one couldn't help but admire their strict unspoken order. Everybody had their proper place and their seating reflected it. At the very bottom, the new, young Death Eaters. These were young men and boys who were currently in school or just completed it. Some had their dark mark; some had yet to earn it. They had yet to prove themselves, so they had not earned their seat at the table. Their only roles were to listen, not speak, and follow directions, not contribute to them. They tended to act extremely seriously, as any move that displeased their superiors could compromise a seat. Next, the average Death Eaters. The newer they were, the farther to the back they would be seated. Their performance would determine if they would remain at the end of the table, or sit closer to the elites. Being stuck at the end of the table was complex. It was encouraged to be bold and assert your value to the cause; while simultaneously being pushed down and silenced by the higher ranks. It wasn't uncommon for one to be treated more favorably than the others. The more you were favored, the closer you were placed to the elites.

After them, sitting near the head of the table, were the powerful Death Eaters; the superiors. Age and experience dominated here. The mature, sophisticated members refused to have their spot moved towards the back or closer to the head, as they feel satisfied with their seat and moving would be a sign of great disrespect. Most of the Death Eaters on this side of the table were born into their position; purebloods with Death Eater lineage that have had their standing for decades. Also, Death Eaters who have made priceless donations and contributions to the cause. No matter who was seated at the table or standing in the room, gold was not taken lightly. To the wealthier Death Eaters, money was disposable. If one gave a generous donation, they could just find their seat moved closer to the head and a fatter reward. If one wasn't born from extreme wealth, it would be wise to prove your worth or else remain at the back.

Who sat at the head was undisputable. The Dark Lord himself when matters were dire and speaking to his men directly was crucial. The rest of the time, the master of the house sat at the head and was expected to conduct business.

"The Ministry has increased security. I believe this is only temporary as our accident with the Imperious curse will not happen again." Lucius glared at a Death Eater. "That being said, access to records and registries will be limited for the time being. Our inside sources warn us that the Ministry is preparing to investigate the mudblood disappearances. As of now, we only go to the Ministry to conduct personal matters as to not raise too much suspicion. It would also be advisable to increase monthly donations. Keep in mind; our Ministry still maintains an outside friendliness towards muggles and mudbloods. Now, on that same note …."

Evan Rosier anxiously rubbed his hands together. How much longer would this go on? He exchanged nervous looks with Nott. As soon as Lucius would mention dropping the muggleborns as servants, that would be his opportunity. His moment. Rosier understood this would be a gamble. Either his seat would advance, or he would be criticized so badly, showing his face at the table again would be an embarrassment.

This wasn't about the red-haired servant or sparing mudbloods. It didn't bother Rosier if they lived or died. Wilkes, Mulciber, and Nott had insatiable appetites that demanded to be fulfilled at whatever cost; be it fighting each other bloody or releasing it on a disposable mudblood. Rosier considered himself above them. He didn't need a constant release; just a desire to be recognized. But how could he? What feat could Rosier ever dream to achieve that wouldn't be drowned in Severus' shadow? That bastard already had a seat right across from Yaxley. Severus was intelligent and had a silent maliciousness few dared to provoke. It was obvious why he was chosen as favorite above all the others.

"…. Preparations for the wedding are going along well, I hope?" Lucius asked Rabastan. "Has Astrid agreed to hold the ceremony and reception here?"

"She has. She plans to visit for the weekend to pick the rooms. We're thinking of inviting some prominent Ministry members as a kind gesture – "

"Are you gettin' rid of the mudblood servants?" Wilkes interrupted.

All eyes at the table turned to him. Rabastan looked furious, but feigned politeness. "I beg your pardon?"

Wilkes gaped blankly and looked at Rosier. "Wot do I say?"

Rosier kicked Wilkes from under the table. "I … believe my colleague is inquiring about the servants." Rosier tried his best to mirror the cool, collected demeanor of his superiors. "The mudbloods?"

Lucius looked at him with an icy stare. "I do not see how that pertains to the topic, but I have decided I want no more of them in my house. It would not be in our best interest to invite Ministry officials to the wedding with their missing muggleborns serving them. We'll have only house elves by then. Any mudbloods found on raids will be instantly disposed of."

Rosier felt a twinge of panic. "Is there no purpose for them?"

"No, Rosier. They no longer serve a purpose under my roof or anywhere else."

"I disagree."

The table went silent. Some of the Death Eaters who already heard his proposition muttered to each other and left the room.

"Is this meeting over?" Yaxley whispered to Lucius.

Lucius curtly nodded, but didn't take his eyes off Rosier. Several more Death Eaters left the dining hall. The ones standing eagerly approached the table, hoping to sit down and listen. As soon as Lucius flicked his hand at them, they followed suit and scurried out. Rosier's audience was a fraction of what he hoped. To his displeasure, Bellatrix and Severus remained behind. Wilkes, Nott, and Mulciber stayed as well. Lucius rose from the head of the table and slowly paced around the room. "Evan Rosier. I hope for your sake that you have a good reason for disrupting this evening's meeting."

"I believe I do."

"And what exactly is that reason?"

Rosier swallowed. "Mudbloods."

"Mudbloods?"

"Yes … sir."

"And what about mudbloods that is so bloody important?"

The stares from the table scrutinized every inch of him. Bellatrix looked ready to blow him to bits at any moment. Lucius glared at him with annoyance. Mulciber, Nott, and Wilkes ginned stupidly at each other. Severus was the most difficult to read. He just sat there patiently, just waiting for Rosier to slip up. The pressure was almost too much for him. This was not the audience he had hoped to reach. As beads of sweat dripped down his face, Rosier began to regret ever coming up with this plan. There had to be an easier way to earn a higher seat; a way that didn't threaten his reputation. It was too late. He had their attention. If Rosier wanted his well-deserved seat near his superiors, Severus would have to be outdone … or forcibly replaced. After all, he still had dirt on the bastard. If his fellow Death Eaters didn't respond well to this madness, he still had the dirt. Evan Rosier collected his thoughts and had no other choice but to recite his idea.