Chapter 20: The Meeting

Cressida bites her lips in the last few moments where nobody can see her face but releases them steps away from her target. Regulus stands still, not acknowledging her arrival. He stares at the fireplace; the flame tinted with sparks of green.

"Is the fire more interesting than the faces of other people?" she questions. His eyes shift away from the flames, the near black orbs pressing against the edge of his socket but his head does not shift. "Or do they not like you enough to let you join at their sides?"

The young man snaps ninety degrees to face her. Cressida locks her jaw shut, watching him carefully. For a stupid, childish moment, she hopes to see some sort of recognition inside of them. Like he would be able to see through the veil of Polyjuice.

"I prefer the company of people that have interesting topics to engage me with," is his venomous reply. The once clasped hands now settle on either side of his legs, the fingers relaxed and unfurled. "What do you wish to talk about?"

Regulus has always been a very straight-forward converser. If she were still Cressida, she would have snorted then made a joke about the weather to watch him roll his eyes. But she doesn't. She glances over her shoulder, eyeing the way the other Death Eaters snarl and claim their glory. Then she looks back to Regulus. This boy has sent her letters with desperate pleas for help written between his neat cursive, even if he hadn't meant to put them in there. He doesn't want to be here, surrounded, and she would guess he feels much the same as she does right now.

"I hear they serve food," she muses calmly, swinging about as though gazing across the room where there is nothing available. "What do you think is safest to eat? And how do I find it?"

Regulus runs his tongue over the front of his teeth, giving a small exhale of boredom. He jerks his head to the side. "Weider, the House-elf will bring you whatever you want," he says. He looks her over once before adding with a hint of disdain, "I'll show you where he's usually hiding."

Cressida quickly starts walking to keep up with the young man, smiling under her nose. They venture out into a large, open corridor further into the mansion, turning into a small dining hall then through to another room that is smaller and has brooms and other cleaning pieces. A slightly hefty built House-Elf is using his magic to sweep up dust with a brush and pan.

"Weider," Regulus calls. "I have a guest with an appetite." Cressida turns her eyes away from the Elf to the man with growing curiosity. The way he spoke to the servant was not overly gracious, but it was simple and calm. Polite. Maybe he offered to escort her to speak to the House-Elf rather than her.

"Of course, Master Black," Weider responds with a slowed draw and raspy scratch. Weider looks to her. "What would the Mistress desire?"

Cressida opens her lips but hesitates. How should she speak to a House-Elf like this? "An apple will do," she replies in the same tone Regulus used. Her safest bet. The House-Elf disappears with a snap of his fingers. "What do you suppose today's meeting shall involve?"

"The same as it always does." Regulus suddenly pinches his brows, peering down at her now shorter stance. "Who are you?"

"Rowena Tether."

His lips round in a display of bored recognition. "Ah," he mumbles. "Explains why I haven't seen your face before. Came all the way from Ireland. You don't sound Irish."

"English parents," is her quick excuse. "Kept their accent."

Regulus hums in a sound of acknowledgment. Weider appears with an apple that he promptly reaches down and takes from the Elf's hands. "Thank you, Weider." Tossing her the green fruit, Regulus strides back out of the broom cupboard, leaving her to follow behind. "Don't stay by my side, if that's what you're hoping on doing."

Cressida swallows the large bite she had taken. "Why not?"

"Because I don't particularly like having friends here. I get my job done and that is it."

"I think you'll like me."

Regulus swings around just before he reaches the threshold that will take them back into the main room. Gone is the expression of boredom, now replaced with a dark and virulent sharpness. "I don't think I will. I don't like anybody."

Cressida breathes slowly through her nose, keeping her chin steady. "No one?" she whispers.

Regulus' eyes flicker between hers, reading something from them. Without answer, he turns on his heels and marches back into the foyer. Instead of going back to the fireplace, he saunters around towards the Malfoy; perhaps so she doesn't have a choice to follow him unless she intends to join in their conversation. Cressida meanders close enough to hear their conversation.

"How is your wife?" Regulus asks.

The blond man chuckles quietly, sipping from his wine-filled goblet. "Obnoxious at times. She knows it is a boy just from the way he kicks whenever she goes out into the garden. The flowery smell. She already has a name picked out."

"Yes?" Regulus wonders, raising his brows.

"Draco," the man answers with a curling smile.

"A fine name." Regulus smiles flatly at the man and looks out of the corner of his eye again, directly to her. "This is Rowena." He holds out his hand in a gesture for her to join. Cressida widens her eyes but quickly trots closer. "Rowena, this is Lucious Malfoy. She was just saying that she was honoured to be here with one of the Dark Lord's greatest followers."

Lucious raises his brows in a sick delight. Cressida smiles weakly, trying to ignore how closer Bellatrix Lestrange is at this moment. Murderers. Murderers that they've hunted for months and she's in the same room as them. "The pleasure is all mine," the blonde man says. "I'll admit that I have yet to hear much about you. Very quiet, people have said."

"I-" Cressida watches Regulus walk away, heading straight back to the fireplace. Prick. Did that for his own escape and so she is now stuck. "I have been working mostly in Ireland. It is different here and I find people strange."

"Well," he chuckles, toasting her, "I'm sure you'll prove yourself more than capable. Considering you are gifted with the Dark Mark, the Lord sees you as valuable and loyal. A precious gift that few receive."

"I've been told."

She'd really prefer having Sirius over his brother at this moment. He is a bit of a git, though he changes around her. Not in the 'I'm different around her' sort of way, but the different company makes you act certain ways. Lucious blabbers into her ear, and Cressida keeps a small smile, her eyes constantly wandering the room, assessing and analysing. A few names sound here and there. Rosier. Evan Rosier's father.

"Well, well, well," a high pitched voice sings out. Lucious smiles over her shoulder and Cressida doesn't even need to turn her head to know who's boot heels are clanking against the floor. "Look at this little thing."

Bellatrix Lestrange, a wild and wicked woman, prances around her with eased intimidation. Her head of curls is pulled into a bun with many pieces falling out along her shoulders.

She stops next to Lucious, smirking. "I heard about your little conquest in Navan." With a glance to Lucious, she adds in a more solid tone, "Killed twenty Muggles and three witches. All by her wee little self."

Cressida has a sudden urge to punch herself, wishing any damage done would be transferred to the real Rowena Tether. It was in the Daily Prophet; a firebomb-like explosion of fiendfire. A purely chaotic attack that had no targets except misery. "I had some time to kill," she spits out flatly. She doubts that her tone would be taken too seriously, considering many of the other Death Eaters seems to snarl at every second statement.

Cressida stands a few inches shorter than Bellatrix which adds to her growing annoyance as she would have been of equal or near height as herself. The true challenge of this mission is going to be holding her wand. The more Bellatrix Lestrange talks, the more Cressida wishes to return to Regulus' side, despite how cold he is. And she is given that chance at the arrival of a man called Goyle and another called Dolohov. She had figured out earlier that not all Death Eaters attend these meetings. Only those of importance to the matters at hand.

Taking the moment given to her, Cressida slips from Lucious' presence and strides back towards Regulus who now sits on the back of the couch, facing the room. At the sight of her coming, he sighs, rolling his eyes. "I told you not to annoy me."

"I won't talk," she bargains. "I'd just prefer to watch."

With nothing more to argue her with, the young pair sit in silence, watching the rest of the room. At the stroke of four, everybody grows quieter in the anticipation of their master. Cressida stands from the lounge and even Regulus follows suit. Everything falls into silence and stillness. And at four minutes past the hour, a figure emerges from the entrance. Everybody bows their heads and she quickly follows the action.

Voldemort is a tall man. He wears the same shade of black, if not slightly darker than everybody else. A hood with wide sides sits neatly on the crown of his head, shadowing his face.

"My Lord," Quinton Lestrange greets, "we have been eagerly awaiting your arrival."

"Then we shall not hesitate to begin." The voice is soft yet it scratches at her mind. Regulus begins striding forward but it takes her many more moments to force her legs to move closer to the Dark Lord. She stares at his face. It is pale and misshaped. A mix between a man and something else. His forehead protrudes further than normal and his nose seems to be retreating back into his face. But there are hints of the man he used to be. Brown eyes and shapely lips. Something is taking away his humanity.

Cressida pauses upon reaching the large dining table, recalling Snape's word of warning about sitting where there is a seat left for her. She watches everybody else slip into theirs, leaving her one at the very end, opposite Goyle and next to an unnamed woman.

"My Lord," Bellatrix purrs, "you will be pleased to know that we have sourced more Inferi. What would you have us do with-"

Voldemort raises a hand that silences Bellatrix. "Leave that to me." Cressida makes a mental note; Inferi. An army of the dead. "Who has last heard from Fenrir Greyback?"

"I heard from him last week," Rosier answers. Everybody sits so stiffly at the table, not a single breath being heard. Cressida doesn't dare turn her head away. "He's scouting through Scotland near the border, gathering more for his personal army he calls it."

The sound of Voldemort chuckle is unnerving. Remus is along the border, she remembers with a strike in her gut. Hopefully just a coincidence. "He wishes to raise his own army of werewolves? How…marvellous."

"A pack of wild dogs," Lucious mutters. The table appears to agree. Even the Death Eaters detest werewolves. Do they have no place in the world if even the villains barely accept them? "My Lord, if I may so ask, what do you plan on doing with them once you have prevailed?"

"They shall continue doing as they are, as long as it does not interfere with our tasks."

Cressida barely moves the entire meeting, never once speaking. And neither does Regulus, she notes. By the end of the hour, her joints and muscles are locked in place and they creak when she finally stands. As soon as the Dark Lord leaves, Cressida marches out of the mansion and through the protection barrier, then disapparates back to her temporary home.