Losing Faith
Chapter Thirty-Three : Death Eaters
Marcus Flint's fist drives onto the rough stone wall of the corridor next to Rae Landon's head, shattering what was left of his knuckles. Rae inwardly jumps and lets her blue eyes fall closed as Marcus presses his broken-knuckled right hand against her stomach, leaving a bloody, three fingered imprint over her light green nightdress. He grins crookedly, his breath reeking of fire whisky, and Rae turns her head to the side.
"Pregnant?" he spits, disgusted. "I heard from Higgs who heard from Parkinson who heard from Greingrass that you're pregnant. Why am I the last to know?"
Rae wipes Marcus's salvia from her face with a trembling hand. "What part of it was Terence not clear on? Yes, Marcus, I'm pregnant. You're going to be a father, Merlin forbid," Rae replies dryly, rolling her eyes towards the water-stained ceiling.
"Don't talk back to me!" growls Marcus, slamming his fist into the wall once more, pulling away with bloody, raw, mangled knuckles.
"Careful, Marcus, or pretty soon those uppity women-folk are gonna want the vote!" Rae spits sarcastically, smacking Marcus's hand from her stomach, boldly staring him in the eye. She hides her shaking hands behind her back, pressing her palms to the cool stone in hopes of finding some comfort.
Marcus raises his hand and backhands her. "Don't think that because you're with child you still won't get what you have coming to you. I'm not as stupid as you look; I know that kid isn't mine. I know you've been sleeping around, and when I find out who the real father of that brat growing inside of you is, I'm going to kill him. And I'm going to make you watch!"
Rae squeezes her eyes shut at the burning pain in her cheek. "Who-who told you?" she demands, her voice cracking.
"Higgs. Seems the prat's good for somethin' after all, besides being a lawn ornament. I don't have him to thank for everything, though," Marcus replies with a sneer across his troll-ish face. "Your dear mother was also very helpful. You see, my pet"--he balls his fists at his side, talks through his teeth--"the genes of one-quarter species are incompatible with full-bred humans. If you're fucking pregnant, that kid in there isn't mine." He jabs his middle finger into the flesh of her stomach.
Rae cocks her head. "Wow. For a minute there, you almost sounded intelligent. Almost. Of course, you're only fooling yourself."
"You are not in the position to talk back," he snarls, taking his hand from her stomach and running it through her hair, advancing upon her again. A jet of heat and lust rushes through Marcus's body as he presses against Rae. His breathing quickens. She squirms against him, and that feeling of desire intensifies, stirring into Marcus's bones.
Rae's stomach churns. "We're in the corridors," she reminds him, although she herself isn't one to care, and she doubts Marcus does. In fact, her protests would only make him want her more.
Marcus glances around; the empty corridor stretches out around them, and their only companions are the skittering spiders of the dungeons and the darkness that looms from all directions. "You know as well as I do that barely anyone enters these corridors 'cause there's nothing down here besides my chambers and Snape's old office. But if you're suddenly so modest . . ." He trails off, whipping his head around to a noise Rae can't hear. He'd curse the irony if he only knew what irony was.
Marcus pulls his hands from Rae and takes a step back as a dark, shadowy figure rounds the corner, coming from the darkness. It's recognisable as a large canine--a werewolf--with bright, baby blue eyes and light brown, blood-matted fur. He bounds with a limp, avoiding placing his full weight on his front paw. A long gash above his right eye bleeds blood into his vision, obscuring the grey images of Marcus and Rae.
Marcus sneers and spits in the werewolf's path.
The werewolf rears his head up and raises his lip, growling. He snaps, threatening to take off another of Marcus's fingers, before disappearing back into the darkness.
Rae inhales sharply, realising she hasn't breathed since the werewolf came into view. A dotted trail of blood marks the path that the werewolf walks, and he's soon gone, having snuck into Snape's old office.
"Do you--" Rae starts, looking to Marcus and his superior sense of smell.
Marcus shakes his head dismissingly. "The scent of blood overwhelms him." He then turns back to Rae, running his tongue over his lower lip. "Come, I'm not on duty again till the morning, and we still need to discuss the matter of someone else's child inside of you."
"Discuss? I never thought you ordering me around was discussing."
"Shut the fuck up, or I'm gonna shove my d--"
"Flint!" a voice calls down the corridors, covering Marcus's next words.
Marcus curses loudly, loathing this second interruption. He wraps his hand around Rae's wrist as she finds this time to turn and flee. The fair-haired messenger skids to a halt, clutching his chest and gasping for air.
"Lord Malfoy has . . . called . . . an immediate emergency"--he coughs--"meeting of his higher Death Eaters to discuss the matters of the past week," Seamus Finnigan reports gutturally, saluting the honorary guard.
Marcus snorts. "I wondered when he'd get around to that," he muses to himself. "Fine, I'll be there, but I have another matter to attend to, first. You're dismissed." Marcus irritably waves Seamus away, his eyes lingering on Rae.
Seamus salutes again, purposely avoiding eye contact with Marcus and his skimpily dressed woman. "Yes, Sir. If I may say, Sir, you'd be smart to"--his eyes flicker to Rae, and stay there--"put off your other business. Malfoy is right angry. He's already been in a row with Lestrange and Weasley."
"I said you were dismissed, Finnigan!" rumbles Marcus, outraged. "Don't forget your place. I say you are dismissed, and you are dismissed!"
Seamus starts, dragging his eyes from Rae. "Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. I'll be on my way now, Sir," he mumbles and quickly departs from whence he came, to deliver his message to another.
Marcus's grip around Rae's wrist tightens, and he drags her down the corridor. "Come. You'll spend the night in my chambers and wait for my return. When I've decided what to do with that child, I'll inform you." He bangs open the wooden door to his chambers, and the stench of mildew and fire whisky slams Rae in the face. He bodily throws her in, locking the door from the outside and pocketing the key in his black robes.
The Lunar Congregation Hall of the ancient castle is made from polished alabaster. The vast ceiling of the magnificent hall is made entirely from glass, and the brilliant light of the moon and stars filter through, casting a mystical aura over the silver statues of many species that decorate the hall. These statues stand from one foot to six feet tall and are placed in the corners of the meeting chamber. A heavy, black birch table engraved with ivy vines, stars, and moons has been placed in the centre of the hollow, and a series of fifty silver-cushioned seats of matching wood surround the table.
Lucius Malfoy thrusts the black metal doors open, his right hand in a white-knuckled grip around his snakehead cane. As he enters the Lunar Ceremonial Hall, a feeling of warmth comes over him, and chimes begin to sing from the many statues. He glances around irritably, and the annoying song stops. He takes his seat at the head of the table--two honorary guards follow beside him, their wands in hand. Ranks of Death Eaters trail their lord, and soon the hall is packed with an assembly.
The Death Eaters sit in an uneasy silence that's only disturbed by a drumming of fingers against the table, the clearing of a throat, or the occasional groan of pain. Fifty pairs of concerned eyes are drawn to Lord Malfoy, waiting for him to speak, which he does after several tense minutes.
"What type of imbeciles do I have working for me?" he bellows, slamming his staff onto the alabaster flooring. Those Death Eaters closest to him jump, startled from the sudden, but not unexpected, outburst. "I can understand the escape of Lupin and Black--those Death Eaters were young and inexperienced and deserved being torn apart! But--"
At this, Twig Raventon's heart jolts into his mouth, and he leaps to his feet, knocking over his chair with a clatter.
"Sit down, Raventon! I hold no remorse for what happened to your twin. An experienced Death Eater, when facing sudden demise, wouldn't have fled with his tail between his legs, he would have fought till the bitter end. A simple killing curse would have taken care of Lupin and Black, but because of the incompetence of Finn, Raventon, Kinney, Briggs, and Kane, their entrails had to be mopped from the forest floor and we are short two soulless prisoners!"
Twig grudgingly takes his seat, his thin brows creased and his mouth suddenly dry. "You sent the Dementors to execute Lupin and Black, to drink the souls from their bodies. If you wished them dead, the Blue Patrol could have carried out those orders." He quickly adds, "Sir."
Lucius chuckles mirthlessly. "You dare ask me a question, Raventon? Fine. I will humour you," his voice darkens to a serious tone. "Two soulless prisoners would have served me better than two lifeless ones. You see, without their souls, Lupin and Black would have still been alive, but any individuality and verve would have been sucked from their bodies. They would have been empty shells, and eventually that would have killed them. But without their morals, they would have done anything I commanded them to. It was my intention to interrogate them about this Last Alliance."
Twig nods slowly, processing the words in his mind.
"In addition to the Death Eaters that we have lost, two prisoners have also been liberated. Neville Franklin Longbottom and Charles Lucas Weasley. Longbottom was a target for Lupin and Black, in addition to the griffin that we have been searching for. There is a legend written in the oldest of old volumes that tells of the four founders and the hereditary gifts that fathers bestowed to their heirs. Godric Gryffindor passed the ability to polymorph into a griffin. We now know that whatever the Last Alliance plans has something to do with the heirs.
"I want it known that from this day on, any Death Eater who flees from battle will be executed! Any wizards of the Last Alliance who are spotted on Death Eater land will be apprehended, questioned, and tortured before being put to death. Any Death Eater who disobeys this command will be flogged and sentenced for a month in the dungeons. This brings me to the next order of business; Benjamin Lestrange, you stood face to face with Severus Snape and allowed him to escape."
Benjamin glances up, his pale face drawn in defence. His eyes flicker with the memory of the interaction and the prospect of death. "The Last Alliance may be a few bloods short of an worthy army. Their battling techniques are less-than satisfactory but they do possess something none of us have--sheer dumb luck."
Lucius listens intently, nodding as Benjamin explained himself. "Yes, and what of the prisoner Ackerly and Nott were escorting back? Did you let Delacour and Snape take him as it's been rumoured, Benni?" Benjamin's childhood name comes awkwardly to Lucius's lips; he patronises Benjamin to speak it before fellow Death Eaters. Spite was always a Malfoy trait.
"I never thought the Weasley was important. He is just a prisoner."
At this, Percival Weasley snaps his head up.
Lucius glances over at Percy, an amused smile dancing across his lips. "Weasley, would you care to inform Mister Lestrange the importance of this prisoner, your brother?" he asks, knowing perfectly well that Percy would never think of acting on his offer.
"Why would we listen to a Weasley?" interjects Marcus, glaring at the Death Eater who is seated across from him. "Isn't it a bit accidental that it was his brother who was saved? Are we to think that he never had a hand in this? That he isn't working with the Last Alliance? Once a Weasley, always a Weasley." He folds his arms over his chest, a smug look of satisfaction upon his face that would even have made Draco envious.
"Remember that this Weasley betrayed everything his family ever believed in." Terence Higgs defends his best mate, his voice straining with pain. He yawns; dark violet bags hang beneath his baby blue eyes, and a freshly healed scar is marked over his right eye, dried blood still caked on. Terence slumps his shoulders and wishes for a warm bed to crawl into.
"I trust Weasley, Flint," Lucius replies, casting a fleeting, concerned look to Terence. "And that's all that truly matters. Remember, you serve me, not Weasley. You must answer to me, not Weasley. Like you, Weasley is a mere Death Eater."
Percy shifts uneasily in his seat. "He understands, Malfoy," he grumbles.
Lucius flashes Percy a superior smirk before turning a cold eye back onto his Death Eaters. "We've worked too hard to lose everything we've gained to a few spoiled wizards. This alliance is not going to do us in, that is a promise. We haven't lost all of our eyes at the Ministry. Granted, Miss Nefertari was the best agent we had working for our side, but there are wizards and witches under her who still remain faithful. We know that the International Ministry is holding a meeting with the Last Alliance to discuss terms of an alliance. Until we know what course of action they will be taking, we cannot act. This meeting is adjourned."
I have the next few chapters (the rest of Book I of Losing Faith) written and waiting for upload. There are seven more chapters until the Leader of the Last Alliance's identity is revealed, and until the Death Eaters and Last Alliance come face-to-face. Thanks to the readers who have reviewed, and those who have added this story to their favourites, C2s or alerts.
