Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

Chapter 3

The Arx. An obsidian thorn towering over even the Eiffel Tower disfigured the once beautiful land of southern England. A hollowed building that offered no windows but let in air through minuscule cracks that ran across its length. Sheer amounts of wards - protective and harmful - provided a shimmering appearance that made it seem as if the tower were a reflection upon the water's surface.

Surrounding this building was destruction similar to the results of a violent earthquake. Cracked and overturned concrete, collapsed buildings, rusting cars, and streetlights long since broken littered the deserted area.

At the edges of this ruin began the city known by its inhabitants as hell. Filled to overflowing with poor muggles and magical beings alike, the city reeked of hunger and suffering. Factories spit out clouds of dark gray fog that settled like a blanket around the tops of gray buildings. Those unfortunate enough to lose their homes huddled disconsolately in alleys and street corners, trying their best to ignore the pushes and kicks from impatient passersby.

This was an unforgiving and harsh city, void of mercy or kindness. People avoided eye contact, whether to prevent conflict or to shield themselves from the pain of others, no one quite knew. The city was never quiet. Moans of hunger, shouts from a drunken brawl, and yells from overseers to their workers who got paid fifty pence each hour were normal even in the darkest hour of the night.

The large stretch of hell ebbed as the city climbed north. Here, streets were wider, the buildings were less decrepit, and the people were much cleaner and well-fed. Children could be seen playing Quidditch on fields of freshly cut grass. No muggles or muggleborn wizards were allowed to live here. Only those with the least amount of dirty blood would be permitted to enter this stretch.

However, wizards and witches with the purest of blood lived in an area that practically gleamed white with its beauty. Muggle buildings and items were torn down and discarded to be replaced with buildings of bright white walls and clean cobbled streets. Each day, half-bloods or wizards with only faint traces of muggle-blood would traverse from their stretch to this place of almost eerie perfection. They would work, provide, and cater to the pure-bloods who presided here. Pure-bloods expected to be treated as if they were royalty and grabbed a ridiculously large plot of land to call their own. They spend their days in relaxation and sloth, throwing extravagant balls and partaking in friendly duels with one another. Occasionally, some would don their white masks and black hoods and descend violently upon previously untouched towns on unfortunate muggles for a spot of fun.

It was in this stretch that a platinum blond wizard now found himself in. His unusual silver-blond head currently kept hidden under the hood of an immaculate velvet cloak and boots painstakingly scrubbed until no traces of the forest could be seen upon their soles, Draco Malfoy sat inconspicuously in a corner of a scrupulously cleaned tavern, listening in on a Death Eater meeting concerning the razing of a small muggle village near the coast.

"We cannot burn the place down. The city is only a few kilometers away from the border of the Lord's illusion charm. If we interfere with the border, he will destroy us all."

"A few flames won't bring down the whole bloody spell, you dumb bint."

"No taking slaves or whores this time. Put the lot in the third tier."

"Why bother? That place is crowded enough as it is. I swear I smell that abominable place when I sleep. Just kill the lot. They are nothing."

"Yes, yes, kill them all. But then, what to do about the bodies?"

"That's why I suggested that we burn the place down. I haven't seen anything exciting in too long."

Just as Draco decided to give up and leave, a Death Eater spoke a name that made his ears perk up.

"You think Macnair will be interested? There are enough muggles in the town to satisfy even him."

Not realizing he was gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw started to ache, Draco peered carefully at the group of well-dressed Death Eaters beneath his hood. After days of useless eavesdropping, someone finally had something to say about Voldemort's most infamous follower.

A witch dressed in a long gown of flowing blue silk cut a hand through the air dismissively. "I believe there will be a gala soon. They managed to catch a few rebels, I hear. Macnair will not risk missing his appointment."

"He really will be the executioner this time? I thought the old loon retired."

"It doesn't take much to swing the axe through their necks."

Draco smiled slightly and relaxed. He got what he came for. Finally, a confirmation that their target will indeed be at the gala. This should satisfy even his most reluctant ally. 'You hear that, Blaise? Old Macnair will be there; we won't be risking our skins for nothing.'

A couple of minutes later, Draco heard his friend's reply in his head, although it was faint and shaky. 'Damn it, Draco. I'm sure the man will die soon without us even having to do anything. He's old enough to just drop dead at any moment.'

'Blaise, I will kill him. You don't have to come if you don't want to. I won't hold it against you.'

When Draco heard no reply, he got up from his chair as quietly as possible and made his way toward the exit, pushing back his hood slightly to wink at the pretty bartender. The pale brunette answered with a nervous smile and a worried glance at the group of Death Eaters still arguing over how to kill an entire village.

'Wait.' Blaise's abrupt voice in his head made Draco wince slightly. 'Should we warn that muggle village? Evacuate them?'

'Who do you think we are, Blaise? Harry Potter? No, I don't feel like a trip to the coast right now.' Draco pushed open the heavy door of expensive agarwood and stepped onto the clean cobbled street outside. 'Besides, I already poisoned their drinks. They'll all be dead when they fall asleep tonight.'

'You think the rest of the Death Eaters won't notice that someone is targeting them?' Blaise's voice sounded slightly annoyed.

'Well, if they're on their guards, that'll only make it more interesting for me, wouldn't it?' The walk down the street was peaceful and pleasant. No one was about to cast him suspicious glances, a pleasant breeze brushed up against his skin, and best of all, he had gotten what he wanted.

Blaise's reply sounded exasperated. You're fucking impossible, mate.