Evangeline Blackwood and the Lost Letter - draco malfoy

one.

Part One: The Recruit
----------

The lights on the ceiling were too bright.

They were the florescent kind, found in high school classrooms, cheap apartment kitchens, and, in this case, on the ceiling of every store in the pharmacy chain at which Evangeline Blackwood was employed. At nearly eleven o'clock at night, the lights made Evan feel too awake and, if she listened hard enough, she could even hear the annoying buzz of the bulbs above.

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath, right as an old man passed behind her on his way up to the register with two bottles of memory-aiding vitamins, found on the top shelf of the left hand side of aisle ten. The man looked over at Evangeline and she smiled sheepishly. But she did not feel truly guilty for the curse word; she had almost severed her own thumb trying to cut open the new shipment of men's razors.

"Do you have a loyalty card with us, sir?" Evan asked once she had met the man at the register, the words coming out of her mouth with robotic swiftness, even though the man had already held out the card to her. She smiled lightly and scanned it, along with the memory-aiding vitamins which Evangeline was almost positive were just placebo pills. When she had given the gentleman his rattling bag, handed him his receipt, and watched semi-patiently as he slowly deposited his wallet in his back pocket, the clock read 10:58.

"Evan?"

She turned to see her manager, a middle aged woman with spikey blonde hair and crinkles around her eyes, walking towards her with a clipboard.

"Yes?" Evangeline replied, pulling on her jacket and getting ready to leave at last.

"Tomorrow night I need you to do the outdates in aisles one and two. And check every item this time. Mrs. Schumer called corporate last week saying that you sold her expired milk," Michelle said with the usual curt tone.

Evan was only half listening as her manager continued to drone on about the mundane responsibilities of working a retail job. Of course Mrs. Schumer had complained, and Evan did not know why this concerned Michelle. Mrs. Schumer was a crotchety old woman who called corporate at least once a week, normally to complain about Evan. Being a very traditional woman, Mrs. Schumer had taken a rather frank disliking to Evangeline based solely on her appearance, which Mrs. Schumer had deemed "unprofessional." Evan somewhat understood why, and made it a point to pull on a sweater everytime Mrs. Schumer hobbled through the automatic doors. If only the old bat could see the artistry that was inked across Evan's back. The poor woman would have a heart attack.

Michelle finally stopped her lecturing. Now it was time to go home, time to sleep. Finally, it was time to be alone again.

But as Evan walked to her car that night, he was watching.

When she drove home blasting the radio and almost skidded in the snow, he was watching.

When she walked into her apartment and dropped her keys on the kitchen table, he was watching.

He even watched her as she sat on her couch and wrote an essay for her British Literature class, something that was five pages in length and took her only twenty minutes to complete.

Evan did not think that she was good at many things in life, but goddammit, she was good at writing essays.

She shut her laptop with a sigh, relaxing into her couch and rubbing her forehead. She made a mental note to ask Michelle to cut down on her hours. Taking eighteen credit hours this semester and working forty hours a week was a bit much.

Maybe Michelle would drop her down to thirty hours a week.

Or maybe even twenty.

The thought of this made Evan relax even further and she could not bring herself to transfer to her empty queen sized bed, bought for two people to occupy.

Evan was tired and not only physically. Something was missing. The feeling of an absence in her life was something she had felt often but would rarely admit to.

The girls in the books she so enjoyed reading did not worry about things such as grocery expiration dates and work schedules. They slayed dragons and won wars and reached the heavens.

But she never really thought, or rather let herself believe, that she may be destined for more than this life.

Evangeline drifted, not noticing that her phone was buzzing on the coffee table, the screen lit up with the name, "Damien."

And she also did not notice, as she fell asleep, that the other end of the couch was a little sunk in on one of the cushions, even though no one was sitting there.

At least, no one who wanted to be seen.

---

"So she is . . . promising?"

He hesitated and the Dark Lord noticed. "Yes, my Lord."

"You shall continue for one more week. Then we move to Phase Two."

"Yes, my Lord."

"And the Projector?"

"Working perfectly."

"I see. I shall let Dolohov know."

There was a pause in which the Dark Lord surveyed him with caution, eyeing him up and down.

"Was there . . . anything else? My Lord."

The Dark Lord stood up from his throne quickly, stepping over the slithering frame of a thick serpent. Two bare feet slapped audibly on the black stone floor.

Within moments, he was across the room. The Dark Lord soon had grasped the man's face and was staring into his grey eyes.

He felt long fingernails digging into his cheeks. He knew what was coming and he tried to tuck away any last minute feelings before-

"Legilimens."

It seemed that the Dark Lord found nothing of interest in his mind because finally, after a few minutes of familiar, excruciating pain, he was set free.

"Next week."

He turned to leave, holding his posture firm and not daring to look back at the Dark Lord. But before he could reach the towering black doors, Voldemort spoke.

"Oh, and Draco?"

He turned, settling his face into a hardened shell.

"Yes, my Lord?"

It was not often that he received praise, but he knew that the Recruitment Project had been a subject of much stress, presented as anger and violence, by his master. And Draco had presumably found a decent candidate for him. Still, Draco was surprised to hear the words that came next.

"Well done."