𝐔𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

The Death Eaters Meeting

It was 9 p.m., October 25th: a drizzling, gloomy Wednesday night was approaching. The Malfoy mansion had never looked so dim, coldly lit by only a few green enchanted candles scattered in the long corridors: October wasn't being kind, bringing a notably cold and bothersome rain.

The main room, decorated with a series of family portraits, was quickly filling up.

Lorraine was already seated at the long, dark conference table, impassible as always and lost in thought. At her left, Mabel sat silently with her arms crossed, waiting for the meeting to start. Her dark eyes were fixated on Narcissa, who was conversing quietly with a man Lorraine had never seen before in a corner of the room; she was as elegant as always, wearing a long, vermilion dress. She stood tall, with a straight back and her arms crossed; overall, she emanated an authoritative aura, but there was nothing conciliatory, nor reassuring, about her.

After the Dark Lord's demise, she had stepped up and taken over his role in coordinating the organization; and as its new leader, it was she who opened each meeting. Despite everything she had put at risk by pursuing it, she hadn't deserted the cause, and for this display of consistency, Lorraine admired her.

She took a subtle glance at who was there. Several new faces had shown up after Voldemort's death, including herself, as well as old ones: Lucius, surprisingly enough, was still there, despite having almost repented after the Hogwarts Battle's defeat. At his left sat Draco, whose mind didn't seem to be attending: he looked nervous, as he always did, looking everywhere and nowhere at once. Lorraine didn't know whether he was still with them, despite him being physically present; but, after all, deserting wasn't an option.

The Carrows twins didn't look like they were doing so well, either, especially Alecto: her red hair wasn't as shiny as it used to, despite being greasy, and dark rings circled her eyes. Amycus just sat in silence, pursing his lips. Their not-so-brief stay at Azkaban had clearly put their characters, as well as their loyalty, to the test. Lorraine didn't envy them one bit.

As usual, a seat was being left vacant in front of her: it was the Traitors' Seat, which would remain empty until each and every one of the traitors would be dead. Its position was clearly symbolic, as finding and terminating them was specifically her and Mabel's task.

Soon, every other chair was taken.

Narcissa unhurriedly reached the table, putting one hand on it and slowly sitting down. Her hair, testifying to the passage of time, was slowly greying; her eyes had a quirky light to them while she browsed the attendants with a grave, observant look.

Skipping the greetings, she turned directly to face Mabel. "Anything to report?"

Mabel conjoined her hands in her lap with a satisfied grin. "Thicknesse is dead. We did our job."

Lorraine barely raised her brows at her mother's claim. The execution, clean and swift, was her work, and she was satisfied with it; her excellence not being acknowledged slightly irritated her, but she said nothing. They had been after him for months. The man was surprisingly challenging to track down, but other than that, he was unsurprisingly helpless enough to be an easy mark. He didn't differ from many other cowards she had executed: he was just as pitiful and pathetic. Lorraine hated those kinds of people with a burning passion, which had made her work way easier. She cleared her voice. "It was quick."

"It shouldn't have," murmured a faint voice, low enough for it not to sound downright aggressive but loud enough to be heard by every member. Amycus was apparently dissatisfied with her job, but Lorraine didn't feel like bickering with such an irrelevant man. Her stare was intense enough to silence him.

They were interrupted by Narcissa. "Your agony was your own actions' consequence, Carrow. Be more careful and watch your words," she said curtly, dismissing his objection with a disdainful gesture of her right hand. Amycus lowered his gaze, while his sister softly touched his hand in silence. "There are very few people missing," Narcissa continued, "and I trust you'll take care of them egregiously."

Mabel sighed. "We already know where Snape is. Isn't he a priority?"

Narcissa frowned, annoyed by her question. "Absolutely not. And where is Beatrice?" Her stare was dead cold. In the pause that followed, a few voices whispered.

That was an unusually evasive response on Narcissa's part. Lorraine knew of her despise for whataboutisms; for this reason, she chose not to back her mother's inquiry. There were at least two good reasons for not going after Snape. The first was that his public image was still too fresh: killing him would have been a declaration of the organization's survival to the general public, which they couldn't afford without it backfiring spectacularly. The second was that they knew of his whereabouts. He wasn't going anywhere: he was a dead man walking, and he knew that. However, she hadn't shared her considerations with Mabel, who apparently enjoyed making a fool of herself; for this reason, instead of commenting further, she coldly stated: "I'll take care of her as soon as I locate her. She was in Manchester recently, so I'll go from there."

Narcissa took a long look at Lorraine's neutral expression and raised a brow. "Alecto will help you."

Narcissa was an extremely challenging individual to read, but, in this particular case, she was making her intentions very clear. The Carrows needed a new, simple task to gain a sense of purpose again; simultaneously, Lorraine had been operating solo for a while, and Narcissa wanted to maintain her under control. No one could keep a close eye on her like Alecto: she both needed to prove herself and held a grudge against Lorraine's family.

Mabel shifted in her seat, visibly dissatisfied but ignored by Narcissa, who impassibly continued: "Now let's move on, to more urgent and pressing matters."

Lorraine's gaze met Alecto's. The prospect of working with her was dreadful, but the orders were more than clear. Still, she didn't like the woman at all. At least she had some useful capabilities, like her notorious Apparating skills, but that was such a pathetic redeeming quality that Lorraine couldn't bring herself to tolerate her. Her determination was sincerely admirable, but even that was countered by a stubborness bordering on vacuity. Mabel's hand delicately squeezed her arm, making her realize her suddenly tense poise. She relaxed, leaning against the backrest of her chair. "Manchester?" Mabel whispered. She nodded slightly in response, averting her gaze from Alecto.

Damn it.