In a dark and slightly damp manor house outside a small muggle village in Wales, nine Death Eaters were waiting, silent and still, their masked faces all angled towards the man at the head of the large wooden table whose pale skin seemed to glow even in the low light. He watched them back, red eyes pinning them each for a long moment, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts as his long fingers curled and uncurled around a handsome yew wand.
His silence was a power play and everyone in the room knew it. This was a game and they were nothing more than pawns to be commanded as the Dark Lord saw fit. So they waited in silence as he watched them, playing with them, practically daring them to speak before he did. Daring them to challenge him. But everyone in that room had been playing this game for a good long while now. And everyone in that room stayed utterly silent and utterly still. They had seen the price of provoking their master before and had no wish to pay it.
This was perhaps one of the more frustrating things they endured. Not that staying silent could compare to any of the horrors other things that were asked of them. Staying silent was even easy sometimes because they all knew that to betray fear in fornt of their master would be to invite his wrath. But then, it wasn't really the silence that grated on their nerves. It was the meaning of these moments that, no matter how many times they played this little game, rubbed some of them just a little bit wrong. Because this was designed to remind them that they were worthless, tin soldiers in the Dark Lord's war. Useful, to be sure, but disaposable at the end of the day. After all, he owned them and his command was their law.
William Selwyn in particular didn't like these tense silences before the meetings began because he was not a patient man. It was a failing his parents had tolerated because they knew that impatience had its uses, especially since he had been raised to be the sort of man who got what he wanted when he wanted it and didn't accept anything less.
He had always assumed this was the product of his pureblood heritage, of being born to a family that was strong and proud and commanded respect. Until that day at the end of his second year in school when he'd seen what his sister's upbringing was like. He had cursed himself plenty of times before now for not noticing sooner, for not doing anything about it sooner.
His third year was when he knew he should have done something. She had been black and blue for over a week over some tiny slip in her grades. That was when he had realized rather suddenly that Lavinia's childhood had been very different from his own. That was when he had realized that the expectations were different.
Lavinia had never been taught to take what she wanted and never apologise for it. She had been taught to accept what she was given without a word of protest or complaint. She had been taught to be submissive. The perfect daughter and someday, the perfect wife. And he should have done something as soon as he realized just how far their mother would go to make sure Lavinia stayed obedient. He should have done something nearly two years before he had.
Two years of watching her come down to breakfast with steps that were too ginger, too measured. Two years of watching her flinch whenever their mother raised a hand. Two years. And he had done nothing.
And when he finally had, on that awful night in early January, it hadn't been because of their mother's abuse. It had been because of their grandmother's. William didn't know how he'd ever been such an oblivious idiot but until that night, he had loved his grandmother fiercely. Afterall, she was kind and doting and boasted endlessly about him and he had lapped it up, his ears somehow deaf to the woman's hatred for his sister. But that night... That night he had hated her.
He had watched as their grandmother had come back from the sitting room with a fierce sort of satisfaction on her face that he hadn't at all understood, followed by their mother, whose jaw was set, her features still and emotionless. But Lavinia had not come out. And he wasn't stupid enough to believe their lie that she had decided to go to bed early. When he had excused himself to go to the bathroom, he'd taken a detour, slipping around to a different entrance to the sitting room just to check. Just in case.
It had taken all his self control not to shout or scream or cry when he saw Lavinia. They had left his sister just laying there, in the middle of the room, her pale blue dress ripped and stained, her face red with new bruises and her eyes closed, blacked out on the floor and left alone to deal with the aftermath of her grandmother's rage, over what, William did not know. And he had realized what he should have known far sooner: that it did not matter why. He didn not care. Nothing, nothing gave them the right to do that. Not to his family. Not to his sister.
In that moment, he had known only one thing: she had to leave. And he would make her if he had to. Which he nearly did because his sister was stubborn and his mother had drilled into her all her life that family was everything. That no matter how bad it got, she couldn't leave. But he knew she must. And she had.
Later that night, staring at the ceiling of his room, unable to sleep, he had understood that his grandmother was not a good person. That his mother was not a good person. That he was not a good person. Not that it had mattered. The realization wasn't worth anything really, because the fallout of her leaving had been terrible to behold and he knew there was no way he could escape. There was nowhere for him to go. And besides, he didn't have it so bad. None of the family had ever laid a hand on him. And even if, after that night, he knew he was never going to get everything he ever wanted, he still had most of it. The only thing missing was the sister who had protected him, who had always stepped in front of their mother's tower temper. Who he was never going to speak to again.
After that night, he'd done no more than pass her in the halls, besides that one time she had stumbled into their meeting and he had avoided so much as looking at her. No one could think that he cared. No one could think that he sympathized. No one could know that nothing in the world would make him stop loving her. So he hadn't looked at her properly, hadn't met her eyes, not for years. And then...
Three days ago at that battle, she had been there. He had blocked her stunning spell and seen shock and fear and an awful guilt flash across her features and... and he hadn't known what to feel, what to think. Relief maybe, that she was alive. And fear. Fear because she could not be here. Fear because she was not supposed to be in the middle of this. But most of all, there had been shame. Awful gut wrenching shame that even days later he had not managed to shake.
And then there was the other thing. She had been crouched over the body of Sirius Black, every bit of her posture screaming that she was protecting him. Protecting Sirius Black. And the vehemence of it, the way she had hunched over him like he body could be a shield... Love. That had been love. And he hadn't known what to feel about that either.
Of course, he'd seen her with those boys during those last few months of her seventh year but somehow... somehow it had always been easier to pretend she had dropped off the face of the earth, that she was living somewhere far far away with strangers whose faces and names would mean nothing to him. That she was safely hidden from all the hells of this world. But she wasn't. She'd been sitting on that battlefield. And he had not been the only one who noticed.
"We are in need of a spy," the Dark Lord said suddenly, his voice high and cold, jerking William from his thoughts. No one replied. No one dared. "This last attack by the Order of the Phoenix was, I admit, more detrimental than anticipated. They had the element of surprise." He surveyed the room, those red eyes gleaming. A few of the gathered Death Eaters shifted, their stillness broken by the words, no doubt wondering if they had been brought here to be punished for failing to do more damage. Failing to hold the line.
"There are a handful of candidates," the Dark Lord continued, ignoring the shifting of his followers. "You will work in pairs. Hunt them down and make them my offer. If they refuse..." He paused, his eyes glittering as they skimmed over the gathered figures once more. "Kill them."
A heavy silence followed this. No one argued or asked questions. They just waited.
"Lucius," the Dark Lord called, eyes fixing on the hooded figure closest to him. "The list."
Lucius Malfoy inclined his head in a gesture that was almost a bow before turning to face the others, clearing his throat slightly. "Our intelligence thus far suggests these members are vulnerable," he began, his voice clipped and cool from beneath his mask. If the others were tin soldiers, Malfoy was a steel commander, in charge and capable of giving orders, but at the end of the day, still no more than a toy for a the amusement of his master.
"The werewolf, Remus Lupin," Malfoy started. "We have gained many supporters from the werewolf community by offering them a world with fewer restrictions on their... ah... less human nature. Lupin has shown some inclination to join his brethren already and could be convinced. Rosier and Selwyn will handle him."
William didn't move. Indeed, none of the figures did anything to acknowledge the assignment. This was part of the game. No one knew everyone else. No one admitted to who they were when the company was unknown. Anonymity kept them safe. Only the Dark Lord knew all of them. Only the Dark Lord, it seemed, could identify them regardless of their masks. And only the Dark Lord ever spoke their full names at these meetings. It was yet another thing he held over their heads.
"Peter Pettigrew," Malfoy was now continuing, his tone utterly unchanged and uninterested. A general, or perhaps a politician, delegating the dirty work. "He is a weak link in the Order of the Phoenix. A coward. Intimidation is your best weapon. The Carrows will deal with him." Again no response, just silence, waiting for the next assignment, the next name.
"Breon Dowrick" Malfoy listed. "A petty criminal, likely joined due to ties with Mundungus Fletcher. Another weak link, though be wary of loyalties to Dumbledore. Dolohov, Lestrange, he is your target."
"And finally," Malfoy paused and for a moment, William wondered if he was hesitating. But then he spoke again and the name he said made William's heart fall right out of his chest. "Lavinia Selwyn."
William kept his face utterly straight, his mind blank and his body still. He was only too aware of the Dark Lord's eyes on him, searching, waiting for him to betray any hidden loyalties to his sister. But he did no such thing. He would think about this later, reconcile this later. But not here. Not now. Not when even so much as a flicker could cost him his life.
"Likely a new member and with ties to the pureblood community. She was seen healing them at the last battle. Possibly a pacifist," Lucius was explaining, sounding so bored now that William almost wondered if it was forced. "Intimidation and coercion and good bets. Mulciber, Rowle..." He paused and though nothing of his face was visible under his mask there was an edge in the word he said next that made William's stomach twist terribly. "Enjoy."
The Dark Lord inclined his head in a gesture that told William his master knew plenty about Rowle and Mulciber's relationship with Lavinia during their school years. That this was a reward for some good they must have done at the battle. It made him feel sick, that hunting down his sister and threatening her with death could ever be something someone wanted to do but... but there was nothing he could do right now. No protection left to offer her. So he did nothing, said nothing. And just as it so often had before, his silence damned her.
A/N: Okay, so a couple of things to go through. One I meant to mention yesterday, but I forgot bc I was late to a call with some friends. This story got 3rd place in Sirius Black Fanfiction in this years Patronus Awards on Quotev, which is mildly insane to me so thanks to the people who put that on and thanks to all of you who voted for this!
Second, I made cookies today with my dad. We have a usual arrangement where I make the dough and he puts it on the sheet and bakes them. Anyway, as I was making dough I turned the mixer on too high by accident and got a face full of flour. Nailed it. And my dad, in a moment of amazing dad humor just turned to my mom and goes: "Hey look, honey, there's our flour girl." Anyway, I want that on a t-shirt now: Flour girl. With some sort of stylized bread and cupcakes and shit. That would be amazing.
Third, my dad (who is just forefront of the stories today) did a really stupid thing. We were going to grill tonight (turkey burgers stuffed with pesto and goat cheese) and the propane was leaking and we couldn't figure out where it was coming from. We figured out it wasn't the burners and then my dad, in his infinite wisdom was like "ah, I bet its the connection to the tank" so how does he test it? He puts the fucking lighter next to where the propane tank connects to the grill and lights it. Bc that's such a smart thing to do when you think you have a leaking propane tank. You know. Cause propane is totally not flammable. So there was a lot of fire, but no explosions thank God bc the leak was small but holy shit my dude. How was that a good idea? My mom kinda lost it. No yelling or anything, but like a 'hold on I need to go sit down cause my life just flashed before my eyes' kinda lost it. And that's the story of how my dad tried to blow me up. I'm never letting him live this down lol.
Anyway, as usual, I hope y'all enjoyed and I'll be back again tomorrow!