In the dingy basement, the air hung heavy, choking the life out of any living thing. But the room was alive; murmurs hissed and slithered about like an army of rats scuttling in sewers. Eager, waiting.
The doors flew open, and at once, the chattering stopped. A man strode in, his cane hitting the ground as he walked. Tap. Tap. Tap. A black cloak hung heavy from his broad shoulders, and his long, silver hair was pulled back into a ponytail, showing off his regal features.
"Good evening, my foul friends." He spoke slowly, a gravelly voice that sounded like slate on ice. It instilled a shudder amongst them, and they did not reply.
His silver eyes roamed slowly across the room, boring into each and every one seated at the table. They were handsome youths, their young faces inset with beady, alert eyes and thin lips that hid sharp tongues. Some were no older than twenty.
"Have you all collectively gone mute?"
They blinked themselves out of their stupor. "Good evening, Mr Malfoy," they replied with uncertainty, their voices still round and unbroken by age.
"Let's dive in, shall we?" Lucius sighed as he sank into the chair reserved for him. It felt good being at the head of the table for once. He had the power. He was in control. He ruled over them all, these innocent, untainted bloods who now stared at him in both fear and respect.
"Does anyone wish to remind me of our plan?" he drawled lazily. "Rosier? Amora, was it?"
A raven-haired girl with fiery green eyes leaned forward. "Y-yes, sir. We enter their home, take the both of them, bring them back here. We'll keep the lady here, and wait."
Lucius jutted out his lower lip and nodded once. "That's quite correct, Miss Rosier. But remember, the man is not to be harmed. Not a scratch."
"We'll storm their house!" a boy jeered excitedly. "Tear their rooms apart and break every bloody picture frame they've got!"
"Speak when spoken to, Rowle," Lucius spoke over him sternly, thumbing the snake fangs on his cane absentmindedly. "We have to do this cleanly. No mess, no traces that could lead anyone back to us. Is this understood?"
"B-but they'll put up a fight. He won't let us take her that easy!" the boy complained.
"We're to take the both of them, you idiot!" Amora hissed across the table at the blond boy. "Keep the lady, give the man to Mr Malfoy. It's not bloody Arithmancy."
Rowle narrowed his eyes at her and folded his arms in defiance. "I just don't understand why we can't just kill them both. The prophecy said it-"
"I KNOW WHAT THE PROPHECY SAYS!" exploded Lucius, slamming his palm on the table and causing it to shake. They fell into immediate silence, barely daring to breathe.
"We've barely even begun, and you, Rowle," - he jabbed a finger at the boy - "will be singlehandedly be the cause of our downfall. Listen to me, all of you! This isn't Quidditch, or chess. The game we're playing is real; there is no place for arrogance or carelessness. Now, you will all follow my instructions word for word, or you will meet Death faster than you can say 'mudblood'. Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, Mr Malfoy," they breathed in unison, their eyes cast in all directions but his. He narrowed his eyes at the young boy. "Is that clear, Erebus Rowle?"
Erebus' face fell as he shrivelled back into his chair. "Abundantly." He narrowed his eyes at Lucius, but Lucius only chuckled, his anger dissipating like smoke. "Right. We've got that sorted then. Before I carry on, any questions thus far?"
They glanced around at each other, a million questions swimming in their heads. But no one dared to speak, except for a mousy young girl. She raised a skinny arm in the air. "Respectfully, sir, how are we expected to take them without leaving a mess?"
"Excellent question, Miss Pettigrew!" Lucius beamed. "That was just what I was getting to!"
To be continued...