InsaneJournal

Who: A litany of NPCs (Corvus, Rabastan Lestrange, Hermione Granger, a Ukrainian Curse Breaker & two misc. blokes)
What: An invitation to discuss a difference of opinions
Where: Hermione Granger's Flat, London
When: Approximately 9 pm, Thursday, 13th March
Rating: PG
Status: Closed; Complete

Why Lestrange had not only sent Corvus but also his own brother and three others just to snatch one little girl was beyond him. Sure, he knew all about the war. He knew the mudblood was smart, but what was she without Potter and when she didn’t expect it coming? What bugged Corvus more, though, was that Rodolphus had sent both himself and Rabastan, which of course meant he had to take orders. He was certain Rabastan wasn’t better at this than he was, but as Rodolphus’ brother he got preferential treatment. Corvus had a way of overlooking the obvious, though. The fact that Rabastan had done more and been apart of things since Voldemort’s first war was completely inconsequential the man. Rabastan had twenty years on Corvus, not to mention two wars worth of experience and time in Azkaban. To say Rabastan did not deserve to call the shots was a gross error in judgement.

Rabastan, unlike Corvus, understood what his brother was doing. He understood why he was doing it. Corvus seemed to be under the impression that this was yet another thing for the glory of the Death Eaters. “Death Eater” was a dead term so far as both Lestranges were concerned. It was symbolic of an utterly flawed attempt, two actually, and their consequential failures. They’d discussed a name of sorts, but ultimately both brothers agreed it didn’t matter what they were called. People would forever associate them with the Death Eaters and a name didn’t really do much for them. Perhaps a name would come eventually, but it was unimportant. What was important was making people understand they could not tarnish the culture they joined. They either had to assimilate or stay outside of its bounds. The wizarding world would not be torn apart by those of tainted blood with no sense of heritage.

The mudblood had been working tirelessly since the end of the war to destroy wizarding culture and impose her own upon it. To think, she wanted rights for werewolves. She wanted payment for house elves. House elves, whose entire purpose and desire was to serve! Did she not understand how terrible it was for them to not be useful or how much of an offence it was to be paid? Did she understand anything? It was typical of a mudblood who fancied herself clever, wasn’t it? They came in with their muggle ideas and they learned only enough about wizarding ways to claim they were wrong and had to be “fixed.” They came in and said wizards knew nothing of justice, of fairness or of respect. Mudbloods always claimed the wizarding way had to be conquered! What did they know of wizarding ways?

Corvus thought Rabastan was much too sure of himself. There was no way for the man to know exactly where the mudblood was. What he didn’t realise was that no Lestrange did anything without a level of acquired intel. Rabastan had spent every day since Rodolphus nailed his message to the doors of various establishments tailing the young woman. Everywhere she went he followed. Everything she did he watched. There was nothing Hermione Granger did that Rabastan had not witnessed. His final conclusion about her was that she was a rather dull person and she kept the same routine for every day of the week. While what she did Monday was not what she did Tuesday she did do the same thing at about the same time every Thursday. Because of how terribly predictable she was Rabastan knew she’d be at home. Alone. And likely reassuring herself that she wasn’t as terribly boring as she really was.

The five men broke through the witch’s wards easily enough, all things considered. Rabastan honestly had expected more complicated wards from a witch of her intellect, but they were all fairly basic. It was useful having a curse breaker with you. The Ukrainian curse breaker had even insulted her security and how horribly pedestrian it was. He said it was typical of someone who thought themselves cleverer than they really were. Silently the men crept through her flat. Corvus and one other had gone in the front, Rabastan and the curse breaker went in from the back while the fifth remained outside should the witch escape the clutches of the four somehow.

It would have gone off just fine if Corvus didn’t jump ahead on his own thinking he knew better than Rabastan. He unintentionally alerted the mudblood to an intruder presence which immediately made things more difficult. It turned into a small skirmish with the former Death Eater and his three new colleagues against the clever mudblood. Hermione, of course, would not go down without a fight. She was clever and she was fast, but while she attacked them in slightly unexpected ways her attacks couldn’t have ever been enough. She didn’t know how to fight dirty, not really, and Rabastan had been ruthless and merciless in fights ever since his childhood. She believed herself too good to stoop to their level while Rabastan Lestrange was a killer, and happily so.

One of the men Rabastan had taken with them was badly injured by the young woman and Corvus got his arm nearly torn off at his shoulder, but the others remained unharmed in the end. Hermione Granger was put into a full body bind and silenced. Unable to move or to speak, she was then transfigured into a cat. A dead cat, to be precise. Her wand was taken, though Rabastan doubted it would survive long once they arrived at their destination. The five men left with their dead cat in a pillow case.

She would learn what it meant it to destroy a culture. If she did not then she would learn what it is to be destroyed.