Who: Pansy Parkinson & Rodolphus Lestrange
What: A request
Where: Pansy's cottage
When: Late night, Wednesday, 26th Marc, 2005
Rating: PG
Status: Closed; Complete

The Granger child had turned out to be obnoxious, as Rodolphus had expected. He gave her the option to elect a more adult and dignified way of going about things, but she had refused. Her reasons, of course, were nothing new. She disapproved of him for being a Death Eater. He disapproved of her being an outspoken, ignorant mudblood who was stepping all over wizarding culture but that hardly disabled him from having a polite conversation with her. Unsurprisingly, Granger's manners did not extend so far. She continued to defiantly raise her chin and go on about the Longbottoms, those insipid Aurors from half a lifetime ago. The poor girl had no idea there were other ways to drive a person out of their mental capabilities. She was learning, but once she truly understood the point she'd be lost already anyhow.

Her defiance was annoying, but it was at least expected. What he needed was to know who may be defiant that he is not prepared for. It was difficult information to come by, particularly if one desired accuracy. Simply hiring someone to gather the information would be ineffective. No, what he needed was someone who wanted the England he did. He needed someone who would join when he reformed the country. If one was invested in the cause they'd have a reason to gather accurate information to the best of their ability. The problem was the same that was ever present in his endeavours. Everyone who could be trusted was in Azkaban, had fallen from social grace, or was outside of Britain with him. A new ally from the Czech Republic who had joined Rodolphus years ago had been sniffing about Britain on his orders for the past week and had turned up intriguing news. One of their own, or at least she once was believed to be, had secured quite a useful position.

It was exactly because of Pansy Parkinson's unique position within the Ministry of Magic that brought Rodolphus to North Yorkshire. The sky was already black with the moon hanging high overhead when he walked up to the door of the cottage. He wore, as he always did outside of the Ukraine, the unassuming body of a French muggle boy and simple, tasteful robes. The most appealing aspect of the youth had been his height, which nearly stretched as high as Rodolphus' own. The man had never quite taken well to being short, even in borrowed bodies.

As he raised his fist to rap on the door Rodolphus Lestrange was utterly relaxed. He had not a worry or a care over any risk of being there. It'd be interesting to see just how much convincing it took for her to understand who he was with his borrowed face.

The house elf's interruption into her thoughts put Pansy into an instantly foul mood. She was readying herself for bed - and, as the ritual went every night - staring into the mirror while sorting out the strings of emotion that wound up her guts and wouldn't let her breathe. Anger; she was furious at the Swedish president (what sort of uncivilized breed of people had presidents anyhow?) for his unnecessary protest to the seating arrangements she'd slaved over. Deprivation; mummy had sent over a box of chocolates that she certainly couldn't eat for fear of her figure. This bled into anger as well. Each of the day's event, carefully catalogued, remembered, processed, and repressed - and never did a crease cross the well moisturised expanse of her brow.

Until she was interrupted.

"What do you want?!" The shriek was accompanied by a heavy glass brush that struck the creature directly in the ribs (had quidditch not been such a grotesquely unfeminine sport, Pansy might have made an excellent chaser) and it squealed out about the visitor before disappearing to answer the door. Furious, she returned to her vanity to primp, puff, and perfume - and by damn she would keep whoever the rude person was waiting for as long as she was able.

It was to the sitting room that Rodolphus Lestrange was lead, and when Pansy made her entrance she was as collected, calm, and precise as she'd been trained to be. She settled into a plush settee and crossed her legs just so, eyes hooded with heavy lashes as she perused him. Completely unfamiliar - which was startling but not completely unheard of. "I'm afraid I've not had the pleasure of your acquaintance," she breathed, naturally high pitched tones dulled to a soft, warm timbre. "Please have a seat."

Rodolphus took in everything about the interior of the cottage from the fabrics of the furnishings to the colour schemes of the rooms and the manner of decoration on the walls. It was quite fascinating the things one could learn from simply seeing what it was that was around a person. How anyone could overlook the obvious was not something he easily grasped. A person surrounded themselves with either things they enjoyed or things they thought ought to be there if others came to call. Whether the young Miss. Parkinson's home was arranged to comply with the former or the latter remained to be seen, and until it was the information of the aesthetic was of little use.

He stood patient and utterly still, waiting for her entrance. It was of little surprise when the young woman appeared in impeccable order. It was rare for a woman to truly master the art of one's appearance these days. Perhaps he had simply spent too much time with bothersome child his brother had fetched for him, but it seemed a lost ideal for a woman to have the sort of dignity and self-respect he thought they should possess. At the very least, Pansy Parkinson had not let him down there. Rodolphus had inclined his head toward her and waited to be invited to sit before he did.

A chair opposite from her was chosen because Rodolphus preferred to be straight forward whenever possible and this reflected in the way he oriented himself to another. If he wasn't going to beat about the bush there was no need to cause one to swivel just to maintain eye contact. It seemed a horribly rude thing to do to a person if you wished to show them any modicum of respect. One did not gain allies by disrespecting them before a word was spoken. "Nor have I the pleasure of yours," he told her with an apologetic bow of his head. "For that I do apologise quite profusely, Miss. Parkinson. There has not be an appropriate time for such things in the past, I am afraid. I do hope you will forgive the impolite intrusion of this night."

If Pansy's home reflected anything about her it was that she had utterly repressed her predilection for garish tastes and outfitted her surroundings with what she felt she ought to have enjoyed. All intrusive pinks and blues (that she adored so) were instead lush, gentle colours, exquisitely matched and displaying the sort of wealth that attempted to say 'I do not show off my wealth except to others that are wealthy' - and of course it succeeded. Her own appearance was much the same, tempered by years of practice and carefully cultivated to give an air of whatever it was she desired it to give - today it was perfection, femininity, and just a touch of self-importance. Her study of her companion was as keen as his own, though her sharp eyes were softened by carefully weighted lashes.

And though inwardly she raged at being so intruded upon, her every motion, ever soft turn of wrist and tilt of chin was at peace - a kind of catharsis through utter self-control that only those of the highest classes and most restricted behaviours could possibly understand. All turmoil and passion utterly quelled for the sake of appearance.

"You haven't inconvenienced me in the slightest;" and perhaps she regretted her first impression (instant dislike) because his manners were quite soothing, even if his accent bespoke a breeding she was unimpressed with. That sort of thing was impossible to factor in these days, she thought with a sneer that did not reach her lips or eyes, what with blood meaning so little to the masses. It repulsed her. She fought the impulse to ask if he was more comfortable in his native language, for she had long learned in this diplomatic game of hers that catering to another culture was easily construed as weakness.

"Might I have the pleasure of a formal introduction?" A heavy blink, and she took the renewed opportunity to study his face and then, briefly, his hands. Hands were more telling than people liked to admit - and she devoured body language like air.

Everything about Pansy told Rodolphus he'd learn little to nothing about her of consequence from the study of her. She was raised well, by a mother who knew how to play society well. He was not unfamiliar with the family and it hardly came as a surprise that Pansy had taken to her mother's cultivation. Children were, after all, there to serve as a living reminder of their parents' greatness, were they not? In Pansy it would be small things he'd have to watch. What she did not say, the manner of her jaw, her eyes and expanse of her neck were where his eyes would travel to learn what he wanted of her.

"I, my lady, am of little importance in the face of such beauty." The words came unstudied and easy, an air of sincerity mixed with the faintest suggestion he had said them before. Polite society demanded such words and if he was truly honestRodolphus would say he despised the games of society. Patience he had, it was the tolerance for the deception he did not enjoy. If one was too busy hiding their face you could never be sure of them and he had learnt the importance of having at least a few people whose true faces you could be assured of seeing. He had been spending too much time with his brother and not enough time with those of her calibre who still played the game.

Despising the game did not eliminate his ability to play it, however, and Rodolphus knew that while she would look she would find little. He was relaxed but his posture was impeccable. Despite the country tinge to the French accent he usedRodolphus refused to slouch. It was beneath him to do such a thing. His confidence could be found in his stillness, calm waters rather than the rigidity of marble. "I should be considered an envoy and such a position's significance does not lay with myself. It is for he I come whom introduction should be given, and if I can I will. When the time is appropriate. If it please you to have my name, however, it is Laurent Devereux."

Though Pansy gleaned little from him, she had, at the very least, a photograph of him to store away in some inner filing cabinet - a memory and a name and a position that would allow her to research. Her patience was not nearly so infinite, though she gave no sign of such immature leanings, and she wished he would get to the point already. As far as she was able to recall, she had never forgotten a name or face, and the idea that this person, this unknown, knew her name and had gazed upon her before (if she was to interpret his insinuations correctly) was unacceptable. She wracked her brains endlessly for some tiny glimpse, but found nothing. Remembered nothing.

And it bothered her.

"Mr. Devereux, it is a pleasure of course." Her tone was honeyed, always, and rich with warmth and femininity. Unlike others in her position, she did not scorn her gender but embraced it, used it to her advantage. Men could not help but find women fragile and helpless and she exploited every nuance of prejudice. She had no desire for equality, for rights; she could achieve for herself every allowance the law or traditions did not provide. Feminism was as vile as the deviants who pressed for it, and it was just another item on her ticky-box list of Things to Stamp Out. In time. There was always time, even if she loathed the wait.

As the house elf brought in tea - and was utterly ignored by his mistress - Pansy lounged, exuding comfort and ease, a feminine softness against his rigidity and propriety. "May I assume you've come on business?" The elf left and only then did she reach, gently, for the teapot to serve them both.

As infuriating as his wife had been, especially during the last years of her life, Rodolphus found himself in an odd longing for her brashness. It didn't make her any easier to deal with than Pansy's decorum made her, but the headache could at least be anticipated. With Pansy each chess piece would have to be carefully deliberated, perhaps more so than usual. It was more time consuming, but it was easy enough andRodolphus had patience of the like few surpassed. Saints could barely compete even with their piety to aid them.

"I do, indeed, come on business, Miss. Parkinson." Hands raising, Rodolphus' long fingers laced together with the only exception of his index fingers which created a steeple to rest against his lips as he decided how to phrase his next words. There was the game, or there was being more up front. Politeness and lies did not always have to go hand in hand, particularly not with him. After a few moments he nodded more to himself than to her.

Rodolphus took the time to accept his tea and sip at it thoughtfully before speaking. "There is a man who feels he cannot abide the heresy of the Ministry. He wishes to know what shape you would have England folded into should you have a choice." After a moment and a small upward curl at the corners of his mouth he added, "If you were honest, that is."

Pansy cradled her teacup in her small hands, considering them tools of her trade more than parts of her body - equipment used to express and gesture, to serve or to tighten the cord around an enemy's neck (hypothetically, of course - dirty work was not her forte); as she considered them beneath her cup they trembled, if only for an instant, and though such a slip was easily misinterpreted as fear, as nervousness, she recognized it instantly for what it was - longing. An intense, painful, utterly consuming desire to control and shape and alter her surroundings to fit even her basest whim, and, just as deeply, a desire to reform. In some twisted logic circuit deep within her, Pansy truly believed in her own moral righteousness, in the utter rightness of quashing deviance and blood heresy and treachery.

But these were not opinions that fit the current mould of politics, and they certainly were not opinions one shared with a stranger, even if - by her very hesitation - she had already givenRodolphus an answer of sorts.

"You ask a great deal, Mssr. Devereux," and though her accent was startlingly flawless for an English girl, there was a crispness to her vowels that sharply expressed her displeasure at the topic. "Such a sensitive topic is not one easily discussed with strangers, even when one's answers are..." she paused, rolling her tongue for an appropriate set of syllables "inoffensive."

Her posture spoke of laxness and calm, but her eyes glittered in the soft light of her room. Longing there, always.

"How am I to be assured of your discretion?"

Silence was sometimes a more poignant answer than words could ever imagine to be. Rodolphus took her silence for an agreement of sorts with his own views, but he was not so foolish as to presume anything specific. She had opinions which differed from the popular opinion of the moment, that was obvious. Her honest words could have her labelled an enemy of the state possibly. "You cannot be assured of anything in life, Mademoiselle Parkinson. Anything short of an Unbreakable vow guarantees you nothing, no matter whose lips the words pass from. It is a matter of measured risk. I could tell you for whom it is I come here, but I could very easily be lying, could I not?" An eyebrow quirked upward, the arch of it careful and slow.

With a measured grace in his movement, Rodolphus stood and went to the window, his gaze fixed on the distance. "Do you enjoy watching them, mademoiselle? The lot of them who preen about as if they owned our world? Do you take joy in the fact that a society centuries old is being nearly obliterated by their ignorance?" He turned to look at her, expression open and curious. "If you do I shall leave you to your night in peace this moment."

The teacup found its home upon its saucer once again and Pansy was silent as the man spoke, heart pounding with a hope she despised herself for, passion coursing through her veins and cheeks daring to colour, if very slightly. As he moved to the window, she looked away, into her room, away from the world that dared to violate her every sensibility, away from his suggestions - as if the honesty was indecent and she could not bear the violation.

Honesty was not a virtue Pansy had ever taken to lightly. She had very few friends - Daphne, Draco - that she had ever been honest with, in all her flawed, emotional glory, and even now she viewed that honesty, that life as erroneous. And even so, she longed for it - for the vulnerability she'd had with Draco, for the catty laughter she'd shared with Daphne. For the tears at Tracey's funeral. For many things. She longed to believe him, to triumph, to change the world. But she was not so very foolish as to believe these things were attainable. Naivete was an indulgence of youth.

"I do not wish you to leave." She replied, finally, voice husked and careful, thoughtful. "Who has sent you here?" Even a lie was telling.

Rodolphus regarded her carefully, letting silence fall again and stretch out into a web between them. She hated it as well, he could see it in her eyes. She wanted changed the things he wanted to change. The problem was getting her to admit it. A woman who could not state what she wanted was of no use to him, he blamed Bellatrix for that. Obviously one needed to know when and with whom to make such statements, but he did not wish to devote all his time to gaining her trust just for her to make an admission which would prove she was worthy of bestowing both trust and purpose upon. He did have the option of letting his polyjuice fade. It was an option but not one he was sure he wanted to take.

"What reason have you to trust my words when I tell you that I speak for one Rodolphus Lestrange? What with his name in the papers I could be plucking it out of the air without any ties at all." His borrowed form did not have a Dark Mark, which was the only thing she could use as proof of allegiance. A Dark Mark didn't mean anything anymore, though. There were those who had abandoned the mission with the Dark Lord's fall and those who had never truly meant it in the first place. A smaller contingency was made up of those who did not feelRodolphus was ruthless or bloodthirsty enough for his position or ambition. They would be dealt with when time came.

"I've told you already, you have no assurances. You have no promises, no guarantees. However if you happen to have veritaserum you are certainly welcome to attempt to spike my tea as a means of attaining promises you can trust. Mademoiselle, the truth is you choose to believe me or you choose not to. It is, however, a choice that is yours and no matter which words I may employ it is not a choice I can influence, whether or not you grant me the appearance of such powers of persuasion."

Oh, but for Pansy every step was cautious, every paranoia and pause must be amplified tenfold. She had lost so very much during the first war, if not heart nor soul then reputation, then standing. She would not be outdone by some spy of the ministry or some foreign agency that wished to bring her downfall. For every swell of hope must be a backup plan, a lie, a deceit, and she pondered the efficacy of lying if caught. How believable was it to claim she had played along for the sake of patriotism?

But it was the name that caught her voice in her throat and stilled her breath heavily into her lungs, so still, so very still that she could feel the sick thud of her heart against it. Could he not hear it? The way her body rebelled against the control she demanded of it. The way it threatened to betray her - to expose the rawness she hid so deeply. "Rodolphus Lestrange?" She breathed, but it was impossible to tell without inflection (she dared not!) whether it was a breath of horror or awe - perhaps both, neither. God! How she wished she had some chemical agency of truth, for if he were speaking the truth she could have thrown herself at him, desirous of nothing but the change promised in his every insinuation.

"I would not be so crass as to ruin a cup of tea," she demurred, though her eyes, bright, hungry, and hidden beneath the sleepy lashes of feminine beauty, met his. "But have you no proof? No token? No... mark?" She had admitted nothing, yet. She must not.

The way she said his name drew a curious expression from him but nothing more. Rodolphus remained standing by the window, watching her as if she were the most fascinating creature he'd seen in years. The sad truth of the matter was that may have actually been the truth, though it was not a truth he'd linger on. Such a thing would be futile and a mere distraction from his current endeavour.

"A token? No. I dare say you should thank him for that. He is not a man renown for sending tokens to those he has favourable affections toward. I do believe he's proven that recently, has he not? Body parts, limbs, mutilated loved ones, funerary symbols, are these such things you'd truly desire to be laid at your feet much like a cat with its gifts of dead rodents? I'd not think you such a lady as that. You are not, after all, very reminiscent of Bellatrix." This was something he was quietly thankful for. The last thingRodolphus would ever need in his life was another woman like his deceased wife.

Pansy's caution was to be expected, but without knowing the girl previously he had no way to know how her trust could be gained. Without such a thing he wondered just what it would take for her to say what she so clearly longed to say. "I've a token of a sort," he said slowly. "Though you've not earned such a thing and so I'm afraid I haven't it to offer at all."

Pansy deigned to purse her crooked lips and turn away once more, repelled by the idea of such 'tokens' and the mere possibility that someone could ever desire to taint her in such a way. Enemies perhaps but not... allies. Is that what they were? Allies? She had never met the man, only seen his picture glaring up at her from a newspaper article, in pamphlets from the ministry - warnings that she had tossed aside as haughtily as cheap fabric. She had utmost faith - utmost (and, though she would never recognize it, very foolish) faith that his kind would ever hurt her. And yet she found the idea of him terrifying, appealing, intoxicating. Violence was abhorrent to her, but even she could not lie so boldly to herself to claim she did not find it an attractive quality in the men she surrounded herself with. Even Draco, properly bred and refined, had that seed of viciousness in him that appealed so deeply to her.

"No indeed." She was no Bellatrix. Women had their place and death eating was not that place.

And now? He had offered her something and just as quickly ripped it away, and it was in a moment of greedy, desperate foolishness that she decided she must have it, whatever it was, this token.

"And how might I earn such a thing?" Oh, but her eyes belied the soothing nonchalance of her voice. She didn't want this 'token' whatever it might be... she needed it. She craved it. He had struck the very chord of what made Pansy tick and she had fallen prisoner to it in an instant. Such was her weakness.

Children, always wanting more. It was like giving them sweets or letting them listen through the door as adults spoke of important things. What they had was never enough and while something was better than nothing something wasn't as good as everything. It wasn't just her, it was everyone. People wanted to feel special and information did that for them. If they knew something others did not it made them feel powerful. What she wanted as assurance that what she said would not come back to harm her, but he refused to give it to her without a risk. What he was going to do involved great personal risk and whileRodolphus did not take risks that were not measured out in advance such things could not be avoided if one wished to accomplish what he did.

He seemed to disregard her words entirely as he pulled out his pocket watch to study the minutes until his polyjuice would fade. "You've fifteen minutes to earn this token or lose it forever, mademoiselle," he told her with disaffection. With the watch snapped closed and slipped back into his pocketRodolphus turned his eyes back to the blonde and her carefully crumbling façade of insouciance.

"Risk has been taken in my mere presence before you. Risk has been taken with nearly every word I've spoken to you. If you haven't the nerve to speak of the England you crave openly to me then I fear you are not the womanRodolphus had hoped you were and you can be of little help to us. Preserving and destroying a society are mutually exclusive. A society is built on the backs of the lower classes. This is something the Lestranges have always understood and that Voldemort never did. You put people in their place, you make them useful to you for without them you're forced to labour yourself," he had to force the small sneer to appear on his face. It was an appropriate facial expression butRodolphus wasn't nearly so expressive naturally without a certain passion gripping him. This situation was hardly so inducing. "You can aid in the preservation of a society and culture which is being tarnished, or you can sit quietly in your corner and be safe. Your choices, however, mademoiselle, will be remembered. Every choice has a consequence and inaction is just as much a choice as action. Which consequence do you prefer?"

Fifteen minutes seemed an eternity and Pansy was deeply conflicted; though desperate to know what this 'sign' was - for who could tell if this was just a ruse to get her to talk or if he was genuine - if she could trust this utterly welcome possibility. But amid her desire was also pride, and as she slipped to her feet, all grace and lushfabric, her eyes darkened with a heavily controlled sort of arrogance.

"How dare you speak to me of risk and consequence." There was a bite to her words, a heaviness that bespoke a sharper, more dangerous personality than what lurked so patently at the surface, and with it left all pretence of neutrality. "Your master risks nothing in sending you here. His loyalties are known, open, even the peasants speak of them, they are so common a knowledge." Her lip curled and a sneer settled upon her face, eyes flashing at the insolence this French fool dared impose upon her. "The only risk tonight is mine. I risk exposure, my freedom, my life." Caution to the winds, she supposed, for her passions... and perhaps in the morning she would awaken in guilt and remorse, but it was too late, too late to take back what she'd begun.

Pansy paced, a bizarre amalgam of restraint and emotion, and for the briefest of seconds only the crisp swish of silk and the crackle at the fireplace dared broach the silence.

"I desire the preservation of this world more than you could possibly understand." She spoke to the mantle rather than her companion; looking at him was difficult, for she was exposed, naked in this admission. "I desire nothing more. But, I am not so very foolish as to make these desires public knowledge. My safety," she emphasized that word bitterly, "is tantamount to my effectiveness. Do you think my influence a petty one? Do you think I would retain my position were my motives and feelings known? I risk the very thing I have to offer your master by this conversation." And yet she'd already risked it in the telling. If Pansy was of a more murderous nature she would be sorely tempted to fetch her wand, but if this man was truly Lestrange's messenger, she could not afford such foolishness.

So a passion did exist in the cold, closed heart of the woman. How refreshing. Rodolphus did so enjoy when the ice cracked. It never melted with her kind, but sometimes it splintered and a sort of fire leaked out from within. Ice was useful but it was flame he enjoyed. Perhaps he was more moth-like than he thought, attracted to fire and flame even if it could harm what he wanted. The girl had a restraint that was admirable, though. She held herself in check quite well and that could not be overlooked.

As her words rushed from her lips in measured rhythm a small smile stretched onto Rodolphus' lips. It was a thing of beauty to watch bits of her carefully constructed walls fall off to show glimpses of what raged inside of her. People often overlooked the beauty in destruction, the beauty of the fall itself. Her momentary destruction would not be irreparable. No, he was certain she'd reform herself to flawless measure.

"I have no master," he stated flatly. "What do you know of the supposed loyalties of Rodolphus Lestrange? You know he was a Death Eater, and without Voldemort that means nothing. You know he was willing to endure an eternity in Azkaban just to do his master honour. You know he's done what many consider unspeakable acts of cruelty. A fortiori was carved into his last victims but have you ever stopped to think about the implications of that? Do you presume to know what this reason is he alludes to? You know nothing ofRodolphus Lestrange, his desires or his loyalties other than the propaganda you've been fed. Or do you presume to know the man so intimately?"

His watch was taken back out and Rodolphus watched the second hand tick off the passing moments. He was deciding still, though his mind was nearly made up. Nearly. "If your influence were so petty would he have risked sending someone he trusts with such a task as mine to come here? Rodolphus Lestrange is a wanted criminal. If the Ministry got their hands on him he likely wouldn't ever live long enough to see the inside of his much lived in cell in Azkaban. They'd kill him just to have him gone. Years in exile and you really think he can afford to throw away those who are both trustworthy and capable? You yourself prove that trust can be easily manufactured while genuinely being able to be entrusted with one's faith is quite an endangered idea. Those he keeps close to him are trustworthy, they are loyal to the mission he seeks to enact and they are not expendable. If a person such as myself was found by the Ministry what do you think they'd do to me? What do you think they'd do to find him? And yet you assume he risks nothing."

"Despite what the Ministry enjoys claiming, it has very little jurisdiction outside this country," Pansy replied scathingly, her cheeks deigning to color beneath the veneer of carefully applied powder, though she hid this away from him - the mantel was her crutch, and she pressed a palm against the marble, marvelling at its cool resolution. She aspired to such hardness, coldness, but she could never quite achieve it. She felt crippled by this desire, and anger at this messenger blossomed in her. "He is safe so long as he remains outside the borders of this country. And you? What harm will the ministry bring to you when you are safely back in France?" No, it was she that held the risk in this conversation. What would happen if she were to report this? Nothing. The aurors would scorn her; as if it wasn't obvious that Rodolphus Lestrange was a dangerous force. As if they didn't know that already. But if she were to be reported? Azkaban. Worse. Pansy could feel the change on the political horizons; she was a divining rod for social change and evolving attitudes. How long until traitors to the State were executed? This public terror could not abide much longer.

"And I presume nothing of his true intent." Her voice was slipping back into that practiced calm though her spine was tense, fingers curled in discomfit. "I state only that public knowledge of his ideals bring him no greater risk, whereas for me," her shoulders rolled, and a sigh escaped her lips. She no longer desired this proof, though her heard twisted with a nausea she could not abide. She risked everything. She could be arrested tomorrow for this very conversation. She should have forced a card from his hand, something to protect her.

"I have exposed myself. Either tell me what it is you wish or report me to the ministry. My patience falters." Bluntness - and it would likely be the last weakness for a long time. Pansy did not take kindly to her flaws.

"The Ukraine welcomes Rodolphus as one of their own, but they do not wish for trouble with Britain or her allies. The country lacks the force to hold its own against such powers and if Britain told the Ukraine what it isRodolphus plans to do there is no guarantee the friendly country may not turn its back on him and give British Aurors carte blanche to take him. Once captured they would not likely make the mistake of underestimating him. He may not even see British soil if such a thing occurred," he explained calmly.

"His ideals," he scoffed. "His ideals are not Voldemort's ideals. If they knew what he intended then, yes, it would bring him greater risk. The point is to keep them unaware until it is too late for them to defend themselves. When you are outnumbered surprise is your ally. However, without allies to help you accomplish your goals you've no chance of winning." Rodolphus glanced down, five minutes. Silently he pulled the curtains of the window near which he stood closed while she continued to present her back to him. In many ways it was a very foolish thing of her to do. It made her inferior, it put her at a disadvantage and it both made her vulnerable while announcing her vulnerability had been struck. Quite a grave mistake to make if he were someone else who wanted other things.

"What is wished," he began slowly,"is a party, ball or gala of some sort. You are in a position to arrange such a thing with an open invitation to all of wizarding Britain. You've the ability to gain trust and through that information. While currently an outspoken activist is being dealt with, taught lessons, it is imperative to know where people stand. There are going to be the obvious people to stand against the purist world ideal, what is needed is to know who it is who may stand againstRodolphus that he would not bargain on. Furthermore, he needs to know who may stand with him or even help him. There are three sorts of people so far as this goes: pro, anti and null. People who agree withRodolphus , support him and may even help him achieve what he wishes are needed. People against him who will try to thwart his ever change and tear him down are to be expected and need to be known ahead of time. Then there are those who stand blissfully in the middle. They may not stand with him necessarily, but they do not work against him. These people are acceptable. If they fall in line and do not try to destroy what he wishes to create then they may be left in peace. He wishes you to hold an event where people will be brought together and ears may pick up on which of these three categories various people fall into." He hadn't actually told her what he wanted to do with Britain, which was imperative for her information if she was going to do this. If was still the question andRodolphus would not reveal his plans for Britain unless he was sure she would be among those standing firmly with him, and willing to aid in the creation of a stronger wizarding identity in England.

It would be foolish to think a woman like Pansy didn't recognize a posture of weakness; her every movement was, if not calculated, then recognized, evaluated. A woman alone in her house was as vulnerable sitting upon a settee as she was with her back turned - and Pansy knew that she would never have time to defend herself should someone draw a wand upon her. She relied upon others to do the defending, and as much as she abused and berated her house elf, she had implicit faith that the creature would go to great lengths to keep her from harm. But she did not know that it wasRodolphus Lestrange upon whom she turned her back. She did not know how easily she could come to death. Later she would reflect upon this moment and realize - but for now she felt secure.

She felt the movement, the shifting of fabric, and her eyes slid up to the mirror above the mantel. She was short, small, but she could see him in the reflection, curtains drawn, face impassive even in its scoff. If Lestrange's ideals were not Voldemort's ideals, she was made even more curious. Pansy did not waste time doubting the Dark Lord when he was rising in power - fractioning support of purism was dangerous and led to weakness... but now. Now when was allowed, in a sense, to doubt, to question his methods - she found herself all the willing. She had no evidence that Lestrange was any different of a man, but if (and this is where the longing Pansy detested in herself came into play) he had some sort of plan. Who was she to deny it?

His proposal was an interesting one, and one that brought a smile to Pansy's lips. She even turned to consider him, posture easing once more. "That is the very definition of simplicity. A charity dinner is the most desirous place to gather the rabble. You would be startled at how loose lips become they discuss politics with similarly-minded charitable people like themselves." She smiled, a warm, but restrained kind of expression. "And I have always believed those of neutral faith are ripe for the persuading. You may assure your -- colleague," she chose this word glibly, for a messenger of the man was, whether he liked it or not, his servant, "that I am the very soul of discretion." Her lips curled. "And shall be pleased to do this little thing for him." She was planning it already, inwardly. The best seating arrangements to maximise information exchange. Eavesdropping methods. And always, always, back-up plans were this to go horribly wrong. "I believe in a new era, Mssr. Devereux. If I can bring about its coming you are assured I shall do my part."

His eyes moved seamlessly between Pansy and the pocket watch in his hand as time dwindled down. She seemed rather happy with the prospect of this gathering. It seemed she was the perfect hostess for the job he needed done. Her mother had trained her but Pansy Parkinson exceeded Leandra Parkinson in many ways. In some sensesRodolphus had never been convinced that Leandra had the capability for original thought. Whether that was true or not was irrelevant to his purposes. Pansy was, which made her potentially dangerous but also potentially much more useful to him.

Rodolphus was fond of those with admirable minds. They need not be across the board geniuses, but a person who was an expert in any field was more worthwhile and useful to him. Voldemort had always wanted to prove his superiority by physically conquering the world around himself. Rodolphus would rather employ brutes than aspire to be one. True, he was skilled in tortures, in cruelties, but he did not depend on such things. There were ways to use pain to enlighten a person. There were times when rites of passage existed and when one went through one they came out with a knowledge they did not possess previously. Pain was necessary for growth butRodolphus understood that one had to employ it properly or the point was lost. Some people simply would not learn. No matter how you tried to teach them they refused and those people unfortunately had to be dealt with in unsavoury manners. If he did not have to waste his time punishing people he could spend it re-educating them. It was a much more efficient use of his time, he thought. Education, however, did not always come without its pain or it's price. Granger, however, was among those who refused education and was now only looking forward to more punishment. In many ways Voldemort had been kinder than Rodolphus. Death was an easy solution and one rarely utilised by Rodolphus.

The minute hand ticked down and the polyjuice's effects began to fade. "My apologies, Miss Parkinson, for my deceit," he said with the French accent blending into his own natural, posh English accent until there were not any traces of the French left in his voice. Watching the effects flee his body was much like peeling back layers of an onion as the youth fell away and his body stretched up toRodolphus ' full height. He pulled out his wand to transfigure his clothing to fit his reclaimed frame before replacing it and his pocket watch out of sight.

His shoulders rolled as his back stretched as he readjusted to his own body. Then he bowed to her, eyes turning up to Pansy while his head was still down. "I hope you can forgive my lies of name and origin, Miss. Parkinson. You can, I'm sure, understand the necessity of fallacy to temper the risk one takes when entertaining Britain with such a very high price on their head." Rodolphus straightened to his full height, chin up with pale eyes fixed on the young woman. He didn't bother introducing himself properly because there shouldn't have been any need to. Who did not recogniseRodolphus Lestrange's face?

Had Pansy only been schooled in the principles of legilimency, she would have delighted in such a favorable comparison to her mother; it was not so much that they lived in competition that Pansy strived for a greatness her mother had never desired of her. She'd been trained, oh yes, well and fervently, and her mother had many expectations - but Leandra Parkinson's interest in her daughter's schooling and intelligence was dim by comparison to her desire for a flawlessly social creature that would propagate her beliefs to male heirs. And Pansy had always been quick to agree that women exuding an overabundance of schooling and independence were tedious, classless beings... but she had no greater desire than to use what intelligence she had been blessed with to carve out a better place for herself than simply wife and mother.

This party was only her first step in the correct direction. It was not only her feminine qualities being tested here - for she revered and cherished them to the last - but her subtlety, intelligence, cleverness. She had never met this Lestrange, but already she desired to impress him. Alpha-male complex, as it were, but she felt no shame in it. Pansy lived to be appreciated just as she lived for power (even by proxy), and though she did not disapprove of violent means so much as find them distasteful, she preferred politics.

There was a silence between them that she felt compelled to fill, but did not - another measure of self-restraint that was wholly necessary if she was to regain the ground she'd lost by her mere expression of emotion, of desire. She watched him, curious why this boy had gained the trust of so great a death eater, and she was still watching him when he spoke. Deceit - every warning flag rose in her, and Pansy's spine arched as she whipped out her wand, utterly intent upon murder at the treachery for one sharp, hot, blinding second as her heart raced and blood seared hot against her stomach, nerves torn by adrenaline and fear.

But she faltered, for it was not an admission of the kind she had suspected. He was not an auror come to turn her in for high treason.

Pansy stepped backward as his form melted away, her heart picking up speed as she pressed herself into a wall, fighting for control over her emotions and winning only so far as she did not run screaming from the room. Her eyes were wide, uncertain, one hand upon her wand and one gripping the silk that swathed her chest. She was afraid. And then it wasRodolphus Lestrange himself who stood before her, a great deal healthier than when she'd seen him last in a Daily Prophet article, starved and abused from Azkaban. What could one say? She felt furious at the lies, desiring nothing more than to throw some heavy object at him in a childish fit of temper. But she doubted he would stand for such a thing. She did not know how to even address him.

"Consider yourself forgiven," she replied, words magnanimous but voice hushed in mixed awe, fear, and something akin to desire but further in the realm of curiosity. These were emotions her narrow little mind had difficulty compartmentalizing, and so instead she simply stared.

"Very kind of you," he remarked in a tone that clearly stated he was thinking of something else when he spoke them. "Did you no longer wish your token of assurance, Miss Parkinson?" A single eyebrow arched upward with the inquiry, thoughRodolphus remained utterly still otherwise. It was always the most peculiar thing to Rodolphus , the way people reacted when presented with a person whose reputation preceded themselves. He'd seen the way people had reacted to Voldemort, to Bellatrix and even to himself and his brother though the latter never quite compared to that of the former two.

A girl who could declare that he took no risk in openly stating his opinions due to supposed loyalties they believed him to have and who so arrogantly charged on about how very much she had to lose in the face of the messenger she believed she'd been speaking withRodolphus would have believed to have been capable of a far more graceful reaction. "If you plan on using that wand on me, Miss Parkinson, I'd suggest you do it quickly. My duelling skills are likely more well-tested than your own and I'd hate for you to think you were going to manage any accomplishment should you attempt something outside of the next few moments."

Still he did not move, not even his posture or the manner in which he held his head changed. He would give her time to accommodate the new information and recover, though even that would reflect upon her. Everything she said and did reflected upon her and while he appreciated her spirit, what little she showed of it, he made a mental note of the arrogance and haughtiness she showed when she believed him to be someone of no consequence, someone expendable. Messengers are never expendable when they come from potential allies, only when they come from enemies.

Pansy's eyes flashed, sharp and keen, and in those brief seconds allowed her, she composed herself, tucking her wand back into its place and removing herself from the wall against which she'd pressed, so very like a child faced with an angry parent. Her own panic had been intolerable, even if quickly quashed, and she was defiant in its face, determined to rectify the Very Bad Face she'd put on. And so she returned to her sofa, where her tea awaited her, still hot from the magic imbued in their teacups. "It is most unkind to begrudge a lady her wand when she is startled, Mr. Lestrange," she finally replied, warming her thin hands against her cup and looking decisively calmer with tea in her hands. Her chastisement was in the mode of the ladies of the old society, a gentle, demure tone that tempered criticism with self-effacement.

"Would you like some tea? You may find it immensely more pleasurable with a sophisticated palate." Not that she had any reason to believe his doppleganger was an insophisticate, but Pansy was comforting herself in her own way - searching for normalcy in a decidedly abnormal situation. Perhaps she might have been a bit more disturbed by the idea of having tea withRodolphus Lestrange - after all, his reputation did precede him, and she found that reputation rather vile (or, at least, felt she ought to find it so).

"You must forgive my rudeness. I dislike being asked to state my loyalties to strangers."

"I could hardly refuse to forgive a lady, could I?" There was something almost faintly playful in Rodolphus' voice, as if the idea that he he couldn't possibly not forgive her were an amusing prospect much in the way some people of his generation found it amusing that women held jobs. He did slowly make his way back to his chair and gracefully fell back into it as before, his right leg crossing over his left with his back slightly straighter than the back of the chair itself. His calm and ease seemed to suit him better with him in his own body. The body of the French boy was thinner, more delicately boned. He looked weak without actually being weak. Rodolphus, however, was more filled out, muscular and had a strength about him which had nothing to do with his physical body at all.

Never one to be wilfully rude to those who did not deserve it, Rodolphus took up his tea cup once more. His eyes were trained on Pansy even as he politely sipped the hot liquid. At least she'd calmed. There may have been hope for her yet if she could recover so well. Silence settled between them before he spoke again. Rodolphus was oddly soft spoken for the most part, though there was a solid strength of will present in his voice which quietly demanded one's attention. He wasn't one prone to fits of shouting and yelling; he'd never found it necessary. "This dinner, how long will you need to put it together? I'd not rush things to the detriment of the planning, of course, but my preference would be for it to not be more than a month before it occurs if that'd be possible."

Pansy gave a little quirk of a smile that intimated her appreciation of his respect for her extensive (albeit subject-limited) knowledge. Sitting only a few feet fromRodolphus Lestrange ought to have been more unnerving, but she found herself thrilled at the prospect, nerves soaring across her spine and lower stomach. Here, after all, was the ultimate idol of her time. Despite his rejection of the Dark Lord, Pansy's naive adoration of that generation of Death Eaters blinded her, and blinded her fully, to question. But she needed to prove herself more fully. That appalling display of emotion - no matter how muted compared to what an untrained person might have let unleashed - earlier was unacceptable. She could excuse it away with the hour, the startlement - but in the end she was at fault, and she could not abide such weakness. At the very least she recovered well, she supposed.

"If it was needed, Mister Lestrange, I could have a dinner organized in four days." She took a sip of tea and recrossed her legs. "And it would be immaculate. However, it is proper etiquette to send invitations out at least three weeks in advance." Slender fingers considered every rise and fall of her teacup's pattern, and she considered the implications of breaking with the dictums of etiquette. "I believe fifteen days would suffice, however. If that is agreeable?"

"Fifteen day?" Rodolphus considered the reactions of those who were bred to expect traditional etiquette to such a thing. He sipped his tea thoughtfully as the potential consequences were mulled over. They could get high and mighty over it, refuse to attend due to the rudeness of the shortened notice. However, if it were a charity dinner then it would be more impolite for them to not attend. Society was such a fickle machine, and not oneRodolphus missed to be honest. "Fifteen days could suffice, though perhaps sixteen or seventeen would go over better with those who will feel insulted at such notice. They won't feel quite as insulted if the amount of time is closer to the full twenty-one than to a mere fourteen. They'll likely be pressured into going anyway, if for no reason than to not lose face in front of the nouveau riche who do not quite understand the rules and will be happy to attend."

He made a soft humming sound while he considered this. It would work quite well. "You realise I'll be depending solely upon you for information? You will then hand that off to someone I shall send to you." Rodolphus thought it would likely be Rabastan he sent, being the person he trusted most in the world, though he did not tell her that. He was sure the young Miss Parkinson had been confronted with enough Lestranges for one evening.

Pansy was grateful for her nerves, truly, for they had softened considerably since his first startling appearance and she spoke now as she might to any visitor, any man, who indulged in tea with her. She was quite certain that fifteen days would be enough - after all, she was close enough with the majority of high society to assuage any concerns they might have for liberties taken in forewarning - but she inclined her head, accepting his advice (quite the feat for such a stubborn, even if proper, young lady). "Invitations will be sent out upon the morrow and I assure you that everyone shall be there." Except those significantly unworthy of such an invitation, of course.

The very corner of Pansy's mouth quirked, then. Depending solely upon you. Had he any idea of the thrill this gave her? She was torn from wariness to ecstasy in seconds, though only the smallest hint of that delight surfaced upon her features - a touch of colour, a glitter to her eyes, the purse of her lips before she hid them behind a teacup. Though she was surprised, she had to admit, that he would not be attending himself (in disguise). "You do not desire a presence here? To assure yourself of my," she considered a moment for the appropriate word, "suitability?"

Rodolphus' head tilted only by the smallest of increments to the side. An eyebrow raised such a very small amount it could have easily been thought to just be part of the movement of his head. Rodolphus was otherwise utterly still. Who did this girl think she dealt with? Voldemort, perhaps, who gave out tasks to the worthy but never trusted them. Or one of those wary hero types who had no faith in one's loyalties because they didn't know how to watch people. Not everyone was so incompetent, but then if she lacked precedence for competence it was hardly her own fault, was it?

"I would not have asked the task of you if I did not already know you were suitable. You've been watched and I choose you for this. There is no one more suitable. If you, Miss. Parkinson, are not capable of the task then I fear there is no one else who may accomplish what I desire in the manner in which I desire it. After all, torture and memory charms is horridly time consuming." His tone did not change as he spoke of torture, nor did the look upon his face. In his mindRodolphus began lists of tortures. Water boarding. Rope constriction. Sensory deprivation. Suspension. Pressing. Chelsea grin. Strappado. Scaphism. There were so many options when one chose such a route. It was simply so much more energy and time consuming to practice such methods en masse. Conniving and eavesdropping were much more suitable for the task at hand.

Pansy's head tilted in return, a refined sort of parody that was both unintentional and utterly apt. She found it surprising that such a man would trust; she trusted, but very sparingly, very carefully - and here he was entrusting upon her (a virtual unknown) a mission of great importance. She would have argued, but trust was a gift which she enjoyed having - cherished even. Her expression softened into something inscrutable, and she couldn't help but wonder atRodolphus . She had the impression he was a brute - a savage who tortured - (and his commentary hardly proved otherwise), but here they sat, tea in hand, planning a party so as to exploit the subtler sciences of social prowess. She was unsure what to think, or whether she liked that he exceeded her expectations.

She was already uncomfortably aware of his power over her, and disliked it instantly. Not the obvious - the fact that he could draw a wand and end her, for he was not special in that regard - but the emotional responses he elicited. How her psyche dared disobey her intuitive restraints, she did not know, but it made Pansy wonder at this man. It made him both compelling and disquieting, for she had made the greatest efforts in her life to quell her emotions, to excise their influence -- and in the span of half an hour she'd danced across the spectrum to his whim. It infuriated her. Or would have, if she'd have borne the embarrassment.

"I will not fail you, Mr Lestrange." She replied smoothly, though her fingers swept over her skirt in a compulsive reaction to her perceived weakness. She comforted herself with the assurance that she would not have done anything he asked, but that this very simple thing was reasonable. That she was still independent, strong.

"I'd be gravely disappointed if for some reason you did, Miss Parkinson. Though, a person's word is their worth in the world and a woman's is just as equally weighted as a man's. You give your word to me you will not fail and so I trust you will not." There was something utterly pleasant aboutRodolphus ' face and his voice. He was composed as if he were a gentle creature, compassionate and kind. This wasn't without its truth, though he was sure the young woman knew even better than himself, perhaps, that appearances were deceiving. Yes, if she failed him he would be sorrowfully let down. He'd also have her taken from her home when her defences were down and brought to him outside of the boundaries of Britain. She'd then be taught what a grave mistake it was, indeed, to accept a charge and assure a man such a charge would be executed without fail. If she survived her lessons she'd likely never make such a mistake again. Of course, this was assuming she was still of a sound mind which was an accomplishment few could boast. Rodolphus did very few things that were not calculated, but he was willing to admit when he'd made a mistake. That did not mean he made the sort of mistakes that he was forced to pay for.

Delicately Rodolphus set his teacup and saucer down as he bowed his head most cordially to the young woman across from himself. When it raised there was a small upward curve to his lips. It was more of a smile than had graced his features since allowing the polyjuice to wear off, though most people would not have considered such an expression a smile necessarily. "It is late and I do believe I have imposed upon you more than is forgiveable, my lady. I shall take my leave of you, and will be in touch." He stood with the practised grace of a man who as a child had it drilled into his very muscles how one stood, sat and moved. The movement was an exercise in the control of one's very body andRodolphus had many years to perfect the dignity of the motion.

Pansy was deeply aware that failure was not an option; she was not foolish enough to believe that - even so gently presented - Rodolphus Lestrange would take pity upon her, nor was she foolish enough to think his patience extended to fools and unreliable women. But she also did not doubt her ability to deliver precisely what was needed in this arena. Deception, society, perfect execution - it's what she was bred for. Her tea was long gone, but she held the saucer and cup just so, keeping herself the picture of poise and style; even the insinuation of a threat in his words was not enough to generate a visible rise from her, though it made her stomach churn in response. A person's word is their worth - she would muse upon this for some time, for she was not so very convinced upon this point (even if she hadn't the nerve or the foolhardiness to argue).

As he moved, so did she, but with a feminine smoothness that complemented his grace. The saucer was returned to its seat upon the table and her fingers swept across her skirt as she moved away from her chair and toward him. Even with the danger inherent in this situation, Pansy's inherent etiquette could not be perturbed - her instincts for formality and femininity inalterable - and she slid her hand out to him, as much a token of her class as a measure of his own. His reaction, action, countenance - all judged and interpreted so that she might know him more intimately. So that she might calculate and predict his behaviour.

"May your journey be a peaceful one, Mr Lestrange," she replied, voice delicate, flawless.

It was instinct, breeding, and a fair bit of punishment as a child that caused Rodolphus to reach out for the extending hand. Conscious thought was not necessary as he took her hand delicately and bowed to meet it. The barest touch of lips brushed a kiss across Pansy's knuckles, yet his eyes did not stray from her face. Only after the contact between her skin and his lips was broken did his eyes lower for an instant. It was an act of voluntary subjugation, at least in appearance. Rodolphus could give countless points as to why he did this despite Pansy Parkinson clearly not being his equal, never mind his superior. He could recite from memory his mother's lessons that a man is always submissive to a woman, always catering to her needs. He could impart that without woman man was nothing and could not come to be. The truth of the matter was a lady should be treated with respect and part of that was bowing to whim. Rodolphus didn't bow so well, but even the illusion that he might would likely cause her to work harder for him.

In many ways, the downturn of his eyes was a proclamation of his loyalty to her. It was one thing to be loyal to someone who was exalted above you, either by themselves, by society or by higher powers. It was quite another thing to feel that loyalty was returned. No people ever worked so hard or gave up so much for a ruler they did not think believed in them and would not work tirelessly on their behalf. Rodolphus did not aspire to be a ruler such as a king, but if he wanted people to listen to him, to do what he said and not work against him then he needed that same sort of loyalty. People gave up everything for someone they believed in and who respected them enough to believe in them in return. For that reason he gave his silent fidelity to Pansy Parkinson. Not only did he give it,Rodolphus meant it. Until a time at which she proved unworthy of such faith, anyway. Voldemort had ruled through fear and it had gotten him nowhere and nothing. Nothing but death and not once, but twice. Clearly if Rodolphus was to succeed in his efforts he needed a different approach and this was his chosen strategy.

"Thank you, Miss Parkinson," his said as his body straightened once more. Her hand was released just as softly as it was taken up. "I wish you a pleasant evening." With another bow of his head,Rodolphus took several steps backward before turning and heading toward the door. He had a captive to check up on, after all.