InsaneJournal

Current mood:

miffed

Evening at the Blacks' Home
Something had to be done about Dumbledore. That was all there was to it.

She'd known it for months, of course. The Dark Lord hated Albus Dumbledore like no one else. Oh, they said he feared Dumbledore, but they didn't know him. Bella knew better; the Dark Lord feared nothing. Still, that old Muggle-loving fool could ruin everything. If the Death Eaters were to succeed, and deliver the wizarding world to their master on a silver platter, Dumbledore had to be out of the way -- and the sooner, the better.

Bella raised the door knocker and rapped sharply. She knew Rita Skeeter was nothing more than a muck-raking simpleton who was trying to sell papers, but she had given them an opening, and they'd be idiots to waste it. Stepping back from the front door, she glanced over her shoulder to make certain none of the Muggles were paying her undue attention. As much as she would enjoy torturing a few of them this evening, she had more important matters to attend to. She knocked again, getting impatient. The lamps were all lit, so they must be home...

[Open to Narcissa and Lucius (if he's there already).]