The Library - 10.15 to 1.00 am
Rodolphus's keen eyes followed Evan's every move - the graceful sweep of his eyes, the flicker of murderous rage that rose and died (he would have been no different), and though the similarities between himself and the younger man did not strike him utterly, he was aware of them under the surface of this shared implacability. They were very, very much alike.
"We have several safehouses in the countryside. Choose that which you think serves best."
Responsibility - it cured what ailed you, at least in Rodolphus's opinion, and he looked almost gentle a moment. "I trust you to do this correctly."
The cigarette, burning itself down in his fingers (the magical ash had dissipated into nothingness before hitting Lucius's beautiful carpet), was thrust back between his lips, and he was again the wall of stoicism.