It was in a dimly-lit room, located far outside the reach of the British Ministry, that the three men stood, their faces shadowed and obscured by the hoods of long black cloaks fronted by masquerade-like white masks, and discussed their plans. A dead fireplace stood motionless to the left; to the right, a door, which had not been opened in years. “It’s been three years, Yaxley. Three years, and we are still waiting like pigs before the axe for a new Dark Lord to arise and lead us.”
Yaxley exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose, and looked at Gyffroes Selwyn. “And what would you like us to do? The world believes us all to be dead; and you know that if we had not acted as quickly as we did, we would be.”
Selwyn hissed, vividly remembering that event. “So is Potter, but he’s free to walk around and shag that bloodtraitor as much as he pleases, while we’ve remained trapped in this so-called house for three years.”
“You are in no position to comment about the Potter infidel, Selwyn.” Evan Rosier crossed the room, pausing in the center. “We are lucky to still be alive; in part, it is our collective responsibility that Malfoy’s son unfortunately cost us nearly everything we have.”
“The boy wasn’t prepared—” He was interrupted when Selwyn slammed the end of his cane against the marble floor.
“Enough! Look at what he’s done to us, to his Brothers.” Rosier seethed. “Everything we have worked so hard for was destroyed because of his own ignorance and his unwillingness to listen to those more experienced than himself.”
Selwyn growled under his breath, but kept silent. Rosier had kept the few remaining Death Eaters on a tight leash these past three years. His hair had grown thin, his frame skeletal, and his mind weary. He tried to change the topic of the conversation. “If we could finally get rid of Potter, we could easily take over the Ministry. Dolores and the Parkinson girl will be sympathetic to our cause; perhaps she can cajole Flint and Nott into taking it up as well. Greengrass, I don’t know about her.”
Yaxley took a long drag of his cigarette. “And Malfoy’s half-wit clone?”
“He will not block our progress,” Rosier said. “We might as well count him among the Hufflepuffs for as useful as he is.”
“I heard Diggory is in town again,” Yaxley said. “And Montague is snogging the Abbott woman.”
“No matter,” Rosier said with distaste. “Montague is a traitor, and Diggory; he’s not a threat. We obliterated him last time; it is mere luck that he is alive again. Selwyn, how do you intend to lure Potter into our grasp? The boy’s no Hufflepuff; it’ll take more than a couple mistaken street signs to bring him here.”
Selwyn felt the burning pressure of Rosier’s cold gaze, and lowered his head, again silent for a long duration. Finally, he spoke. “We take those closest to him. He’ll have to come rescue them.”
Yaxley blew out a long stream of smoke. “Who would that be?”
The flickering light from the candle posts on the wall cast shadows on Selwyn’s face that only further illuminated the sinister expression, as he began to speak…