npc. (reoccurnpc) wrote in reoccurrence, @ 2020-08-26 12:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | *plot log, lestrange bellatrix |
WHO. Peter & Bellatrix / Peter alone.
WHERE. Somewhere hidden / Burrow's Cross, Surrey.
WHEN. 25th August.
WHAT. A favour gone awry.
STATUS. Complete.
It wasn’t Lestrange Manor and it never would be, Bella was well aware of this on a physical level as well as from the perspective of how this reflected on her own person. Far too prideful to think of herself as anything other than the ‘forever pure’ of her familial maxim, she still had enough of her wits about her to keep sight of what little power she currently wielded. The careful prodding and tinkering with old contacts had left her with an extremely limited network, yet she was no stranger to building what stood to be a fledgling empire out of nothing. Plus she also had Pettigrew at her disposal - as pitysome as he could be, there were uses nonetheless. Especially when it came to procuring a number of hexed, cursed, or otherwise Dark artefacts that had once been in her possession. She was being smart about this and knew it wasn’t as if she was ever going to sit in the resplendence of her old office-cum-oddity shop again. Still there were a number of objects that could allow Bellatrix a significant advantage if only she could get them back into her possession once more. It seemed a bit more prudent to look into amulets and the like rather than hunting down what had ever become of the kimono once owned by a geisha so beautiful and alluring, she’d been killed to use her eyes in a love potion. Maybe once a few more things were tracked down by the poor wretch. Speaking of, a brow was raised towards the sound of footsteps shuffling towards the solarium she far preferred to the dark, windowless study. As time pressed on, Peter had begun to feel less and less sure of this arrangement, and of himself. Scouring the papers – which he did constantly, searching for any whisper of his return – helped, as it reminded him how even those heralded as heroes were facing suspicion and reproach. (Though there was some vindictive pleasure to be derived from that, that even their goodness couldn't salvage them from this.) Merlin only knew what they'd do to him if he was found. Nothing pretty. As he approached Her door he tried to conjure those sick scenes that played in his mind when he thought about those consequences. Tried to remind himself what this allegiance was supposed to protect himself from. There had been some thought, some small confidence, when he had discovered it was just the pair of them. That without the other Death Eaters he might finally earn himself some respect – usefulness. The latter seemed to prove true, but the former had yet to materialise. He cleared his throat. A predatory smile came about as Bellatrix turned towards him, the dimension of her planes appearing nearly impossible as that sole expression took up the entirety of her face. “Peter,” the false warmth with which she said his name probably did nothing to ease any fears he may have, much less her motioning to the chaise longue set across from her. “How nice of you to come on such short notice.” Even lifting that glass of wine to her lips didn’t do away with the obvious amusement held there; as if he truly had a choice in the matter at this point. She waited until he sat to speak again. “I’ve a need for you to take another trip and retrieve something for me.” The tone used clearly meant to convey, oh, it’ll be no big deal. Peter visibly gulped. It was a horrible thing, really. He had always wanted to be needed, because on a very basic level he had always felt superfluous. That he could be useful now should be some sort of blessing, but from Her it felt like a badly fulfilled promise. "Yes?" Fear not, she had noticed that show of cowardice and tucked her amusement away for a later time. "On the parchment there in front of you," manicured claws gestured to the thick paper folded in half on the table between them. "Are instructions on how to locate a dear old friend of mine, and they will see to it you are kept safe while running this errand for me. You shall also be taken to the seller's residence by them, wherein what I've outlined there for you needs to be obtained with the galleons the elf is bringing this way now. Any questions?" A small bitter part of him longed to launch a snide remark. Was he to get a cut? How whatever it was he was purchasing fit into her oh so grand schemes? But he held his tongue, knowing any inflammatory comment would only make this whole ordeal worse. "How far is it?" Technically there was no obligation for him to abide by any restrictions because technically he did not exist. Yet some fearful part of him had still lessened the amount he was apparating, worried that it was just another crime to add to his portfolio, a reason for them to make an example out of him should he be discovered. "Surrey," she lazily retorted while offhandedly checking her nails. Bella knew true and well how critical Peter's involvement and sneakiness were to her ever achieving any part of the plan she was formulating. He'd get his due payment and some morsel of thanks dangled in front of him, but it'd do no good to outright tell the whimper of a man how paramount he was. The last thing needed was him thinking now was a time to outgrow his britches. "I've also had the elf put together a package of necessities for you to take once you've brought my possessions back to me." She knew it wasn't like he had better offers out there. Well, there was something in that, wasn't there? He swallowed, not wanting to say the words traditionally appropriate. Thank you suggested gratefulness, and gratefulness suggested obedience, and while those words had come surround him, even by used by him, he resented the meekness they conveyed. "Very well, yes," was what he settled on, clearing his throat. "Very well indeed," she mirrored, having already moved onto writing something down in the journal open on her lap. No longer really willing to continue further than they had in this interaction, it was half-convincing when he made a dismissive hand motion before a final, "And make sure you aren't followed back here." On the basis of bare logic, Peter knew why he had agreed to this. If he wasn't terrified of her hearing it, and had even a single person who he could trust to say it to, he would have wagered that death had sent Bellatrix Lestrange even wilder. Her wrath alone shook him, never mind that she was keeping him safe. Like a pet. Perhaps had she not been so satiated with power before, not been able to claw back all her wealth and belongings prior to finally losing them forever (or what was supposed to be forever) she would not be so anxious for all of them now. It was amusing, in a way, that she seemed to be suffering in similar ways to the very people who, as far as their recent memories stretched, were very much on the opposite side to them. Possessions gone, life shattered. Amusing, that was, until it was his turn to retrieve back some of what she had lost. Armed with a large bag of galleons, a contact, and absolutely no negotiation skills whatsoever, he desperately hoped the favour for her would be as simple as she suggested. An hour, an array of hexes, and a slammed door later, and he was curled up in damp ground sinking into Wormtail, his stomach aching with worry. The item lost, the galleons gone. He could run, he thought very hard about running, slipping away as a rat again and hiding. Every cell in his body ached to do so, to get some peace from the tangle of allegiances he still could not free himself from even after the war. But then she would assume he had escaped with her things. Having already revealed his return to her he had placed himself in another bind, another debt. There was little else he could do but bide his time, staying low by the windows. He was no stranger to burglary, but never usually with such high stakes. |