Padrig had received the owl from Bellatrix Lestrange earlier that day, early enough for him to finish his work and bugger off a few minutes early. Some things, especially this, were obviously more important. He didn't need to make excuses to Marietta, she was likely staying late at work again. He had already decided to tell her as little as possible. His conversation with her the other night showed how little faith she had both in the Dark Lord's cause and in him as well. At the time he'd been dodging projectiles but, with time, he'd become a bit irked at that thought. She was afraid he'd be killed or she would be hurt. That was patently ridiculous, not if he played her cards right, not if he did what he knew he was capable of doing. It was in his blood. Or at least his mother's blood in any case. And that was really all that mattered.
He was uncertain what Bellatrix wanted this time, but he'd already learned to dress in dark robes, the better to not be remarked on when she set him on tasks. Arson, some petty tasks, he'd already tried to prove himself useful to her, and so far it seemed to be successful. While logically he knew he should be terrified of her, most people were, he actually found himself pleased she took such interest in him. She was all a Pureblood woman should be, proud, powerful, unafraid to do what was necessary. And she had chosen him.
The graveyard was a familiar meeting point and he arrived a few moments early and walked in, his eyes searching her out. A movement in the shadows drew his attention, and he made his way to her and waited, hands folded in front of him.