NPC Journal (npc_tf) wrote in tempus_fugit, @ 2008-11-25 17:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | group: separatist movement |
Date: 24th November - Evening
Seperatist Meeting
It wasn't strange that they should take a new member. In the last two months a steady stream of comrades had joined them. Disillusioned by articles in the Prophet, tired of being passed over for promotion in favour of muggle-borns, or simply brought up to believe the right way the world ought to be.
The influx of strangers had presented a new, and exciting, problem. They were no longer just a group of like-minded friends. Now there were men you'd never met before, whose babies you'd never held. It wasn't that you couldn't trust each other, not really, but what if one of you was a spy? What if the Ministry had somehow learned of your location, and was infiltrating the group? Besides, under Lord Voldemort's rule the Death Eaters had hardly known each other. Most of them could only identify a handful of their fellows.
That was why they'd brought in the masks. No one really knew, but they'd speculated on the sort of concealment the Death Eaters had used. Their faces were hidden, but the mask was easily removeable by the wearer. They had all delighted in their new creations - they truly were becoming organised, strong.
It came as something of a surprise when a newcomer laughed at them. Not them, but their masks. Demas Forkwith cleared his throat as the stranger unabashedly laughed at them. He cleared it again, and finally looked down at the papers on his lap. That was the trouble with the growing group, you didn't know who anyone was, or if they might laugh at you. No one dared to say 'what's so funny?' or 'have you got something to say, mate?'. Instead, Demas Forkwith continued reading from his notes.
"A...ahem...and despite our failed efforts to contact Mrs Malfoy, I personally am hopeful that-"
"Did you say Malfoy?"
The man didn't seem to speak much, and Demas was delighted to have snagged his attention. Finally, a comfortable topic of conversation. "Yes, widow of Lucius Malfoy, one of the glorious dead." An odd sort of choke seemed to come from the man, and Demas' eyes slid towards those he recognised even whilst masked. Demas Forkwith was not a coward, he was not shy nor retiring, he preferred to think that he was simply not connecting with the man who now seemed to be humming lightly under his breath.
"We are endeavouring to--" seemingly unaware of further comment, the man abandoned his chair and wandered from the room. From behind him, Demas could hear whispers that the man was probably something to do with the Ministry. Demas wondered if there ought to be a registration form for joining their group.