┈┈⛧┈ tom riddle era au ⋆* post hogwarts⋆* romantic subplot ⋆* the knights of walpurgis
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Three years after Adelaide Riddle abandons London to sculpt her own life - away from the Wizarding world and her br...
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DEATH EATERS; BORN from darkness and fueled by nefarious greed.
Like clandestine vipers, they slither and creep and their whisperings of malice haunt the wizarding world in their sleep.
Death Eaters; cruel spirits from the abyss
They were a crooked group, bound by their unwavering loyalty to the Dark Lord, and in this sacred space, they honed their dark arts to perfection.
"Oi, Marcel!" Max called out, the Lestrange boy looking up at him with a bored expression. "Will you quiet down a tad bit, mate? I'm trying to meditate."
Marcel Lestrange sat on the floor, twisting wire in the crevices of a slab of wood with his bare hands, as if he were simply preparing a snack. He had his wand gripped in his mouth like it was both a comfort and a tool, every so often letting out loud grunts of disapproval whenever he deemed his contraption unacceptable.
Rosier was busy reading the French Wizarding World newspaper, mumbling quiet obscenities at the revelations of current political events.
The training room was like a den of iniquity. They had gathered there to hone their skills in the dark arts, but instead, they were all preoccupied with their forms of foolery.
Malfoy stood before them, regal and stern, his long white hair falling in waves around his ears. He strode around the room, surveying the scene with a critical eye. His face was pinched with irritation like a man trying not to let his annoyance show. Watching the goings-on, he seemed to be muttering under his breath about the lack of discipline among the Knights.
Despite their notorious reputation, the Death Eaters, who prided themselves on their power and fearlessness, were now acting like teenagers avoiding schoolwork.
Maximus, who was sitting in a quarter lotus position, caught his eye and beckoned him over. "Brax, why don't you come and join me?" he said, his eyes shutting. He then raised his arms as if he were performing a séance. "It's very peaceful."
Abraxas looked aghast. "I don't sit around and do nothing," he replied haughtily. "It's a waste of time."
The brown-skinned boy opened his eyes and snorted. "You're just afraid of tranquility, Malfoy. Come on, shamatha is a great practice."
Abraxas didn't respond, but his lips curled in a sneer. As he stalked past, he caught sight of Lestrange, who was still focused on his creation. "What in Merlin's name are you doing, Marcel?" he barked.
Marcel looked up, replacing the wand that was gritted between his teeth with a cigarette. "It's a trap," he replied. Abraxas raised his eyebrows.
"Well, how do you expect us to trek through a fifteen million-acre forest without food? One of us has to do the hunting," he shrugged.
