Magic of the Night (Harry Potter/Twilight Crossover)

Chapter Three:

CHAPTER THREE:

England, Wiltshire: the Death Eaters

The room was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floor. Pale-faced portraits in ornate frames decorated the walls. The room itself was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table. The room's usual furniture had been pushed carelessly up against the walls. Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror and many candles, all burning weakly.

Three of the people sitting there would barely be recognizable by those who had once known them. Lucius Malfoy's skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight, and his eyes were sunken and shadowed. Sitting beside him, his wife was pale with sharply jutting cheekbones, her long blonde hair hanging limp around her face. Finally, to the right of the once oh-so regal Narcissa Malfoy was Draco Malfoy; looking young and skinny. His hands, hidden under the table, were shaking violently, and his grey eyes were bloodshot.

In his trembling fingers, he was clutching an object as if from it he was gathering all the courage he could possibly muster. He was not the only one at the table to be doing so, but while most were clenching onto their wands with iron grips, Draco Malfoy held a daisy.

Unexpectedly, a foul draft burst through one of the high-placed rear windows, snuffing out all the decaying candles strewn about the dank space, the roaring fire spluttering out to ashes.  The air suddenly grew noxious and fetid, as a dense black smog swirled around the head of the tables. The occupants drew in a collective breath.

Out of the smoke materialized Lord Voldemort, his crimson eyes burning bright. Around the table, collective spines straightened at the sight of their leader.

"I am..." began the Dark Lord, his voice barely louder then a whisper. Suddenly a few Death Eaters were flung from their stools like ragdolls; the bodies nearly cracking the plaster of the ceilings and walls. Bones cracking on impact made sickening sounds like the snapping of twigs. The table and its contents sprung up from the floor and instantly exploded into a maelstrom of splinters and glass shards. Hands flew to shield faces and eyes as the once silent room was plunged into complete and utter entropy. Blood poured from freshly formed wounds. Bright flashes of red erupted rapid fire from two pallid hands concealed within the darkness.

When the lights settled, the candles burst to life once more, fire springing up in the hearth. Writhing, groaning bodies were now strewn across the floor, and before them all stood one.

"...disappointed." Came the final word, slipping like tepid sludge from the paper-thin lips.

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Last Chapter:

They round the corner, Charlie and Billy, and I can literally pinpoint the moment Billy realizes the Cullens are present- his face shuts down, his upper body tensing in tightly restrained anger.

"Charlie," his voice is stiff, a sign that he is angry- very angry, "what the hell's going on?"

"Billy," Charlie says, looking both serious and pained, "I'm sorry, but this is an intervention."

Now:

"Intervention?" Billy demanded, gruffly, eyes shifting uneasily from Carlisle and Esme, then to Charlie and I, then back to the Cullens again. Despite the fact he was trying to hide it, everyone in the room could see his fear of the vampire couple; fear and hatred. "What the heck are you talkin' about, Charlie?"