At night I hear it creeping, at night I feel it move

[batshitscary.livejournal.com]

*The nightowls of Rothbury, population 1694, are the small village's sentinels - evidence of their insomnia detectable only in scattered and steadily dwindling squares of light. It is these furtive and sleepless few who are the first to sense something is amiss, putting it off, in true muggle fashion, to their own neurosis. Yet, the choking sense of dread winding through the streets and slipping coldly through door gaps and windows is no figment of the mind.

Tall hooded figures skirt through the pines surrounding the town, their oblong, concentric march growing tighter and smaller until finally they spill into an open alleyway and fan out, seeming more liquid than army.

It did not take much for the Dark Lord to sway them, although it did take long. A slow coaxing away from their comfortable Ministry agreement with the promise of chaotic and widespread consumption far more tantalizing than the tired and impure souls of criminals. Voldemort has insured their first rebellion will be nothing short of spectacular, the promised banquet unarmed, unseeing and unsuspecting.

Naturally, a small group of Death Eaters flank the rear, giving their ghastly peers a wide, safe berth. They wait for the moment they can follow and make short work of any survivors.*

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[dontbegoofy.livejournal.com]

*The gently bobbing corpse is easier to look at, its nakedness suddenly less vulgar, suddenly merely a fact. Snape has no difficulty staring into the tub - the screaming however, is grating on his nerves, in both sense of the word. Mulciber's slow and plodding style of murder taking its slow and plodding toll on his mood.*

[purely-better.livejournal.com]

*A stair creaks loudly downstairs, but it's only Lucius. Having finished off the only other occupant of the house he'd been watching (an old woman who had clung to his robes and begged for help), he'd left its vicinity quickly in search of other Death Eaters, unwilling to be too close to the Dementors alone. It'd been a relief, though he wouldn't say so, when he'd seen distinctly familiar hooded silhouettes through an upstairs window a few streets away. He didn't care who it was. He was joining them.

Doing so is probably somewhat contrary to orders. They're meant to be spread out, he knows, but bravery has never been Lucius's best quality, and he doesn't see how Voldemort could find out that he teamed up with others halfway into the job. Or that it would matter. He took out two Muggles already, alone, it isn't as though he's skiving off.

Telling himself all of this in a well-practiced art of self-justification, he makes his way upstairs, following the screams to the bathroom. Wand only half-raised as though he's not terribly concerned with finding anything dangerous, he leans around the doorway, taking in the scene and raising an eyebrow behind his mask. He vanishes it with a wand flick, his drawl mockingly paternal. For all his feigned laziness, he still looks a little pale, a little shaken. *

Surely you've been told about not playing with your food, boys. Is this all you've managed?

*As though he's finished any more.*