The room is gloomy and chilly, moonlight entering in streaks through fragmented glass. It smells of an old musk and death. How fitting.

Your eyes flit across the long table and it's members. Some familiar, men and women that roamed the halls of Hogwarts once upon a time, the glint of recognition in their gazes quickly concealed by icy glares as you pass. Some who were already well known bigots amongst the wizarding world, and some that you've never seen or heard of before now, they've always been lurking.

You look at Severus for a fleeting second, already seated. He doesn't spare you a glance- good, he's always been better at this.

One of the first recruits for the order of the phoenix, a trusted confidant of the Albus Dumbledore, a scholar, and of course a pure - blood, otherwise this plan would fail miserably, is what you are. But tonight and onward, you're a deatheater, prepared to eliminate anyone that stands in your way, devoting your life to the dark lord.

Bellatrix keeps her dark eyes trained on you, satisfied, but far from welcoming. She believes you belong here, your blood is too pure to tolerate those filthy mud bloods. And yet, do you? she's never too careful. It doesn't matter if Voldermort accepts you, if her comrades trust you, you'll still have to prove yourself to her.

You finally seem to notice the pair of eyes drilling a mark into you as you brush past her, you hesitate. Yes, you know that face, one of the Black sisters, the one that went mad. Everything about her howls danger. Perhaps keeping distance is a good idea, the subtle glance of alarm that Snape shoots you confirms this. Bullocks.

She's already pulling out the empty chair beside her, a slow grin spreads across her pale face, sending a sense of jeopardy down your spine.