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Riley focused on everything that transpired within the room. Though Rasmus was chained to the floor, his wand in a completely different part of the Ministry building, she knew that he was still capable of some wandless magic. She’d witnessed him use it herself…The auror pushed the memories aside as she took in the exchange between the men in the room, and regret began to make its way to the forefront. She witnessed the hit-wizard’s lack of confidence in facing the murderous wizard currently sat at the table. The former unspeakable’s mention of the young man being cannon fodder was all it had taken to turn the lad into a shaking leaf in the autumn wind.
No, that was wrong. There was no need for insult; the leaves had done nothing wrong.
Riley chuckled derisively following the thought, though if it was at the thought itself or its timing she wasn’t sure. Either way, it would prove a contrast to the feeling of guilt over having thrown the hit-wizard head first into his current situation.
But this was nothing new. The witch was always internally at odds with herself. Her mother often said it was what kept her well on guard, for she herself would have first-hand knowledge of how duplicious one’s nature could be. Raliegh just believed it to be a sign of a vulnerable mind; never able to pick any one thing to which she would be able to truly devote her all. Where her mother saw strength, her father always saw weakness.
Perhaps his opinion on her may have been different if she’d allowed him to see more than just what the auror had wanted to.
“Do they know you’re just like me? Do they know you’re a monster?”
“Is that why they keep you on? Because you’re little more than a weapon - a tool to be dispensed?”
Her eyes snapped to meet his gaze through the mirror, even though she knew he’d have no way of seeing it. Riley didn’t know if this was a small comfort or an annoying inconvenience. She wasn’t sure what emotion had flitted accross her features, but if the tension in her jaw was anything to go by, she certainly what her face was conveying now.
The brunette didn’t bother with even considering a response. She knew the game Rasmus was playing, and it was a game they both knew well. Though most of what he vocalized after was mindless diatribe meant to cause confusion in the hit-wizard and augment the former unspeakable’s false sense of superiority, the intended Rowle heir made a valid point. Those who failed to acknowledge their true nature, were doomed to fail at living a worthy life in general.
“I must acquisce, dear brother. You speak the truth in your last lines. However, you seem to fail at noting the irony that comes with you being the one to speak them.”
Riley watched as his head snapped back in the direction of the mirror, his eyes slightly wider than he probably would appreciate. Rasmus would appear to have forgotten that though their father had allowed himself to be fooled by the facáde of the ‘Perfect Son’, she herself knew very well there was a reason behind a decade’s long engagement.
Rasmus could enter her mind and spit all the venom he wanted. Her left hand began to subconciously trace the ink lines on her right forearm that were currently hidden by the sleeve of her robes. The Rowle family motto was inscribed onto the flesh of every legitimate Rowle on their thirteenth birthday in it’s runic form, the oroborus. The enchanted ink made sure it would never be removed.
But if there was one thing she had learned long ago, it was that the snakes that dwelled in Rowle manor only ever struck in fear.
Armed with this knowledge, she wasted not a second longer and made her way into the interrogation room.
There was another audible grind of Rasmus’ teeth, his eyes locked onto the hit wizard before him and the former Unspeakable studied him closer. The film of sweat that had built up across his skin was clearly visible - it was indecently warm in the small room, but as Rasmus understood it, that was the preference. Apparently the Department wanted to literally ‘make him sweat,’ however truthfully he scarcely noticed it.
Absently Rasmus felt drawn to another time, when he’d been forced to kill his heart in favor of his families’ honor. How easy everything became after that, drifting to his studies in Thought and how the mind bore the deepest and most hideous scars, but too often they remained unseen. It was easy to say ‘forced’ as if Rasmus hadn’t been given a choice, as if there hadn’t been any other option for him to grow into the man that he was - the prodigy of Rowle. But Riley was, had always been, living proof that that simply was not the case. There was always a choice, always.
He hated her for it. Hated her for reminding him who he might have been, how differently his life might have been.
He hated her, perhaps, nearly as much as he loved her.
Hearing the door click the right corner of his mouth quirked upwards into a smirk as his eyes hardened onto the wizard opposite him.
“Have you ever killed anyone? In the line of duty or... Otherwise?” Rasmus asked as the door opened, there was a surprisingly firm No that came out of the man’s mouth. The former Unspeakable had expected something meek, or mumbled or stammered with uncertainty - but the conviction and certainty behind the Hit Wizard’s voice told him he was a man of some misplaced valor with some misplaced moral code.
“Well it gets easier after your first - just as my sister.” Rasmus’ smirk grew into a smile at the sight of Riley’s placid features.
“Say - how many people you think live in the Hollow these days?” Rasmus asked with mock interest, “I mean people who’s lives matter anyways, such a shame when good magical blood gets spilled but... Well... We are in wartime. Sacrifices must be made.” The second half of his diatribe was aimed more acutely at Riley, having not taken his eyes off of her from the moment she walked through the door.
His chest burned, but he scarcely noticed, desensitized to the feeling long ago there was a time in years past when he’d dreamed of ridding himself of it. The mark was unique to their family and eventually he began to wear it as something of a badge of honor - he grew into it as if it were a second skin of itself. For him, it was a dull ache he wasn’t sure he knew how to even breathe without.
