The Cost of Hesitation || Marcus + Evan
He felt helpless. He felt rage. He felt desire.
His work at the Ministry had kept him from attending the Order meeting at the specified time, so he had sent a message explaining his brief absence and apologies with Amos. At that very moment in time, as his pace quickened down the dark, eerily quiet street, his mind replayed the last few days events in his head. He had arrived to the Order meeting late, and had been greeted by an open front door and a house that appeared to have been ripped hastily apart. His wand had been drawn and he had made his way swiftly and quietly through the house, but his stealth had been for nought. When he had entered the room that his fellow order members had met and dined in, he found them all with their heads on the table, their faces twisted into grimaces, sleeping in such a way that Marcus could not wake them, no matter what he had tried.
He didn’t know how long he had spent trying to wake each one of them but it had been a lot. When he had finally realised that he would not be able to wake them, he knew he needed help. Or... his mind had smiled cruelly, in a way that had made him shiver... you need to interrogate. It hadn’t taken him long to decide who he would look for to give him answers, since the man in question was hated by him and several of those he loved. Evan had threatened Amos, had threatened Cedric and sent him the head of a thestral as some sick, twisted way of getting under his friends skin. Marcus had never seen eye to eye with Evan, had never seen eye to eye with half the purebloods who had moved in his circle, giving him disapproving looks and throwing judgemental slurs his way. Marcus wasn’t sure, but he had a gut feeling that Evan was one of Voldemort’s followers, a Deatheater, or at least a prime candidate for one. The more he thought about the man, the more disgusted he felt and the more angry he became.
By the time he was at the man’s gate, a red mist was starting to descend upon him. He didn’t just wan to interrogate the man any more. Let yourself go... hurt him, kill him... he deserves it. He didn’t know how he got through the wards, but no security alarms had sounded as he had entered the property and stepped through the doorway of the house into the hall. He had been quick and quiet, his wand held in front of him as he checked every room, searching the the man. Despite the time, Marcus wouldn’t take any chances by presuming the man was asleep or in his bedroom. Hands balled into fists, knuckles whitening around his wand, when he finally found Evan asleep in his room, his conscience screamed for his to take out his anger on him. His fellow order members, his friends, they were all in a desperate situation because of Deatheaters... it had to be deatheaters.
He moved swiftly over to the bed, his breathing heavy as he stared down at the man who caused him to feel so much anger and hate. A man who was sleeping peacefully whilst his friends were in a sleep that he did not yet know when they would wake for... or how they would be if and when they did. He moved to the edge of the bed and pointed his wand at Evan’s throat. It was the perfect time to do it. The Order would understand why he had done it, that was if they even needed to know that he had. No-one knew where he was that night and no-one every would, he decided quickly. Do it now... he imagined the cruel voice in his head with a face, upon which was a set of lips hat smiled sickeningly. The image that he had conjured made him hesitate for a moment, thinning some of the red mist from his anger fogged brain. Could he really do it? Was he really capable of murder?
His hesitation cost him. Evan Rosier’s eyes flew open.
