Let's Have Dinner // Selina Moore + Xavier Galloway
Over a week ago – the attack in one of London's most prestigious housing areas occurred, with seventy-two Muggle deaths, three magical deaths, and several dozen injured.
Selina remembered it well enough – remembered attending the meeting that her Lord had hosted, remembered cold stone walls and a table that was much too long, stretched much too far in an attempt to create a chilling distance between the group that called themselves ‘Death Eaters.’ They were a group, she supposed, however dysfunctional they were amongst the ranks; it mattered not that many of them were bound only by the same dark ink on their forearms, and in some cases, a subtle loathing that emerged only in sickly sweet throats and venom irises.
A wracking cough had shaken her thin frame, dreaded sickness plaguing her choked veins, constricting her chest and rattling her shoulders; her Lord, oh her kind and merciful Lord, whose care for his followers was almost that of an equal – He (and Selina regarded the word reverently in her head, for the man himself was a picture of reverence to the Death Eater) had allowed Selina not to participate in such an event, as He had seen the sickness in his devoted follower’s sallow skin, had taken note of a thinness stretched taut against rough cheekbones.
And although Selina had falsely begged in between bone-shattering coughs, her Lord had insisted, and Selina’s only choice had been to comply. So that afternoon, Selina had stared out at the sea, watched as froth swirled and angrily bit at the dark rocks’ stubborn edges. Despite her outward appearance of longing to participate in such an event, Selina had been, perhaps, even more satisfied at the prospect of watching the sea battle unmoving earth than terrorizing muggle families.
So as she made her way from her cubicle on the third floor to the Auror office on the second floor of the Ministry, she occupied her mind with thoughts of the event, alternated with her own rather weak denial of what might have been a quickly reemerging childhood fear of working in a large group. She wanted to stand out, that was her goal. Being in others' shadows was not where she belonged.
If Selina spoke to others at all in the course of her workday, it was with her usual crisp precision and clipped tones – all business and no room for personal matters to leak through. It was for this reason that she had managed to earn respect within the Ministry; Merlin forbid that she should move about as that Arthur Weasley did. The Ministry of Magic was a workplace, and it should have been treated as such – although Selina figured Athur might have been dropped on his head as an infant, what with his inclination towards muggles and objects of the most trivial sorts.
An idea had prolonged Selina for some time now. It had been ignited with the sight of him. He had always been attractive in her mind, but years had done him wonders. Selina knew she had the powers of persuasion on her side and Merlin, was she going to need them. Selina threw a look down at her watch. Late. It was almost lunch. Skipping a chat with her boss would do no harm. Selina felt hungry anyway. Now was the right time. She whipped her wand out of her pocket and apparated to outside of his home. It was Sunday. He would be there.
In any case, as Selina strode briskly over to one Xavier Galloway's front door, she held an air of perfected professionalism, a subtle stroke of her own self-importance painted over her features to complete the woven canvas that was Selina Christina Moore.
Two sharp raps of scarlet knuckles against the thick oak of his door.
