Strange Meetings
The woman in front of him started crying again, and Rodolphus rolled his eyes before pointing his wand at her and muttering “Avada kedavra.” The aging muggle collapsed on her side, lifeless. Rodolphus pursed his lips as he looked down at the body, and that of the man sprawled not far from her.
Largely, Rodolphus’ usefulness to the Dark Lord was in the capacity of his position at the Daily Prophet, running a propaganda machine that would slowly prime the wizarding world for the new era. However, every so often displays of a more concrete devotion were necessary. The murder of a few muggles, in a borough of London that was known for having a generally mixed wizard-muggle population, no less, would likely go down well. Muggle authorities would be baffled of course but their wizarding neighbors would have no doubt that it was the work of a blood supremacist, likely a Death Eater, and so the fear would further spread.
Rodolphus had been hoping that the outing would serve to take his mind off of things, too. After all, he’d recently been stabbed by Dmitry Nott, of all people, Malcolm Greengrass was angry at him over nothing, and Zahi still hadn’t replied to his letter. Making him wait, likely, but still. Irritation tugged at his bones, and the casual murder had done something to relieve the itch.
In some ways, he and Rabastan really were alike, although if this had been his brother’s doing, there would be an excess of blood.
His Death Eater mask was firmly in place as he headed for the back door of the house, and he was surprised to see a figure in the doorway. He paused, then recognized them.
“Rowle?” He vanished the mask and sauntered forward. “Fancy meeting you here.”
@theodora-rowle