*Lucius is not one of them. In fact, he looks rather lackadaisical about the whole situation, as though the Dark Lord had just suggested that their next grand attack be a stroll through Hyde Park, rather than taking down the ICW headquarters. The thing is, he's got very little to fear - bureaucrats have proven themselves time and again to be easy targets, physically, and he doesn't expect much of a fight. As to the risk of arrest, it's negligible. He's well aware it would be life in Azkaban for any of them who are caught in the raid - in any raid - but he's got connections with connections with connections, and more money than entire branches of the Ministry. He's untouchable, the way he's framed the situation for himself. Lucius is, in a word, utterly unconcerned with the risks
( ... )
*Doing nothing but support Lucius' opinion of him, Regulus soon feels watched and peers up around the room, letting his quill hover in suspense over the parchment he's working on. Meetings like these are usually comparably comfortable affairs for him. They allow him to him scribble away at something he knows how to do, and the only questions that ever come his way once in a blue moon are easily answerable and always brief, technical. With Lucius watching him, however, his focus slips and he nods to him hoping that will satisfy.*
*Blending in with the current environment was one of Augustus Rookwood's specialties, and the meetings with the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters provided a rare opportunity to act unlike his usual carefree, affable self. There's a hint of unease, but he mainly regards the Dark Lord with respect and a good degree of reverence, though not to the point of grovelling, unless that is what the particular situation at hand demanded. As a double agent within the Ministry with a firm grasp of the inner workings of that bureaucracy and a plethora of social ties, a network that he takes considerable time out of his own leisure time to sustain and grow, Augustus maintains his part in the discussion as an information provider and strategist
( ... )
*It does not satisfy, but then, Lucius finds so very little about Regulus satisfactory in the first place. If anything he looks more put off than before - how is it possible for the boy to be this inept? He's never actually said so, but clearly Orion and Walburga did something terribly wrong. Lucius has been a parent for all of five months, but already feels quite strongly that his own son is not going to end up like this.
Still. Familial obligation is familial obligation, and he forces a tiny, unconvincing smile. Clearly this is something he's been instructed to do.*
*On the wall behind Regulus' head, four markers disappear in unison as a small group of targets disapparate together to reappear up north. It looks as though they are escaping from Regulus, his uncomfortable feeling that he has missed something radiating off him. Out of the comfort zone of his maps, Lucius and Rookwood's eyes say that he has simultaneously done something right and done everything wrong, and he isn't sure what about him their looks refer to this time.
Victoria, as it happens, gives Regulus this same feeling merely by existing. Always some mystery, always some strange unspoken blame even when she smiles. But, not wanting to think of Victoria more than is necessary, he glances at the latest batch of plans, lists, and maps for the ICW.*
*Sandwiched between dour and smug cloaked figures, Barty's excitability is even more evident than usual. He's wearing his mask still. Not to hide his identity, but rather because the prospect of having one at all continues to be novel to him. Though the masks are all the same in theory - identical, expressionless white façades - Barty's seems to have somehow, against logic's better judgement, acquired a grin. Pushing himself into sight, he loudly interjects into Regulus and Lucius' politics of stares and pleasantries.*
*Barty is perhaps one of Lucius's least favorite people in a room full of people he doesn't necessarily think highly of, and it shows. He is well aware of Barty's family connections and therefore isn't willing to just hex him silent, more's the pity, but he will not be overridden by a teenage boy with more gab than sense. Leveling him with an annoyed look caustic enough to warn off perhaps anyone but its recipient, Lucius turns his attention back to Regulus and pretends that Barty is simply not present.*
Of course not. Much as I should hope you haven't been telling Miss Higgs about any of it.
*It's a lie. The arrogance and self-importance Lucius lords over everyone else absolutely does not apply to his wife; Narcissa is his partner in every sense of the word, and nothing goes on at these meetings that he doesn't immediately relay back to her. He'd never want her directly involved, or marked - too dangerous for so many reasons - but she knows as much about the ICW plans as he does.*
*Barty pays Malfoy's glare no heed whatsoever. In fact, he mirrors it, looking up at Lucius in an absurdly paternal manner. Wrinkling his nose in an exaggerated imitation of Proper Pureblood behaviour, he speaks in a faux-posh accent, waving him off with his hand like a fly.*
*Rookwood's gaze settles on Barty, genuinely interested in whatever the Prime Minister's son has to bring to the table. While it may turn out to be superfluous nonsense, the boy was bright. Out of his mind mental, but nonetheless intelligent.*
*Having made his point, Barty pushes his mask back over his face and nods excitedly to Rookwood.*
The wards. They're either hopelessly tall barbed and wired brick walls of impenetrable horror or they're weak enough for us to jump over when we need to. If WE can jump over them when we need to, nothings stopping them jumping in when THEY need to, and nothings stopping our targets from jumping out.
Soooo, what if we made them recognize only us. Only this.
*He hikes up the sleeve of his robes and shoves the lurid, writhing burn mark in Regulus' face for emphasis.*
*Regulus follows Barty's unorthodoxly told proposal easily, but the introduction of the Mark into the equation - as well as into his personal space - leaves him blindsided. He finally looks away to ruffle through stacks of parchment, looking for the information gathered about the ICW's defences even though he has it memorised, it was he who drew them up.*
They're trapped. Shitting. With us. We can go in and out if it gets sticky. They can't. I guess things will get sticky either way, then. What with the visceral fluids. We could even - YES.
*He leans over Reg's parchment, tracing inked hallways with a finger, babbling to himself under his breath.*
*He shifts the map slightly closer to Barty to give them both more space bent over the papers.*
These wards are based on magic alone, a particular form of force, they're not pinpointed toward certain wizards. To do that - I'm not even sure where to start.
I would have to know the developmental processes the Dark Lord goes through to Mark us at all, the fundamentals of what He uses, how much of the Mark is Him and how much is our own signature... I doubt He would even tell me.
*Lucius murmurs in an undertone, casting the smallest of glances over his shoulder toward the Dark Lord. For all that he was ready to hit Barty for interrupting him, even he has to admit that the idea is useful. The risk of being trapped inside their own wards had occurred to him, and he prefers, always, an escape hatch.
And that their Lord won't talk about the marks, he feels certain. That's part of the price of their inclusion - they bear these signs, but none of them fully understand all of the implications, how it's made, all that it does. Lucius hasn't even tried finding out, too nervous at the idea that the Dark Lord would somehow know if he tampered with it.*
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Still. Familial obligation is familial obligation, and he forces a tiny, unconvincing smile. Clearly this is something he's been instructed to do.*
Narcissa sends her love.
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*On the wall behind Regulus' head, four markers disappear in unison as a small group of targets disapparate together to reappear up north. It looks as though they are escaping from Regulus, his uncomfortable feeling that he has missed something radiating off him. Out of the comfort zone of his maps, Lucius and Rookwood's eyes say that he has simultaneously done something right and done everything wrong, and he isn't sure what about him their looks refer to this time.
Victoria, as it happens, gives Regulus this same feeling merely by existing. Always some mystery, always some strange unspoken blame even when she smiles. But, not wanting to think of Victoria more than is necessary, he glances at the latest batch of plans, lists, and maps for the ICW.*
Have you told her of this?
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Reg. Reg.
REG.
I have an idea.
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Of course not. Much as I should hope you haven't been telling Miss Higgs about any of it.
*It's a lie. The arrogance and self-importance Lucius lords over everyone else absolutely does not apply to his wife; Narcissa is his partner in every sense of the word, and nothing goes on at these meetings that he doesn't immediately relay back to her. He'd never want her directly involved, or marked - too dangerous for so many reasons - but she knows as much about the ICW plans as he does.*
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QUIET! The adults are talking.
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And what is that idea?
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The wards. They're either hopelessly tall barbed and wired brick walls of impenetrable horror or they're weak enough for us to jump over when we need to. If WE can jump over them when we need to, nothings stopping them jumping in when THEY need to, and nothings stopping our targets from jumping out.
Soooo, what if we made them recognize only us. Only this.
*He hikes up the sleeve of his robes and shoves the lurid, writhing burn mark in Regulus' face for emphasis.*
Like a password. But better.
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I'm not sure if that's an option...
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And what, exactly, happens when they try to get out and aren't recognized? Do they just stand there, shitting themselves?
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They're trapped. Shitting. With us. We can go in and out if it gets sticky. They can't. I guess things will get sticky either way, then. What with the visceral fluids. We could even - YES.
*He leans over Reg's parchment, tracing inked hallways with a finger, babbling to himself under his breath.*
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*He shifts the map slightly closer to Barty to give them both more space bent over the papers.*
These wards are based on magic alone, a particular form of force, they're not pinpointed toward certain wizards. To do that - I'm not even sure where to start.
I would have to know the developmental processes the Dark Lord goes through to Mark us at all, the fundamentals of what He uses, how much of the Mark is Him and how much is our own signature... I doubt He would even tell me.
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*Lucius murmurs in an undertone, casting the smallest of glances over his shoulder toward the Dark Lord. For all that he was ready to hit Barty for interrupting him, even he has to admit that the idea is useful. The risk of being trapped inside their own wards had occurred to him, and he prefers, always, an escape hatch.
And that their Lord won't talk about the marks, he feels certain. That's part of the price of their inclusion - they bear these signs, but none of them fully understand all of the implications, how it's made, all that it does. Lucius hasn't even tried finding out, too nervous at the idea that the Dark Lord would somehow know if he tampered with it.*
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