Frost was in the air when he awoke, head still swimming in remnants of hard liquor and stale tobacco. He shuddered, pulling the blankets tighter around himself, when the need for the toilet forced his feet to the floor. Cursing the empty liquor bottles scattered about, he made his way up and over the huddled lumps of friends still sleeping off their own drunkenness and found his way to the toilet. He spent a long moment before the mirror, eyes vainly trying to focus on the reflection scowling back at him. Looking much like he hadnÕt slept in century or two, he ran a hand through his hair, mussing it to stand fashionably. Then he stepped out long enough to tell his guests to get the hell out, dropped his trousers Ð where did my shirt get to? he wondered Ð and climbed in the bath. As water flowed down his back, memories of the previous night slowly began to surface, and Evander slipped away into them. Their orders had been simple enough: capture the Auror, alive. With four of them and no guards on duty, theyÕd had gotten to his home easily. The fog of the London night had covered them as they crossed the law. Evander checked the time as he moved; the family was sure to be asleep by now. Motioning them forward, he watched Lestrange unlock the door, her pale hand pushing it open silently. They crossed the threshold without incident, and fanned out automatically. Malfoy immediately moved up the stairs, wand raised, and Evander moved close behind him. It was JakeÕs missionÑthe others were along to make sure he didnÕt get himself killed. The pair reached the landing with a breath of relief, and Malfoy moved down the hall towards the Master Bedroom. Evander moved towards the childÕs room to ensure minimum interruption. It was empty. Evander whipped around to warn Jake, but his hand was already on the door. He watched as the blonde pushed into the room and was immediately engulfed in a blaze of red. He sent a spell down the stairs to get the others and charged forward. The targeted Auror, a tall dark-skinned man in colorful robes, was standing at the foot of his bed, wand pointed at the captured Malfoy. Four others stood in the room, and all had their hoods up, clouding their faces. EvanderÕs hand crept to his own mask, checking its position. One of the others Ð a girl, by her stature Ð fired a disarming spell at him. His wand hand flicked as he wordlessly protected himself. Moving fully into the room, he sent a spell towards the Auror, but was unsurprised when it missed and careened into the dresser. It exploded in shards of wood, knocking down one of the hooded men, but Evander was already onto his next spell. Carena Lestrange moved into the room beside him, furiously sending spells at JakeÕs ambushers. She was closely followed by Nott and Crabbe. Engaging himself with the girl, Evander moved gracefully, interpreting her thoughts easily and lazily blocking spell after spell. He grinned at her despite his mask. ÒYouÕll have to do better than that, love.Ó He swept her up off her feet with an entanglement spell, and cocked his head at her amusedly. Her robes fell around her as she hung upside-down, and she struggled to extract herself to end the enchantment. He looked at her appraisingly. ÒYour dueling skills suck, but at least youÕve got nice legs.Ó A muffled stream of curses made him laugh heartily until a rogue spell shot just past his nose. The Auror had lost control of Malfoy, who hit the ground with a sickening thud. Cara was now dueling two of the bigger men at the same time. Evander disarmed the one closest to him, to CaraÕs gratitude, but was immediately pulled into a fight with the Auror. Evander had seen this man in the newspaper beforeÑthe media thought him to be the next Minister of Magic. Still, the way he moved was even more familiar to Evander, like a memory from a dream. He shook his head lightly, and took aim. A quarter hour later, he emerged to find her sitting on the foot of his bed, eyebrows raised. Careana Lestrange was not a woman anyone wanted to fuck around with, and if Evander's still vague recollections of the previous night were any indication, she was right pissed at him. The baby cousin of Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, Cara had grown to be nothing short of lethal. Her hand swept across her forehead, brushing hair from her face; she looked livid. Lestrange was known for her silent temper, the way she'd stare her enemies down before lashing out at them. Few crossed her, and those that did often found themselves bleeding. Evander caught her hazel eyes with a deadpan look for a moment or two, and then went about getting dressed, kicking trash out of his way as he did so. "You really pulled something last night, Crawford." Evander frowned at the use of his surname. "My mind's a little foggy, Lestrange. Why don't you enlighten me?" Her eyes hardened at his back. "You've always thought yourself cleverer than you really are. It's going to catch up with you." Evander turned to face her, and watched her eyes comb down his bare chest. Lightly tracing the scars that marred it, he spoke. "It already has, remember?" Careana stood, her hair flowing dangerously around her. She whispered, as though someone was going to overhear her in them now empty bedroom, "You made me look a fool." "Funny. It was always my impression that you couldn't make someone a fool without their permission.Ó "Evander," she hissed, "You know what you did. I didn't run away-- I went for help. And yet somehow the Dark Lord thinks I was frightened away by the fucking Order boys and the old man Auror." "And you think I'm His informant? I could care less what you do or why you do it, save that you pissing off made us lose the Auror and nearly got me killed. So go to hell, Cara," he said roughly as he pulled a shirt over his head. "Evander, listen to --" "No, you listen. I don't give two shits why you did what you did, but you can stop blaming me. I didn't grab your arm and Disapparate away with you, and I sure as hell wasn't the one who left Jake hanging. You panicked. We had him, and you panicked, and Jake's mission was blown. So excuse me if I'm not so quick to put my ass on the line to cover yours." She pushed him with her fists. "Damnit, Evander." "What'd He say to you, anyway?" he asked as he turned to fix his hair in the mirror. Useless, he thought, as it stubbornly stuck up in the back. Short hair just didn't seem to suit the cowlicks his head seemed destined to have. Careana lifted her shirt to reveal a scarred ribcage, the remnants of a hex that couldn't be healed away. "I got the Cruciatus, too." Evander narrowed his eyes at her. "Guilt doesn't work on me, Cara. Go be a siren somewhere else." She pouted, her fingers splaying down the bare skin of her midriff. "You mean, you don't feel even a little bit badly for me?" Evander gulped hard, then shook his head, recalling the last time he'd fallen for her sex act. Being subdued by a girl half his size was not on his agenda today. "Not even a little." Careana's face dropped. "Go to hell." His lip quirked. "Look around, love. We're already here." She rolled her eyes, then took up her coat. "I'll see you tonight? "Only if you promise not to get me killed, Cara" Evander quipped, his eyes following her backside to the doorway. Careana shot him the finger. "You'd be lucky to die by my hand, Evander. It's more than you're worth." Evander rolled his eyes. Bloody Girls. ÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑÑ The remainder of the day flew by in a muddled heap of swear words and reprimands. While Evander himself had done nothing wrong, he had failed in his attempt to help Malfoy capture the Auror, and that meant disaster on the home front. The ground beneath him was cool despite being carpeted, and he felt his knees tire in their position. Before him, a meeting of the upperhands of the Death Eater clan went supervised by the Dark Lord himself. Suggestions boomed from each corner, all resulting in disproval. Beside him, Malfoy cowered, his hands folded carefully over his abdomen, nursing pressure onto his wounds. Evander was bored. While to some, excruciating pain and the presence of the most wicked (and furious) overlord the world had ever known would be nothing short of terrifying, the monotony of it all got to the teenager. Last week, he'd watched the Elder Malfoy get bullied about; the week before, Crabbe's father. In fact, the only Death Eater he hadn't seen foul up, aside from Snape, of course, was his own father. Damacus Crawford was a legend among the Death Eaters. Always on top of his game, he had quickly moved up the ranks after the Death of the Rebellion -- quite probably because he hadn't been a part of it. Having announced his allegiance just before the fall of the Order, he was ranked far higher than most of the idiots who joined the Dark Lord simply to avoid death. It was from his father that Evander had learned the spellwork which now made him the most promising pledge in this year's group. Initiation was but a few days away, and despite all his shortcomings (none of which occurred to him at this moment) Evander felt confident that he would rise in a fashion similar to that of his father. If I ever get to stand up again. _______________ James Potter had had some bad mornings in the first seventeen years of his life, but this had to be one of the worst. The smell of burning hair welcomed him into consciousness, and the sun streaming in from the splintering window was nothing short of blinding. He tried to sit up, but a spinning sensation somewhere just behind his eyes made him groan and lie flat. It occurred to him that he wasnÕt sure where he was. The answer to his mental query came to him in the form of his best friend carrying a tray filled with healing potions and his favorite soft drink. James smiled, his hand blocking the light from his eyes. Mollie always knew exactly what he needed Ñ though it was definitely a family trait. James had been taken in by MollieÕs father, Remus Lupin, after his parentsÕ deaths and the three of them had lived as Muggles for years, carefully hiding from the world that now considered them outcasts. James had long considered Remus a second father, and one of his best friends. No matter how the world saw him though, last night James had definitely been a wizard. In fact, heÕd been a warrior, a soldier, a leader. Intelligence had warned them of the attack on Kingsley ShackleboltÕs home, and with a large part due to the teenager, theyÕd been prepared for the ambush. What he hadnÕt been prepared for, however, was being mugged by a dresser. Propping himself up, he tipped the vial towards himself. The healing effect was almost immediate, but regardless, he was tired. The couch creaked meekly under the added weight as Mollie sat stiffly against his side. He shifted, and she took a position comfortably against his chest. ÒSo how did it actually go last night? You know, after I hit the floor?Ó James teased. If Kingsley had been taken, or anyone else hurt, she wouldÕve said so immediately. That she sat with him was a better sign than most. It took a long moment for her to answer, and when she did, she sounded miserable. ÒKingsley and Roxford are downstairs. They were worried about you.Ó ÒIÕm fine, Molls.Ó ÒI know that.Ó She sat up, a hand on the wall behind his head. Her eyes scanned his forehead, eyebrowsÑlooking anywhere but in his eyesÑand she played with the collar of his shirt. James knew Mollie well enough to know she wanted to tell him something. He put a hand over her own, stopping the idle movements sheÕd been trying to distract herself with. Her grey eyes caught his own, and James realised it wasnÕt guilt or worry that preoccupied his best friend. It was shame. ÒWhatÕs wrong?Ó She shook her head. ÒItÕs nothing. IÉ I was just worried about you.Ó Mollie stood, and James followed, his hand still over hers. There was something more she wasnÕt saying. ÒMollieÉÓ ÒWe should tell the others youÕre awake. TheyÕll want to call the Order together,Ó she said, pulling away from him. She moved out the door, and it wasnÕt long before her heard her footsteps on the stairs. James rubbed his eyes wearily. Bloody Girls.