"Retribution, you say."

"Closely resembles were his exact words, My Lord."

"Fascinating," he muses, as master and pupil approach the dimly lit main staircase of Muromtzevo Mansion. Voldemort caresses the carved, runic ruby in his hand. From Bellatrix's expression, 'fascinating' isn't the word she'd use to describe the object, but her master's calm soothes her temper.

"Has he mentioned anything else?"

"Nothing of note," she answers, clearly disappointed. The time she spends with her … The Dark Lord should not be filled with Darius Hale's opinions. "I apologize, My Lord. What I mean is that …"

"… Other than the same evidences found with Macnair, he had nothing of substance to add. You keep your mind very open around me, Bellatrix."

"I have no secrets to you, My Lord. Unlike some I could name."

Voldemort almost laughs. "Hale continues to displease you, I gather."

"I do not trust him!" she's quick to respond, clearly distraught. "He's not devoted to your cause, My Lord!"

"Do you mean his lack of a Mark? Indeed, he has none, nor have I ever required him to be branded." Bella misses a step, surprised with this information, only to quickly catch up with her master. He barely registers her confusion.

"Darius Hale has a very particular kind of expertise that is useful to me from time to time, Bellatrix. He's a sufficiently accomplished wizard and duelist, but lacks certain … qualities … that would make him a true Death Eater. But he never hides, and does not challenge my summons.

Hale understands the ways of this world well enough to assist me without hesitating, and this is how we are associated. His being referred to as a Death Eater has much more to do with speculation of those that know he trades in occult arts than anything else; do note, Bellatrix that he never presents himself as one."

The Death Eater bites her lip in eagerness to ask what those lacking qualities are, realizing now just how little she actually knows about the grim scholar. But she's far too lost in the condescending half-smile she receives from her master to think of anything else.

"I'm sure he's out doing more research on his own," Voldemort says, opening the door to his chambers, certain that delegating this nuisance to Hale was a better use of his own time. "And, soon enough, we'll have all the information we need to deal with this matter permanently. Fear not, Bellatrix; this lost soul, no matter how hidden, will find that attacking my disciples is a very hazardous way to spend one's days. Lord Voldemort never forgets."

Voldemort's absolute confidence radiates through her body and Bellatrix relaxes. She's his best weapon, his truest servant. My Dark Lord will never allow harm to find me. Her constant annoyance with Hale and the growing concern for the assassin's possible threat evaporate completely from her mind.

The doors close behind Voldemort, and he ignores the longing in Bellatrix's eyes. She, in turn, makes her way back through the corridor, almost running over a masked companion (from the jumpy attitude, probably Rowle).

"My apologies, Mrs. Lestrange!" Rowle, indeed.

"Watch your step, Thorfinn. And summon my husband, will you? Tell him I'll be waiting in our room." Perhaps he can amuse me for a while …

"Hum, my apologies Mrs. Lestrange, but your husband left about two hours ago."

She curses silently. "Where could he possibly go?"

"I, I don't know."

Of course you don't. Bellatrix storms away, leaving the dumbfounded Death Eater behind. "No matter."

I'll make him 'pay' for this absence later.

"The usual, Monk?"

The hooded figure smiles, even though the shadows conceal it. "It's been a long time since someone called me that."

"It's been a long time since you showed up, Darius," the barkeep quips, resting a glass with pristine scotch over the counter.

Hale pulls the hood and cowl down, revealing a tired, but satisfied face. "Indeed it has, Dan. But that's for your own benefit, you know that."

Both men glance left, where three suspicious-looking men are now trading whispers over the newcomer. They suddenly stop when discovered, looking guilty and resuming their drinks nervously. Travis lets out a husky laugh, pouring a dose for himself.

"True. As pleasant as your company is, you do scare half my clientele away just by walking through the door. And I serve no saints 'round these parts."

"You'd expect a pub named The Coffin House to be teeming with joyful personalities." Hale raises his glass. "Here's to bad company and good business, then," he says with a smirk, downing the drink. "If it's any consolation, I promise I won't take too much of your time."

"Straight to business today, are we?"

"If I wanted educated guesses I'd be at The Leaky Cauldron. When I want facts – or the closest thing to them - I come to you."

Daniel, the barkeep, reads Hale's tone and nods, lowering his tone.

"What's the name?"

"Lyall Lupin," is all that comes out of Hale's lips.

The other man frowns, resting his towel over the shoulder. "The wanker that got his son a free lycanthropy ticket?"

"I'm sure he'd prefer to be remembered by his accomplishments as a wizard, but yes; the very same."

"Honest man, as far as I know. Far from the usual types you're looking for."

"These days, Daniel, 'honest' means you should be hiding even more than the crooks."

"Too true. What's your business with him?"

Darius taps his fingers against the glass. "I have some news I reckon he'll receive well. And I need to pick his brain about something else."

"Pick his brain. You mean that literally?"

"Dan …"

The husky laugh breaks the tension. "Hey, it's always nice to know for sure, when it comes to you."

"Hilarious."

"Don't worry. Come back tomorrow night, I'll see what I can dig up for you."

Darius places two large golden coins on the counter and stands. "Much appreciated, old friend."

AUTHOR NOTES: So, turns out this madness is going forward. Be gentle with it.