The two cowled figures sat quietly in the drawing room of the once-grand Derbyshire mansion, hardly aware of the crumbling plaster, warped wood flooring, and mildewed furniture. They had spent so many years in a place so much worse, the discomforts of this manor were negligible.
The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. They had chosen this room for their use mainly because it was one of the few in the house whose chimney was completely free of blockage or fallen stones. They stared into the flames almost dreamily. Neither of them had seen a fire for nearly fifteen years before their escape three years before; the flickering warmth was still a luxury to them.
It was the woman who first realised that they two were not alone in the room. Another cowled figure knelt just inside the doorway, head bowed, waiting for them to acknowledge him. She squeezed her husband's hand, and he looked up, also seeing the kneeling figure. "Come here," he said in the voice that she remembered as a rich, honeyed baritone, but was now a scratchy bass from years of screaming and crying in the depths of never-ending depression. Something else for which they will all be punished, she thought.
The kneeling figure rose and came to them, keeping his head down and kneeling again immediately. "The raid was a success, my Lord and my Lady," he said in a submissive voice that was music to her ears, as her own husband's voice no longer could be. "All six of the Ministry wizards were destroyed. We left their bodies to be found by whomever happened upon them."
"Excellent," her husband said softly. "Perhaps this will bring the fear of Death Eaters back to the wizarding world. If they thought that simply destroying Lord Voldemort was enough to bring the War to an end, they were sadly mistaken."
She allowed herself to feel pleasure at the news as well. She longed for the days when the Dark Mark had flickered over wizarding homes all over Britain. One day soon, she promised herself, it shall rise again.
Another voice from the doorway caused them all to jerk their heads around, startled. "My Lord," said a high-pitched, tinny voice from the small, trembling body that knelt there. "My Lady. I bear news."
"Enter, then," said her husband.
This one behaved exactly as its counterpart had, walking swiftly toward them, head down, before sinking into a kneeling posture once again. She found herself smiling. She and her husband had, at last, convinced them all that disobedience was not permissible, nor was a lack of respect.
The small newcomer cleared its—she couldn't tell whether it was a man's or a woman's—throat. "Another group of Ministry officers was killed this morning," it said in a voice that trembled. "Like ours, the attack was unexpected, and like ours, it was successful; all six Ministry officers died."
Startled, she looked at her husband, who had turned to her as well. His deep eyes revealed so little to others and so much to her. This was an unexpected development. "Do we know who is responsible?" her husband asked after a moment.
"Not yet, my Lord," said the quavering, tinny voice. "Three of our operatives are investigating. I was sent to tell you what had happened, as soon as we discovered it ourselves."
Her husband bowed his head, sinking into thought. That was her cue to take over. "You have done well," she said. Her own rich, golden voice was scratchy now, and painful to use for any length of time. She ignored the pain; it was unimportant. "Both of you. Go back to your positions. When there is more to tell us, return with the news."
The two messengers pressed their foreheads to the floor, then rose and backed out of the room. She waited until they were both gone, then said, quietly, "Well?"
Her husband roused himself. "It could be either," he said, musing. "There is not yet enough information to be sure. But this can only help our cause, my love. Now there is twice the terror out there, and the Ministry has lost twelve of its best field officers, not just six." He left unspoken the fact that it would undoubtedly help the cause of whomever had killed the other six officers, too. That much was understood.
"So we must wait," she said, hating the sound of the words.
"Yes, we must wait. But we waited for fifteen years to return to our Lord, and we have waited another three for this, our own chance at greatness. Surely another day or two cannot hurt us."
"You are right, of course, my love," she said.
He squeezed her hand, and they returned to their silent contemplation of the fire.