vice and venom.

Marcus Flint was cold, exhausted, and irritable. The large tower that presided over the town square the Muggles held their Halloween ball in loomed closer and closer to midnight; an ominous claw that raked and inched its way towards what Marcus privately referred to as the witching hour. There was something familiar he saw in some of the faces that moved past him in dark blurs; a flash of green eyes that sparked familiarity or the curve of a soft mouth that tugged at a memory lodged deep within the caverns of his mind. A sense of deja vu followed Marcus wherever he went; a shadow begging to peer over his shoulder.

And for the wizard of myth and shadows, the feeling was anything but welcome.

Something akin to a sneer curled at Marcus’ upper lips as he stalked the grounds of the event, immersing himself into the smudged shadows of careless Muggles who laughed far too loudly and talked endlessly about things no one truly cared about. He spoke minimally to the feverish young girls who approached him and recklessly asked to dance; they thought the fangs were a cute addition to an otherwise impressive ensemble he’d put together. Ah, Marcus thought to himself smugly, after turning down a dainty brunette clad in lingerie and a set of cat ears, just wait until the real fangs come out.

With no one to talk to and observations that needed to be made (after all, in order for this mission to go over smoothly, someone had to scout to make sure the Muggles weren’t leaving in hoards before the clock struck midnight), Marcus situated himself in the corner of the impressive dancing area, pretending to sip on a flute of champagne as his eyes scanned the clusters of people surrounding him. For all intents and purposes, Marcus had made himself nearly invisible. Which is why, when he heard the angry, hushed words of “Mudblood” uttered by an older male voice and “trouble” strewn together in the same sentence, his curiosity piqued immensely. Discarding the glass of alcohol he had been pretending to nurse, Marcus drew his cloak tighter around his frame and ducked between a row of hedges, straining to listen for more of the conversation. Another man, with a rougher voice, responded to the garbled statement Marcus had originally heard.

“I haven’t seen them yet, but I know they’re here. Rootin’ around, slithering about the floor like snakes, ready to attack.” Something akin to repulsion coated the man’s words, and Marcus shifted ever so slightly from where he hid, eager to catch a glimpse of the mysterious strangers. 

“Regardless, we have to report back to the others at the Burrow,” the first man replied rather insistently. Peering through a gap in the hedges, Marcus was shocked to attach the voice to none other than Remus Lupin. His companion, with his garbled voice and gnarled features, was none other than the infamous Alastor Moody.

So if the two of them were here, then...

Marcus listened intently as the two continued to converse about meeting back at the Burrow before departing. It wasn’t until Marcus had made sure the venue was clear that he emerged from the hedges, brushed the undergrowth off his cloak, and set his sights for the dark avenue behind the clock tower. He weaved through bands of giggling girls and intoxicated young men, all of whom behaved like absolute fools. When he reached the shadowed area of the clock tower, Yaxley and Dolohov stood watch, arguing with themselves on a point regarding their mission tonight. When Marcus approached, they gave him minimal interest or acknowledgement. Marcus cleared his throat, noticeably irritated, and when the two men finally deigned to acknowledge him, Marcus Flint was glowering with irritation.

“…R-right. Better stay where I am then, huh? Leave it to the professionals and all that.”

"I hardly think you’ll find anything remotely resembling professionalism at an event like this,” Marcus snorted, glancing round the party. “Perhaps a lot of drunken, blathering idiots who would think themselves skilled.”

“O-Oh, I ain’t a big dancer.”

“Shame--the people on the floor don’t seem to know what they’re doing, either.”

“Great! Thank you so much,” she said nodding. Kadrea titled her head to the side, searching the man’s face. “I don’t know… You do seem familiar, but I can’t figure out from where. My name’s Kadrea?” she suggested, figuring that it would either spark a memory or serve as an introduction.

It was going to bother him, this sensation that he knew the woman standing before him, but he couldn’t offhand recall where or when. She definitely wasn’t a member of his party, but then...who at a Muggle event would he recognize?

“Perhaps your face is just...familiar...” he managed, trailing off as she presented her name to him. “For tonight, my name is Dracula. A lost Romanian count.”

“Ugh, it’s you, Flint.” She rolled her eyes. “This night would probably be a lot more exciting if something did happen, to be honest. Watching a bunch of pissed idiots tripping over themselves all night isn’t exactly wonderful entertainment.”

"Don’t act so surprised to see me--we are on the same team, after all,” Marcus said, narrowing his eyes slightly at the haughty young woman who stood before him. “This isn’t about entertainment--or have you forgotten the real reason why we’ve decided to loiter around the Muggle public to begin with?”

“They will be out of their minds by the end of the night. Which if you ask me is a shame? I usually like my victims to have some kind of idea on what’s going on. It makes it more fun.” Cassius said as he stepped from the shadows to stand right next to Flint. 

“If you wanted to be a vampire you could have come and seen me Flint. We could have gone for authentic then.” 

"Perhaps being intoxicated will be of use to them after all, then,” Marcus wondered aloud, his hands deep within the confines of his pockets as Cassius sauntered up next to him. The last time Marcus recalled sharing a proper conversation with the man, they hadn’t exactly ended seeing eye to eye about the situation at hand. He glanced at Cassius out of the corner of his eye, snorting briefly at the vampire’s crass words.

“I get that I resemble a snack to you, Lord Selwyn, but must you be so indecent out in public?”

“If we are lucky, as far gone as I will be.” Visalia said with a slurty grin, dragging a long, manicured finger around the rim of her cup as she glanced up at Marcus through fake-eyelashes – though in retrospect, she hardly needed them. It was all for the aesthetic. Glancing aside to eye the elaborate display of ghost-themed cupcakes, she let out a hum of amusement. 

“Did you have to go and copy me, piccolo vampiro? We cannot both be bloodsuckers and you not have as much fun as me. It is practically illegal.”

"You really don’t have the slightest inkling for how to behave yourself during missions, do you?” Marcus drawled, eyeing the witch up and down with an air of disdain. Leave it to Visalia not to take this entire event anywhere near as seriously as she should have been.

“Did you ever think that the theme of vampires is not, exactly, an original one?” Marcus mused with a cock of his head, very suddenly wishing the false fangs he bore were real. “At least my costume bears a semblance of class.”

“I can’t help but wonder,” he mused to himself, observing the line of people waiting for doctored up drinks at the bar. “How far gone they’ll be by the end of the night.”

“Watch where you’re going, you dolt!” she snapped at a passerby who stepped on had bumped into her, not for the first time. Pansy was never much of one to party, but that didn’t mean she was happy with having to, essentially, work the event. Especially one with hundreds of scantily clad women wearing cheap imitations of her heritage and culture. Upon being shoved again, she spun on her heel. “I swear, if you run into me one more time, I’ll make sure you don’t have a foot to run with anymore…” She glared darkly in their direction.

“We’ve got a bit of a temper problem, don’t we, Parkinson?” Marcus commented with an eye roll, tugging on his cape rather irritably. “If you don’t stop flapping your mouth, though, you’re likely to blow our cover long before midnight.”

Kadrea stood on her toes, surveying the crowded landscape carefully. Seeing a passerby, she set her hand on their arm gently. “Excuse me, do you know where people are getting the cider? I’ve been looking for it, but no luck, obviously.” She chuckled self-deprecatingly, with a wide smile and a small shake of her head.

“I believe I heard there was a table just across the way that provided beveraages at a small charge,” Marcus commented smoothly, his eyes snagging on the woman’s form. “Forgive me...do we...know each other, by chance?”

MARCUS FLINT as. . .COUNT DRACULA

“Once again...welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring.”

“Wow, I have a feeling you take this very seriously. I am sure you are doing a wonderful job, but let me rephrase my words – the whole thing is one big buzz kill. It is much more fun doing other things and not worrying about a so called boy-king.”

“And you don’t? One’s livelihood and beliefs are not to be made light of--perhaps you’ll learn the difficult way. I’m not implying we should be cowering, terrified of the dreaded Boy Who Lived, but taking precaution as necessary and investigating everything pertaining him further is crucial to undermining his little Order organization.”

“Why is it they call him savior? It is not like he has done much. Perdita di tempo…seems like the whole thing is one big buzz kill.”

"Perhaps they believe if they speak it enough, he will eventually prove himself remarkable. A false prophecy named him king, and now he’s merely riding on the coattails of his infantile fame.”

“I swear, if I have to deal with one more person saying that we need to be more careful, I’m going to turn their head into a bloody cricket.” Pansy rolled her eyes.“There’s nothing that valuable at the Ministry, so what if a couple mud bloods snuck in?”

“Personal files, permanent records, tracking records, and classified information doesn’t qualify as ‘valuable’ to you, Parkinson? Interesting.”

Ginny had barley shoved Colin into the Floo Network when the alarms came screeching to life. Stepping away from the green light as the gate closed the network with a thunderous bang, the chaser closed a shaken fist back around her wand. Fenrir Greyback – Colin had nearly been done in by Fenrir Greyback. Ginny swallowed. Her eyes flickered nervously around her as she backed away, tucking a short strand of black hair behind her ear. As she turned a shoulder all but rammed into her own and caused her to stumble.

“Oi – watch it! If they’re here, your running crazy isn’t going to help anybody!”

"You look like you’re in a hurry to be somewhere,” Marcus purred darkly, his eyes taking a long, languorous glance at the woman who had so callously run into him. And when Marcus had been mid-stride on his way to the Minister’s office, of all things. “A bit jittery, even; is everything alright?”

“Aw, poor kid. Are you going to write a fucking poem about it?”

"Still stuck on the fact that I have a vocabulary expansive enough for such activities, are we, Greyback?”