Parallel

13. Camaraderie?

Author's note: Wowza! While I was writing this 2 days ago, I realized that it's been exactly 2 years since I published Parallel (on June 6, 2022)! That's a crazy milestone for me, so thank you everyone who's stuck by this story as well as those who've stumbled upon it randomly :) I couldn't have done it without you! And here's a long chapter as a treat :D

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The Knights of Walpurgis?

Eve's first thought was That's kind of a stupid name. Thank god for Occlumency.

Her second thought was What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck I am actually in one of the earliest Death Eater meetings I knew it I knew it I knew it I literally called it what the fuck what the fuck why are they called the Knights of Walpurgis what even is Walpurgis I'm scared oh my god oh my god

She wondered when they would eventually make the switch to be known as Death Eaters.

"Have a seat," implored Riddle simply, nodding towards one of the empty armchairs in front of his own. He watched Eve, eyes blazing, as she stood still for a moment before stepping past the unmoving row of Death Eaters—Knights—and gingerly taking a seat, as though she was treading on eggshells.

She might as well have been. There was a heavy sort of tension in the air, somehow only exacerbated by the only show of ease present in the room—Riddle, who was still lounged back casually in his chair, languid as though he was presiding in a world of his own, where time ran backwards and the snugness of other living creatures was of no matter to him (and he practically was). It was a clear, confusing contrast to the otherwise stillness and coldness of the room: the Knights stood dark and unmoving, like stone pillars, and the translucent lighting of the stained glass windows was starting to look disorienting and unnatural against the floor.

Eve's own eyes were starting to swim; the material of the armchair below her fingers was strangely icy despite being so close to the flames of the fireplace, and the rapid-fire thrum of adrenaline in her ears seemed to be preventing her from even trying to stare Riddle directly in the eyes.

"My Knights," Riddle gestured over to where they all stood silently, clearly unaware or uncaring of the taut rigidness around him. "They come from some of the most powerful, influential wizarding families in Britain, and they possess connections in magical institutions and governments all across the world. Nott. Lestrange. Mulciber. Rosier. Avery."

One by one, as their names were ticked off, the respective Knight bowed their covered head slightly.

Riddle, meanwhile, was watching Eve closely as he spoke, observing her reaction to the familiar names. She tried not to give any outward indication that they bothered her, her previous knowledge having primed herself for the moment well enough, although she couldn't help her gaze from fractionally sliding to Avery and Rosier quickly—

—though not quickly enough to avoid detection, as Riddle smiled widely, and the expression looked eerily misplaced against his features. "Yes. Rosier's family is originally from France, and most of them are still heavily involved with the departments in the French Ministry and the Beauxbatons Board of Governors. Meanwhile, Avery here is a descendant of the inventor of Felix Felicis, and as such provides me with an expansive index of connections in academia globally. They serve me well."

They serve me well. Eve shivered, trying to tame her racing heartbeat—the power dynamics were starting to shine through unapologetically, and she couldn't help but think about how she was going to interact with Avery and Rosier in regular settings again, knowing now that their tame personalities were apparently all play.