Even Death Eaters have their weaknesses. Even the evil give in to temptations. Even the dark seeks out light.
After a brutal punishment from The Dark Lord, Cassiopeia seeks out fellow Death Eater Severus Snape. She's in desperate need of aid. But t...
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Nearing 2:00 am, Hogwarts halls were eerily quiet. The night was pitch; the very air the color of obsidian. There were no breaks in the dark. No flaming candles, no torches lit, no light of the moon spilling in from here and there placed windows. All paintings were sound asleep, all teachers hidden in their private chambers, and all students in their beds.
All but one.
Draco Malfoy lurked through the corridors, his memory leading the way more than his unseeing eyes. Dressed head to toe in matching shades of shadows, his fairy white hair was the only thing visible to one Severus Snape that kept far behind him.
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As was his ritual, Draco was again skulking off towards The Room Of Requirements. And again, he was being trailed by the observing Head Of Slytherin House. However, observant as he might be, there was one thing he did not see that made tonight's detail different from all the other's: He wasn't the only one spying on the young Death Eater on this eve. Kreacher was watching from high up in the rafters, his elf orbs seeing much more than Snape's Wizarding Eyes. Though, the house-elf was working with his own disadvantages.
It came from the dark. Born of that dark and of children's chaos. It was found from the souls within the flames of mischief. Furtive pygmy, it was not to be easily forgotten. A tangible manifestation of havoc and ire- A seamless blend of humour and malice-- come in close contact, and it would release a Miasma of death and disease in the form of obnoxious, off-putting, gossamer tyranny.
Peeves.
Draco had just round the corner, inching closer to the hidden entrance when none other than Peeves himself appeared behind the House Elf. The pesky poltergeist was tugging at Kreacher's ears and lobbing spit wads at him, threatening to scream like a ninny if Kreacher did not play.
The wrinkly child-sized beast was no match for the insubstantial child-like jester. He swatted with hands and feet, struggling to keep Peeves away. But the poltergeist was having none of it and dove right through his body. He came out on the other side, holding on to both of Kreacher's floppy ears. High up in the vaulted ceil, he swung back and forth, using the elf as a personal play swing.
