There’s No Home for You Here [The Flint's]

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 Sitting at the table, he played with the pristine silver knife left beside his place setting. His boots, filthy from his travels, tracked mud all through the manor and were now currently flaking off into the 18th century oriental rug. Bemused, he grinded his feet vigorously. Once upon a time, he wouldn't have dared to do this in a pureblood's home, let alone be invited to the table. But these new bloods were nothing like the last generation's. They were soft, and broke easY between his teeth. They grew up fearing him as children. He, as infamous as the Warlock's Hairy Heart, sneaking under their beds at night and into their nightmares. 

What on earth he was doing at his dinner, only the moon knows. This seemed to be a waste of time. He should be gathering forces, preying on the helpless, meeting with this Elaine. But instead, he was at the mercy of two bloodless grown children, bidding his time. 


Tag: @pansy & @marcus

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No one knew that there was a monster in the Flint home. No one except Marcus, of course, because every morning when he looked in the mirror, he saw the monster, though it was becoming increasingly blurry as his eyesight failed. No one knew that there was a monster in the Flint house already, and Marcus didn't intend to let anyone know that a second had joined them, too. Marcus didn't know why on earth his wife had thought it a good idea to invite a fugitive to their table when he was a member of the highest court in the land. If he had been the one to answer the door when Fenrir had knocked, the wolf would have been behind bars by now. He was scum, just like Marcus's good-for-nothing parents had been. He didn't deserve to be alive, much less to be treated as a guest. The house elves were already preparing him a steak, though Marcus couldn't imagine why they bothered cooking it when the wolf would just as well eat it raw. Marcus stepped into the dining room, intending to announce that the meal would be ready in a few minutes, when he saw that Fenrir was grinding his dirt-crusted boots into the carpet. He was an animal, and Marcus hated it. He took out his wand, pointing it at the center of the wolf's chest. "Do that again and you lose your life." Murder was legal if it was self defense, and no one would have any problem believing that Marcus feared for his life when the beast in front of him was around.

@pansy
@fenrir

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Pansy was already seated at their dining table, trying to hold her tongue at their guest's lack of decorum. Anyone who had been a supporter of Lord Voldemort's was a friend of hers, however, even if he looked as though he might have had mange. While Pansy was certain that Fenrir himself had never received the honor of being branded with the Dark Mark, he was only one of a select few who had not become a traitor to the Dark Lord's cause.

The ones who had been forced to rot in Azkaban were weak, and even Marcus's parents were there. Pansy had been adamant that Marcus needed to remain civil with Fenrir, although that didn't seem likely. Before she knew it, her husband had his wand pointed at the werewolf's chest.

Really, that was no way for Marcus to be treating their guest. If all went well, as Pansy hoped that it would, Fenrir would be able to take Raleigh's former bedroom. Their eldest son wouldn't be using it again, and there was no sense in allowing it to go to waste. Just the thought of having a fugitive in his bedroom would have made Raleigh's skin crawl, Pansy thought, which was partly why she was so keen on the idea.

She raised her own wand towards her spouse's, her grip shaky from a lack of alcohol. “Expelliarmus!” The lack of amusement was apparent in Pansy's icy tone, which did not become any more pleasant after the incantation. “It'd be a pity if you lost yours, too, Marcus,” she warned.

Snapping her fingers in the direction of one of their house-elves, Pansy gestured to the mess of mud that Fenrir had tracked into their home. “You,” she scowled, “clean this up.” It wasn't her problem; the only thing that she wanted—nay, needed—was some wine. “Where's the bloody decanter?”

@fenrir
@marcus

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Slowly, Fenrir raised his hands with a cocky grin. Did this flesh packet want to die? Did he really think his stick was going to protect him? Just as Fenrir moved to snap Marcus's wand, it was propelled out of his hands. Ah, it appeared the mistress of the house had awaken from her slumber. "Oh yes. Infinitely tragic." He replied back sarcastically to the loss of man's life. Truthfully, it made no difference to him. The man was no one. And if he was this controlled by his own wife, well that spoke all that he needed to know about his character. For good measure, he twisted his boot once more into the carpet, staring directly into Marcus' eyes. Seeing a tiny creature scurry under his feet, Fenrir immediately ducked his head under the table, and gave a yellowed-tooth smile. "Ah what do we have here? Appetizers?" With two fingers he picked the house-elf up, lifting him by his tea-cozy and putting the elf on his plate. Fenrir picked up the steak knife next to his place setting and stabbed it into the dirty rag, keeping the squirming creature in place. Distracted by Pansy's mention of the decanter, he looked up from his task momentarily, "A drink would do quite nicely. Yes, very nice indeed." Turning his attention back to the house elf, he leaned in to leer into the poor creature's eyes, licking his chops. "I think a bordeaux would pair marvelously, don't you?"


Tag:@pansy & @marcus

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This was disgusting. Marcus was nauseated by the whole thing, by the fact that this animal had the nerve to attack him in his own home, and that his wife thought she suddenly had the power to disarm. Marcus walked over to his wife, extending his hand impatiently as he waited for the return of his wand. “Be careful, Pansy.” He growled under his breath, too low for Fenrir to be able to hear him. “Maybe you invited a monster into our home, but never delude yourself into thinking that he is in charge here.” Marcus would sooner kick the werewolf onto the streets, and his wife with him, than to lose control of his own household.

“Wolf!” Marcus barked when Fenrir lifted one of his house elves onto the table. “You’ll be fed on our terms.” He snapped. “Put the house elf down or you’ll earn yourself a cell in Azkaban.” Marcus was already itching to call one of his colleagues, and put both Fenrir and Pansy away. It would be horrible for his reputation, but at least he’d be rid of both of them permanently, and he could move on with his life without his unfaithful wretch of a wife. Turning back to his wife, Marcus narrowed his eyes. “You don’t get to drink a single drop until he’s gone.” Marcus said smugly. That would be punishment worse than anything else, and since the elves were bound to him, not her, he could easily enforce the rule. If she was going to screw him over with a werewolf, then he was going to screw her over with her own vice.

@pansy
@fenrir

[Deleted]

The elf was their property and not Fenrir's, though Pansy felt that it was more useful on Fenrir's plate than it had been for the entire time they'd had the wretched thing in their household. It was twisted of him to treat the elf as his meal, but, as long as he didn't actually cut into it, Pansy didn't care. He had made his point.

Marcus made his point, too, when he referred to Fenrir only as “Wolf” and not by his given name. He threatened to put him straight into Azkaban if he didn't behave himself, and Pansy hoped that Fenrir understood that the threat was far from empty.

“You don't get to drink a single drop until he's gone.” Her husband might have been able to throw Fenrir into a prison cell, but Pansy knew that the Wizengamot couldn't do a thing to control her drinking.

“Make me,” she taunted. She wasn't going to permit her husband to treat her like a child, especially when she was already on edge. Marcus should have known that she was capable of making his life miserable, and, without alcohol, that process would only speed up.

Since the nearest elf to them was too traumatized by Fenrir's stunt, Pansy excused herself from the table without a word, summoned the decanter nonverbally, and caught the neck of it in her non-dominant hand. In her impatience, anger, and shakiness, she nearly dropped it to the floor but retained her hold on it until she could set it onto the table.

Pouring herself a drink first, she ignored her husband entirely in favor of the werewolf. She simply sat back down, took a sip, and offered the decanter to their guest. “Wine, Fenrir?” she smiled, as if the conflict that had just occurred hadn't happened at all.

@fenrir
@marcus