(Mp)Joining the Dark Cloud (Dermod)

Donn watched the recently placed down glass as the bubbles within it streamed about in total chaos before one by one, they joined the cloud floating on top.  Figuring he should do more than stare at the Irish beer, Donn placed his long square fingers around the rim and took a tentative sip. The head of the Irish stout touched the young man’s upper lip as muggle made concoction met his tongue with notes of coffee and unsweetened chocolate. Although Donn preferred whisky, he did not want to drink something that would dull him during his meeting with Dermod and the Bar man seemed to adamant Donn order something.

He was quite surprised that the notorious Author and Death Eater chose a middle of nowhere, shabby, muggle bar to meet. Although it was only mid afternoon it might pick up later with other muggles, right now it appeared to just have the bar man serving two drunk out of shape muggles in the front corner. It certainly would not be a place that Donn would think a Wizard would want to go too but maybe that was the idea.

After a few more large sips Donn placed the drink back down and took another look at the door. He felt a wave of unease, as the Bar man was not paying attention, instead stood at the other end of the bar, busying himself with wiping a glass. Although other two muggle men draining a pitcher at the table near the door had only looked Donn over when he entered, he felt watched. The room itself gave him an odd feeling, like it was a set up or he was already in a trap. Suddenly a beautiful witch appeared and sauntered across the room. Moving her hip in a way that only women did when they wanted to be watched.  She appeared to be young, not much than a year or two older then Donn but the way she held herself-talked of years of experience the kind gained both in and outside the bedroom. Hardly giving him more then a glance, she took the stool near him, lifting a glass of rich amber fire whisky to her lips. “Donn.” She breathed before taking a sip. It was not a question, so Donn did not feel the need to answer. The seductress’s poised her question only after she swallowed. “How do you like that muggle beer?” There was a slight disdain in the term ‘muggle’ that Donn had heard in his own voice on occasion, but this gorgeous witch made him feel shamed for drinking it.

“Better than I expected.” Donn replied to truthfully. Donn shut his mouth and wondered why he did not say some criticism directed to the beer like he attended to.

A small curl formed on the redhead’s lips as if she was privy to a joke. “So, ya came here alone?”

“Yes.” He answered honestly.

“The … Wizard you are here to see," she eyes finally slid over to meet his. They were green and gorgeous rimmed with black coal. "What are you planning to do when you see him?”

“Talk to him about my parents and his connections with them.” Donn blinked. He was quite confused why he answered so directly. He would normally never talk so openly, especially to a strange woman who he knew nothing about. He glanced at his beer wondering if it held a drop of Veritaserum within it. The witch did not give away anything either, instead she seemed to find his last answer boring judging by her face. Donn found himself wishing that she asked what he wanted to do to her, for he was sure he would have then given her more of an entertaining answer.

“Follow me.” She said as she stood, adjusted the hem line on her knee length pencil skirt with one hand before picking up her half empty fire whisky glass , before she started to parade back across the floor. Glancing about the young wizard noticed the three muggles in the room follow her body with their eyes. The witch made her way to a set of stairs Donn failed to notice before. But once her foot touched the first step, all three muggles blinked seemingly confused and when again about their business.

Donn secretly hoped that the stairs leading up to a bed room or some place when he might be alone with the fiery heard witch. He had half a mind to meet his parents’ old friend later but the stairs led to a loft and there he found he was not  alone. Looking over the much shabbier bar area, the loft wood floor was old but in tacked a few rugs laid about. The open casement windows allowed a light cool breeze to waft through. Near the edge of the railing seated so that he would not only have an excellent view of the room below but Donn approaching form he stair landing was the wizard Donn could only assume to be Dermod.  The middle-aged wizard sat at a solid ornately carved wood table, dressed in a crisp white table cloth on which sat a quill a bottle of fire whisky, two glasses, a book and light by a candelabrum. All of which appeared slightly out of place again the more modern muggle bar below.

“Mr. Morfessa?” Donn asked addressing the man that knew his father if not his mother too. It was likely due to him that he was slip the Veritaserum. The witch would have been sent down to not only test if it was ministered and if the potion took ahold correctly. Donn tried to recall how long it lasted. An hour maybe two? He did have more than a sip.  He chastised himself for being so stupid for drinking just anything that was set down in front of him.  He was never good at lying and would be completely incapable now.  He just hopped that he was not going to be asked about a certain Dark Widow. He made his mind up to stay on the subjects that were in relation to his parents and the Daily Prophet articles.

@Dermod Larkin Morfessa

The letter had been intriguing and a little unnerving. Dermod didn't receive many letters these days; mostly they were from Rhiannon, delivered by school owls (she had steadfastly refused a bird of her own that could actually fly, preferring her flightless jackdaw even though it was all but useless) or occasionally from another family member or acquaintance. But when a neatly-penned scroll in a cultured hand had arrived from a lad calling himself Donn Bane, the former Death Eater had been initially confused. The Bane family was well known to him, but the sender remained a mystery until he had read the contents. Donn Bane's father had been Cepheus Sinnoway, a few years above the writer at school. The older boy had encouraged Dermod's earliest writings, even suggesting that he should send the first of his essays to a publisher. While it was something the writer had always planned, he had always appreciated his friend's support while they were still in their teens. 

Cepheus had, as far as Dermod was aware, died sometimes during that terrible battle at Hogwarts four and a half years earlier, but the letter was disquieting. The man had been not just an acquaintance but a friend, more; he had been one of the few who had known Dermod by his true name as well as by the quillname he had generally used. The man had certainly visited the Schull estate and evidently told the boy its location at some point, which explained why the letter had arrived. 

So it was imperative that Dermod meet this young man. Despite the renewed closeness with his wife Dermod
had not told Gabriella more than the bare details. The comfortable, pleasant part; that he had received a letter from the son of an old friend and was going to meet the boy for a few hours. He didn't mention that his identity and location could potentially be in jeopardy and that he would also be leaving a corpse behind if Donn proved to be less than trustworthy.

For that reason he had arranged to meet in a muggle pub in Wicklow. It was one he and Declan had used a couple of times when they wanted to be certain they weren't overheard by unfriendly ears. After all, who would expect pureblood wizards to meet in a run down muggle establishment? Dermod had planned this meeting meticulously – after all, he was meeting a stranger whose intentions were unknown and who apparently knew his true identity. He had travelled first to Dublin, visited a far more familiar public house with the express intention of enlisting an assistant. It hadn't taken long; he had caught the eye of a young witch, confident and glamorous, who once he would have found exceedingly attractive. Now, the brazen look she gave him was almost unappealing, but she would serve his purpose nicely.

“Imperio” he had murmured, so quiet it was barely audible; but had the desired effect. Moments and a few purchases later and he had left with the woman on his arm, apparated them some forty miles south and proceeded with the next part of his plan. A small bottle, all the more potent for being several years old and taken from a locked cabinet in his private study, lay within a pocket of his travelling cloak, together with several other props.

Once in the outwardly distasteful muggle pub, he didn't even need to use spells. It was amazing how quickly people rushed to do his bidding when plied with a large pile of muggle money. A couple of memory charms were likely the most he would need here – and only because of the fights that would ensue as a result of the half bottle of veritaserum he had used to coat each of the glasses. Really, he had enjoyed that bit of magic. Firstly a Confundus charm on the lad behind the bar, a simple disillusionment so the bottle was invisible as he set it to quietly make its way along the glasses, adding a single drop to each. Oh, and another charm so none of the muggles – or indeed his visitor - would notice the staircase.

Upstairs, he took command of the dingy room as if it were his own private domain, transfiguring the ancient table and stained vinyl cloth into something more to his liking, producing the firewhisky he had procured from the previous establishment from a deep pocket within his cloak. The woman he left standing in the corner, looking a little out of place but, under the influence of the spell, quite content to do his bidding.

Then all he had to do was watch from his lofty domain and wait until four or five minutes after the appointed time (just long enough so the young man would feel compelled to purchase a drink and take a few sips) before sending the woman downstairs with a glass of her own and instructions to find the young wizard and bring him upstairs. The firewhisky before him was tempting but aside from the little he had given the woman, it was so far untouched. First impressions were everything, after all.

The young man – really, still young enough to be called a boy, though he doubted young Mr Bane would appreciate that – followed the woman upstairs. With a nod from Dermod, she strolled calmly to her corner and stood there, for all the world looking like a security guard from a high-class jewellery store. The writer stayed silent, knowing that the boy would feel compelled to speak first, and being impressed that his first words were merely to confirm the Irishman's own identity.

“Donn Bane, I presume. Please, have a seat” he said, gesturing to the second chair and pouring two generous glasses of firewhisky. Now, he allowed the young man to take one of the glasses and took a drink from his own with a smile. He paused thoughtfully, replaced his glass on the table and steepled his black-gloved hands on the table. “I must say, I was intrigued by your letter. What did your father tell you of me?”

He speared a final longing glance back at their beautiful witch now standing guard, before Donn obeyed his host and joined him at the table. Although the young wizard was still willing to go through the meeting, he still eyed the firewhisky suspiciously. He recognized the label as being one of the best qualities of Irish wizard whisky known and the color alluded to it being well aged. Although it would be a shame to waste it, he wasn't dumb enough to fall for the same trick twice, or was he? If he had been slipped veritaserum what could be left to do to him? Poison you. Still if he did not show some trust, would Mr. Morfessa ever trust him in return? The Hufflepuff graduate was new to this Dark wizard game of cloak and dagger and apparently had a lot to learn. The young wizard finally decided to take the glass in his hand and held it aloft while as his was compelled to answer Mr. Morfessa question.

"No. He did not tell me anything." Was all Donn meant to say, but his mouth continued to explain. "When he died, he left a book. It was a type of memoir which was magically enchanted to only allow his blood-relations to read it. He started it when he was imprisoned. I believe it was meant for me, so that I might get to known him. It originally took a form of a story about his life but after my father got out of Azkaban, his entries became more like directions and advice. You are mentioned a few times in his early days as a friend at Hogwarts and then quite encrypted, at the end as someone who I could trust."

A cynical smile came to the young wizard's lips as he found the irony of his words in the offered glass of whisky in his hand. After only another moment of hesitation, Donn lifted the whisky to his lips and took a sip. The cool burn slid down his throat effortlessly. The thought that the bottle likely cost more than his day wages crossed his mind before he registered that there did not seem to any adverse effects. Well besides the overriding urge to say exactly what was on his mind.

It is better to lead the conversation if you can’t control what you say, the voice in his head rationally said. Without argument Donn started to explain, “Mr. Morfessa. I originally read and deciphered my father’s book to help me find and get in touch with… what my mother like described as ‘likeminded wizards.’ I feel like I am hiding among the garbage, and being beaten down by garbage loving idiots…”

A recent run in with a HIT Witch department Head put him on edge. She had apparently ripped him and possibly his career a new one just for being a Pureblood. But he did not want to talk about it so the young wizard took a sip from his whisky to stop his mouth. I thought you were trying to stay sober, popped in his brain before he continued. “Recent events… Purcell’s release and the articles in the Daily Prophet had made me wonder. Wonder that there might be more than garbage out there.”

Good. Dermod doubted the tiny quantity of veritaserum the young man had imbibed would last more than ten minutes, but it was clearly sufficient. Already he knew more than he would have discovered through what a lesser wizard might describe as honest means. It was disquieting to learn that his name had been written of whilst Cepheus was in Azkaban, but if the journal had been enchanted... he considered this for a moment. Prisoners weren't allowed wands whilst incarcerated, so either the man had managed to smuggle his in, or had foreseen the need for such an enchantment and prepared it before he was imprisoned. The former showed exceptional subterfuge, the latter foresight. Dermod approved. He said nothing though, made no outward show of a reaction at all besides a slight inclination of his head to indicate he had heard Donn's words. And perhaps to encourage him to continue.

The younger wizard appeared to be considering something as he took a sip of the firewhisky. Presumably by now he had realised his tongue was being a little...freer than he had first intended. Although he showed no concern, the writer wondered briefly if he should have set a shield charm between them in case Donn turned out to be an unstable sort. Then he dismissed the idea. Even though his new acquaintance was several decades younger Dermod had no doubt he could draw his wand faster than the other, should it prove necessary. Then Donn began to speak, and almost immediately showed that this meeting had been worthwhile. He was indeed his father's son.

Dermod couldn't help himself; what began as a slow smile developed into a hearty laugh, though not at the other's expense. Rather, he was delighted to hear a kindred spirit speaking. beaten down by garbage loving idiots. It might have been a line taken from one of his own propaganda pamphlets of five years earlier – had he thought of it first, that is. “Forgive me. Your turn of phrase pleases me greatly, And your mother is clearly a wise woman...” he paused, took another drink of firewhisky, a longer one this time. When he replaced the glass it was a little under half full, and then he continued -

“I'm afraid I can tell you little of the events you mention; its only in recent weeks I have become aware of some of them myself.” That was certainly true; while he knew a good deal more than he was willing to share right now, he hadn't heard it through the dubious pages of the Prophet.  “Tell me, have you contacted any of your father's other friends?” On this matter, the Irishman would be satisfied with a yes or no answer, though if he was the only one so honoured he would want to know why his name had been chosen. As someone to be trusted, certainly, but surely he wasn't the only one... An unexpected chill ran down his spine as an unpleasant possibility presented itself. What if...he was the only one left, or at least the only one from that particular circle of friends?He let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, trying to decide how much to reveal of himself in order to obtain the final answer he required.

“Forgive me for asking this, but I last saw your father...almost four and a half years ago. I presume you...” he hesitated, deciding how best to phrase the question. “I presume that was around the last time you saw him as well? And if that is the case... you know where I was that night.” He shifted position in his seat, wanting to feel the reassuring presence of his wand inside its concealed pocket. Effectively he'd just asked “tell me how your father died, oh, and I'm just checking, you do know I'm a Death Eater, don't you?” If a question like that didn't get him hexed, he and this lad could well end up as friends.

Donn noticed Mr. Morfessa seem entertained by his divulging complaints. Luckily, any sour frustration forming was negated by a quick apology and a revered judgment from the old Wizard. The orphaned wizard felt a wave of longing pride of his well stated observation of the woman who raised him. “She was.” The young wizard replied as his face fell slightly with the sorrow of the loss of his mother and her guidance.

He did not know what insight he expected from the old man regarding Purcell and his release, but he certainly hoped for more then next to nothing. The rebirth of a Death Eater movement starting from the reunited friends of two of his father’s old friends as simple and fanciful as a Deatheaters child’s dream… but a young man could hope. The lost Deatheater fledgling took another sip from his glass. The liquid was not a bad consolation prize thought the young wizard.

Morfessa’s next question distracted Donn from his disappointment. Before Donn answered he dropped his eyes to the right shoulder so he could glimpse the witch still standing over 15 feet behind him in his peripheral vision. He told himself that there was no stopping Morfessa from repeating any of this to the woman, but he still lowered his voice as he made his reply. “I was in touched with Purcell just before he was released. You two are the only ones I have found left…”

Donn was surprised his mouth did not ramble on like it did before. Maybe he received a smaller dose of the Veritaserum then he first expected. Still he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to lie for quite a bit longer, but Donn was grateful for no longer feeling like he was compelled to be a teenage chatterbox. It was not the impression he wished to make to the well-seasoned Deatheater in front of him, if he was going to have any hope of gaining his trust.

The politeness that Morfessa now displayed hid something, of this Donn was certain. The old wizard needed to know something or possibly the question was asked to test him. Donn was sure if he failed or answer it incorrectly, Morfessa would not just no longer be polite. Instead he would likely deem him a trader and take his life. Unfortunately, Donn was not sure just what information would be wrong or right. In truth he did not know exactly how his father died.  He did not want to share the reason this was, for it shamed Donn completely. Yet what was left of the cursed Veritaserum insured this account was forced out of his mouth.

“Yes, I do. In truth, I did not see him die. My Father…” Donn tried to clamped his mouth closed but the words escaped through his gritted teeth. “ …tied me up to a tree just before the fight. He explained he was protecting me for he did not want me to die. Instead he knocked me out, stole my wand and covered me in wards… I wanted to be there… I was willing to die…  ” Donn drawn in a breath and fought to explain but the serum did not believe the question was fully answered so he mouth continued on the previous path. “When the wards fell. I roamed the battlefield and found him dead on top of my mother. It looked like he was hit by several blasting spells. One of which that likely killed him broke my school wand in a pocket on his chest.”

Relieved his mouth finally stopped, Donn's head lowered in shame as he weakly set down the glass of whisky. You are unworthy of it, his mother voice criticized him.  He had not wanted to admit, he was tied to a tree by his own father. For it meant, not just any Deatheater, but his own father refused him the honor of standing along the side of the Dark Lord. He was not there for the fight, He was not there when The Lord fell. Donn was denied the ability to prove himself. Sure he was still alive and not in Azkaban, but thanks to his father, he not only had to live in this pitiful excuse of a Wizarding world, BUT he has to kiss ass to garbage loving wizards to get a paycheck.  Still Donn hated to allow himself to wallow in his own self-pity and instead pulled out the proof he had hidden in his jacket pocket. He motion was incredibly slowly for he realized in a meeting like this, what he was doing was risky. He made sure his two fingers gingerly grasped the tip not the handle as he unveiled his dead father’s wand.

“I recovered my Father’s wand, along with my mothers …”  The words ‘from their dead bodies that night.’ died before it reached his lips. He laid the wand on the table, between them and hoped it would provide it’s own explanation.

Dermod watched they young man's gaze travel to the corner of the room, and guessed what he was thinking.  To the writer, having the woman standing there, staring into space and paying little attention to their conversation wasn't at all strange, indeed it was quite comforting. Rather like a guardian angel watching over them, though of course she was nothing more than security. Had, in fact, already served her purpose - indeed a dual purpose, for she had provided him the opportunity to practise side-along apparition with someone expendable. He doubted, however, that Donn was seeing the woman in quite the same light and his lowered voice told him as much. “Don't worry, she won't remember any of this” he said in a reassuring tone, though he didn't bother to explain further.

What was interesting was that the lad hadn't managed to contact anyone else. Not that Dermod expected there were many of the old guard left, but he knew it was more than just him and Purcell. Rather, he found it reassuring that he wasn't the only one who had successfully vanished from the Ministry - and everyone else's - sight. It gave him hope that there were more than just a handful of believers, and if they could cultivate youngsters like this one as well, maybe...just maybe there was still hope for a brighter future as well. For the writer had already decided that this one had potential, and was there just the smallest twinge of regret for what he was forcing the lad to admit?

For there was nothing intrinsically shocking in what he was hearing, but Dermod listened in silence, left hand curled into a fist which pressed lightly against the lower part of his face, necessitating that he breathe through his nose. For there was a growing horror, and realisation too, that he understood Cepheus Sinnoway far better than he ever could have imagined, Had Rhiannon been older and eager to partake in the battle, would he not have wanted to protect her above all things? And looking at the young man seated before him...four, five years earlier, not even an adult then. “Your father...was a noble and brave man” he offered finally, but not before he had drained the glass before him.

It wasn't enough. While the tiny dose of truth serum Donn Bane had consumed would likely lose its effectiveness within the next couple of minutes - sooner, if he was strong enough to resist the effects - it was clear the young man had shared more than just words. “We were all willing to die for the cause” he said quietly, refilling his glass and pushing the bottle across the table without further comment. But it seemed there was more to come. He watched the boy as a wolf watches its dying ovine victim's last struggles, but it seemed Donn was aware of the possible interpretation of his actions. “Had you joined him that night, who would be left to carry on the battle now?” the Irishman queried. He didn't expect an answer to that question, merely hoped to convince the youth that he had nothing to be ashamed of, that he had done nothing wrong.

He lifted the second glass and drank, considering what he was about to say. Almost questioning the wisdom of the quasi-confession and yet knowing it was something that Donn couldn't know, but his father had. “In the last few months before that night, the Dark Lord was...obsessed. Less so with our ultimate goal as with finding the boy -” he didn't bother to say which boy; nor in truth did Dermod wish to speak the name “Everything he ordered was designed to attain that end. Oh, the plan itself was sound; had we succeeded, then everything else would have fallen into place. But on more than one occasion, the penalty for being present when news of failing even the most mundane of missions arrived was death. Sometimes for those who were nothing more than bystanders. I don't know why I'm telling you this. Perhaps because...even though we no longer have a figurehead, our goal still remains” he finished thoughtfully, waiting for the reaction of the lad he was now reasonably confident ould be trusted.

His Father's wand lay there before Donn on the table. He had kept it all this time, even though he loathed it. It represented his father, who he had blamed whole heartedly after his death. Donn had blamed him for the death of his mother, for not allowing Donn the right to participate in the war, and for dying and leaving Donn alone. It was done as a teenager, full of  hate, stupidity and angst. He had heard the same argument before, ‘Cepheus Sinnoway was a noble and brave Death Eater. He did what he did, to protect you. He defended the Dark Lord at your mother's side to the death. He died for the cause. Had you joined him that night you would have died too.’ It had taken the last few years, while also reading and deciphering his father’s memoir for Donn to believe in most of it. There was still a sliver of guilt and a willingness to blame anything and everything on his father, all of which was implanted by his mother.

The young wizard was a little disappointed that Dermod was not going to pick up and examine his father’s wand. Apparently, Donn’s spoken confessions under a truth serum was good enough. Donn gingerly, picked it up and placed the wand back tip up in his inside jacket pocket as he continued to listened to Dermod. Luckly, the Dark writer was now talking openly to Donn. The young wizard nodded as most of the information was already known to him from his father’s book.

In the start of the Book, Cepheus youth was spoken almost as a story. With many of the names of family and friends at Hogwarts listed as plain as day. As his father described going into his service with the Dark Lord, the names became vague or bound in a complexity code. One could only presume that he was trying to protect his fellow death eaters who were not caught or Donn from knowing to much. Donn was only able to draw the dots between his oldest friends and Death Eaters because his father stopped talking about certain school friends completely. During these chapters in the book, Donn’s father faith in the Dark Lord was unwavering, palatable and strong. The only regret was the sacrifice of his first born to obtain the Dark Lord’s goal.  From then on Donn had noticed his father's writing seem to focus more on the worry he had for his family to the point one would might thing he would put his family’s lives above the Dark Lord.  Yet once Cepheus was extracted from Azkaban, his perspective within the book changed even more. The entries became more journal like, describing his life as if he was trapped in the Dark Lords maze of tasks. As it went on, it was as if the halo had been pulled from behind the Dark Lord and Donn’s father seemed to question the Dark Lords actions.  Like Dermod, Cepheus had also described the Lord as ‘obsessed’ as well as ‘irrational’, and suffering ‘fits of rage’.  Donn had been surprised in reading this for he knew his mother would never allow such words about the Dark lord to be uttered. She would have burned the book if she could read the pages. Yet Donn's father had wrote every line in the book with a magic blood like ink … Donn would guess that only Cepheus’s direct line could read it.

Knowing all of this, Donn nodded until Dermod’s final statement. “Still remains?!?” he repeated a little to loudly. Donn glanced back at the woman out of habit before remembering Dermod said something about her being Imperious or will soon be Obliviated or something. Still Donn lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “You mean there are still active members? Are you sure? I mean active, not just in hiding? I can't believe it.  Why, haven’t I found anyone or heard. I mean I did not know where to look or who to ask. But, but I thought that I would be approached if there was... someone still doing something...”

A hurt expression flashed on the young man's face, before he refocused of the retired Death Eater in front of him that might not be as retired as Donn once thought. “I only now dared to approach you when I was certain you were truly his friend. I was too concerned to approach just anyone. Asking around would have likely gotten me killed by both sides.”   Donn gave a laugh, although it was slightly higher pitch then his normal one, either from nevers or frustration. He thought he passed all Dermod’s test but there was always a chance he was going to be killed anyway.

"The Daily Prophet articles make it sound like Purcell is digging things up again, but they are always fanatical like that. I thought because I was not able to get a hold of him since his release, he was slipping into retirement too. I was hoping that you might talk him out of it. Possibly get the ball moving... but now I realize it been moving this whole time."   The words without me. were not spoken but Donn couldn't help but feel them.

The boy retrieved his wand - his father's wand, Dermod mentally amended - and replaced it within an inner pocket without comment. Something had passed between them in the last few minutes. They were not friends yet, not by any means. But now the seeds of trust and understanding had been sown, and open distrust had settled into a polite and genteel kind of armed neutrality. Now the former Death Eater was confident of the younger man's desires and motives - or as confident as anyone could be - he was visibly more comfortable. His previously rigid posture was somewhat more relaxed, he held his whisky glass loosely in his left hand.

“It depends upon...how one defines active” he replied after a moment. “If you're expecting to see the Dark Mark above any houses or even a good old-fashioned bout of muggle-baiting, don't get your hopes up. Those of us who survived were either imprisoned or escaped by a sheer fluke. I don't call it good luck - like your father, I would willingly have died for the cause that night...” he raised the glass to his lips and drained half the contents, then stared at the glass for a long moment before continuing “I almost died that night. My sister was at school with the Dark Lord and she is also gifted in many forms of divination. Although she was never one of his warriors, her Ogham told her I was injured and close to death. Thanks to her efforts and bravery, I regained consciousness in my own home several days later”

That wasn't the whole truth. Cliona had apparated to the battle, but it was his eldest daughter Ivana who had found and brought the writer home to Ireland. But while there would be little danger in this young man discovering that a seventy four year old witch known to have attended Hogwarts with Tom Riddle had been at the battle, he wanted to leave his daughter out of the discussion. Besides, his mind had already moved on, and he was considering something else. Then, slowly, he replaced his glass on the table and, his face an unreadable mask, removed the glove from his right hand.

“As far as the wider world is concerned, an unfortunate apparation accident” he said without emotion, flexing the remaining fingers and turning his hand to display the poorly-healed scar tissue “but as you might guess, those of us who survived did not escape...unscathed. And you have already answered your own question. I suspect there are none who would take the risk of approaching the son of a former comrade without certain knowledge of his true leanings. You yourself have seen the...precautions I took prior to this meeting.” Oh, Dermod understood the boy's frustrations. Hadn't he spent much of the previous four years quietly slipping beneath the notice of anyone who might have recognised him, wondering who was still alive and who still truly believed in the cause? It had been hard enough knowing who he could contact if he chose; and the Irishman knew names, residences. “But what I can tell you is that I believe the time is coming when we shall have the opportunity to put right the wrongs of our past.”

“The Prophet...” Dermod smiled. He had no concrete knowledge of this, only suspicions and insight which had served him well in the past “You are probably aware that a few years ago the Prophet was...shall we say, directed by those whose morals and ideals were similar to our own. It surely wouldn't come as a surprise to learn that at least a few of those esteemed journalists are still employed there? Oh, I know very well that one can open the paper and read of a prize-winning pumpkin at Beauxbatons academy or how the German Ministry welcomes everyone to Oktoberfest...but it is what is written between the lines that is far more interesting, wouldn't you agree?”

Donn had been trying to watch the Death Eater this whole time for any sign that he was not being well recived. Although Dermod appeared confident but reserved, something about the old wizard seemed off.  It was not until the old wizard's body seemed to relax did Donn realized just what he subconsciously perceived as a warning sign. Dermod was using his left hand for everything. From Donn’s experience, most used two hands unless they were planning to keep their wand hands free for a purpose, like throwing out a curse.

Donn was sure (at least he hoped so) that he was beyond the risk of being curse. At least he had seemed to pass and proved to the Death Eater he was not there to expose him, instead just to connect with him in hopes of being an ally. Yet the Death Eater still favored using one hand. Then it occurred to the young man, that there was another possibility, there could be something wrong with his right one. Donn noted that they did not shake hands when they came in. Realizing that focusing on an injury, if that was what it was would be rude. Donn picked up his forgotten whisky glass and sipped the whisky with even greater appreciation then before.  He passed, and that was what matters. Dermods next words were what Donn had been craving to hear for so long, but they were not any better than what he feared.

Donn nodded with some sadness. So, There were few but they’re not active. When the old man raised his glass, Donn did the same as if they were drinking in a solute for the dead. He downed the excellent Irish whisky. It was then Dermod gave him something he never expected, his a story of what happened to him on the day of  the battle. The Hufflepuff who’s one unHufflepuff like quality was his lack of empathy, listened for the information, the knowledge and to see who he was aligning himself with, being his father’s old friend or not. Donn took a note of his sister and her divination skills. It might come useful for Donn who never had any luck at the art. He might call a pawn Dermod's sister to obtain a reading in the future, although he was sure it would come with a price.

Then something changed again. Was that a determined look, no Dermod became unreadable. On edge Donn watch the old wizard raise his right hand and start to undress it. Could it be a weapon? It could have a curse on it. Maybe the old wizard meant to revealed his secrets, just before he was going to kill me! Donn's mind raced but he forced himself to remain still. The glove was slowly peeled off, exposing a pale network of raised skin crossed with bumps and lines. It resembled something that he had heard muggles called modern art. Oh, This was why he did not use his hand. The wizard was revealing his weakness. Was this a true show of trust or just giving Donn a false target?  'Don’t underestimate him.' His mother’s voice corrected in a cold tone. Donn got a feeling that even marred Dermod was a force to be reckoned with.

‘You… have seen the...precautions I took…’  Donn nodded. Donn reached for the whiskey and started to pour himself a new glass.  Before stopping at halfway full when he heard, ‘I believe the time is coming when we shall have the opportunity to put right the wrongs of our past.’ The young wizard glanced up suddenly and looked into the old wizard's deep dark voids he had for eyes, with a hungry, unspoken plead to be included.

'Fate will insure.' His mother's voice again interjected his thoughts. Weather it was a piece of her soul or just his own mind trying to give order to the chaos of losing his one role model/ his parent he had in his life he did not know. Yet, He had come to rely on her voice with him. But her meaning this time alluded him. Either it meant that it was his fate to be included or that fate will see wrongs of the past righted with or without him. He sadly believed she would have said the latter. Still, he was here and he could hope.

“I will drink to that!” Donn said and finished pouring his whisky and then wordless offered to pour Dermod a third.

He listened and nodded attentively as he sipped his fresh glass the warmth of the aholehole reaching his limbs. Then as if a tidal wave he was watching out in the distance suddenly crashed into him. “OfCourse. They were not warning, they were rallying. They weren’t seeing ghosts, they are telling us that the ghosts are gathering. How could I been so dumb. I just felt so stranded, like a castaway on a raft without a wand.” He said while he shook his head before hanging it with shame.  Oh, how could he be so naive how could he have doubted that anyone was left.

“If the ghost gather…. Can you keep me in mind. I know I have no right to be there. I was never marked, but if I could be of any use…” Donn trailed off, as he thought about, what if they asked him for the ultimate sacrifice? If they requested that he die. Would he? Yes. He would have to find someone to will his inheritance to but he would. Then saying with a little more resignation, “Anything to see the cause done and see that my parents did not die in vain .”

He gave a nod. Contradicting his mother's voice warnings about staying sober he downed the whisky. Which he was now starting to feel.

Dermod was aware that he was being somewhat less cautious than had served him in the past. Normally he would never reveal his own interests and ideals so soon into an acquaintance with another. But this meeting was different for several reasons; right from the moment the young man had arrived. Donn's body language spoke just as much as his words and he had realised that the older man had somehow slipped veritaserum into his drink - and yet he had continued to sit and talk. He had answered questions rather than growing angry and attempting to cast hexes. That had been the first point in his favour.

Secondly, he blamed himself for not doing more. That was...enlightening. Dermod wanted to ask the lad's age - younger than the Malfoy lad he suspected; while there had been a few school-age death eaters, they had been few and far between, and recruited thanks to the involvement of their parents. The Irishman would have kept his daughters as far away from the fighting as possible, he wasn't surprised Cepheus had done the same. But the fact that Donn still believed he should have tried harder suggested he would be an asset to the cause.

And finally, he wanted desperately to be involved, and again was frustrated because he had failed to find anyone who would assist. Until Dermod had come along, of course. And that was why he had - not exactly thrown caution to the winds, but at least laid it carefully aside for the moment. Because if he could nurture this young man's need to avenge his parents whilst furthering the cause, he could be an asset. Especially if he could maintain that poker face, given all that had been discussed. The loss of his parents had to still be a raw subject, and yet...they were drinking to the future, Dermod accepting the offer of a refill and hiding his amusement that he was being poured his own whisky. 

And now it was out in the open. The true reason for this meeting. Donn Bane wanted to be a part of the fight, even without knowing what was left for them to fight for. Dermod had already made his decision, but nonetheless he chose his words carefully.

“There have always been those who fought and supported the cause without being marked. My sister, who I mentioned earlier...and there is no shame at your age in not bearing the symbol of our cause. And-” raised voices coming from downstairs filtered up to where they were sitting. With a sudden smirk coupled with a raised eyebrow, Dermod rose from his seat and took a couple of steps forward to where he could survey the scene below. Two men - and now a third - were in the verbal stage of an altercation that seemed to revolve around the attractiveness of the latter's wife. Clearly the veritaserum was working its magic downstairs, as well. “I believe the time is fast approaching when we should take our leave” he commented quietly, returning to the table. “So to answer your question - yes. I shall consider you an ally from this day forward, and I look forward to our next meeting. But for now...” he glanced towards the woman, still standing as if on guard at the corner of the room, and then offered Donn a sly smile “How confident are you in your side-along apparation skills?”

He had put himself out there, risked his own life and tracked down the wizard that had alluded the ministry for years. He was practically begging to be made a Death Eater.   He wanted to be a part of something. Something that could change the future for the betterment of what was left of the wizarding world. Even if it did not, at least he would not feel alone. He would know others are with him on this slowing sinking ship. They could fight and die together as the other idiots around them let muggles go on destroying everything that is left in this world.

Yet it was all for nothing. The Old wizard’s words hit him with the cold sting of ice water, sobering his body but maddening his mind. He will not take me. Why? No shame, NO SHAME?!? I can’t believe this! He is turning me away... His frustration roared in him. It was barely contained by his mother's grounded in lesson to 'always respect elders'  and the fact that the serum had worn off enough to allow him to keep his lips pressed and nothing but a frown displayed on his face.

His thoughts roared so loud that Donn failed to hear the voices down below until Dermod gave a mildly entertained look and stood and walked to the rail. With a scrape of a chair, Donn stood with his hand on the end of his mother’s wand handle in his pants pocket, as he tried to make sense of the voices down below. Had the Ministry followed him? Had his actions with Joanna Hennings finally put him on their radar?

You are a idiot. his mother’s familiar voice chastised, before he was able to process just what the voices below were saying. By the time Dermod returned, the young wizard at least had pieced it together that it was not a ministry raid. Although he did not know what was causing the Muggles sudden argument, but he had a feeling that the other wizard knew.

Donn blinked once as he took a second to return to the previous topic. “An ally.” It was said as if in agreement. Donn sealed his statement with a nod, so slow it bordered on being a bow. For to Donn, if he was not going to be made a Death Eater, it at minimum be his honor to be their ally at least for now… Donn storm-blue eyes followed the brown ones and found the beauty still dutifully guarding the stairs.

With the next question, Donn’s brain worked the situation much more quickly. “The ministry makes it mandatory skill to learn in case of emergencies and injuries at least in my department. Although the hold is .. intimate, it is designed to keep the apparatee firmly with in the apparater's grip, even if the former faints.” Sounding like he swallowed the course pamphlet. He walked to the seductress and extended his right hand in a wordless offer to demonstrate his skill. After sparing a glance a Dermod, the beauty placed her right hand in his which he firmly gripped, before he stepped around to just behind her right side. Using his left arm, he scooped up her waist and pressed his chest firmly against her right shoulder. There he paused to take in a draft of her hair.  It was a sweet floral scent. Lilac and Jasmine

Oh, he wanted to do more than hold her, but now was not the time. There was a need to leave. So, he addressed the old wizard. “Where to?”

The sound of tinkling glass filtered upstairs. It would certainly be prudent to cut this meeting short, but Dermod knew the time had not been wasted. He was tempted to suggest here and now they they meet again, perhaps invite the boy to one of his favourite Dublin haunts, but that could wait a day or two. Now the sounds of dragging furniture added to the raised voices and - ah, yes, a predictable shriek - it was becoming harder to talk, even knowing there was almost no chance of the fight making its way upstairs.

But perhaps there was no need to say more, at least for the moment. Clearly Donn was not only capable but more than happy to assist in removing their...companion from the situation, as he ably demonstrated. While his eagerness was a little surprising, Dermod was also impressed with the speed at which the younger man reacted. If there did come a time when they were on the field of battle once more, having allies who could be trusted to respond quickly could be the difference between life and death. The older man smiled as he watched Donn begin a demonstration of side-along apparation, as taught by the Ministry. The knowledge that their kind of people were once again working within the Ministry pleased him greatly. He nodded in approval.

“I found the young lady at a public house in Dublin. A rather more salubrious one than this, I have to say - though that would be damning it with faint praise” he said with a smirk “But I would caution that you not head back there. You see, your lovely companion is about to lose her memory, and if she were to find herself in unfamiliar surroundings, I'm sure she would be very grateful to anyone who chose to assist her.” Dermod didn't bother to explain the exact workings of what he intended. Once out of the range of his influence, the Imperius curse would fade within a few seconds. It wasn't always that way, of course, but today he had felt no need to perform anything long-lasting or...damaging. “So I would suggest someplace on the outskirts of Dublin...and with your agreement, I shall take my leave elsewhere, and look forward to meeting again soon.”

What he was suggesting, of course, was that they disappear in different directions now. Dermod had revised his earlier plan of memory charms on the denizens of this pub; feeling that if they wanted to spend time in such a downmarket establishment they deserved everything they got. Besides, all he'd done was allow them to tell the truth. Hardly a criminal offence by any standards. Nevertheless, he decided discretion would be the better part of valour and thus neither of them would be around should anyone discover that magic had been used here.

Donn absorbed Dermod's words. Understanding they were not going to meet somewhere else but instead, that they were going their separate ways and he was entrusting the witch to him.  Donn turned and studied the side profile of the redhead he held in his arms. Not a memory wipe then…, imperiused? he correctly guessed. He wondered if her personality would be just as inviting outside the curse. He hoped so. By the way the Death Eater suggested he return her, it alluded to Donn that she would be more then willing.

This was the first time that Donn came to something near to this predicament. He had heard that some wizards would imperious or ensnare maidens with love potions so they could ‘get’ the girl of their dreams. He always looked down a pawn such an idea, for he believed anyone worth catching should be won. Yet, he entertained the thought of imperiusing a muggle-loving witch to be his ‘girlfriend’ only for the sake of an alibi. Preferably, some girl who was so misguided with muggle sympathy, so that anything he put in her head would been improvement. Yet the idea of partaking in anytype of carnal desires with such a witch was less appealing.  Still supposedly this Durbin witch will return shortly into her right mind and so he would not have to face this predicament.  Just a bit of a white lye is needed to explain his presents and his willingness to get her home. If she wished to favore him that was her choice.

“Outskirts of Dublin.” Donn said with a nod after a moment of deliberation. He knew of a place he could picture well enough to apparate to. He would have said, ‘send an owl when you need me’ but he figured that Dermod would already know that, so he only said, “Until we meet again.”

Donn gave another nod/bow, before he apparated taking the witch with him. The earth shifted and his whiskey filled stomach jolted a little more than normal. He adjusted his stance to accommodate for the lady’s sudden semi-slack form. Breathing out the stale beer scented air of the bar, he soon replaced it with the cool midnight air of the coast. They now stood on a crest surrounded by trees near the Bog Of Frogs Loop that Donn had taken a port key to over a year ago.

“Are you feeling alright?” the young wizards said employing his charming welsh accent. After a second her knees regained their strength. She gave a bit of a surly curse word while she cupped her forehead with her hand. She was not displaying any of her previous charm, but Donn hoped it would return with her senses. 

Noting the October night air held quite a chill and she only was covered in a slinky skintight number. He did not hesitate in slipping off his coat and soon placed it on to her shoulders. “Come on, I’ll help you get home.”

{out}

"Until then, my friend" Dermod said, and then, turned slightly away from the younger man, he slipped his hand beneath his cloak and quietly cast a basic memory charm on the young woman. Very simple, just erasing the past few hour so she wouldn't remember him. Really, he was doing it as a favour to Donn as much as anything else, he told himself. A woman who found herself in unfamiliar surroundings but remembered  - or thought she remembered - something of how she had got there was likely to be suspicious and uncooperative. One who seemed to have a gap in her memory would be far more amenable to a kind passer-by offering assistance...or so it was in Dermod's experience. A few seconds more, and he was standing alone in the upper room of the pub.

It had certainly been worthwhile coming here today, he thought as the sounds of fighting grew increasingly loud. Some chap was apparently likening another's wife to the back end of a bus, and the ensuing sound of fish against flesh caused the former Death Eater to smirk. Really, he would have liked to stay awhile longer and see how this panned out. It was childish, certainly, but watching muggles fight was akin to throwing a single steak to a herd of starving thestrals. Oh, they appeared docile and even pleasant, much of the time, but it didnt take much to make them show their true colours. The difference, of course, was that thestrals were intelligent and could be trained...

Drawing his wand, Dermod lifted the enchantments he had cast upon the room, watching it revert to its former unattractive condition. Once again the table was ready to be used for firewood, the cloth was vinyl and badly stained; the only thing of interest was the remaining firewhisky in the bottle. Far too good to waste on the denizens of this particular establishment, the writer thought as he slipped it into the deep pocket within his cloak. Then, having first cast a shield charm he strolled downstairs, passed through the arguing muggles who paid him not the least bit of attention, and left the pub. He even resisted the temptation to hex any of them - it would be far more entertaining to imagine the confusion of any Ministry fools who heard about the use of magic here and tried to work out who anyone would have done nothing more sinister than use a truth serum on a few muggles.

Outside, he breathed in the late autumn air, walked briskly around the corner to where there were no windows, and disapparated, reappearing at the boundary of Schull seconds later. It had indeed been a successful afternoon, he though to himself as he headed back to the castle.

[End]