Sound Effects And Overdramatics

[Xanthe Lynnette Murder]

Xanthe Murder clutched the brown paper package to her throbbing chest as she hurried though Knockturn Alley, her legs moving quickly towards the sun again. As a girl she loved these dirtied cobblestone streets, littered with the broken souls that have been outcasted from society. They made her feel superior somehow, being a young pureblood like herself hooded, loitering in the shadows, daring for someone to say a word to Rabastan Lestrange’s daughter. Back then, Xanthe would kill without remorse or a second glance. To her, others’ lives had no importance unless they were of a pureblooded race, exactly like her. A Death Eater, like her.
What a waste.
Walking out into the sun, her green eyes squinted to adjust to the newly found light. If only it was truly this easy to escape the darkness, she thought, taking a turn right toward The Leaky Cauldron. One narrow path, a few beggars along the way to hold your hand up to and say, “I haven’t any money” and shuffle away thinking about the spare Sickles clinking in your robe pocket.
A new year at Hogwarts was just around the corner, a week from tomorrow, come to think of it. For the fifth year she would be teaching as the Hogwarts Potions Master. A chuckle etched across her face. She remembered the many nights prowling around the castle avoiding Filch in order to steal a Potions ingredient or two from the Professor’s storage closet. More than half the time she’d walk away successful, but there was a few times she didn’t, wasn’t there?
You know, Servilius will start Hogwarts this year…
Similar happenings occurred in the Defense Against the Dark Arts room as well, though it would be the books Xanthe would be after. Becoming a Death Eater so young, she had the urge to learn everything she possibly could about the Dark Arts, and even ways to defend herself from her own magic. Xanthe felt if she knew how to fight against it, it would help when fighting for it. The only thing that accomplished was killing countless innocents and those she loved.
Professor Murder reached casually toward the handle of the Leaky Cauldron, tugging the swinging door open in a saddened motion. The bell clinked as she stepped over the rugged welcome mat, which she respectfully wiped her feet over given it was such a mucky day. A few heads turned to see her entry, but no one gave it much thought. Their attention was quickly adverted back to their conversations and booze.
She blinked at the small crowd of people in the back right corner as she made her way down the wooded aisle to a booth by the corner. This way she wouldn’t bee seen nor bothered by someone she knew if they happened to enter the pub themselves. Xanthe wasn’t feeling friendly at the moment. Her mind was buried in the guilt that has consumed her for the past eleven years of her life, and lately a Firewhiskey or two was the only way to mask it from her conscious.

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[Roy Mustang]

Rain pounded against his dark cloak. His hair clung to his face, water running down his neck. Such a disgusting day, deep puddles coating the streets, the sky nearly black, the clouds still puffy with the water they had yet to drop.

He shivered inside of his clothes, a chill setting into his bones. "Damn," he spoke under his breath, though it didn't matter. No one was near him, no one was paying any attention to him. He was a newcomer here. Unknown to everyone, and if what Murder had told him was true, he would be gone by this time in the following year. But that's just a silly superstition. I'm going to break it.

The door opened easily at his touch, a few people glancing up to see who it was. Curiosity killed that cat. But wasn't that the same reason he was here? Murder had entered the tavern only moments before himself, and she was sitting by herself. By direct order of, well, the Order, he was supposed to get close to her. Gain her trust and learn the secrets of the Death Eaters. And there she was, sitting in a booth by herself. His mouth raised to a smirk.

Navigating the multiple tables wasn't an easy task. With other witches and wizards bumping into him, he was constantly being knocked off course. "Ya know, they say that stuff is bad for a girl's skin. Should you be drinking it?" He slid into the booth, shrugging his soaked cloak from his shoulders. Didn't do much good, water dripped from clothes, from his hair. Puddles gathered around his feet. It dripped onto the seat and the table. If it kept up, they would have a river running through the Leaky Cauldron in no time.

[Xanthe Lynnette Murder]

Xanthe’s gaze moved from her hands to the door quickly as the entry bell rang again. Walking through the door was Roy Mustang, a man she had met not too long ago at a similar establishment. She looked back down at her lap, her aura rapidly becoming childish with the way her cheeks blushed and how she tried so hard to hide her embarrassed face. Xanthe’s hands moved underneath the table, where she squeezed them tightly together until he was finally out of her line of sight.
Of all places he could go he had to choose here.
Slowly a shadow crept in front of her, followed closely by the sound of squeaking shoes and dripping water. The Potions professor’s body tensed, realizing the man was walking straight toward her. Still, she didn’t dare meet his eyes just yet. Not while her dangling legs began to tremble, at least.
“Ya know, they say that stuff is bad for a girl's skin. Should you be drinking it?"
Murder’s head jerked up at once. Mustang was dripping wet with the rain that poured outside, the opposite of the shining weather inside her heart. She blinked at him and adverted her eyes once again as he took off his soaked cloak. Her hand motioned toward the wand in her pocket and she pulled it up above the table’s surface.
“Unlike risking catching a nasty cold, drinking is fine in moderation,” Xanthe said simply, her voice shaking lightly with nervous anticipation. She tipped her wand in his direction and the water that had managed to create pools beneath their feet began to dissipate, just as the droplets that stained his clothes and skin.
“What brings you here, Mustang?” she asked, filling the empty space in her robes pocket left by her absent wand. “Could it be that you actually applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts job at Hogwarts?”

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[Roy Mustang]

Could it be his imagination? Had he made her blush, simply by entering the tavern? Or, possibly, was it the glare of the lights? Hmm. This could be used to my advantage. If she's falling for me this fast... He let the thought trail off, his attention returning to the dimly lit bar. He almost felt bad for tricking her, for allowing her to trip over her own feet into his trap. It couldn't be that you're going soft, is it, Mustang? You've been assigned a mission, and you're going to follow through. This is what you've been waiting for.

"What's that? The Defense Against the Dark Arts? I've done more then apply. You'll be working with me now, sweetcheeks," Maybe he was laying it on a bit too thick, but he was going to do whatever it took. The Order had been planning a secret invasion for awhile, and when he had been offered a job with a Death Eater he had met already, how could it be passed up? This was the chance they had been waiting for; that he had been waiting for.

He glanced down as the water evaporated from his clothing. The smooth fabric rubbed softly against his skin once again, not chaffing in the least. His breath rushed out as he relaxed, slouching against the back of the bench. "I just came in to get out of the rain. The real question, I believe, would be: why are you here?" It was his job to know everything she was doing, while maintaining his cover. The woman would be within his grasp in no time. If she wasn't already.

Table chairs screeched against the floor, and it took everything in him not to flinch at the sound. Little things like that grated against his eardrums, making his brain throb. But it wasn't his job to harass people scooting back from tables. No, his job was to earn a Death Eater's trust, then to completely crush it. Didn't matter the secrets she told him. Every word she passed to him, it had to be passed onto the Order.

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[Xanthe Lynnette Murder]

Sweetcheeks?
Xanthe scoffed quietly to herself, bringing a hand to her lips to cover up her shy smile. Despite his charm she couldn’t help but to think suspiciously of this guy. He was too friendly with her first off, considering this was only the second time they have ever spoken to each other in their whole lives. What was he getting at?
Taking control of her uneasiness, the Potions teacher brought her elbows to the table top and rested her chin within the cradle her hands had created. Her eyes narrowed behind the glass she was forced to wear to see, but Xanthe was able to flash a wry grin at Mustang. She wasn’t going to tell him just anything, no matter how attractive he was.
Looking around the pub she noticed more and more people beginning to pour in from the rain. Everyone appeared happy stepping through the door out of the chilling rain, their eyes brightening that they had escaped the rain together. The quiet atmosphere suddenly became lighthearted with the delight of friends meeting friends and ordering themselves drinks, and a warm meal. Xanthe couldn’t help but to take the change of aura to her advantage and go forth at Mustang with cautious confidence. She had to find out exactly what he was up to.
“Sounds to me like you’re giving me an interrogation,” she said, glancing over at her untouched Firewhiskey. She knew better than to drink it at a time like this. With her saddening thoughts placed into the back over her mind, Xanthe leaned forward to the new Dark Arts professor.
“But if you must know,” she began with a sigh, using her right hand to flip through the dessert menu that remained always beside the condiments, “I’m here for my own pleasure.”
Miss Murder began to look through the cakes and pies the Leaky Cauldron had to offer, acting as if Roy Mustang sitting across from her didn‘t bother her. Chocolate cake (yuck!), Tiramisu, apple pie, cherry pie, the whole assortments of any ice cream you could imagine lie behind the plastic film, but there was one in particular that caught her attention. She pulled the side menu over to the middle of the table and twisted it around to reveal a slice of strawberry cheesecake. She laughed childishly, looking at him sideways from the way she rested upon her cheek.
“Wanna share? My treat.”

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[Roy Mustang]

His fingers tapped against the table as the noise rose in the pub. The constant ringing of the bell was starting to give him a headache. He could feel the pounding starting just behind his left ear, growing steadily in strength and magnitude. Maybe he was just being tense about the upcoming year. It would be his first teaching job, after all, and he was only here to go undercover. No one but the Order members knew of his mission in the school. Everyone had been sworn to secrecy, while he was sworn to try his hardest to get as many secrets as he could from the Potions teacher, Xanthe Murder. The Order had known for a long time that she was a Death Eater, they only needed proof.

"Interrogation? Nah. I don't think I'd be very good at that. Don't always have the best poker face. I tend to...slip up," bait. It was all bait. He didn't know who could sit here in this pub, with such a pretty girl, trying tp pry out her deepest secrets like a soulless person. Except himself.

The menu slid towards him, and he tried not to flinch. She had surprised him, but that was what he got for dazing out in such an important situation. "Cheesecake? I didn't know that they could put cheese in cake..." When had that happened? Cheese...in cake? Honestly, what would they think of next? "It doesn't sound that appetizing, but since you're paying..." A smirk turned his astonished expression into one of playfulness, one you expected to see on a child playing a trick. Not on the face of a grown man, about to share a dessert with someone of the opposite sex. But who was he, if he didn't have his bouts of joy, playfulness, and even insecurity. Everyone had off moments, whether they wanted them acknowledged or not.

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[Xanthe Lynnette Murder]

Xanthe chuckled once, returning the desert menu back into its original position on the side of the table. “It’s not actually cheese,” she said, smiling to herself, though her nervous eyes looked squarely at the handsome Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in front of her. “It’s made from heavy cream and creates a yellow color.” She sat up, but her back continued to slightly slouch from hiding her uneasiness. Her hands moved toward each other and clasped patiently.
His eyes, Xanthe thought to herself, their gleam is nearly similar to those of a murderer’s.
It was a look she was all too familiar with, being a Death Eater. Everyone she had worked with since the young age of twelve had the same look in their gaze. It was one of desperation to please, fear, guilt, unsatisfied justification, but most of all, there was a hazed sense of pride. Those who were murderers may not even like the fact that they had killed a person, but even those, for just a second had a virtuous feeling of a job well done as their opponent fell to the ground. She had experienced it herself before, especially the first time she killed someone, Gavin Jacobs. Her legs shook with the astonishment of what she had done, indulging in the satisfaction of taking something as grand as a human life. However, from that point on, she viewed the world differently. If a mere twelve year old could successfully kill a grown man, humans must be one of the weakest life forms on this god forsaken planet people call Earth. Xanthe, that one person, sparked the war that ensued between the Death Eaters. She was the one who fueled the rage between the Jacobs and herself, the sole witch who was responsible for the death of Darien Wakefield, even when she didn’t know him at that all.
“Is there anything else I could get you, ma’am?”
Coming back to reality with a jerk of the head, Xanthe blinked up at the waitress that had been serving her before. “Oh, yes, I would like some strawberry cheesecake please.” Her voice quivered with the ghosts of her past and the thoughts that had been repressed since Mustang had walked through the door.
The middle-aged woman nodded, scribbling on her notepad as she walked off toward the back of the pub. Miss Murder looked back at Roy with a shaky smile. She assumed this would be a good time to advert his attention elsewhere, if he had been paying attention to her sudden daze.
“I just remembered,” she said with a start, twisting sideways to pick up the crinkled brown package that set beside her. It was tied nicely with tan yearn-like thread, very neat in its appearance. Xanthe untangled the string with both of her hands, appearing to have calmed down a bit since Mustang had arrived to the pub. Inside she was actually fighting off her timid happiness that he had come here. Since they met, she always wanted to see him again for some strange reason the Potions professor could not pinpoint. It didn’t truly matter, for she was going to have him examine what was in the package at Hogwarts. It was better that Xanthe do this undercover of many wizards who were distracted rather than the suspicious ones at Hogwarts. She had less chance at sparking someone’s unwanted attention.
In her right hand she held a silver cuff with a red stone in its center. The cuff itself was a beautiful piece of work, obviously goblin-made, and extremely, deeply, detailed. Swirls covered the outside of the silver, stars speckling various areas of the stranded lines.
“I purchased this at Borgin and Burkes today,” Xanthe said shamelessly, turning the silver cuff on its side. “I noticed something particular about it. Nothing happens when you are holding it in your hand, however, when you put it on….” She slid her left wrist through the gap of the jewelry. Nothing happened. “It appears to be normal. But watch this.”
The young woman reached into her pocket and pulled out her wand. She lifted it slightly and performed a simple charm to slide her Firewhiskey towards her. As the bottle came to a stop, smoke appeared around her wrist, making a sizzling, popping noise as her skin was burned underneath.
Wincing, Xanthe ripped it from her body, her teeth clenching in discomfort at the stinging pain. She slightly raised the cloth on her left forearm, fully aware Mustang might get a glimpse of the Dark Mark that was unusually still today. Underneath where the cuff had been was burnt, raw skin.
“It curses you when you perform a magical spell. I was waiting to show this to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in a few weeks but seeing as you are that professor, I figured I would go ahead and show you instead of attempting to smuggle a cursed piece of silver into Hogwarts. I don’t need people on my back.”
She grimaced down at her wound, replacing her sleeve over it. The fabric rubbed against the burn, irritating it to a nearly unbearable flaming prickle. Xanthe tried to hide the pain by bringing her attention to Mustang once more, checking his expression for a reaction. She scooted the cuff towards him.
“It is the Fiendfyre curse. No matter what I do or spell I perform, this thing will just not break. I was hoping you could destroy it for me.”
Her serious mood faded as the waitress arrived with the piece of cheesecake on a platter. Xanthe grinned like a child, her eyes following the plate as it landed upon the table. She reached for a steel fork that sat untouched and picked it up, and stabbed it into the dessert with its side, cutting off a piece to stick with the end of the fork.
“Say ‘ahh’.”

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