<div style="text-align: left">Hawke recalled an instant too late that apparating under the influence of alcohol was inadvisable. Or rather, he recalled at the moment he reappeared, stumbling across the floor of a dining room that was not his own. At least three cats darted about his feet in their attempts to escape the foreseen threat, not helping Hawke's lack of orientation one bit as he fought to recover from the unexpected invasion of his own mind. Catching himself noisily against a display of fine china, he cursed as the the delicate plates poured from their rack like a ceramic waterfall, shattering onto the solid wooden floor at his boots.​</div><br/>The eruption of splintered dishes was actually quite satisfying, though he wasn't given the opportunity to admire his handiwork as Mrs. Pritchett, his delightfully sweet and suspiciously ancient neighbor waddled onto the scene, her pink house slippers and wand at the ready.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff0080">"Who goes there? What the devil . . . Mr. Hawke, what are you . . . you mongrel! Get out before I hex you into next week."</span>Hawke almost wished she would. Instead, he held up his hands in his best attempt as seeming nonthreatening.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"Apologies, Ma'am. I, uh . . . had one too many at the tavern and this was supposed to be my bedroom, I assure you. Just give me a bloody minute."</span>He made to right himself, but with a mind full of echoing screams, Hawke was anywhere but in the present.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff0080"> "I said get out!"</span>He reeled on the old woman.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"STOP . . . fucking screaming . . . "</span>He clutched his head, his words meant more for the voices of phantoms than Mrs. Pritchett. She blinked at him, stunned at his uncharacteristic behavior. Eventually Hawke's mind stopped spinning long enough for him to focus on the confines of his own home. CRACK.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><div class="bbMediaWrapper">
<div class="bbMediaWrapper-inner">
<iframe allowfullscreen="true" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/QUvVdTlA23w?wmode=opaque" width="560"></iframe>
</div>
</div></div><br/>This time he at least stumbled into his own home, his own bed even, a large four-poster with a thick navy duvet. However, disoriented and mentally exhausted as he was, he couldn't spare the extra effort to remove his boots, much less crawl beneath the blankets. Collapsing atop the spread, his world spun in a chaos of crumbled walls and corrupt filth, the edges of his psyche left bloodied and unclean. Hawke knew he hadn't taken in enough rum to cause this complete lack of self. Albiorix had certainly done a number on him, digging around in thoughts no one else had ever been meant to see. The sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as his mother's tortured cries reverberated about his mind, Hawke gave in to the sweet grasp of sleep in seconds.<br/><br/>Except there was nothing sweet about it.<br/><i><br/>
A gold mask cackled in his face. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffff00">"If you and Theo had never dragged her back into that world, she'd still be alive!"</span> The screaming grew louder. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"You think I don't know that!? I don't need one more damned reminder, especially not from you!" </span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59b300">"CRUCIO!"</span> <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffff00">"Get that thing out of my face or so help me . . . "</span> A belt whipping across his back.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000"> "Or what? You'll break me!?"</span> <i>His own screams this time. </i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffff00">"Get that thing out of my face, abomination!"</span> So much anger and rage. Hatred. Pure unadultered hatred. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"AVADA KADAVRA!!!"</span> His father's limp body lying at his feet. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"OBLIVIATE!"</span> On the lawn, the house in flames, but still breathing. No. His father was DEAD. He'd killed him himself. Burned his corpse within the confines of his childhood home. <br/>
<br/>
A flash of green.</i><br/><br/>Hawke fitfully awoke, face buried in the wetness of his bed, gasping breathes not coming fast enough as sweat poured off of him. His clothes suddenly felt much too tight. He was suffocating. The vest and undershirt couldn't come off fast enough as he tore at them, fine buttons scattered about the room. His boots went next, then the pants, even his underwear seemed offensive to his over-sensitized skin. Now lying fully naked upon the duvet, his chest rising and falling like a madman, Hawke reflected on the strange myriad of voices and images parading through his mind. His mother's death seemed as fresh as yesterday. And . . . his father. He'd killed his<i>father?</i>No. He'd obliviated the man. And yet he recalled both, though neither as clear as day.<br/><br/>His mind was a mess.<br/><br/>So which was it?<br/><br/>Was he a murderer? An arsonist? Both?<br/><br/>Could he rightfully uphold the law if he was guilty of the very things he'd placed men behind bars for?<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><div class="bbImageWrapper lazyload js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="/proxy.php?image=http%3A%2F%2Fhowrsearchive.weebly.com%2Fuploads%2F5%2F3%2F5%2F7%2F53576017%2F4412476_orig.png&amp;hash=adc33ebe414aa21c77dd9ed19811c714" title="4412476_orig.png">
<img alt="4412476_orig.png" class="bbImage lazyload" data-src="/proxy.php?image=http%3A%2F%2Fhowrsearchive.weebly.com%2Fuploads%2F5%2F3%2F5%2F7%2F53576017%2F4412476_orig.png&amp;hash=adc33ebe414aa21c77dd9ed19811c714" data-url="http://howrsearchive.weebly.com/uploads/5/3/5/7/53576017/4412476_orig.png" data-zoom-target="1" height="" src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" style="" title="" width=""/>
<noscript><img alt="4412476_orig.png" class="bbImage" data-url="http://howrsearchive.weebly.com/uploads/5/3/5/7/53576017/4412476_orig.png" data-zoom-target="1" height="" src="/proxy.php?image=http%3A%2F%2Fhowrsearchive.weebly.com%2Fuploads%2F5%2F3%2F5%2F7%2F53576017%2F4412476_orig.png&amp;hash=adc33ebe414aa21c77dd9ed19811c714" style="" title="" width=""/></noscript>
</div></div>Albiorix hadn't been unconscious long. In the cover of darkness, three cloaked figures appeared, their robes as black as night aside from the thin silver stripe from hood to toe, reflecting the light of the stars as the figures converged upon the drained Death Eater. One shadow crouched over the man, pale hands moving from beneath the cloak long enough to raise the sleeve of his left arm. Exposing the Mark. Covering it back up, the figure placed a hand on Albi's chest, then . . . CRACK. With a rush of cloth the field was empty.<br/><br/>Joramir, of course, eagerly awaited the return of the Reborn as he paced the chamber he'd prepared for their new guest. A couple nights after his well-orchestrated attack on the Ministry had brought him . . . had brought Addlyn a handful of those willing to support her cause. Although none of them had been true Death Eaters, true followers of the Dark Lord himself. Marveling at his own Dark Mark upon his arm, a part of him had wished for years now that it might someday burn anew, that his master might someday return. But he knew it wouldn't. The Mark was useless now, but a remnant of the glory days of pure-blood supremacy.<br/><br/>The days that Addlyn would soon use her powers to usher in once more. Muggles. Mudbloods, Squibs. Their days in this world were numbered.<br/><br/>A grin struck his grizzly features as the Reborn returned, Albiorix levitating between them.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"I assume you had no troubles?"</span>A figure lowered her cloak, short blonde locks, shocking blue eyes and a petulant grin.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffff4d">"No, your Grace. He is injured, though it was none of our doing."</span>Indeed, blood droplets now decorated the dusty stone beneath their feet.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080"> "Secure him. Niah, tend to that wound. It won't do to have him bleed out before we can . . . offer him a place among us."</span>The Reborn wasted no time following Joramir's orders, the older Death Eater watching their every movements as they floated Albiorix onto a rather sparse and uncomfortably flat slab of stone located in the middle of the room, his wrists and ankles cemented in place by powerfully warded magical locks. Niah stripped Albi's upper body with the flick of her wand before conjuring the supplies to patch up the gash in the Death Eater's side. His body was littered with other cuts and bruises, but she had only been ordered to stop the bleeding. And she dared not disobey orders.<br/><br/>As Joramir shooed Niah away, he moved to stand above the unconscious man, a smirk marring his weathered face.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"Aaaah, Albiorix, old friend."</span>Though friend was not a term applied accurately . . . though Joramir had to admit the man smelled good, like victory and sandalwood, the dust of ancient tomes. Regardless, he'd never liked the young startup now strapped before him. But that wouldn't matter. The only one here whose opinion mattered was Addlyn. And if Albiorix was willing to submit to Joramir's agenda or not.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"Accio wand." </span>Albiorix's wand left his pocket, now resting in the hand of a stranger. Confident in the strength of the locks holding the younger man in place, Joramir took his leave, ordering Niah to stay.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"Summon me the moment he awakens. And . . . kill him if he tries anything."</span>The heavy iron door slammed shut behind him as he ascended the stairwell away from the dungeons, leaving Albi to awaken in a dimly-lit room, restrained upon a cold expanse of rock with only a hooded figure in the corner for company.<br/><div style="text-align: center">​</div>