Well that certainly hadn't worked as well as the auror had hoped. In retrospect . . . Perhaps Hawke should have tried to duel his way out of this predicament. Or perhaps he should have truthfully denied any relations to the Death Eater, Albiorix, whose very existence he was quickly beginning to despise as he stewed over this situation from his position on an unforgiving wooden floor. Still very much magically paralyzed, his muscles were as taught as a performer's tight rope, aching and strained from such prolonged tension. And currently the only actions he could manage were blinking and breathing, neither of which would prove to be useful in escaping whatever twisted agenda Albiorix's family seemed to have lined up for him. Without his wand, he was capable of only a couple of spells, sadly, having absolutely no control over whatever raw magic that had been smothered inside him years ago. How he might get out of this was a mystery, if he got out of this at all, but the blond knew one thing for certain. Whatever family drama Analiese had falsely apologized for dragging him into . . . He wanted no part in it.<br/><br/>Especially as he recalled the sheer look of mad glee on the older woman's oddly beautiful face, her laughter while looking upon Hawke as if she'd opened a long awaited holiday gift. The memory alone sent a chill through his immobilized spine.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#59b300"> You even look like him, in a way. </span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff0080">Nathaniel.</span></i>Memories of a young light-haired boy in blue robes accosted him unbidden. He knew who Nathaniel was, could feel the attachment from the other side of this invasive link now planting another's emotions into his mind. And he didn't like it one bit. He was not this Nathaniel and he most certainly was nothing to Albiorix but a thorn in his side. And even more dismal? Analiese seemed to be under the flawed impression that her son would have good reason to come find him here. As for Hawke,  well, if he'd had such a mother he would avoid the woman at all costs.<br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">Joke's on you, Bitch.</span></i><br/><br/>Or was the joke on him, now, as he contemplated exactly what the woman had meant by 'getting to know each other?' Unfortunately he already had his suspicions and he wasn't at all fond of the idea.<br/><br/>Which left Hawke to ruminate on his own stupidity as green eyes cast left and right and back again, taking in what little of his poorly lit surroundings that he could while under the influence of the full body bind. The rafters were low and he followed a pattern of cobwebs weaving to and fro. With his limited movements, Hawke could only see a few feet to each side, his gaze catching sight of rather antiquated and garishly upholstered furniture, the dusty clawed feet of an ottoman only inches from his face as he strained to take in the rest of his surroundings.