Joramir raised a skeptical eyebrow at the tone of the other man's voice, just as challenging and disrespectful as ever. Of course Albiorix hadn't changed a bit since the fall of Voldemort. Neither had Joramir . . . for the most part, he thought as his mind wandered back to the thick dragon leather-bound tome now well hidden within the manor, a tome that had once held a place within Hogwarts.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080"> "Everyone kills with reason, Dear Albi"</span>he hummed, Niah's motionless body lying at his feet in affirmation.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"Some for vengeance, some for gain, some for . . . pleasure."</span>He slipped his wand back into his pocket alongside Albi's.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"Simply because we don't agree with those reasons makes us no better than any other. And I'm sure whatever your motives for the muggle, well, you won't be judged among your brethren here. Quite the opposite, actually."</span>Of course he only referred to the younger Death Eater as a colleague now, because if he didn't accept this proposition then he couldn't be allowed to leave the manor alive, hence the dungeon cell. Even obliviated, the knowledge Albiorix would take from this place was too valuable to risk. Either the man would accept, or he could die like the rest.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"The Ministry was a long-awaited plan,"</span>he smirked behind his beard.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"It had to be brazen. An attack large enough to gain the attention we needed in order to bring people like you . . . and Niah,"</span>he motioned the dead girl,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080"> "out of hiding. It was also the first true test of her Majesty's strength. Keeping shades alive, and dementors under her will, from such a distance was the true victory that night."</span>Of course he'd waited three long years for his niece to gain control over her newfound powers. He'd honestly not been sure their agenda could work at all until he'd seen what she could do.<br/><br/>As Albiorix basically mocked his offer, Jora began to grow annoyed. It was clear this man had yet to be convinced, but of course he had no qualms killing him as he lay upon the table. Or perhaps . . . maybe they could keep him around, use him to help another, more willing, participant become Reborn.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"Her Majesty is nothing like Lord Voldemort aside from inheriting his strength."</span>Though, that wasn't exactly the truth, but certainly the best lie to gain the numbers they would need to reignite confidence in the Dark Arts. Even Addlyn herself believed it and Jora was determined to keep things as such.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"And if you do not fear death, then I'm sure you won't mind if I erase you from existence before you've seen proof of our strength."</span>He withdrew his own wand, pressing it none too gently into the muscle above Albi's heart. No, on second thought, as Joramir pictured the jeering confidence of a much younger Albi, he would kill the upstart himself and just tell his niece that he hadn't been able to sway him.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"Of course, you realize that I cannot allow you to leave here unless we have your complete allegiance." </span>He pressed the tip of his wand painfully into Albi's skin, twisting it.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080"> "So consider your next words carefully . . . "</span><br/><br/>Just then the heavy door swung open again as two more cloaked figures, Reborn, entered the cell with a levitating body in tow beneath a sheet. The chest rose and fell, but no one had been at home for several months, the mind completely gone from it's healthy shell. With a sneer, Jora removed himself from Albi's side in favor of overseeing the ritual.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"Observe, Albiorix, the power of immortality."</span>He turned his back to the man, completely enamored with the process as the Reborn rested the body beside Niah. The magical bindings holding Albiorix to the slab continued to weaken, just as the heat left Niah's body. It wasn't long before the spell faded completely, leaving the former Death Eater lying upon the table of his own will. No ropes. The ritual continued, a hand disappearing beneath Niah's robes, resurfacing with a thin chain in tow, the small dark pendent still warm even as the body cooled. The sheet was spelled away, revealing the breathing form of a much older woman. Comatose, and retrieved from rather questionable sources. Niah's pendant was placed inside the mouth, her wrist cut, and a few droplets of crimson from her previous body dripped into the new one. One of the Reborn began an incantation, the words etched permanently into the skin of his chest, as the pendent began to glow red.<br/><br/>It wasn't long before the body heaved a violent breathe.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"Welcome back."<br/>
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</span>​</div>Hawke's dark green robes whirled about him as he turned to face the house in the photo, the house now implanted within his own mind as if he'd been here before. He felt the magic around the crumbling structure, keeping muggles from becoming curious, though Hawke half wondered if perhaps spells were now the only thing keeping the neglected home standing, as part of its very skeleton were visible in places where it had once been aflame.<br/><br/>He half expected a flashback of burning his own childhood home to the ground, but it seemed his mental barriers had been well re-established in spite of . . . certain setbacks. Heaving a sigh of relief, the Auror moved cautiously toward the steps, withdrawing his own wand as his other hand reached out for the heavy knob. A certain thrill of apprehension rolled over him, almost making him turn back, but he recognized the fearful aura for what it was and pressed onward. Hawke questioned if perhaps the door had been locked, but paint chips crackled onto his sleeve as he forced it open for what felt like the first time in decades with a loud screech. His boots stepped inside, the sound of his own footsteps nearly deafening amid the silence, trumped only by the click of the door echoing behind him. Hawke suddenly felt as if he'd stepped into another realm as he continued further into the bowels of the ancient home, eyeing the darkened wallpaper and thick coating of dust on every surface. Why this building was still here was beyond him . . .<br/><br/>He tried to picture the rafters from Albi's memories, tried to imagine the place filled with dark smoke, but the fires had destroyed anything that Hawke recognized enough to trigger the flashback again. So he'd have to settle for investigating things the old fashioned way, with his own intellect rather than relying on this new, and worrisome, connection he seemed to have forged with a Death Eater.<br/><br/>The floor groaned beneath his feet with every step, though even as he stopped to gain his bearings, the sound persisted.<br/><br/>It was then that Hawke realized, with goosebumps growing along his neck, that he was not alone in this place, the creaking of floorboards continuing even as he stood motionless in the hallway. And . . . humming? Indeed, as he strained his ears, a disarming tune danced over him, but Hawke was not about to let himself turn back . . . even if the place were infested with bogarts. He followed the eerie tune until it lead him to the source, and Hawke found himself blinking, wand trained, at the back of an elderly woman. The creaking hadn't been from floorboards at all, but her rocking chair. Eyes narrowed, Hawke opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080"> "I wondered... how long it would take you... to come home... Albion..."</span><br/><br/>Hawke's mouth hung open as he stood in the doorway, a myriad of actions parading through his mind as he watched the woman rock at a calming pace.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"Home . . . at last,"</span>he answered, thinking that it must have been a very long time since this woman had heard Albiorix's voice.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#b30000">"I'm sorry it's been so long."</span>Whoever this woman was, he was determined to find out her relationship to Albiorix. Perhaps he could play this to his favor.