The Drage Residence

[Tristan Drage]

Tristan acknowledged Lief's last comment with a nod, and added, "I shall see you later."

He turned to Garett. "Yes, I suppose we should meet before then. I don't know if I will be attending the meeting later though. You seem to know me well." He took another sip of wine, his gaze vacant and uninterested.

 

[Garett Black]

"Goodbye, Tristan," Garett said quickly, and left. Now, Tristan would be left alone with Lissandra. He silently wished the new father the best.

 

[Lissandra Zabini]

Lissandra eyed the wine, wanting to have a glass, but her mind was now preoccupied with her baby. She was going to bring a healthy child into the world, and she never drank responsibly in the first place, so she just passed up the opportunity.

Planting a swift kiss on Tristan's forehead, she said quietly, "I must tell my mother of our child. Are you going to be alright on your own? I'll see you in a few days." She turned to leave.

 

[Tristan Drage]

I've been alone for ten years, I think I can handle it, Tristan wanted to reply, but instead said, "I'll be fine." He took a long draught of wine as Lissandra left, and filled up his glass once more to the brim, so that a few drops spilled onto the table. He was going to need more than a few shots this night, left to dwell alone in his own thoughts.

 

[Tristan Drage]

Days passed slowly as Tristan sat around, having nothing to do and no one to visit. He almost welcomed the burning sensation in his arm as he was summoned. An emergency meeting, he supposed. The Dark Mark would flare with pain until he got there. Many times he had ignored it, and been chastised for it, over the years.

With a sigh he walked outside, disapparating at the doorstep so that Muggles would be unable to see him.

 

[Tristan Drage]

Tristan returned home from the meeting tired and disoriented, and was looking to take a nap. He strode through the door, not bothering to turn the lights on as he intended to crash on the couch.

However, he started as someone, a strange woman, appeared sleeping on his couch. "What the hell-" he cursed, and flicked on the light. Whoever it was, she was a witch, and she was not sleeping. Her eyes were wide and vacant, a bullet hole seeping dried blood in the middle of her forehead. On both of her cheeks were initials: on the left side, RW, and on the right DW, both carved with a knife. He stared at the body, disgusted but having dealt with death before.

He knew who the initials belonged to, and it was obviously a message; Get moving. Apparently, someone wanted him to start killing people. To many, he was not proving his mark as a death eater.

Repulsed, he transfigured the body into a large, dull urn, irritated that he couldn't get any of the sleep that he wanted. He would dispose of it, of course, and then he would report the strange and ghastly occurence. Stepping out of the door, he disapparated with the urn cradled in his arms.