The leather chair gave a slight creak and groan as Abraxas adjusted himself in his seat. He watched the flames dance in the fireplace as he swirled a glass of bourbon in his hand. A tall grandfather clock ticked in the background and after a while of silent contemplation it brought Abraxas out of his thoughts with a chime.
It was late. Well, he was late at least, and one thing that Abraxas could not stand was tardiness. If you had been asked to meet someone it was only polite that you meet them on time. The ticking of the clock continued to announce the passing of the time and finally the knock on the door came.
“M-m-master,” squeaked one of the family house elves, the name of which Abraxas did not know and did not care for, “Mister Flintwood is here.”
“About time too,” he sneered, “Send him through.”
Abraxas waited for the man to enter the room, he did not stand not turn when her heard the footsteps behind him. Simply remained seated where he was. When he realised that the coward was not going to step forward and show his face he rested the glass down on the arm of his chair and took a breath.
“You have made me wait long enough Richard, sit, we have things to discuss,” he ordered gesturing to the seat that sat nearby. He watched the man shuffle forward and sit awkwardly in the high back armchair. He certainly looked out of place. “Now, how did things go?”
The man was nervous, it was evident in his eyes and body language, the shaking of his leg and the rubbing of his palms. Whatever news he had come to deliver it did not seem as if the man was comfortable with speaking it.
“I m-m-must first say that it wasn’t my fault,” he began with a stutter.
“It was your operation Flintwood, your problems, your fault,” he retorted and took a sip of his drink before letting his eyes wander back to the flames.
“Y-y-yes Sir,” he rung his hands more furiously and his eyes darted around the room, “W-w-well, we had to pull out Sir. I don’t know how, or who tipped them off, but we were nearly discovered by a group of muggles...”
“MUGGLES!?” Abraxas almost dropped his drink in fury, “You are telling me, you failed this operation because of a bunch of lousy muggles?!”
He stormed to his feet and was ready to launch his glass at the pathetic man’s head. It seemed that there was no one you could rely on. Where people really so stupid? Muggles?! He just couldn’t get it round his head. He couldn’t believe it.
“W-w-well, yes Sir,” the man had paled considerably, “their poleese, or whatever they call them. What were we supposed to do?”
“Kill them!”
“But sir, that would mean too many questions, too much trouble, I thought it best that we just try another day?”
Abraxas had turned red, he was fit to explode, he had asked for them to do one simple task, one simple thing and they couldn’t even accomplish that. He probably would have had better luck working with trained baboons or chimpanzees then the men that he seemed to have under his employment.
“Another day?! Another day?!” he slammed his fist down on the back of Flintwood’s chair causing the gangly man to jump , “Do you think Salazar Slytherin got to greatness by completing something another day? I don’t think so. How are we meant to succeed when all you do is fail me?”
“I’m s-s-sorry Sir,” the man quivered, “It won’t happen again.”
“No it certainly won’t Flintwood,” he drew his wand and paced the room running his fingers through his hair, “I’ll make sure you remember.”
He turned to face the man, and saw the fright in his widening eyes. He aimed his wand at the man’s chest and muttered the simple curse.
The house elves that were working down in the kitchens continued about their business without stopping as they heard the scream of a man echo through the house. Their master was cruel and harsh and they knew that they had to do as he said or it would be them that ended up at the end of his wand, and they were sure that he wouldn’t mind having another House Elf head to add to the many that lined the walls on the East Wing corridor.
“Now get out!” Abraxas kicked at the man that had fallen from his chair in writhing agony, “Do not fail me again Flintwood.”
The man crawled from the room as Abraxas poured himself another drink and downed it in one. He needed more people that he could trust and rely on. He would find them.
