Charles couldn't remember what he was doing here.

Not literally of course. He knew what he was doing here, his given role for the evening's festivities, if one could really call them festivities. But what Charles was lacking was a reason to be here. He was pretty sure there was something he'd rather be doing. Anything at all. Writing a novella or something was better than this. Because if he were writing he wouldn't have to wear this mask, and he didn't particularly like masks.

Masks were the reason they met in the dark. Because one couldn't see in the dark anyway, so one wouldn't notice that wearing a mask limited his vision. However Charles did notice, and it did piss him off. Usually doing anything death eatery pissed him off. He liked being a Death Eater well enough, when there was no actual work involved. But things that required mysterious red bottles, darkened tunnels, and attacking trains, he wasn't so hot on. Fetching things was one thing. He was very good at just going and borrowing things with no intention of returning them. If someone wanted something or someone poisoned, ok. He could make most of those poisons in his sleep. But this crazy stuff some of these people enjoyed. Really, they should use the Death Eaters for there talents… This was not Charles's talent.

But he was getting pretty good at sulking in spaces where he was sure he wouldn't be seen. At least not until they needed him to do something. And so far… there wasn't a whole lot to do, just sulking.

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