Silver serpents
The green envelope felt like a brand against Evan Roser's fingers, the Malfoy family crest embossed in silver mocking his already foul mood. He reread the demanding script, Lucius Malfoy's elegantly spidery handwriting practically spitting off the parchment: Your Presence Required at Malfoy Manor. Tea Party. Welcoming Madame Lestrange. Fostering Unity. Silver Serpents. Evan crumpled the letter in his fist, the fine paper creaking under the pressure. A tea party? For Rabastan Lestrange's muggle-born wife? The sheer absurdity of it was enough to make him reach for the strongest firewhiskey, even before midday.
He stalked to the fireplace, tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the embers. "Antonion Dolohov!" he barked into the green flames. For a moment, only static crackled back. Then, the image cleared, and the tropical vibrancy of Hawaii assaulted his senses. Antonion, tanned and relaxed, reclined in a hammock strung between two palm trees, a half-empty coconut shell precariously balanced on his chest. The rhythmic crash of ocean waves provided a soothing counterpoint to Evan's simmering rage.
"Christ, Antonion! Are you even in the same hemisphere?" Evan snapped, the fire in the hearth mirroring the fire in his gut.
Antonion blinked slowly, languidly adjusting his sunglasses. "Roser, old boy. To what do I owe the…displeasure?" He took a long, audible sip from his coconut. "Coconut leverage, by the way. Remarkable stuff."
Evan resisted the urge to throttle the Floo flames. "Malfoy. Letter. Tea party. Manor. Today."
Antonion’s relaxed demeanor didn't waver. "Let me guess, another delightful opportunity to pretend we’re a cohesive group while Lucius swans about and we all sip lukewarm tea?"
"Worse," Evan grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It’s for Madame Lestrange. The muggle one."
Antonion’s eyebrows finally twitched. "Rabastan’s… bride? At Malfoy Manor? Lucius has lost his already tenuous grip on sanity." He chuckled, a low rumble that did little to soothe Evan’s frayed nerves. "Well, lucky for me, I'm currently engaged in…intensive research into the properties of tropical fruit. Tell Lucy I'm indisposed."
Evan sighed, running a hand through his already messy dark hair. "Don't be an idiot, Antonion. This is Malfoy summoning the 'Silver Serpents'. It's not optional."
"Oh, 'Silver Serpents' now, is it? Last I checked, during the pleasant Potter and Black fiasco, we were rather more akin to ‘Silver Sacrificial Lambs'," Antonion drawled, but a flicker of something sharper entered his eyes. He knew what 'Silver Serpents' meant. It was their old Slytherin clique, the inner circle within the Death Eaters, the ones who were supposed to be close, loyal.
Evan severed the connection with Antonion before his temper completely erupted. He needed to contact the Parkinsons next. He muttered the incantation and tossed more Floo Powder, this time picturing the sun-drenched landscapes of Italy.
The image flickered into focus revealing a scene vastly different from Antonion’s beachside idyll. Eamon Parkinson, looking remarkably relaxed in a crisp linen shirt, had his arm draped around his wife, Yara. They were lounging on a balcony overlooking a breathtaking vista of rolling Tuscan hills, a bottle of wine and half-eaten plate of pasta on a small table beside them.
"Evan!" Yara's voice was bright, a stark contrast to the gloom that had settled over Evan. "Darling, what a surprise! Just when we were about to sample the local Chianti."
Eamon waved, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Roser! Say you've finally decided to join us for the honeymoon extension? Italy is doing wonders for Yara's… temper." He winked.
Evan’s patience snapped. "Silver Serpents, it’s me, Evan," he practically spat into the flames.
Yara’s smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of concern. "Evan? Darling, what's the urgency? Did our dear best friend Rabastan Lestrange's muggle wife have a round with you after the Potter and Black incident? Tortured them into oblivion, didn't she?" There was a playful glint in her eyes, a hint of the sharp-tongued Slytherin beneath the honeymoon haze.
“Yara, this isn’t the time for jokes, honestly. Ever since you married Eamon, you’ve become an annoying jester like him. And I can’t even hex you because you're a woman," he sighed, the weight of the situation dragging him down.
Antonion's voice, surprisingly, boomed through the Floo from Hawaii, apparently having kept the line open. "He's right, Parkinson. Though the ‘jester’ comment was uncalled for, Roser." He paused, taking another dramatic sip of his coconut. "But still, Evan, if you think that I would come back to the UK and endure another nonsense tea party after we became meat shields due to Lucy’s insistence for Rabastan and his muggle wife again, then think again."
Antonion continued, a sudden edge entering his voice, "And Parkinsons, you two have used the excuse of a honeymoon to escape Voldemort's orders to kill mudbloods, and two days later, the psychopath is as good as dead. Me and Evan have suffered enough. You two should come back to the UK and do a portion of your loyalty to our best friend."
Eamon blinked, genuinely surprised. “Why are you blaming us for? Besides, why would we want to kill mudbloods and muggles for no reason?”
Yara rolled her eyes at her husband’s blatant attempt at feigned innocence. "Anyway," she cut in, regaining control of the conversation. "Back to the situation in hand, what did the letter say, Evan?"
Evan, frustrated but seeing a glimmer of seriousness in Yara’s eyes, pulled the crumpled letter from his robes. He unfolded it and read aloud, emphasizing Malfoy’s pompous tone. “'It says that we need to come to the tea party at Malfoy Manor to all of the Silver serpents, and that’s us, the Silver Serpents of Slytherin.'"
Yara’s eyes widened, and a gasp escaped her lips. "Evan, you idiot!"
The two men startled, Antonion nearly dropping his coconut, wine sloshing over the rim. "Yara! What’s wrong?" Antonion exclaimed, slightly more alert now.
Yara stood abruptly, her relaxed honeymoon demeanor vanishing completely, replaced by the sharp, calculating Slytherin they all knew. "This is not a tea party, you pack of blithering buffoons! It's an emergency meeting for all of our pureblood elite!" She paced the balcony, her voice taking on a clipped, commanding edge. "Anton, gather all the ex-Death Eaters, our allies, and all of our Slytherin loyalists. Even the ones who ran away the first chance they got. Every single Silver Serpent."
Antonion, despite his earlier languor, reacted instantly to the shift in Yara’s tone. "Alright, Yara," he said, pushing himself out of the hammock, the relaxed facade finally dissolving. "I'll gather everyone. As soon as I finish my…beverage." He lifted the coconut shell with a hint of his old sardonic smile.
Yara, with a speed that belied her elegant appearance, vanished from the balcony for a split second and reappeared, a bucket of ice in her hands. Before Antonion could react, she vanished again and then reappeared in Hawaii, directly behind him, and dumped the icy water over his head with a satisfying splash.
"Bloody Merlin!" Antonion shrieked, sputtering and shivering in the sudden cold. His laid-back Hawaiian charm was replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated shock.
Yara’s voice was sharp, devoid of any amusement. "Now, Anton! Move it!" She turned to Evan, her gaze unwavering. “And Evan, prepare a cauldron of Firewhiskey. We’re going to need it. Something tells me this ‘Madame Lestrange’ is not here for polite introductions and cucumber sandwiches. Looks like we’re back in the game, gentlemen,” she concluded, a grim smile playing on her lips, “and this Madame Lestrange is the center of all the upcoming chaos.” Eamon, now thoroughly sobered by Yara’s sudden transformation, just gulped and nodded, already mentally cancelling their romantic gondola ride scheduled for the following day. Their honeymoon was officially over. The silver snakes, it seemed, were being summoned back to the pit.