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That Butler
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Bad Jew

A corner of the crowded dining room of Shell Cottage was occupied by Vicente Volerre, a deceptively-young, but attractive male. He was currently garbed in a cloak, the hood resting uselessly on his shoulders and upper back. It was unnecessary when he was indoors, particularly when he was being so cautious to keep out of the sunlight flooding in through the windows. This particularly corner was well-shielded from the sunlight, seeing as it was where two walls met the ceiling. He was situated comfortable there, one hand on either wall and his boot-clad feet doing the same. Every so often during this particular gathering he took his hands off the wall, but even then he was able to keep in place. His strong legs kept him steady, and he put his hands back on the wall whenever the toned lower limbs could use the break.

When Hermione left the cottage, he observed the others in the room with an air of disinterest. Their chatter meant nothing to him. He knew well enough that they were reluctant to accept someone like him among them. A werewolf was only dangerous to its friends and allies three nights each month. A vampire, on the other hand... Well, they dangerous side of their nature could surface at any time if one was not careful. Vicente had thus far resisted any urge to harm any of the Order of the Phoenix, but he still made an effort to avoid these kinds of gatherings when possible. He was only here today because he had hoped to hear some kind of news from the brilliant young witch who had just left to get some fresh air. Particularly if there was any news of Fenrir Greyback.

His brown eyes took on a bit of red and glazed over as he thought about that damned werewolf. He could remember their first meeting as though it had been yesterday rather than over a decade ago. He remembered how Greyback had tried to convince him and his mate Madeline to join the Dark Lord's cause. He remembered how he and Madeline had refused. He remembered how Greyback had viciously murdered Madeline right before his eyes...

He blinked, his thoughts returning slowly to the here and now. There was a bit of unwanted moisture in his eyes after thinking about his departed lover, and he blinked a few more times in an attempt to regain control of his watering eyes. They returned to their usual shade of brown, no longer their momentary shade of russet. He was suddenly quite aware of just how many people with pulses were in the room, and he put his hood in place over his head before fleeing the cottage, moving along the ceiling like a shadow to avoid being hindered by the crowd.

Once outside, he took up a position on the roof of the cottage, simply sitting there and staring out at the sea. The cloak protected him well enough from the sunlight, but it was still uncomfortable for him to be under its blazing rays. They warmed the dark grey cloak considerably, and he shifted back to find any kind of shade he could. Anything to provide some relief.

Once he was settled, his eyes fixed on Hermione as she did her own bit of thinking. They were not really watching her, though. They were simply gazing in her direction while his mind's eye traveled back to Madeline. He missed her. He missed her more than anything else in his life. She had been his entire world before she was stolen from him. They had been mates for over twenty years. Twenty glorious, blissful years which he knew would never be repeated in his life. His soul mate was dead, and the pain of her loss never faded. Especially since he considered her death to be his fault. If he had been faster. If he had been stronger, braver...

No. He wouldn't let himself dwell on the long list of "what if"s that had plagued him ever since that terrible night. Madeline was gone, and nothing he did was going to bring her back. But he was going to avenge her. He would kill Greyback, and he would stop the Dark Lord. It wouldn't erase his guilt, but he hoped revenge would bring him some form of comfort.

Anything was better than going on in his current state.
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