Who: Caradoc Dearborn and Grayson Wilkes
What: Someone missed their deadline.
Where: Caradoc's Manor-type-thing.
When: Just after 12:01 AM on the 6th. No, really.

Today was the 5th. That might not have been important to anyone else, but it was very important for one Grayson Wilkes. Yes, in fact ... it was important enough that Grayson was making a personal visit on what he considered to be an extension of the Christmas holidays. An occasion indeed.

It wasn't difficult for Grayson Wilkes to find himself in the middle of the Dearborn Manor. Sure, there were certainly wards ... but he was a very determined man, honestly. He made sure to leave the entrance door slightly ajar once he was inside and settled into the living room, making himself at home. Was it an invasion of privacy? Definitely. Did Grayson much care at the moment? No, not at all.

The more he could make Dearborn squirm the better.

He was currently rearranging a book shelf so that it was ordered alphabetically by subject and author.

His hand hovered a few inches in front of the door, not ready to push it open just yet. So--- he should feel more anxious right now than he actually was. His front door left open should have at least left him an unsettling aftertaste in his mouth, but it didn't. And he should have just turned around and left, but... no, he didn't particularly want to. Or felt that he could.

Yes, Caradoc was well aware of the plan Dumbledore had concocted, but that didn't mean he was going to follow through every single aspect of it. There was no way that one could simply... avoid someone like Grayson Wilkes, especially in a situation like this. There honestly wasn't a point in bothering. The other man would find him, wherever he would be, Caradoc was sure of that, just like how he would if it was the other way around.

He sighed quietly, clearing his mind as he took in as much air as possible. This was such an intensely strange feeling, having everything in place. Potter and some others were watching Juliet (it was only a matter of time before she noticed that too, but---), someone, he didn't know who, had--- Emmeline, which left... just him.

Well.

As calm as he ever thought he would be, Caradoc pushed the door open loudly and walked into the house. His wand was in his pocket-- it hit his leg with every step. It didn't take long for him to find Grayson, it wasn't exactly like the other man was hiding from him.

"I see you've made yourself at home."

Hiding would have implied that he was ashamed of being here or that he was concerned about Caradoc finding him, and that just wasn't the case. He set down the book he'd been putting back on the shelf before he turned to Caradoc with an arched brow and a superficially polite smile.

"Can you blame me, honestly? It's just so very familiar to me, a family manor." The Wilkes manor was probably a little more intimidating, though, and probably full of more booby-trapped rooms than you could shake a stick at -- not that Grayson was going to be bringing that up.

No, "I was just assuring myself that you weren't ill, Mr. Dearborn. After all, it was my understanding that you would have killed Miss Vance already. Perhaps I was unclear before?" He flexed his gloved hands and turned to face Caradoc fully, impassively waiting for an explanation.

"I'm sure that you would hate to have people questioning where your loyalty laid." Especially if he were to bring it up to someone like, say, Voldemort.

Caradoc stood still, carefully watching Grayson's every move. He had thought about this very moment for almost a week now--- how it would begin, where he would be standing, and what, if anything, he would say. Though now that he was here, and it was actually happening, it seemed a bit... anticlimactic. Wilkes hadn't intimidated him nearly as much as he thought he would have, and he certainly did not feel afraid in anyway. Yes, definitely an intensely strange emotion he was feeling then. Or, lack of, he supposed.

So without hesitation, Caradoc directed his gaze to the ground (not completely no, he hadn't lost his mind fully), keeping one eye on Grayson as he spoke. "Yes, how unfortunate that would be," he stated slowly, not remotely try to hide his mocking tone. Honestly. He hadn't cared about that in the beginning---- so why should he have to care now? Things didn't seem as important anymore.

"I didn't kill her," Caradoc stated simply, one shoulder raising slightly with his sentence. His tone was as if implying a minute fact, nothing exactly to get worked up over. Though-- ha haa. He took out his wand quickly, but let it seem to lay limp in his hand. Strange, how he had decided not to lie. At least it was a first.

He dragged his gaze toward Grayson, slightly surprised that he hadn't attacked him yet. "I don't know where she is."

Well, attacking Caradoc would suggest to the other man that Grayson considered him a threat, and the fact was ... that just wasn't true. It was probably arrogant of him (especially now that Caradoc had his wand drawn) but he was convinced that Caradoc wasn't much of a threat to him. He did pull out his wand eventually, but he rolled it thoughtfully between his fingers and merely ducked his head for a moment, a smile gracing his lips.

"If you are going to lie," he mused, trying to suppress the sudden urge he was having to laugh, "you could at least try to be convincing." The fact that Caradoc wasn't even trying was -- well, relatively hilarious. Had the boy already given up? Was he just too stupid to understand what serious consequences this was going to have for him?

Grayson licked his lips. Killing him now would be silly, not when he could take so much away from the other man before doing him in. Torture really was one of his favorite pastimes, and he wanted to get as much of it in during the holiday season as possible. Time to switch tactics to psychological fuckery.

"How long have you been betraying the Dark Lord, Mr. Dearborn? Just a ballpark figure is quite fine. A year, two, more?"

If he wasn't going to kill him, as it was becoming evident now, then Caradoc honestly didn't see why he had to bother with this. It was rather frustrating, just waiting for something he knew was going to happen, to happen. Though that was what Grayson wanted--- to fuck with him until he started begging. Which, he was not going to do. No, no, if he was going to die now, he might as well go out with some form of decency.

And--- ha, ha, well. What else did Grayson possibly think he could pull on him now to make things much worse than they already were? It would really take a lot for him to completely loose his mind now.

"One assignment unfulfilled makes me a traitor?" Well--- actually yes, but that didn't mean Caradoc was going to blatantly dig himself down any deeper. There was more than enough sarcasm in his voice than necessary, though honestly he could care less. He wondered briefly for a moment how long this would last; this aggravating talking before he finally attacked him. Either way, Caradoc was ready to fight back. No way in hell that he was simply going to sit there and let Wilkes win. No, no, he might be a lot of things at that point, but not completely suicidal.

"That's a steep accusation for one mistake, after all this time."

"No, you see ... if this were your first mistake I think that I might be more inclined to believe that you aren't a traitor. Unfortunately it's not." Grayson had been watching him for some time, quietly -- he hadn't said anything until now because he had needed to be sure. He knew that accusing someone of treachery wasn't something to take on lightly even if he didn't think it was all that big a deal -- just keeping house.

"I think we both know that it's been going on for longer than that. This Vance, though, she's the most concrete evidence that you aren't thinking clearly." Ah, that was the trick and he knew it: the most fun laid in finding something that someone cared about and taking it away. "It's a shame that you didn't kill her yourself, Caradoc. I am going to have much more fun and she is going to die much slower." He was grinning again -- he really was looking forward to it, getting his revenge.

Whenever the time came. He twirled his wand again, then gripped the handle hard.

Caradoc felt his face begin to twitch with anger, and his body surge back to life. Over his dead body Grayson Wilkes would lay another finger on Emmeline. The reality of that statement was a bit overwhelming, but, at that point, Caradoc could only focus on one thing at a time. He took a deep breath to try and look visibly collected and unaffected, but honestly. It didn't fucking matter how he looked or acted anymore, so he wasn't exactly trying too hard.

"You won't be able to touch her," he growled fiercely, his grip tightening greatly on his wand. If he was going to die for her anyway, he would just as well still fight to protect her now--- or as long as he could. It was fitting, not to mention the only thing he was able to think about.

So instinctly, Caradoc's body moved into the ready position for a duel. Or... a duel was too civilized of a name. A fight, then, because they both knew it had been coming eventually, and neither of them were going to abide by any forms of rules in the slightest. Maybe--- maybe--- Caradoc let himself believe for a second that he would come out of this alive. It was possible--- prolonging the inevitable--- but still very possible. He was skilled enough, at least.

"I won't let you," Caradoc finished, completely ready now.

Grayson couldn't help that his lips curled back in what probably amounted to a disgusted snarl. "You're a petty fool, Dearborn, protecting that slag."

Of course he knew that the boy was fond of the little wench, but to be so ready to die for someone of inferior breeding who had done very little as far as he knew to actually prove useful ... well. It wasn't difficult for him to muster up the intense, burning hatred for someone who would turn against the flock to throw the curse he was looking for once Caradoc moved himself into position.

"CRUCIO!" Certainly not his favorite spell, but he meant it more as a distraction than anything else. He palmed a long-bladed knife after he threw the spell, lunging forward with the full intent of at least cutting Caradoc somewhere.

Caradoc had been ready for a curse, at the least. An Unforgivable had been expected, so that had been easy enough to dodge. But the knife--- ah, well, yes that wasn't as simple. He should have seen it coming, because once again, this was Wilkes he was dealing with here, but it didn't occur to him that he would have brought one, or shown it so quickly. A short, gutted howl escaped his lips against his will to show pain as the weapon sliced open a large gash through his robes and across his left arm.

Oh--- his left arm. If there had been time, Caradoc would have laughed at the irony of Grayson's first attack. He was without a doubt that the wound on his arm had cut right though his mark. Wasn't that just funnily ironic? His blood began to pour out of his arm, falling down onto the--- rug. Caradoc grimaced for a second, aggravated that his blood had fallen to the ground first and--- when Roderick inherited the house, he was going to have a lot of cleaning up to do.

Jumping away, Caradoc did not hesitate to attack. Wordlessly, he cast a conjunctivitis curse as Grayson began to approach him again. He did not wait, however, to see if the curse had hit, but attacked again as soon as he was able. "Confringo!" Caradoc hissed outloud, jutting his wand forcefully as his feet began to slide back toward the door.

Grayson knew very well what arm he was aiming for and he had his own reasons for it: someone as obvious a traitor as Caradoc Dearborn did not deserve to be graced with the Dark Mark any longer and although he wanted the other man to suffer the pains of the mark for the rest of his life, a flesh wound across the top of it would be a nice reminder of what it was to meddle in things like a coward.

He hadn't been prepared for the conjunctivitis curse, though, and it showed -- he staggered back as his gaze blurred and cursed loudly in the back of his throat, ugly and Russian. Merlin, he played dirty -- the odd laughter that bubbled up from his throat reflected just how hilarious he thought that particular fact was. Maybe he had been a genuine Death Eater at some point.

Then again, probably not. He did the most logical thing he could think of and felt around for a rather large something -- anything, really, but it probably ended up being the bookcase he'd been rearranging before -- to push himself behind. The blasting curse still caught his left side, though, and he glared through blurred vision. He himself shot a poorly-aimed "Deprimo!" at the general direction he hoped Caradoc was in -- the wide-blast of it would at least increase his chances of hitting him, right? Assuming he hadn't mistaken the chair in the room for Caradoc, which was entirely possible considering how damned fuzzy his vision was.

A twisted smile spread across Caradoc's face as he watched Grayson fumble, though it quickly died once the other man began to laugh. Instead, his face hardened and he gripped his wand tighter in his right hand, looking to completely ignore the pain from his other arm. No doubt there was some form of poison on the tip of the knife that would paralyze or---

The thought that he would actually have the possibility to kill Grayson hadn't crossed his mind before. It had seemed--- stupid to think that he had a chance to win, but now... things had turned in his favor. And even though overall it was a losing battle (eventually, they would get him), starting here with Wilkes suddenly didn't seem that unrealistic. In fact, it was the only thing worthwhile to accomplish. Least to say, it wasn't hard for Caradoc to spur himself to do it, and the same twisted smile reappeared on his face.

"Avada---" he started, but was unable to finish as the table in front of him nearly exploded, throwing him back into the hallway completely. While Grayson had indeed missed, the bits of table certainly had not missed their mark. Caradoc let out a loud groan as he lay as he fell on his back. His whole face basically felt like it had been attacked by--- well no, there were shards of wood embedded in his face now, he was certain of that.

For a moment, he continued to lay on the stone floor, finding it hard to breathe. But the sound of Grayson stumbling in the other room made him twitch back to life. He was in the other room, and he was in the hallway, outside of the door. It took longer than it should have, but eventually Caradoc pieced two and two together painfully.

Rolling to his side, Caradoc pointed his wand at the door, hoping that by locking Grayson in the room, it would give him more time to come back to his senses. Or run. Or kill him. His head needed time to stop swimming first to decide.

Oh, for Merlin's fucking sake. He let out a frustrated growl at the sound of the locking door and rolled onto his side, trying to figure out just where he was headed. He could try to get out into the hall and hunt Caradoc down, but the fact was that the other man had more than one advantage on him -- the other man could see clearly, for one, and for another he had the one exit out the door whereas Caradoc had countless places to hide.

Which left one option in Grayson's mind, as much as he hated to think of it: running. He'd escape the house and then decide what to do, perhaps bring Caradoc's little indiscretion to the other Death Eaters in an effort to rally up a force to maim and kill the other man at a time of their choosing. Yes, that seemed like a much better idea right now. He groaned to himself and pushed away from the bookshelf, feeling along until he found a door that wasn't the one Caradoc had gone out of -- or a window, whichever. He just needed to get outside of the building to overcome the anti-apparation charms and head home to nurse his wounds.

It ended up being the latter -- a window that he stumbled out of, landing hard on his back. Knowing the noise was going to alert Caradoc as to his whereabouts, he forced himself to focus and disapparated with a loud crack.

This was going to be hell to explain to Ophelia.

As soon as Caradoc let out a sigh of relief and fell back onto the floor, the real pain his body had been experiencing kicked in. Holy shit, his face--- and his arm-- the whole front of his body began to twitch with agony, despite the fact that he was positive he had no broken bones. It was the wood, so much shit now rooted in his face--- he had to get out of here.

His own blood smeared across the floor as he began to drag himself up. Wow, this was--- Caradoc barely let himself believe that he had heard Grayson leave. It seemed--- this was bad. Nor did he believe that--- Order house, Order house. That was the only safe place now. After a couple of minutes full of stumbling, panting and more dragging, he positioned himself next to the fireplace and clumsily threw floo into it. The fire against his body felt good, but only for a second. Then it just felt like his body was burning double what it had been before.

Staggering forward, he hoarsely directed to be sent to the Order house. Holy shit, why couldn't Grayson just have done the job and killed him?