Black Grace and Brimstone

by Treble15

Voldemort's supporters mounted when he rose again. Some of his Death Eaters were students that came inside of Hogwarts, itself. Liora Cavyon is a fifth year student when she is branded with the Dark Mark, binding her to the Death Eaters and Voldemort. However, being branded is simply not enough for Liora to know where her beliefs and loyalties truly lie.

1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: I OBVIOUSLY DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER OR ANYTHING J.K. ROWLING CREATED—ALL RIGHTS GO DESERVINGLY TO HER. I ONLY OWN LIORA.

There was always the inconceivable notion of what I would eventually have to do. As a child, it seemed exciting, my parents coming back scratched and bruised, but smiling for The Cause. I didn't know what they did exactly, but they did it for a reason. That reason would remain abstract until I was thirteen.

When that reason was finally resurrected, I fully was immersed into what my parents really did. Before, I had been naively blind. They were as brutal as their name suggested—consumers of the grave.

Death Eaters.

That was what I was always destined to be. Since the day I was born, my arm was never mine. It was marked as You-Know-Who's. Most people were born with a blank slate, a chance for them to build a future and go anywhere they pleased. That had never been the case for me.

You-Know-Who's glory and undeniable power was burned into my mind from the time where I began to remember things. It had been rumored my first word was crucio, but that was just a myth. Too bad though, that would've been some indicator that my predestined path was the right one.

Of course, everyone would say it was the right one. How could it not be? It was apparently impossible for any pureblood—or half-blood, in my mother's case—to be wrong. Those disgusting Mudbloods and Muggles would be our demise, as I was taught. We had to end them before they ended us.

And a child can be taught something as horrible as killing other people. It's okay, as long as it's justified—which I was also taught. As long as the killing was in the name of the Dark Lord.

I had once brought up the connotation between evil and darkness which always confused me because the Dark Lord was the Dark Lord. But, weren't we the good guys?

Not good, right. Being right was more important than being good, according to my mother who proceeded to forbid me from ever saying that again. It was dangerous to doubt the Dark Lord.

I didn't have conviction in him, I had my doubts.

It was a damn good thing I had been conditioned never to cringe, to always wear a mask, hiding my real thoughts. That would be my grace for a long time.

Until something came along and broke that black grace.