A/N – This was written for JoeCool989's Death Eater Competition on the HPFC forum. I hope you enjoy it. Please read and review :)
Disclaimer – All the trial dialogue is taken from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, and therefore belongs to JK Rowling.
The Traitor
Igor Karkaroff was dragged into the large courtroom, too overcome by a sense of despair to pay any attention to the hundreds of Wizengamot members, seated on the benches around the chamber. He collapsed into the chair in the centre of the room and shivered in his thin, ragged, grey prison robes. It was only after the hooded Dementors had left the room, that he remembered the reason he was here, and a sudden nervousness crept over him at what he was about to do. Yet, he had thought about it, and there was no other choice – he wouldn't last another week in Azkaban, trapped in the darkest corners of his own mind.
He gave an unconscious twitch as the heavy chains draped around the chair suddenly glowed gold and weaved their way around his arms. They weighed down upon his body, binding him, though not as heavily as the gravity of his situation. He struggled slightly, trying to loosen their tight grip, until a sharp voice rang through the chamber.
"Igor Karkaroff," said Mr Crouch, "you have been brought from Azkaban to present evidence to the Ministry of Magic. You have given us to understand that you have important information for us."
"I have, sir," Karkaroff replied, trying desperately to convey eagerness to help in his shaking voice. "I wish to be of use to the Ministry. I wish to help. I - I know that the Ministry is trying to - to round up the last of the Dark Lord's supporters. I am eager to assist in any way I can…"
"You say you have names for us, Karkaroff," said Mr. Crouch sharply, cutting him off. "Let us hear them, please."
Karkaroff was a little shocked at his abruptness. He had been expecting a little more preamble; time to steel himself for what he was about to do. He began talking very quickly.
"You must understand that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named operated always in the greatest secrecy… he preferred that we - I mean to say, his supporters - and I regret now, very deeply, that I ever counted myself among them - we never knew the names of every one of our fellows - he alone knew exactly who we all were." Visions of the large circle of sinister, masked figures that formed when the Dark Lord summoned his servants to him, crept into Igor's mind. Very few of them he had actually worked with, most he would never have recognised had he passed them in the street. At these chilling meetings, the Dark Lord addressed all but his favourites by their surnames, which now gave Karkaroff very little information. The Wizengamot would think him a joke if he were to supply only surnames of large Pureblood families, like Selwyn or Carrow, which could refer to dozens of witches and wizards.
He was panicking now. How many names could he give? What would he do if his information was worthless? Igor began to wonder whether the Dark Lord had known that he might try to turn in his comrades. Only now did it strike him as odd that he was able to identify so few of them. His master had always seemed to know things about his followers that they barely knew themselves. Karkaroff remembered those cold, red eyes as they pierced into his very soul and was suddenly overcome with fear.
"Yet you say you have some names for us?" said Mr. Crouch, breaking Karkaroff's train of thought.
"I - I do," said Karkaroff quickly, attempting to brush aside his fear, aware that Crouch was losing patience with him. After all, the Dark Lord was finished. All he had to fear now were the Dementors lurking in the corner of the room. "And these were important supporters, mark you", he found himself continuing, eager that the Wizengamot thought his information of the highest quality, though not yet fully prepared to doom those he had once called friends. "People I saw with my own eyes doing his bidding. I give this information as a sign that I fully and totally renounce him, and am filled with a remorse so deep I can barely -"
"These names are?" said Mr. Crouch, cutting him off sharply.
Karkaroff looked up into Crouch's cold, hard eyes. He knew he could not put it off any longer. Yet he also knew that once he said this first name, he would become a traitor. He would spend the rest of his life in fear of those he had once allied himself with. But he had no other choice.
"There was Antonin Dolohov," he began in an attempt at a strong, clear voice, which in fact sounded rather weak and stilted, his nerves settling tightly around his throat. "I - I saw him torture countless Muggles and - and non-supporters of the Dark Lord." In fact, there had been one particular incident of torture that Karkaroff remembered vividly.
He had been told to wait at a nondescript crossroads in the Yorkshire countryside. This was not unusual; the Death Eaters' activities were carefully controlled by the Dark Lord and Igor was used to being sent on missions, without knowing the task, until mere minutes before.
A crack rang out through the silent evening air and Karkaroff turned sharply, gripping the handle of his wand, to see a figure, hooded, masked and dressed in black like himself.
"Karkaroff", the figure said, acknowledging him in a rough, Eastern European accent which Igor recognised instantly. "This way". The man Igor now knew to be Antonin Dolohov, led him up a twisting lane that cut through a dense forest.
"What are we doing tonight?" Igor asked his companion. He had worked with Dolohov several times before and knew him to be a man of few words, so thought it best to get to the point.
"Torture", Antonin replied, a hint of excitement in his voice."Sister of some Bulgarian minister."
"Of what interest is a Bulgarian minister to the Dark Lord?" Igor asked, surprised.
"He's thinking of sending help to our Ministry. Extra aurors, I think. This should dissuade him."
"And his sister lives here?" Karkaroff asked incredulously as they reached a cluster of squat, dilapidated cottages that could hardly be called a village.
"She's filth. Married to Muggle scum. We'd have paid her a visit eventually anyway."
"Are we to kill the Muggle?"
"He's not here. S'just her," Antonin replied, shattering the weak protection spells surrounding a cottage with a sharp flick of his wand.
Karkaroff heard a scream from within the house as Dolohov blasted the door off its hinges, and entered behind him in time to see him disarm the woman standing at the top of the stairs. She was pale and very thin, frozen, with wide, fearful eyes darting back and forth beneath a curtain of dark hair, that was now all that shielded her from the wands of the two Death Eaters. Karkaroff quickly cast silencing charms around them, so no one would disturb them should the woman scream again, and, Karkaroff thought with a smirk, it was pretty likely she would.
"Incarcerous" Dolohov muttered and ropes sprung from the tip of his wand to bind the woman, causing her to tumble down the stairs and fall, writhing and helpless, at their feet.
Dolohov quickly hit her with a stinging hex and she yelped in pain.
"Please...w-what do you want?" she sobbed fearfully.
Both men laughed cruelly. "We want you to tell your fool of a brother that he shouldn't be getting involved with things which don't concern him," Dolohov replied. Karkaroff saw his grey eyes gleam momentarily beneath his mask before he screamed, "Crucio!"
The woman screamed in utter agony, writhing in vain against the ropes which still bound her. Dolohov lifted the curse and, breathless, she struggled to sit up.
Karkaroff raised his wand and, remembering the spell Severus had taught him, cried "Sectumsempra!" Deep cuts appeared on the woman's arms, the skin ripping open, until the ropes that bound them were soaked in her blood.
"That should be enough", Dolohov said roughly and Igor lowered his wand. "For now at least". The older man slashed his wand through the air and a flash of purple flame, his speciality, shot across her chest, briefly illuminating the look of shock on her pale face, before she crumpled to the ground unconscious.
Karkaroff joined Dolohov in a slightly manic laugh as they turned to leave the cottage. As he was about to step through the doorway, back into the cold night air, a photograph, propped up on a small side table, caught Igor's eye. It was a wizarding photograph, the two girls dressed in blood red robes smiling and waving up at him. He recognised both as girls in his year at Durmstrang. Yet the girl on the left was quite clearly a younger image of the woman he had left, breathing shallowly in a pool of her own blood, behind him. He was surprised that he had not noticed before, but he supposed that his mind had simply not associated her expression of wide eyed fear with the smiling face from his past.
Karkaroff brushed the thought out of his mind. He had probably never even spoken to the girl; he certainly couldn't remember her name. She was nothing but another completed task for his master. And yet, Igor still found himself, even now, years later, dreaming about the young, carefree girl who had beamed at him from the photograph.
"We have already apprehended Dolohov," said Crouch, snapping Karkaroff out of his thoughts. "He was caught shortly after yourself."
"Indeed?" said Karkaroff, trying to quickly conceal the disappointment welling up inside him at the news that this first piece of information was worthless. "I - I am delighted to hear it!"
"Any others?" said Crouch, gazing down at the prisoner with cold loathing.
"Why, yes," Karkaroff replied quickly, "there was Rosier. Evan Rosier." He remembered with loathing Severus' brash, reckless friend.
Caradoc Dearborn's unconscious form lifted hauntingly into the air, levitated by Snape's wand.
"We need to get him outside, Severus," Igor whispered, holding open the door which led outside to Dearborn's garden. "The enchantments around the house will not let us apparate."
Snape nodded, and with a flick of his wand their prisoner was disillusioned, taking on the exact colour of the brick wall behind him, before drifting out of the door, Snape following close behind.
"Why are we being so quiet?" Evan asked loudly. "There's no one here!"
Igor and Severus shushed him angrily. "The Dark Lord told us to ensure that no one sees anything," Karkaroff hissed. "This man needs to disappear off the face of the Earth. You need to learn that being a Death Eater isn't always about death and destruction, so keep your mouth shut."
Karkaroff shot Snape a filthy look as soon as he had followed him out of the door. It had been Snape's idea to bring Evan and the inexperienced, newly-marked, young Death Eater had pushed Karkaroff almost to his limit.
The three men followed behind the suspended man in silence, creeping around the side of the now empty house and out into the deserted, narrow Hogsmeade street. Igor and Severus each grabbed one of their prisoner's arms in order to take him, via Side-Along Apparition, back to a small shack in the Scottish highlands, where he would be tortured for information on the Order of the Phoenix. Yet when Karkaroff attempted to turn into the crushing blackness of nothingness, as he had done hundreds of times before, nothing happened.
Snape's usually unreadable, calm eyes widened with shock and fear and met Karkaroff's. They both knew instantly what had happened. Enchantments had been placed over the entire village to prevent them escaping, which could mean only one thing. The aurors knew they were there.
"Why-?" Evan began loudly from behind them, and Karkaroff, turning angrily to quiet him, did not see the jet of silver light that shot towards him from the darkness until it was too late. Certain he was dead, Igor was shocked back to reality a moment later to find himself, Evan, Severus and the still unconscious Dearborn huddled in the middle of an unfamiliar moor.
"What the hell just happened?" Karkaroff asked, blinking light spots caused by the spell that had been fired at him from his eyes.
"Portkey," said Snape simply, holding up the sheathed, silver potions knife that he had pressed into Karkaroff's hand.
"Thanks," Igor muttered, to which Snape simply nodded in reply, before they both turned angrily to the apologetic-looking Evan.
"Rosier is dead," said Crouch. "He was caught shortly after you were too. He preferred to fight rather than come quietly and was killed in the struggle."
"No - no more than Rosier deserved!" said Karkaroff. He did not care that the boy was dead, though, he thought vengefully, he would have rather liked to have been the one to turn him in. But this news was still a blow to him; yet more of his information was worthless, and he feared that soon Crouch would begin to think he was wasting their time. He considered giving Snape's name next, butthen changed his mind. Turning in his friend would be a last resort.
Instead, Karkaroff thought back to the meetings he remembered attending as a Death Eater, delving through his memories for names he had heard, incriminating scraps of evidence. One meeting in particular stood out to him. The Dark Lord had been growing increasingly confident as the Ministry showed further signs of weakening and he had been less concerned with concealing information from his followers. It had been just a few weeks before he had been captured and his former master had been in an uncharacteristically good mood.
"Stand", the Dark Lord commanded in a high, cold voice that rang chillingly through the forest clearing in which the Death Eaters had gathered.
The dozens of masked, hooded figures hurriedly got up from their kneeling positions and stood to form a circle around their master.
"My friends", said the Dark Lord, addressing the assembled witches and wizards, "the Ministry of Magic is losing its grip on the magical world with every passing day. They fear us, and their fear makes them weak." He hissed this last word just as he passed Karkaroff's place in the circle, sending a shiver up the younger man's spine. He knew the news should bring joy to him, but Karkaroff never had become used to his master's terrifying, commanding presence.
"But very soon", the Dark Lord continued, pacing slowly around the circle, "they shall have stronger leadership. They are steadily falling under our control and I believe soon we will be able to step from the shadows and seize the power we deserve."
The Dark Lord smirked as cheers echoed around the circle, before raising a hand for silence.
"Rockwood", he said softly, but it still caused the man opposite Karkaroff to jump and bow his head fearfully. "You are well connected and well informed of the goings on within the Ministry, are you not? How soon do you think it will be feasible for us to take full control?"
"W-within months, my lord," said Rockwood hurriedly. "Now that the Head of the Department for International Magical Co-operation has been placed under the Imperious curse, it should be possible to infiltrate every other department with ease and-"
"Ah yes, we have Mulciber to thank for that piece of spellwork, I believe. You have done well," he continued, turning to Mulciber. "Lord Voldemort shall reward you."
"Thank you, master. Thank you," Mulciber muttered, bowing his head.
The Dark Lord swept past him and stalked once around the entire circle, in pensive silence, before continuing.
"There are of course some within the Ministry who need to be killed, Crouch for example, but on the whole, the shift in power should provoke little resistance. Dumbledore's little vigilante group is diminishing every day, now we have disposed of the Prewetts and Travers here was so very thorough in obliterating the McKinnons. Soon I hope to have the information to further decrease their number. There are certain members I wish to deal with myself." The Dark Lord's red eyes glinted with a cold anger and Karkaroff shivered slightly before he noticed that beside him, Severus' hands had clenched into tight fists.
"Any more?" asked Crouch, before Igor had a chance to ponder what he had just remembered.
"Yes!" said Karkaroff, and poured out a stream of information, praying some would be of use. "There was Travers - he helped murder the McKinnons! Mulciber - he specialized in the Imperius Curse, forced countless people to do horrific things! Rookwood, who was a spy, and passed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named useful information from inside the Ministry itself!"
"Rookwood?" said Mr. Crouch, and Karkaroff could tell that this was news to him, to all the assembled Wizengamot as they began muttering amongst themselves, the witch sitting in front of Crouch beginning to scribble furiously upon her piece of parchment. "Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries?"
"The very same," Igor said, nodding. Surely this information, the unveiling of someone so high up in the Ministry as a spy, would be enough to reduce his sentence? "I believe he used a network of well placed wizards, both inside the Ministry and out, to collect information -"
"But Travers and Mulciber we have," said Mr. Crouch. "Very well, Karkaroff, if that is all, you will be returned to Azkaban while we decide -"
"Not yet!" Karkaroff almost screamed in desperation upon hearing the name of the terrible place from which he had come. "Wait, I have more!" As soon as he said this, Karkaroff realised that he had only one more name. He hadn't wanted to turn in Severus, the man who had helped him on many occasions, who had taught him that curse that ripped into flesh, who, he supposed, had saved his life, the man he considered a friend. But would he still consider Igor a friend after making such a deal with his enemies. Friends, enemies... was there even a difference anymore? Right now it was Crouch who could help him, not Severus. He had no choice.
"Snape!" he shouted. "Severus Snape!"
"Snape has been cleared by this council. He has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore."
"No!" shouted Karkaroff, his mind blank with shock and confusion, trying to stand, but finding himself forced to remain still by the heavy chains. "I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!"
"I have given evidence already on this matter," said Dumbledore, rising from a bench. "Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater. However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort's downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am."
Igor felt suddenly angry, barely hearing Crouch's next words, before realising he had no right feel that way. Hadn't he done the very same thing? He supposed they had betrayed each other.