They all had their reasons. There were those who chose a path laid for them from the start. There were others who followed a path that led to supposed greatness. And then there were the few who had another path ready, waiting and inviting, but instead they turned at the fork in the road and chose the winding road that lead away from friendship and family and into despair.
First there was Bellatrix.
She was a standout. One who strayed so far from the pack it was as if she'd never been a part of it at all. Although raised to be a proper, pureblood lady, and quite good at fulfilling her role, Bellatrix jumped at the chance to join the ranks of a rising army. Her mother told her she was being silly, that the men would handle the job and bring about the new world. Her job was to settle down and become a proper pureblood wife and continue the line.
But Bellatrix was never meant for that. She, of course, played her part and married the suitable but uninteresting Lestrange boy. But the thought of creating something with him, even something of value, a child to pass on to the future, rolled her stomach. She wanted to make something of herself, not something of Rodolphus.
When another option appeared there was no question in her mind. When the Dark Lord expected two Lestranges, he got three. Two, somewhat dim, but ready and willing followers, and one who would come out above the rest. Something different, something better.
She had what could not be taught: passion. Oh, was Bellatrix passionate. She relished in her duties, going above and beyond to show the world what the Dark Lord was setting out to do. He was not changing the world, he was creating a new one. A world without filth and lesser beings. One where the elite stood on top.
Bellatrix had asserted herself as near to the top as she could be. When the time came it would be she who stood at the Dark Lord's right hand. She was not merely a death eater like the rest of them. She was Bellatrix Lestrange, and people would always remember her name.
Next there was Severus.
Severus was never meant to be much. A sallow boy from the worst part of town. He was, perhaps, rather good at potions, and he had a good mind for creating new hexes. But most people would scan past Severus Snape in a crowd without a second glance.
But Severus always wanted more. He clawed for power, willing to do anything and lose anyone to get it. Or, he thought he was. Severus somehow managed to insert himself into the Slytherin hierarchy, not by connections or purity, but with sheer tenacity and force of will. But he never truly belonged.
Although he spent his days in their company and his evenings studying with them, he never became friends with a single other Slytherin. Not true friends, who stood by one another and shared laughter and joy. He was merely a part of the gang, there for a hand in a fight, but never someone you would fight for.
For that he had Lily. Beautiful, funny, intelligent, unconnected Lily. From the moment he first laid eyes on her Severus knew she was the one. He was meant to be with her, He was meant to have her as his own. He tried so hard to keep her. To pull her away from the Gryffindor swine she kept in her company. But each time he rose in the Slytherin ranks, his grip on Lily loosened. As he lost her he focused instead on himself. On the power that had always been just outside his grasp. When Lily was finally gone, there was only one thing Severus wanted: power. And the Dark Lord provided a perfect way to get it.
Next to fall into the grasp of the Dark Lord was little Peter.
It was funny the way that Peter's name always came with a qualifier, little Pettigrew, stupid Peter, and that assumed that his name was remembered at all. In the great rumor mill of Hogwarts, he was known as the short one, the slow one. The one that dangled from the coattails of the great James Potter and Sirius Black.
It was years before Peter began to mind. Years of good natured ribbing and friendly exasperation. Years of James and Sirius getting ahead without the slightest bit of effort. He watched them with adoring eyes for ages before his vision began to cloud with frustration instead of wonder.
Why was it that he tried so hard only to fail every time? James and Sirius had been born four steps ahead of Peter, and no matter how hard he tried he could never quite catch up. The constant chasing began to grate on Peter and soon frustration led to resentment.
After all, why shouldn't Peter get a leg up? Why shouldn't he be the one on top for a change? And so, he made the choice to make it to the top. He sold his soul in hopes of becoming what his friends always were.
It was unfortunate that Peter never realized what he had before it was to late. Before he'd left it all Behind.
Regulus, on the other hand, knew just what he had and just what he wanted.
Regulus was born with a path in front of him. It was clearly marked and easy to follow. He watched as his brother crashed beyond the path into the unforgiving world beyond and knew he didn't want that. So, he stayed on course.
Even as each new turn led him further away from who he'd like to be, Regulus turned nonetheless. He accepted his sorting into Slytherin, away from the brother he had always admired. He accepted the loss of that brother and followed his mother's example by turning his back on Sirius. When the final turn came, the final path of no return, Regulus didn't even blink. He walked into the arms of the Dark Lord with his head held high ready to serve.
You see Regulus never made choices in his life. He followed what was right. What was expected. He willingly allowed his mother to tug at his strings and direct him towards the end goal. Towards the thing all Black should want. Regulus never chose to follow the Dark Lord, he was born with a mark already on his arm.
Draco was just the same. He thought he was born with a role to play.
All his life he relished in it. Draco took his superiority as gospel and scoffed at any who didn't recognize it as such. Draco knew he was born to the ruling class and he was always ready to cement his place there, no matter what it took.
He was raised with the image of a god in his mind. I great figure thwarted by foolish ignorance. A savior who would bring light back into a world of darkness. Draco listened to the stories in rapture, imagining the glory of aiding such a mystical figure.
When his god returned to the flesh, Draco saw it as nothing short of miraculous. The man he had revered for so long was no longer a story. He was reality. Suddenly Draco could do more than dream, he could fight.
When the Dark Lord called for him, Draco was more than ready to answer. He jumped at the chance to become a part of the legend and create the world he dreamed of. Unfortunately, Draco forgot that sometimes dreams turn into nightmares.
They all had their reasons.
Each Death Eater took the mark freely. He or she burned for the right to call a man Lord. But in the end, none was happy. No expectations were met, nor dreams fulfilled. No one ever saw a glorious world of purity and splendor.
Only one lived. All he ever saw was regret.
AN: I don't know why I find the Death Eaters so interesting to write, but I do. I hope you found this intriguing as well and you thought a little bit. Please leave me a review and let me know what you thought.