Disclaimer: See the first chapter.
Background: See the first chapter.
Summary: In the dark times when the Dark Lord returned to power, he searched for new followers and wished to regain what had been lost. But did all of his Death Eaters join him of free will? Iris Halither looks back and tells her tale, and discovers a horrible truth about herself...
Note: The story is divided into chapters, the chapters shaped into parts. One part is seven chapters, no matter the lengths of those. Some chapters are short, some are long. That's how they were written.
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The Tale of a Death Eater
Part II: Seeing
the Foreseen
Chapter 9
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I traced the Dark Mark on my arm with my fingertips, wondering how a symbol could be the one thing that claimed me a Death Eater. The one thing that did I had at least half the world against me. The one thing that kept my freedom at unreachable distance. Yet, I marvelled it. It called to me in a tongue I did not understand. There was something special about it. Maybe it was that it presented more than I had to realise before my encounter with the dark. And the mark was still fresh. It still hurt a bit when I touched it, even though I had had it for months.
Scowling at the disgusting bowl of porridge in front of me, I dug into my cloak, trying to keep the little warmth I had left. I had no idea how long I had been there. Maybe a couple of hours, maybe longer. I sighed and rubbed my hands, having no feeling left in them.
"Aren't you going to eat that?" sounded a male-voice. My brows knit as my eyes wandered the little cell. To the right a wall divided my cell and the next - the wall I was sitting against - but to the left, by the bars connected to another cell, was a man. I ignored him and looked back to the porridge, scrunching up my nose. "You need nourishment," he said.
"I'm not going to eat that," I hissed and looked at him through the corners of my eyes.
The man snorted. "Get used to it."
"To your information, I'll be out any moment," I smarted.
"Not with that branded to your forearm." I clutched my arm, opening my mouth to say something back, but eventually closed it again. "How long have you been by the Dark Lord's side?" he asked with a growing smirk.
I looked at him, perplexed. "I..."
"You look like a very intimidating Death Eater," he sneered, sarcasm clear in his voice.
"Uh... I--"
"Have you killed a lot?" he interrupted.
"I haven't--"
"Tortured?"
"Look, I haven't done anything like that! I could never kill or torture an innocent--"
"You don't know what being a Death Eater is about, do you? What an honour it is to be one of the Dark Lord's closest men? The pleasure you get by giving Mudbloods what they deserve?" The man's eyes gleamed in the faint moonlight from the windows high above. They were a cold grey, and I found myself shrinking before him, even though we were separated by bars and he was at safe distance.
"And I suppose you would know?" I said in a very small voice.
"I was one of the best. I was the best of the entire lot." His voice held arrogance as he looked at the floor, reliving the past in his mind.
"So... what went wrong?" I questioned, caught now by our opposite past, yet identical present.
His lips curled and his left hand tightened around one of the bars. "Potter..."
My mouth cracked open. "You've met Harry Potter?" I whispered.
"On more than one occasion," he snarled, not too thrilled. "But yes. That's why I'm here. Because of the infamous Harry Potter. If Dumbledore and his beloved Order of the Phoenix hadn't come, I would have succeeded... Why am I even telling you this?" he wondered out loud. I looked at my deathly pale hands, noticing how thin they had become. The man's eyes bore into mine when I looked up at him again. "...What's your story?"
"There's nothing to tell, really," I sighed, pulling my hood further down into my eyes, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. "W...what's your name?"
"Malfoy," he said shortly. And now I could see it. His ice-grey eyes and his long and pale blonde hair. And the smirk, oh yes, the same smirk as that of his son.
"I know a Malfoy," I said. "Draco Malfoy." His eyes shimmered with recognition. "And you may be his father Lucius."
"I might," he said. "So tell me, young Death Eater... what might your name be?"
Reason debated against curiosity. I wanted to learn more of this powerful Death Eater, this man who was well-respected by society before his doings were known. I was curious as to how he had kept a strong posture in the Dark Lord's service, why he didn't feel broken... like I did. But I knew it would be risky to reveal my name. I shouldn't let myself be known. But if he was a Death Eater... what difference did it make?
I opened my mouth and let the words slip, "Iris Halither."
"Pull down your hood," Malfoy said, demanding to know what I looked like. Hesitantly, I reached up and wrapped my fingers around the edge of my hood, slowly pulling it down. Malfoy's eyes wandered my features. "You're very young," he said. "Very young indeed."
"Not as young as your son," I countered, feeling like he was challenging me in a way. But his face told me opposite. He seemed... fascinated? But no, half a second later his face was as expressionless as before.
It was like he wore a mask of All Hallows Eve. His face was narrowed by hunger and there were dark shadows below his eyes. His hair was tussled and unwashed, and he looked utterly tired, like he had spent eternity in the clutches of the Dementors.
...Did I really feel pity for this wreck of a man? I bet there were men and women in that prison looking far worse. And there were no Dementors, that I knew. They had joined the Dark Lord's side. And instead, Aurors patrolled the prison.
I cast a sidelong glance at the porridge and slowly edged towards it. "Here," I said and pushed it through the bars. Before I could withdraw my arm, Malfoy grasped it and held on to it tightly, most likely stopping the circulation of my blood. "Let go!" I said, desperately trying to pull my arm free.
He pulled my sleeve up to my elbow and stared at the Dark Mark. He ran his bone-like fingers over it, causing shivers and slight pain to run up my spine. "Fresh," he said. "You haven't had it for long." Whether he knew it hurt, I did not know. The mark wasn't black. It merely looked like a scar; a scar formed like a skull with a snake slithering out of its mouth. "You were threatened to be one of us, weren't you?" Malfoy purred, looking up at me. It was even more uncomfortable being so close to his face.
"Threatened... and in some way forced," I replied, though not completely truthfully. I kept in a groan as I felt my arm getting numb.
Malfoy released me and sat against the wall in his cell, pulling over the bowl of porridge and wolfing it down, without as much as thanks. Yes, the Malfoys were certainly an appreciating bunch... very grateful...
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As the night continued to fly by, it got colder and darker in Azkaban. The Aurors strolled in the corridors more frequently and stopped by every cell every time, checking things were as they should be.
I found no comfort in the dark faces of the Aurors, only wanting them to be gone. I knew they wouldn't believe me. They had seen me there, caught me in the act so to say. But someone had to believe I was innocent. There had to be a person with a heart in the Wizengamot.
That, I prayed and hoped for. I had to believe in it. It was a matter of staying sane. If I didn't possess hope and belief, I would be reduced to something far worse than one of the mad wrecks in Azkaban Prison. And with a tiny spark of worry and hopefulness, with the cold air seeping through my robes, digging into the midst of my bones... I fell asleep.
