Losing Faith
Chapter Thirty-Six : Repeated Sacrifices
Percival Odysseus Weasley has not always been a Death Eater.
He never dreamt about watching his family suffer and his lover decay before his eyes. He's never been able to forgive the past for the cruelties of fate; he was never the most thought-about Weasley brother. Percy has watched his friends turn to ash at the mercy of his wand, but he has also saved one from Hades's cold clutches.
But through all of his trails, through all of his sacrifices, one thing has held constant--the velvet black robes. To those who couldn't believe in the power of the true bloods, death only awaited them at the black robes. Those who donned the robes of the Death Eaters are the walking embodiments of death. Anything they touch shrivels and dies.
Percy was raised with this impression, this anti-Death Eater system. He was taught, at a very young age, that Death Eaters were not people, they were pawns moulded by their fascist dictator for his purposes alone: the eradication of all who weren't pure, and world domination. He sought power, and as history had taught, power corrupts. Lord Voldemort was evil; it was as simple as that. All through Hogwarts, Percy swore by this and even reinforced it.
But with growing power, Lord Voldemort's vision of a perfect world was compromised--Mudbloods were allowed to enter the prestigious ranks of Death Eaters, and wizards who would otherwise be thought of as disgraces joined as well. But this compromise was not based on heart; rather, Voldemort sought absolute power, and to achieve this, he realised he'd need an army. Let them join! he thought. I will kill them once they no longer are of use to me.
Percy saw wizards who everyone believed would be Death Eaters save a baby girl. He saw a Hufflepuff witch with the Dark Mark. For the first time, Percy saw hypocrisy. He saw reality. He watched as his ideals crumbled like a pillar of salt holding up the great castle he once found comfort in.
Percy eventually came to realise that not all wizards and witches join Voldemort for a chance at power, as everyone so easily thought. Some joined because they loved, not because they couldn't. They joined because they thought that, by sacrificing their souls, they could save their children's, their wife's or husband's.
Some joined to save people they loved.
Percy sacrificed everything he had striven for most of his life for his family and Penelope. The scarlet Ministry robes he wore lost value, and he secretly exchanged them for the black, cold ones of the Death Eaters. Love is the greatest thing known to man, Percy has always believed. And whether or not his actions to protect his loved ones were radical and selfish, he saved them nonetheless.
Out of all the jumbles of memories Percy has of his progression to the power he now wields, only one thing sticks out vividly in his mind. Inane, like a neon light promoting seven topless strippers: "Evil is just sexier than good, always has been." And it was signed, Terence Higgs.
It was Terence who arrived at The Burrow on a Sunday afternoon, a Concealment Charm cast over his forearm. The first time Terence rolled back his sleeve and reversed the charm, Percy blacked out, only to come to with the vibrant memory of the scar burnt deep into his friend's arm. Lying in his room with no idea of how he got there, Percy noticed a crumbled parchment resting upon his bed. The message was the same as the one Terence had left in his yearbook, only this one had a hastily written postscript: My cousin took the Dark Mark to save his mother and to avenge his murdered father. I became a Death Eater because I don't want to kill my friends. In times of war, we must take a step back and decide what's really important to us. Question who we are. What we want to become.
The second time Terence showed him the Dark Mark, Percy had one to match.
And Penelope kept bawling into her blue satin pillow as Percy rolled down the sleeve of his Ministry robes and the sickly tattoo with the snake tongue disappeared. Percy can't remember why he showed her the black skull; maybe a part of him hoped that she'd understand. Maybe another part hoped that she'd turn him in.
But she did no such thing.
After she cried, she dried her tears and never cried again. Not even when she knelt over the lifeless body of her little sister, Iphthime, removing the blonde hair from her green eyes to reveal a face with no marring.
She was hit with a killing curse that came from Terence's wand.
Penelope became an emotional zombie as Terence and Percy arrived to survey the deceased, the fallen heroes. She placed two golden galleons over Iphthime's painted eyes and simply walked away. Percy stumbled across her several days later as the Muggles, Mudbloods, and Muggle-lovers were being herded into captivity like a lot of cattle. And he took his love back to the castle where her tongue remained cut for months.
Percy watched alongside Terence as twins Twig and Leaf Raventon roasted marshmallows in the fire he started to The Burrow, to his former life. But earlier that afternoon, he had removed everything of his former life from the home--just a few old volumes about magic, Hermes, and the makeshift yearbook Alexei Smirnov created.
He hasn't touched his yearbook since he shoved it between two Latin tomes on his barrister bookcase. So when he finds himself gazing at its pages three months into the 2001-year, he's knocked for six with the rush of unwanted nostalgia. Still, he can't help but crack the smile that was once on his face as he prowled the halls of Hogwarts when he comes across the two-page spread of the seventh years of 1994.
Marcus Flint chases Oliver Wood, his ill-gotten Nimbus 2001 in hand, trampling over Terence Higgs as they rush through his photo.
Percy was often amused with the immature rivalry between the two Quidditch captains, although he never would admit it, and he often deducted points from both houses for their behaviour. Conflict is healthy, someone once told him, it keeps you ambitious. It doesn't matter that he never believed him then, and he doesn't believe him now. Percy can't imagine that the fights, both physical and verbal, between Marcus and Oliver were ever healthy. To him, conflict was a waste of time.
Rae Landon hides in Adrian Pucey's photo while Adrian sketches curtains around them, pulling them closed.
Percy never fancied the two Slytherins, not since Rae paid random students to dunk his head into a toilet bowl. Adrian was among those paid for that ritualistic service. And that's what everything the female Slytherin did to him was--a ritual. She often cast stones to decide what form of punishment to inflict upon him and many others, the sixteenth of every month. And once Adrian and Rae began seeing each other, everything stopped. But Percy is strong in hiding his emotions; he never forgave, and he never forgot. Perhaps that's why he detests them so. Perhaps that's why he convinced Terence to tell Marcus about Rae's adultery.
Penelope Clearwater's nose is stuck in her book, Homer's Odyssey.
That book once belonged to her father, Percy recalls. A priceless family heirloom passed to Penelope on the day she her father died. Percy can't count the number of times she has read it. She's never tired of the tale, nor had Iphthime.
Then there are others, ones that Percy can only place a name to because their names are scripted below their photos. Hufflepuff Eric Elliot, Ravenclaw Blanche Defresne, and Hufflepuff Alexei Smirnov.
Percy only remembers Alexei as one of the three candidates for Head Boy. The other was Terence. But it was Percy's marks that beat out those of the other two, and Percy became Head Boy, following in his older brother's footsteps. He never seemed to get out of those footsteps, actually.
Not until fate decided otherwise.
Percy gently closes the yearbook with a wistful sigh, wishing he could go back to a time where everything seemed so much simpler. With a deep-throated grunt, he drags himself to his feet, flopping down before a small oak desk in the corner of his chambers. He pulls open a drawer, shuffling through a few sheaves of papers to withdraw one and an eagle quill. Dipping the quill into a nearly dried ink well, he begins his letter:
Sir Nicholas Smirnov
Head of Camp Delta,
By order of Percival Wealsey, the lady Penelope Clearwater is to be escorted back to the castle by two of your most regarded subordinates. I will be awaiting their arrival by the front gates in three hours.
Sincerely,
Percival Weasley
Blowing the ink dry, Percy then folds the parchment and places it into an off-white envelope, sealing it with a symbol of a snake devouring a griffin. When he lets the impatient Hermes free of his cage, the owl flies around the chamber several times, stretching his wings, before landing on the redhead's shoulder. Reluctantly, Hermes takes the letter with his beak and dashes out the circular window after the instructions from his master.
-
For most of Nicholas Smirnov's life, he has felt as though he's driving in the dark. In his waking life, he rises every morning to lay black robes over his grave of a body, wondering what went wrong. When did he become a Death Eater?
Before or after they won the war?
His youngest son, Alexei, sought the Death Eaters in a reverie, holding the Dark Lord beneath a halo of golden light, a vigilante to help him into the moonlight of an otherwise dark world.
Turn to darkness to vanquish a deeper darkness inside of yourself.
For Alexei, it worked.
And if it made his son smile and laugh again, Nicholas allowed it.
Nicholas leans forward in his seat, his back cracking stridently, echoing through the humble office. Reaching for his medium-tipped quill, he's about to sign the remaining duty rosters when the familiar soft tapping of an owl's beak is heard upon his metal-barred window. Drawing his azure eyes towards the screech owl, he exhales with relief as he realises it's not one of Malfoy's dreaded creatures. With an exhausted glance over his shoulder, he gently glides his chair back towards the noise, ushering in the bird through the open window.
Hermes drops the letter into Nicholas's outstretched hand and flies back through the window with a swoosh.
Nicholas carefully opens the envelope and reads the letter softly to the office as though the filing cabinet and his orderly desk need to hear the news. Nodding to himself, he tosses letter and all into the half-full rubbish bin next to him before exiting his sparsely-decorated office with a new meaning in his stride.
"Raventon, Pucey!" Nicholas begins as he passes through the door.
Twig Raventon and Adrian Pucey straighten their backs, their hands finding their wands at their hips. Muffling a yawn, Twig stares at the senior officer, wondering when he started to leave his office at three in the afternoon. Both Death Eaters salute, awaiting their superior to do the same.
But Nicholas walks brusquely by them, glancing over his shoulder as he speaks. "Miss Clearwater is to be escorted back to the castle. You will find her staying with Mister Davies on the south side, in Building Chi." And with that, Nicholas rounds the corner, leaving the Delta Headquarters well before nightfall for the first time in six months.
So maybe this Death Eater business isn't all a stick in the arse, Nicholas reconsiders as he imagines the looks on his families' faces at his early arrival; there is immense pleasure in this position of authority.
-
Dirty wafts of sunlight drift into Roger Davies's home, sleeping over the splintered floorboards and translucent through ratty blue curtains that hide them from the harsh conditions of the outside world. Roger paces the lengths of his living room in a boredom, his cobalt-coloured eyes plastered to Penelope Clearwater and her three-week-old daughter as they rock back and forth in the antique rocking chair. The once peaceful and orderly home of Roger and Penelope is no longer that--a cardboard crib sits in the corner of the living room, adjacent to the only heat source in the house, the brick fireplace. Rayne-Flynn Clearwater sleeps with a blue drape stained with the memories of blood and death. A blue-gold throw rug is the rubbish bin for many bottles, diapers, talcum powder, and salve. If Roger and Penelope had a nightstand, that is where the baby's things would be. But they must make do with what they have, what was generously provided by Madame Greingrass after the baby's birth.
"She shouldn't have to live like this," Penelope murmurs, crestfallen. "She deserves so much more, Roger. Clean clothes, a real crib. She shouldn't be starving because I wish to hide her from Percy. She should be the one being pampered in the castle. House-elves should be waiting on her hand and foot."
Penelope glances towards Rayne and offers her daughter a regretful smile that sends poisoned-tipped arrows through her heart. Removing a blonde curl from her bloodshot, melancholy eyes, Penelope detaches the sleeping baby from her breast, gently patting Rayne on the back to get a burp. The baby spits up on Penelope's shoulder, following it with a burp. She falls back asleep in the safety of her mother's arms, blissfully unaware of her surroundings.
Roger's spine tingles with chills as he hears a sense of remorse in her voice, but he chooses to ignore it. It's better this way, he believes. To have Rayne grow up away from the rot and decay of those her father chooses to surround himself with. "She's not a Death Eater, Penny, please don't make her live like one. I'd rather have Rayne be cold and hungry than profit from our imprisonment."
"You'd rather have?" snaps Penelope, her anger rising as she rises to place Rayne inside her crib, covering the shaking baby with a heavy quilt. "You are not her father, Roger! And have you forgotten that I've lived like a Death Eater? What right do you have to judge him?"
Roger frowns and runs his hand through his charcoal hair, wisely choosing his next words. "I don't mean to sound judgemental, but where is her father, Penny?" he calmly asks as though it was Percy who turned his back on them. But in a way, he did.
A wistful sigh escapes Penelope's lips and she blinks her eyes towards Rayne-Flynn. "I'm not ready for Percy's reaction, Rog. He's changed. He wants to be thanked for what he's done for me, for what he sacrificed for his family. But how can we? Must we thank someone for joining the Death Eaters? Protecting us by sacrificing their soul? Isn't it wrong? But where would we be today? There is a difference between right and wrong, but maybe we should be looking at what would be better rather than worse . . ."
Roger wraps his hand around Penelope's thin wrist and pulls her into a tight embrace, which she gratefully accepts. "Don't try to think about what might have been. It's the past; the past doesn't matter because we can't change our mistakes. We can only learn from them to change our destinies, our future." He runs his hand over her tangled curls, kissing his best friend on the forehead, hoping that she'll find some comfort in the act.
Penelope stifles a cry and wipes her eyes with the torn sleeve of her blue robes. "I want to tell him, Roger," she whispers. "About the Last Alliance, about Rayne, about everything. He may be a Death Eater, but he's still a Weasley. There's still good left in him." She relaxes in Roger's strong arms, resting her head against his chest, sniffling.
"But there might not be. You could tell him all you know, and he might tell Malfoy. He may be a Weasley, but he's also a Death Eater. Who are we to draw that fine line between good and evil, and decide where Percy stands?"
"He wouldn't do that to us!" Penelope cries, tears swelling in her eyes. "He wouldn't."
Roger pushes her away to an arm's length, keeping his hands tight on her shoulders. "Bloody hell, Penelope!" he screams, shaking her slightly, as if his words aren't enough. "If Percy goes to Malfoy, we all die! Don't you understand that? You are strong, Penny. The strongest woman I've ever known. You can handle this, because soon, you won't have to anymore. Soon we will be in Marseilles! We just have to wait for the Last Alliance because without them, we are nowhere! We're just slaves. And you are just some Death Eater's whore!"
Penelope jerks herself from Roger's grasp, wrapping her arms around her body. She sniffles again, swallows the lump in the back of her throat, and remains silent. Her cheeks blush with embarrassment and anger, and for a short moment, she feels as though all her friends have left her. "Okay, Roger. I won't tell him," she whispers, her eyes on the dusty floor, hiding her shame.
"You'll be better for it, Penny. You'll see."
-
The darkly paved streets of Camp Delta echo the combat boots of two Death Eaters, their black robes billowing around their ankles as they walk slowly towards the south side. The mid-June sun shines cold rays through grey clouds, and the rumblings of thunder can be heard off in the distance. The two walk in a silence that Twig greatly prefers, and he cringes when Adrian chooses to break that silence.
"So tell me . . . what's it like?" Adrian uncertainly questions. With a lethargic sigh, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his robes and gives his Death Eater companion a sidelong glance, waiting for an answer.
Twig smirks in simple amusement, keeping his jade-green eyes along the rows of ramshackle buildings spotting the street. "What's what like?" he casually replies, the corners of his eyes smouldering with a deep fire.
Adrian's ice-blue eyes gaze at the camp unfolding before him, taking in the streets paved with blood and the occasional prisoner who has the audacity to peek outside through a tightly closed shutter. "Being a"--he lowers his voice to a discreet whisper--"vampyr."
Twig's face spasms with irritation. "Why?" he demands. "Would you like to be one as well?" He raises his crimson lip, flashing Adrian dull, blood-stained fangs.
Adrian's feet stop moving before his mind comprehends Twig's words.
The absent echo of boots against cement causes Twig to pause with a wicked smirk. He twists on his heels, and a soft chuckle escapes his lips as he notices Adrian visibly pale--his skin now much paler than his own.
"Umm . . . no. No, thank you," Adrian squeaks, his eyes locked on Twig's fangs.
Twig laughs maliciously at Adrian's stupidity. "You're bloody naïve, Pussy," he begins to lecture, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "I couldn't change you even if I wanted to! How bloody ignorant are you?"
Adrian's eyebrows raise in confusion. "What are you? A vampire with a soul?"
Twig snorts, his contempt for Adrian strengthened by the ignorance of the wizarding world. "You read too many books, Pucey. Being a vampire has nothing to do with wooden stakes, blessed holy water, and blonde slayers. You've been watching too much Buffy, bloody yanks," he snaps, taking a long moment to spread his arms to welcome in the sunlight. "Can you feel that?"
"Feel what?"
"The sunlight." His eyes flash open, bright with laughter. "Help me! Help me! I'm on fire!" he jokes, then pauses as Adrian blinks in reoccurring bewilderment. Twig sighs, massages the crook of his nose, and tiredly sighs again. "We don't combust, Pucey. So, if you're looking to roast some marshmallows, find another bonfire. I'm off limits," he drones.
Adrian slowly nods, his mind spinning with vampire lore, separating fact from fiction, truth from legend. They were taught shortly about vampires in Hogwarts, but nothing too structural--Professor Quirrel met his untimely demise before he finished the chapter, and like hell Lockhart continued it. "When were you bitten?" he eventually asks, hoping that he doesn't further embarrass himself.
"I wasn't," Twig replies curtly.
"Well, then how did . . ." he stops, his anger increasing as his confusion leaps.
"Joss may very well be a genius, but he knows naught about vampires. The bloke has some blonde bit running around shoving stakes into our hearts, and he has faith that that would do us in," he scoffs, shaking his head. "No one sired me, I was born a vampire. Just like Higgs was born a werewolf. Just like you were born a human. We're pure blooded, just like the merfolk and the mother-fucking trolls, like the veela and goblins. We've been around since Eve took that first bite of that forbidden red apple, maybe even the woman before."
Adrian nods, wondering who in the bloody hell Joss and Eve's predecessor were.
"But enough about me," Twig quickly changes the subject, content now that he shoved Adrian into his place. His slips his hand into the folds of his heavy over-robes and withdraws a silver flask. "Did you hear? Marcus Flint is going to be a father." He snickers as he hefts the flask to his mouth, chugging deeply from it. He abruptly stops, runs his red tongue over the blood on his lips, and mumbles regretfully, "Forgot the vodka."
"Yeah," Adrian murmurs, trying to forget the whole conversation. He heaves his hands into his pockets, and his dark, clouded eyes connect with the ground as his thoughts drift away to heirs and brunette women.
"I hope trolls don't tenderise their young before they eat them," Twig derides as they leave the road and approaches the building of the Davies family. Wrapping his hand around the broken, brass knocker, Twig raps thrice, entering uninvited into the home on the third knock.
Penelope and Roger spin around, their eyes locking with those of the Death Eaters.
Roger raises his eyebrows in question, folding his arms over his chest. "Sorry, didn't order any Death Eaters today," he says dryly as he carefully steps in front of Penelope and Rayne's cardboard crib before the hearth.
Twig takes an authoritative step towards Roger, glaring down at the Mudbloods with unforgiving eyes. "Compliments of Weasley," he reports as the door behind them glides closed.
Immediately, Twig winces at his new surroundings--the dusty stench of mould fills his nostrils with each breath; everything that he lays his green eyes upon is dying, or has died long ago and deserves to be buried with rites. This home symbolises everything that Twig has tried to avoid in his life--poverty, captivity, and mortality, each infected with the strong stench of disease.
"We're here to escort the wench back to the castle," he says carefully, his eyes raping the room, his nose sniffing for that scent that doesn't seem to belong here--that small scent of life covered by death.
"Her name is Penelope!" Roger snaps back, his lips pursed in suppressed fury.
Twig grins; his tongue runs over his fangs as he stares at Penelope, inwardly smirking at her blonde, frizzy hair, wondering when it was last washed. "Yes. Mudblood. Or would you prefer Weasley's whore, as opposed to wench?" he asks her, pausing when he now tastes that scent, like newly pressed daisies. He glances around the room once more, searching for what, he does not know.
Roger steps forward in a menacing manor, his fists flexing as Penelope rests a yielding hand upon his forearm. "If you hit him, he's won," Penelope whispers, and Roger reluctantly steps down, knowing that she's right and hating it. She turns to the Death Eaters. "What is your business? If it's to retrieve me, tell Percy to come hims--"
She's suddenly silenced by Twig's wave of silence. Twig bodily pulls Penelope towards the rocking chair and pushes her into it, and Roger blinks incredulously, wondering how Twig could move in the blink of an eye, and what exactly is going on. Twig notices Roger starting towards him with balled fists, ready to defend Penelope.
"One move and I'll kill your brat," Twig warns Roger, his wand aimed at Rayne.
Roger stands still, blood draining from his face as he stares at Rayne sleeping soundly in her crib hidden in the shadows beside the mantle, and then to Penelope. "She's not mine," Roger whispers beneath his breath as Twig approaches the crib, carefully taking the baby in his arms.
Adrian frowns as he ushers them through the door, wondering how Twig knew.
The lake of Hogwarts is stained with the blood of the innocent. It glistens with crimson tides, the thick water rushing over blue merfolk and gray octopi. Soft murmurs are heard from within the water's depths, but Percy doesn't wish to consider what souls are trapped beneath. He paces anxiously along the shoreline, the water lapping up against his black boots as he over excessively clears this throat, glancing around. His stomach swims with the waters, rushing from side to side, to his chest and threatening to escape his mouth. He clears his throat again and coughs.
How long has he been waiting, now? Ten months? Ten months since he last saw his beloved Penelope, and Percy is starting to reconsider his promise to her. She belongs at the castle. Safe from the harshness of reality. Safe from the Death Eaters. Safe--so he doesn't have to worry about her.
In the red lake, a wine-finned mermaid leaps elegantly from the water. Beads of water run through her hair and onto her breasts as her brother joins her. Percy's haunted eyes stare in amazement at the exquisite creatures, and a soft song fills his ears as he takes a step towards the lake's deadly waters.
It's the loud crack of the Apparation Charm that jolts Percy from his reverie.
"What took you blokes so long?" Percy hollers as he approaches them in a few long strides, his fists clenched and the beautiful merfolk forgotten. Though he regards Twig and Adrian with a lofty expression, his face falls as he notices the baby girl in Twig's arms. Quickly, his well-rehearsed posture of authority diminishes as he stares at Penelope and Roger, his face reddening with anger for the moment.
Twig promptly answers Percy's question, "Davies proved to be quite the obstruction, leech."
Percy nods dumbly and adjusts his black horn-rimmed glasses before they slide completely from his nose. His mouth gapes open as Twig returns Rayne to Roger, fuelling Percy's growing fire even more so.
"Leave!" Percy finally finds his voice, causing Roger and Penelope to jump.
Twig clears his throat and grins, flashing his fangs to the shaking Roger. "Go easy on them, leech," he replies thoughtlessly, his hand landing on Percy's shoulder as he stares up at one of the few Death Eaters who is taller than himself.
"Sod off," Percy advises through grinding teeth, his right hand searching inside of his black over-robes for his wand. In a smooth movement that parallels the merfolk earlier, he points his wand towards Twig, mouthing the word "Avada . . ." as the only warning.
Twig sighs and slumps his shoulders. "C'mon, Pussy. Show's over," he drones.
And the two wizards who really want to be there, Apparate away.
Penelope shifts uneasily beneath Percy's piercing gaze. "Percy?"