I do not own Harry Potter.
Our little gathering finally was named. We were the Death Eaters, an elite underground radically conservative group trained to take-- not lobby for, not work for, not write for-- back our elite standing in wizard society. The summer we were initiated, Bellatrix invited me to the Lestrange mansion. "Your parents have a wariness for the radical," she explained. "They don't seem to understand that in order to make a movement, we have to act, not just sit around complaining. Hence, you will join without them knowing-- or at least knowing the full story."
That planted quite a bit of guilt in me. I was doing this for the glorification of my family, and yet I had to keep it quiet. It was a discrepancy, just like so much else. I was realizing there were several tears in our way of life. We glorified family and the right of pure blood, but those in our family that did not match our mindset were discarded. Those with pure blood but not the right mindset were bloodtraitors. It was slightly paradoxical; to be pure, one needed both pure blood and pure mind-- a lacking of either was inferiority. Yet the Dark Lord was so convincing, so passionate, and so powerful that I knew all I needed to worry about was keeping my pure mind. I would be fine.
The initiation was in the woods, once again. No names were called; we were summoned by light, lest one should betray us.
A cloaked figure with bits of blond hair sliding out of his hood, making it obvious to me that he was Lucius, approached first, knelt, and kissed the hem of his master's skirt. The Dark Lord bid rim rise, raise both of his hands so that the bare arms were exposed to the elbows, and give the oath of loyalty and secrecy. Then he drew out one white finger and laid it on Lucius's left inner forearm. Lucius flinched and let out a gasp of pain. A black scar appeared there for a moment, and then faded. He fell back into the circle, clutching his arm and bowing, murmuring pained thank-yous. I felt my apprehension-- but also my excitement-- grow.
The light drew forward again, bringing forward one who was obviously female-- the only female in our number. Bellatrix hastened to his side, her robes flowing over her quick steps. She gave a short scream when he touched her, and tipped her head back, falling against him. At first I thought she had fainted, but the Dark Lord ordered her upright, and she obeyed, backing away but with a much less inclined head than Lucius. I felt proud of her, the proudest of them all.
The light drew forward over and over, and I had trouble telling everyone apart. Barty was nervous when he went, shaking and whimpering loudly when he was touched.
I followed him immediately after. I could feel my heart pounding against my chest, the wind of the breeze within my cloak blowing about my legs, chilling them thought it was a summer evening. The Dark Lord radiated cold. I kept my eyes averted, and when I saw his cloak appear before me, I dropped to my knees, stunned by the power around the man-- no, more than a man-- that made my head throb, and pressed my lips to the rough hem against the ground. I had never kissed anything with such fervor in my life. Yet, who more than the Dark Lord deserved it?
I rose as I was bid, and raised my arms. They looked small, skinny, and pallid white before me. The white finger, however, was even paler, so pale it was translucent, nearly blue, yet veinless. It touched my skin, and I felt a burn that ripped all the way through me. I don't know what noise I made; I was out of myself.
The next thing I knew, I was bowing away, slipping back into the circle, cold tears in my eyes. I was part of the circle, initiated forever. I could see my future before me, the future of all wizard society, perfect under the rule of the Dark Lord
The Dark Lord was becoming well-known. Since the day we had met in the Forbidden Forest for the first time, his name had steadily gained more power. In fact, the shudders we had felt hearing it had only intensified. We could not speak the name, and drowned it out when it was spoken with a terrible hiss.
The regular people could not stand it, either. With the name Lord Voldemort came visions of destruction, torture, and death. The papers spared the people the name, referring to him only as "You Know Who" or the more respectful "He Who Must Not Be Named."
It became clear exactly what Bellatrix and Rodolphus had been up to in their spare time. As minions of the Dark Lord, they appeared to our enemies-- the blood traitors, the liberal Ministry workers, the Muggle-borns and halfbloods that had become too well-off for their own good-- cloaked, hooded, and masked, demanding that they bend to their wills of new policies, convert to the cause, or even flee the country. Bellatrix smiled with a terrible gleam in her eye when she recalled her first murder-- a Muggle-born who, like Ted, had corrupted a pureblood girl. "We'll get Tonks, too . . . when I find where she is. And you will soon have a chance to try your hand yourself. You haven't tasted the true fight, yet, Regulus. It's delicious."
I was now exactly where I wanted to be. Bellatrix regarded me as an equal, one of comparable philosophy and of course elite family. She often bounced her ideas off me first, and I found I was excellent at coughing up facts to corroborate the gut feelings she lived by. I spent many free hours in the library, searching for key points-- since I still had access. Since I excelled at Defense Against the Dark Arts-- ironically due to my training in the Dark Arts-- I was given exceptional permission for many of the Restricted books, even as a pre-OWL fifth year. These were remarkably useful in providing new skills that would come in handy with my later practical missions for the Dark Lord.
Father and Mummy only knew of my paperwork. They praised me for my interest in politics, stating that I would be the next Minister-- "and a bloody right good one," according to Father-- and had a certain knack for history and proof. Even the stories of my childhood, applied historically, became propaganda in my hands.
"We're so proud of you," Mummy said quite often. "You've become more than we had ever hoped--" she would choke out the word, "Sirius-- would be." Father did not compliment me as often. He still stung at his failure to rectify Sirius. I knew Mummy's over-hatred of Sirius and over-love of me was only a defense, too. She had loved Sirius-- or at least valued him, if what Uncle Alphard had said was true-- but he had hurt her. Hence, she cut off the feeling with hate. I knew it quite clearly, but I allowed myself quite satisfactorily to enjoy the attention and pretend it was sincere.
I also was coming into society. Balls came and went, and I was always invited. I never paid particular attention to the girls, only the attention accompanying them.
"What's this one's name?" I asked Mummy as she adjusted my collar before Flooing to some gala at the Notts'. I had been directed to dance and consort with one particular girl, as was common now that I was reaching my later teens. I might be married by the time I was eighteen.
"Travers," she said shortly. She never bothered to tell me the first names; that wasn't important. "Now, Kreacher, be sure to keep the parlor tidy, in case Regulus decides to bring this one home for coffee afterward." She spoke to the elf with a curious baby voice that rather echoed Bellatrix's mocking tones. She leaned over and kissed Kreacher on the snout, and the elf crinkled it and went off with what I swore was a blush. Mummy had grown rather fond-- a bit disturbingly so-- of him since I had started the courting rites. I supposed she was lonely, her son on his way out in the world-- and, after all, Father never kissed her. He never had-- at least not in front of me.
I spent the evening with various girls, remembering them for various trifles. One had dark red hair and green eyes-- very pretty-- but was too sharp-tongued and suspicious. Another was blond, like Narcissa, and thoroughly overinterested in the girlish gossip I could never tolerate. Mummy reminded me that I wouldn't have to deal with it in the house once I was married. There was only one girl whom I decided I would outright refuse to marry-- she had the typical Slytherinian dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin, but her mind was particularly bloodtraitorous, as she told me it was a pity I wasn't as handsome as my brother.
"EX-brother," I told her.
"Still brother, by blood," she had insisted cooly. "If Mother allowed me, I'd sooner marry him, heir or not."
I told Bellatrix about her, and she assured me that the girl was corrupted. After Christmas holiday, upon return to school, I noticed that she avoided my eyes at all costs. Bellatrix bragged of a frightening little mission she had taken with Rodolphus in the night.
The meetings became darker and darker. We were summoned by means of the mark on our arms, which we kept hidden at all times. We arrived, cloaked, to our every meeting-- oftentimes though with the aid of an older, registered wizard, as members like Barty and I had difficulty performing magic outside school hours.
"Lucius is in the process of revoking that law," Bellatrix consoled me. "Unfortunately, bribing didn't work, and now we're going to have to try other, erm, methods of persuasion," she grinned. "In fact, you're welcome to attend. It's high time you were given the chance to prove yourself on the battlefield."
Yet the battlefield was becoming rougher and rougher terrain. In the beginning, the fighting Death Eaters were the only ones in their league. No one could stop our reign of terror or do battle with our terrible Dark Arts. We were undefeated.
Yet there was an opposition growing. They called themselves the Order, and were headed by Dumbledore himself. I had to trod more lightly than ever around the school, as he was the enemy now. I wished I could break free, but, after all, I was needed as the inside source. I kept the Death Eaters updated about when he was leaving, where his weaknesses were, even which teachers were reliable sources to seek information through. As I was soon to be graduating, Severus Snape made the suggestion he seek a job as a professor under the man to continue to usefulness of Hogwarts infiltration.
Of course, the new clash created many more deaths. At first, it was all the Order, the weak opposition that was poorly organized. They did not know whom they were working with. Bellatrix, who had once only had to torture to get what she wanted, now found she was in conflict with men just as devoted to their cause as she was to hers-- and that meant a fight to the death. Yet the names of those we killed astounded me. Travers told me how he killed Marlene McKinnon's entire family, and I brought to mind the girl with copper-colored hair and freckles who had been a Gryffindor prefect in her day. Dorcas Meadowes had been a Head Girl from Hufflepuff, and she had always been a radical advocate for peaceful Wizard-Muggle relations. Benjy Fenwick was on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team; he had fallen unconscious in a game when, as Keeper, he was struck in the head with two Bludgers at once. These were all old students, people I knew. I had never considered them particularly horrible. Inferior, perhaps, but never the enemy. Yet now here they were, dying for it.