Chapter Six
"Hey, Malcolm! What ah we goin' over today?" Trip asked his friend, almost as soon as he'd shut the door to the cargo bay. Malcolm answered immediately, no hint of uncertainty in his voice at all.
"The Unforgivable Curses." Trip's jaw dropped, as did the jaws of the five other people in the room. Apart from Elanor Lungbarrow, that was. She knew, everything, now, about Malcolm, about what he would soon be doing.
"Ya don't mean..." Trip trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence. Malcolm did it for him a few moments later, with an air of calm reserve, as always.
"Yes. The Cruciatius Curse, the Imperius Curse, and. Avada Kedavra." The room fell silent, but Malcolm merely sighed and sat down on one of the smaller boxes, and surveyed the motley group.
"We have to be prepared to play dirty. The enemy won't hesitate to use any of those curses on us, you know that." Trip, however didn't look convinced.
"How would you know how to teach them to us? I mean, it's not like you've ever used them yourself." He trailed off as he saw the expression on Malcolm's face. "You've used them? But they're -"
"Illegal. I know." He held Trip's gaze for a moment, as though daring him to pry further, but Trip simply nodded and muttered something under his breath. The group were now watching Malcolm with a new sense of awe... and fear.
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Malcolm entered his quarters, breathing a sigh of relief. It had been a difficult night. Trip hadn't helped one bit, with his almost constant stream of verbal challenges. In the end, Malcolm had pointed at the door and told him that, if he had a problem with what they were doing, he was always free to leave whenever he wanted to. Trip hadn't looked pleased, but at least he wasn't arguing about it.
And Trip hadn't been the only one unhappy with the direction the meetings were taking. Why couldn't they understand, that sitting around talking would do nothing! Couldn't they see that there was a war on? No, he mused; they couldn't, because none of them had actually fought against him. They hadn't had to endure the things he had.
Malcolm shivered. Just thinking about it, those dark years he'd had to endure for the Ministry, the things he'd done, the injuries inflicted upon him... He hadn't been being heroic, out on the hull in the middle of that minefield, barely three months ago, telling Archer he was prepared to die for Enterprise. He'd been ready to die at the hands of the Dark Lord for the good of the entire world. And he was still prepared to do so.
Once again, he pulled up his sleeve, revealing the tattoo, wincing as he took in the dark, nearly black shade it had taken. It hurt so much now that it felt as though he had a red hot poker being permanently held to his skin.
It had never hurt this much before - but he'd always come when called before. Much as though he would have liked to deny it, he did have all the qualities the Dark Lord required from a servant. And more.
He had the qualities the Dark Lord needed in a second in command, in an apprentice. He had a mind made for working its way out of dangerous situations, the ability to wield the most powerful of spells, and he had a gift which the Dark Lord treasured above all others. An ability which he shared with the Dark Lord himself. It was an ability which could not be learnt through knowledge or practice, but one which only the smallest scattering of wizards and witches were born with.
He could talk in the language of snakes - the most famous skill of Salazar Slytherin, the deceitful founder of the Slytherin house in the school of Hogwarts. And just like Salazar, Malcolm could lie and trick his way out of even the stickiest of situations. He was the perfect Dark Wizard.
Except for one thing - his conscience. He had never had the true ability to be purely evil. He could not, unlike some of the Dark Lord's servants, simply kill a chosen victim in cold blood without a prick of guilt. Every murder, every crime he'd been forced to commit under the Dark Lord's power weighed heavily on his soul. A death could move him to tears. He could fall in love, could laugh with a friend. He was not so inhumanly untouchable as the Dark Lord and his lesser servants.
Malcolm sighed and put his head in his hands. He needed a break from all this - the constant, gut-wrenching soul searching. Sometimes he wished he was little more than a simple animal, with nothing more to worry about than survival.
At this thought, he nearly laughed, the solution was so obvious. He had become an Animagi secretly many years ago, but had only used the skill a few times, when trying to evade capture. Though he was still human, more or less; but whilst in animal form his mind did work a lot more simply. The creature he had chosen as an Animagi relied far more on instinct than complex thinking for survival. With a tired smile on his face, he reached in his pocket for his wand.
A few moments later, there was no sign of the short, dark-haired man anywhere in his quarters. Rather, a large wildcat lay curled on his bunk, its tail swishing happily in pleasant dreams.
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