I turn the showerhead so that the water strikes me squarely in the face. The water is so cold that it turns to ice between the strands of my hair. I didn't have the option of a warm shower but I wouldn't have opted for it anyway. I need this shower to wake up the hatred in me, to freeze over my heart for what is to come. I turn around and let the water numb all the nerves in my back. My fingertips droop down like jelly, feeling heavier than normal in their numbness. My neck drops down also, and my bushy hair flops over my face. I look through the damp curtain of my hair to see the rough grey curtain that divides the bathtub from the rest of the room. It brings very little privacy but enough to keep me physically distant from the man asleep on the bed. This room, that is now my temporary home, is like a Muggle prison cell. Ironically, however, this is where the privileged sleep. The prisoners sleep down in the dungeons, moulded into the cliffs and when the tide is high they are half drowned in water.
My body shudders but I will it to keep steady. I do not want my body to be weak; it needs to have the focus and clarity that my mind inhabits. I hear a stir, Snape must have awoken. Perfect timing, with only an hour until my first meeting. I see his silhouette through the transparency of the curtain. He gets up without realising my absence. Last night I lay with my back turned to him, I hadn't slept. Each time I closed my eyes I saw the images of last night. My body had been twitching with the reality of where I am and the presence of the man slumped next to me. It will be the same waking nightmare tonight, I regret.
I switch off the shower, grab a towel and then dress instantly. My time of brooding was over the minute he awoke. I throw back the curtain, he startles, his mouth gaping open. I grab my wand and aim it at my hair; it dries rapidly and lags down like a useless accessory.
"Here," Snape passes me something. It is a brandy. So soon in the day, but I still drink it, without bothering to ponder over the possible effects.
"You'll need these as well," he says, and passes me my ceremonial gowns. I look at them; they're made of thick black cotton, long, and tailored for a male physique. They do not have the same luxury or look as official as Lucius Malfoy's. I am glad of that. These robes make me blend into the rock of the castle and cliffs it is perched upon. I take them and put them on without complaint. Snape nods an acknowledgment and then opens the door for me. I walk through it and hear it snap shut behind me.
"Can we take a diversion from the Main Entrance please, I don't think I can stomach it so early in the morning," I whisper to him.
His lips twitch and he frowns down at me; "You will be expected to walk past there frequently so I recommend you become accustomed."
Great, no sympathy as always. He is walking swiftly and I have a hard job keeping up. We turn a sharp corner and before I know it he has pinned me into an alcove.
"I am warning you, Granger, one slight mishap or even a squirm from you and my cover, that I have fought so vigorously to maintain, will be blown. Your initiation will be painful but it will not kill you, keep that thought in mind because at the moment death is your only alternative."
The air hits my lungs again with a thud and now I am truly alert to the nature of the ritual I am about to endure.
Aligned in an unbroken circle are the common Death Eaters, like what I am about to become. The inner-circle is made up of only a quarter the amount of followers as the outer, all wearing velvety enriched robes. Snape joins them in his allotted place. Everyone, including me, stands with their head down and hoods up. Typical, you could say, even I thought they'd have a more unique layout for the deadly followers. The Dark Lord is not present, nor would he be. He has reached a place of power and comfort so high that he does not need to worry about trivial rituals. This poses a problem: I will have to take many risks to raise his interest enough for him to want to meet me. The ritual begins and is carried out in a language I do not understand. The man that is chanting the incantations is not someone I recognise; the voice is dried up of all emotion. From what I can see of him through my closing hood, he is a death omen anticipating his own death.
Soon enough I am being called forward. Heads stir my way but I am not surprised, I must be a treat to them, I am a break from the monotonous chanting. I hear my name, or what they believe my name is, through the dead language. A wand is raised infront of me, it sparks. A bony hand appears and points at my forearm. I stretch it out infront of me and block my mind away from my senses. I want to close my eyes and consume myself in the darkness that is behind my eyelids. I dare not though, because it may be viewed as a sign of weakness. The darkness infront of me will have to suffice. I close my inner-eyes, block out everything. I am becoming a Death Eater but my soul is not present to experience it.
It is done and I awaken, looking down at my arm. The Dark Mark is clearly pierced into my skin, surrounding it is boils and escaping blood. It is probably hurting me but I am not willing to acknowledge that. I move backwards about five strides so that I am part of the Outer-circle again. Immediately after, the atmosphere changes and so does the language, back to English. Lucius Malfoy steps forward. To every Death Eater he assigns a task. I try to understand each individual, but he addresses the people personally and is not specific. He mentions some names but not many. I make a mental note of them all. I wonder if Snape will fill in the gaps of missing information. Doubtful, I know, but maybe he will.
Malfoy approaches me, sneers a little and then moves his face closer.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" he remarks.
"Not as much as my eyes do at the moment for having the displeasure of the sight of your face," I reply.
He doesn't take too kindly to this, but he tolerates it: "Severus will inform you on your first assignment and daily tasks. Nothing to strenuous, I don't think, but if you think I am under-working you please let me know."
"Oh I will, I didn't come here to slack off. I want a hand in all of this; and the rewards that begot of it afterwards." I stare him out.
"Foolish, young, pitiful child. You will learn given time," he threatens and then steps off to the person that stands next to me.
What he just said is correct. I know that I am being very foolhardy in my attitude to Malfoy, I know I am being foolish by coming here and I wouldn't be doing any of it if my situation wasn't pitiful, not that I want to be pitied. Pathetic is a better word to use.
We are adjourned and I resume my rightful place by the side of my husband, remaining silent until out of the reach of prying eyes and throbbing ears.
"So, what is my first job?" I ask, with a hint of anticipation. I am intrigued into what they may ask me to do.
"Our job for today is patrolling. We will patrol in pairs down the length of one of the prison wards and in roughly two hours we will serve the dirt they call food."
"I see," I say, but don't feel anything else appropriate to expand on that. Snape and I have withdrawn ourselves from communication, which is worrying. At least when this first began we were arguing, showing emotion, fear and doubt. Now, it's become a rule: speak when necessary.
The click of my high-heeled shoes is the only sound these tormented prisoners can hear. It is not a comforting one, a sharp definite sound as my foot brutally stabs against the cold rock below me. Two hours have passed and my limbs are beginning to ache, telling me to stop pacing repetitively. Snape paces beside me but he manages to do so silently, with stealth in his strides. He hasn't looked at me once. I am feeling nervous, as I am sure it is time for feeding. I haven't yet looked at the prisoners that are in their cages, just a foot away from me. I figure that if I see their faces I will be moved with compassion and start planning for their escape. That would be reckless of me; it would leave me in one of those cages myself. These two hours of silence leaves room for only one thing, thought. My thoughts so far have been tormented by the task ahead of me. How can I move from patrolling the prison to defeating the Dark Lord? It could take me years to rank highly enough to even meet him. I know that I can't just let Harry through the fireplace because we are heavily outnumbered on this island. I will have to wait for an opportunity to arise, if one ever does, and if when it does I have the nerve to go through with it. I will have, I assure myself. I have come so far, I have already thrown away most of my dignity to fulfil this task, I am willing to risk my life as well. It's risking Harry's that I am not willing to do. While Harry is still alive every good British wizard is still alive, alive in the hope of our wheel of fortune turning.
The sound of a rusty bolt creaking open disturbs my senses. My thoughts break and I have to force myself out of the continuous patrolling. I lift my head up, just slightly. A man gives me several plates of food. I balance them each in my arms. No instructions are necessary, I know what to do.
"Be careful," I hear behind me as I approach the first cage. I turn quickly and give Snape a troubling look. "Some bite like animals." He warns.
I half expect them to put up a fight as I slide the food through the letterbox slit. Some, however, do not even notice. Still mumbling to themselves about times gone by, lost in their world of what once was. I know that the people I am feeding are good people, brought here by the new Ministry. Imprisoned here are those that fought for the old ministry, the old ways of wise men like Dumbledore. About half way along the row I stop using my philosophy of detaching myself. I haven't yet looked at a prisoner but this one draws me to him. His voice is very familiar yet so distant at the same time. He is talking gibberish and no sentence fits with the next one. I slowly look up.
It is Ron. Over-grown, mangled, completely and utterly void of reason, but still Ron. His mind has gone, I can tell by how he is smiling to himself and speaking about the old Exploding Snap game, then quickly reverting to Garden Gnomes of the Burrow. It saddens me to know he remembers all these things but has no knowledge of his current situation. My eyes well up and for the first time I do cry. I can't stop myself and I know I am about to give the game away, but at this very moment I have to cry. Within seconds Snape is beside me, pulling at my robes to bring me back to my senses. Ron does not respond though.
"This is not the time, breathe deeply and keep your emotions inside of you." He says and then realises who is in the cage. He lowers his voice; "Just for another two hours. You're halfway there."
I now realise how weak I am; incapable of performing the simplest of tasks. What will I be like if I am asked to kill one of these people? I banish the thought.
I carry on my patrol, just like I did before. Only this time my thoughts are more focused. I can get Ron out of here, I am sure. As a Death Eater the wards allow me to enter Ron's cell. That trust is bestowed on me by the Inner-circle and I will delightfully abuse it. There are no guards within the close area. Better still, Snape and me are the guards. I check one more time to see if anyone is around. Just Snape. I stop at Ron's cage, staring in. He is still muttering to himself, endlessly. I decide on which charm to use, whether it will work is another thing, but I need to attempt. If I don't attempt then I am acting like a real Death Eater. I need to rescue my friend and prove to myself that I am a good person. I rip off the hem of my robe; it tears with a sharp sound that makes me shiver. Snape looks up, puzzled as to why I'm doing this. He carries on pacing, though. I hold my scrap piece of robe in one hand and my wand in the other. I recollect the Portus spell. I had learnt the various steps to creating a Portkey in Advanced Charms of my seventh year. I must remember it now, correctly.
Suddenly Snape notices what I am doing, he sweeps over to me in one movement: "Have you gone completely mad?" he asks me in a low but thunderous tone. I look at him; he's using the same scare tactics as he did when I was his student. They are not going to work. I complete the charm and lift it through the slit in the cage. Ron does not notice it, and I do not know if I dare interrupt him from his loudly spoken thoughts. He is now speaking of a time when Fred and George set his broomstick alight. He huddles together in the fear of the flames, feeling them flicker over him at this present moment.
"Wingardium Leviosa" I say, lifting my wand up and watching as the small piece of material hovers. I debate whether or not to just throw it at him, thus sending him straight to Grimmauld Place. I've mapped the Portkey so he lands in Sirius' old room. Harry should be in the house, if he has obeyed me. Poor Ron, the shock of the change could render him into a fit. Or will he even notice the change? He is in a different world altogether, his bodies location may not matter anymore, his mind is disconnected. I turn around to Snape; he deserves some explanation for my reckless behaviour.
"I am sorry," I say, but realise that it isn't an explanation. "The time has come when we need to do something rather than just watch and plot futile plans."
I do not bother turning and looking at him, no doubt his face will be in that infamous sneer of an expression. I lift my wand and firmly shout "Waddiwasi". The piece of torn-off robe flies straight into the unaware Ronald Weasley, and with a pop he disappears, hopefully to Grimmauld Place.
