TRIGGER WARNING : Graphic violence later in the chapter.
We are now in Duncan's POV
I have the most popular Gryffindor on my arm, and even if she's younger, who cares? Hermione Granger turns heads. I like her. She's got a temper, and she's brilliant. She hangs out with Harry and Ron a bit too much for my liking, but I don't mind that too much because frankly, they don't seem to be chasing anything towards Hermione.
BLACK.
It's November. In Hermione's Defence Against the Dark Arts class with Umbridge, she tells me that Harry Potter keeps interfering. According to him, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back. According to Umbridge, this is a lie. I don't know who to believe. When he first mentioned it, I thought he was being cheeky. I was surprised. Yet, in the corridors, opinions about Umbridge are almost unanimous: she's a bitch. I don't find her annoying, but rather authoritarian. She knows how to be respected, and I admire that. I think being respected is better than being too nice to everyone.
BLACK.
Umbridge hands out some rather complicated theoretical texts in class. The scrolls are photocopied, but you can see that the original copy is old and yellowed, like something out of an ancient grimoire.
"You're all aware that there are preconceived notions that Purebloods are more... worthy of their magic than those born of Muggles," she says in a tiny voice.
She looks at her whole class and I see some students tense up a little in their seats, a few desks ahead of me.
"The Ministry is not here to tell you what to think," continued Umbridge, "and certainly not to invalidate certain schools of thought simply because we think they are nonsense. As thoughtful wizards, we have a duty to look at all opinions and study what constructs them."
I sit up straight in my seat, finding this speech strangely right.
"As a homework assignment, I want you to write down two feet of parchment about the tension between Purebloods and Muggles, and more broadly, I want you to detail what the Purists believe and why the Wizarding World should only belong to Purebloods."
A Ravenclaw girl raises her hand shyly.
"Yes, Miss Barrows?" chimed Umbridge.
"Can we write in an argumentative style, commenting on these ideas in a personal way?"
"Your personal views are irrelevant to me, and do not and should not matter when it comes to considering other views. I am not asking you to debate. I am asking you to be open-minded enough to be able to explain with logical and well-founded arguments what is the Purists' mindset."
Silence falls in the classroom, but no one adds any comments or questions. Umbridge continues her lesson and we examine the texts she has handed out. They are well written, direct and precise. I'm not used to reading these kinds of texts, and I know that their nature should bother me, but I can't help it. They demonstrate an intensity and rigour that we don't see today.
When the class ends, one of my friends, Joshua, who I know was born of Muggle parents, comes up to me, his cheeks on fire, looking really offended.
"I can't believe she's allowed to teach such things!"
I say nothing and let him continue her rant. He tells me that the Muggle world has already suffered the ravages of several cruel dictators and that the same thing is happening with Voldemort. He thinks of one particular dictator with a funny name that I've never heard of.
"You can't compare twigs and branches, Joshua," I reply, a little absently.
I can't hear what he says next.
BLACK.
I'm in the library while there's a Quidditch match between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins, so I'm sure I won't be watched by Hermione. She doesn't know about my assignment. I know it would offend her. I've been browsing through almost all the shelves looking for books that might tell me more about the Purist movement. I've almost finished my assignment, but I need to know more. I feel like there is an infinite amount of thought to take into account, a multitude of arguments and a very open world to explore. I don't understand why we never talked about it more. I understand that it can be a 'sensitive subject' for many, including Joshua, but Umbridge is right. We have a duty as responsible wizards to examine all the positions and mindsets of all the different wizarding groups.
At a nearby table, I stand and stare blankly at a girl's gorgeous black hair bent over a parchment scroll. When she looks up, I realise it's Angela Jenkins. How the hell did Samuel Granger get this witch?
BLACK.
I've been spending a lot more time in the library reading for the last three weeks. I have almost exhausted all the rather simplistic books on the subject. My fascination has only grown. Umbridge personally congratulated me on the thoroughness and accuracy of my essay, which earned an O. I wonder if that should concern me, since everybody knows she's a bitch, however. I need more. I am hunched over a book, "The Origins of Magic: Does the wizard choose the magic or does it choose its wizard?" when Hermione appears in my field of vision.
With a jolt, I close the book with a sharp snap and shove it under my bag, grabbing a Potions textbook in the process.
"Hi," I said.
"Hello," she says back.
She takes the chair next to me and her body instinctively leans towards mine, as if expecting some kind of gesture from me. I'm not really in the mood to cuddle her, and I wish she'd told me she was coming instead of surprising me like this.
Finally, seeing that I'm not doing anything, she kisses my cheek and rests her face against her palm.
"What are you doing?" she asks me in a light tone.
"Just reading."
She looks at my book on the table and raises her eyebrows. "Upside down?"
I blink and finally notice that I've taken my Potions textbook upside down. Damn it. I can feel the impatience growing inside me in a rush.
"Sorry, I'm just preoccupied, that's all," I grit out through my teeth as I replace my book right side up, keeping my elbow firmly planted on my bag.
As usual, she puts on an exaggeratedly worried expression and leans towards me again, this time placing her hand on my arm. "Are you all right?"
She's too maternal. I bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from sighing loudly. Instead, I offer her the kind of smile she wants.
"Yes, don't worry," I reply, falsely sweet. "I know you're there if I need you."
I prefer to be one step ahead of her with the words I know she'll say. Her face softens and she offers me a smile again. "Do you need help?" she asks.
I know she means well, but I can't help but feel annoyed. I'm in my final year, I'm a Prefect and she's two years behind me... She's brilliant, yes, but does she think she's that brilliant?
"No, that's fine," I say. "By the way, how long has your brother been seeing Angela?"
She frowns, obviously surprised by my question, but thinks about it anyway.
"Since October, I think. Angela did an internship at the Ministry during the summer, and my brother works there…"
"Ah. Nice."
She stays with me for another ten minutes or so and then leaves, probably disappointed by my lack of attention towards her. I look again at the back of Angela's dark-haired head.
BLACK.
It's February already. Umbridge has put all sorts of policies and decrees in place. I think that it gives the school structure and it allows me to move around in a way that is controlled, logical and focused. There's no more Quidditch, but I don't care. I didn't like it anyway, and I used to sit with Hermione for the duration of a match.
I feel different. I feel lonelier. Paradoxically, I prefer being alone too. I've read a lot of theory about the Purists, from the classics of Robin Salmander III to Garnett Dime. But I am always left hungry. I know the theory, but I would like to understand the practice. What does it mean to preach the purity of magic in action? Why is that frowned upon? I need someone to explain to me why it's important to them, personally.
The idea of going and talking to Slytherins jumps to mind. I just need to ask the right questions.
BLACK.
I don't know all the Slytherins. I know Stanley Gooseberry and his band of seventh years, who have Arithmancy in common with the Ravenclaws. I also know Malfoy, still flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, and a few others, but they're younger and I frankly don't want to get into a discussion with immature wizards who are only interested in banging their fists on everything.
I feel a bit uncomfortable talking to Stanley directly, so I prefer to wait for the next Arithmancy class. When I get to the classroom, I completely ignore my usual seat and throw my bag on the free desk next to Stanley. He is startled and when he notices it's me, he makes a funny face.
"Oh, it's Big Mac!" he sneers.
I crash into the chair. "Hi, Goose."
The class starts, and we take notes, as usual. When the class finishes, Stanley stands up, almost immediately surrounded by his mates, but I lean over to him. "Can I talk to you?"
He looks at me as if I've just been turned into an ostrich in front of him, and finally shrugs. "Yeah, I guess."
He lets his gang out of the classroom in front of him and stands back, his bag slung over one shoulder.
"What's up, Big Mac?"
I hate that name, but I ignore it. I'd rather jump right in than beat around the bush. I know what I want, and I'm going to get it.
"I was just wondering if you had any opinion about the division between Purebloods and... others."
"You mean the Mudbloods?"
"Uh... yeah, the Mudbloods."
My mouth quickly adapts to the term I've never pronounced before. Stanley shrugs. "Well, you know, I'm not a Pureblood myself, but I'd just like to tell you how much I'd pay to be a Pureblood."
"Why?"
He widens his eyes in disbelief. "Imagine being born into a family where for generations only wizard blood has been passed down! Imagine how pure and powerful and... vibrant with true magic that can make the new wizard's blood!"
"I know, I read about it," I sighed.
"What about you? What are you?"
"Pureblood."
"What did your father tell you about it?"
"My father is dead."
His expression freezes for a moment but he quickly recovers. "Oh. Sorry," he apologises. "So what did your mother tell you about it?"
"Nothing, actually," I reply. "I'm not sure she believes in her own superiority."
A petty smile stretches Stanley's lips. "So you do believe? You believe in the superiority of Purebloods?"
I breathe in. "Yeah, I think so. Maybe."
He looks happy, or proud, and I'm not sure why. He looks at his watch, as if he's late for something, and starts walking. "You should talk to one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight!"
I blink. "One of the what?"
He is already two metres away from me, walking away down the corridor, obviously in a hurry.
"One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight!" he repeats. "A Pureblood family! Malfoy, Goyle, Flint—"
He mentions other names, but he's already far away. Did that idiot just drop me in the middle of a conversation?
"Sorry!" I hear him shouting down the hall like an echo. "I've got a shag planned!"
BLACK.
Hermione does who knows what. She's often off between classes, but frankly I don't care. It gives me more time to read and do what I want, actually. I'm trying to work out what Stanley meant by the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but I'm not sure. Someone has to start giving me full and clear answers soon, because I can't fucking stand not knowing anything anymore.
I bump into Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle on an outdoor bench near the Black Lake, laughing for some silly reason. I think they're shouting nonsense at some first years who are walking by. I wait a little apart to see if the group will move or split up. I have no desire to approach all three of them at once.
My opportunity arises when a first year student throws a piece of wood in their direction. Malfoy reacts quickly and draws his wand, chasing after him at once, and Crabbe launches himself after him. Goyle, perhaps not quick enough or just lazy, sits on the bench laughing.
I have only one question to ask. It will be quick.
I walk over to the bench. "Hi. You're Goyle, right?"
He looks surprised to see me, but his expression is replaced by automatic disdain. "Yeah. What do you want?"
"You're one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, aren't you?"
He frowns immediately, and I shove my hands into my jacket pockets.
"Who told you that?" he grumbles.
I shrug. "It's not important. I'd just like to know what this sacred number thing is."
"Piss off, you little prick," he snaps, rolling his eyes.
I keep my feet planted on the ground and stare at him from my full height. "Don't act like you're important," I retort. "I asked you a simple question."
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because I'm interested. I'm trying to understand why some Pureblood wizards are so attached to the whole blood purity concept and who is worthy of magic."
A crooked smile stretches his lips and gives him a slightly sadistic look. He stands up, hand in his pockets, looks in the direction of Crabbe and Malfoy, further away, who have caught the little brat and are now feeding him who knows what, wands under his nose. Goyle starts walking towards the castle and I follow him.
"The Sacred Twenty-Eight are the elite, of course," he replies after a moment, sounding obvious. "They are the twenty-eight British families, who have kept their blood pure for about seventy years, at least. There's been no trace of Muggles in their genetics for decades."
"And you're one of them?" I ask, feeling the sharp edge of jealousy flay me.
"Of course I am," he snorts. "If you're interested in reading history, there's an old book about it, and it's constantly updated in some magical way, like magical family trees. I can't remember the title, but there might be a copy in the library."
"It's not there," I said immediately.
Given the amount of time I spent in the library scanning all the shelves for books on the subject of Purebloods, pure magic, and the main theories of who deserves magic and who doesn't, I would have seen a book like this go by.
Goyle gives me a sidelong glance. "You won't find it if you haven't tried the Forbidden Section," he sneers.
Should have thought of that, I think.
"If you're so interested," he continues, "why are you with a Mudblood?"
I feel myself blushing with inexplicable shame. I try to think. Why am I with her?
"I don't know," I say.
"Whatever. If you ask me, Mudbloods should never have been admitted to wizarding schools. They slow down the progress of pure magic, sacred magic, real magic. And on top of that, they are associated with Muggles, the worst race, the worst ignorant people. I hope you at least understand that."
I don't answer. The castle gates grow larger as we get closer. Goyle gives me another sidelong glance.
"If you're really serious about your interests," he adds, "you have to believe at least that. It's the basics. You're a Pureblood, right?"
"Yes, I am."
He cringes with extreme disgust. "Ugh. All I can think of is that when you fuck your Mudblood, if you haven't already, and she has a child, you'll have tainted a wizard's blood with traces of muggles. Not to mention your own union with dirty blood…"
I feel like I'm supposed to say something, anything, to defend my choices or at least defend my girlfriend, but nothing comes to mind.
BLACK.
It's dark. It's nearly 11pm, if I'm not mistaken. I took advantage of my Prefect's rounds to enter the library. If I am quiet enough, I will be able to enter the Restricted Section without any problem. The Heads' patrols are far away, and I am not aware of any Professors walking around the castle at this hour.
The door creaks as I enter and I apply a silence spell to it, and to the soles of my feet. It's just a book. I only need to see the book for a few minutes. I walk in the dark to the gate of the Forbidden Section when a voice echoes behind me.
"Mr. MacMiller?"
Fuck. I know that voice. I swivel around and come face to face with Umbridge, dressed in a pink chiffon cape. I immediately flash her a charming smile.
"Good afternoon, Ma'am," I answer calmly and politely.
She raises an eyebrow. "You mean 'Good evening'."
I clear my throat but say nothing.
"Mr. MacMiller, what are you doing here?" she asks in her tiny squealing voice.
I believe that honesty, a little amped up, is the best card to play. "I... I wanted to see a book, Professor. In the Forbidden Section."
Her eyebrow goes up even higher. "What book?"
"I don't know the title. It's about the Sacred Twenty-Eight. I'm just... I'm really curious, ma'am. And it all started when you gave us a parchment to write about Purebloods' views on... others. It's starting to make sense to me. I want to know more."
I expect her to give me detention, and I don't mind. I just don't want her to stop me from accessing the book. If she does, I'll keep coming back. I'll find a way to get my hands on it.
Umbridge's eyes are probing. A small, almost knowing smile softens her face. "I admire your curiosity, Mr. MacMiller. It is indeed a delicate subject for many, but for those who are able to think in depth, it is a source of discovery and... enlightenment."
I nod, not sure what else I should do.
"But you know the rules better than anyone," she adds.
I nod again.
"Next time, I would prefer it if you could come to me directly with any questions about this or if you want support in your research. My aim is to allow you to open your horizons, and spread the wings of your judgment."
"Yes, Professor," I reply.
She reaches into her cloak and pulls out a small stack of parchments and a bushy, pink quill. She moves to the nearest table and her heels click against the floor.
"I'm writing you a pass to the Restricted Section," she mews. "You'll be able to take your time reading without worrying if anyone will catch you."
Surprise catches in my throat and blocks my voice in my chest. No detention? I find it hard to understand why everyone says she's a pain in the ass... A smile appears on my lips despite myself.
"Thank you so much, Professor," I whisper.
"Don't worry about it," she replies, handing me the clean, detailed parchment. "Now, I'll ask you to leave."
"Yes, Professor."
BLACK.
The very next day, during my free period, I am already back in the library, this time in the Forbidden Section. I scan the dusty shelves. Several books are chained together. Most of them are very thick, like real bricks with worn leather covers. I find what I want quickly.
Wedged between two large volumes about spells that involve the use of blood is The Number 28 among Purebloods : what does generational purity mean? by Jericho Mandrake. I don't know this author. I grab the book and start flipping through it. There are pictures of the members of the 28 sacred families through the decades. The families all wrote comments or notes about their families, except the Weasley ancestors, because 'they don't believe in the Purity of Blood and are part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight only by sheer coincidence'. No wonder they are poor. I drop into a chair and begin to read a few passages more carefully.
"We believe in redemptive change. We believe in fear, as salvation and nourishment that fuels our instincts and allows the most loyal heart to serve a master. The Wizarding World can only function by having one Lord, strong enough to be feared, powerful enough to restore things. A Lord who believes in Purity and wants to prioritise it."
"The mixing of Bloods is an abomination that should be punished. Our predecessors sought to uphold the Purity Code so that the Blood would remain pure from generation to generation, so that as the Wizarding World expands, the Purebloods would multiply. Only by eliminating, or at least disqualifying, all those who associate with Muggles can we reach Pure Heaven, under the reign of a Lord who will look upon his followers with a proud eye."
"The Sacred Twenty-Eight Families are the perfect example of what all wizarding families should strive for. Find a Pureblood partner. Do the Wizarding World a favour. Give thanks to your ancestors. Don't get caught up in the dusty, miserable lives of Muggles. The Half-Bloods are the unfortunate evidence of a weak Pureblood who has been brainwashed because of his or her already poor and inadequate mentality for centuries."
"Losing control is the last thing we should accept. Rules must be followed. Consequences must be established. Fear breeds obedience. Sacrificing mercy for power is what will forge the Wizards of tomorrow. Grow up to grow strong. Let the vices flourish so that they climb up and wrap themselves around the mind. The most perfect venom."
I read on, drinking in each paragraph like an elixir, feeling my heart swell with the dawn of something new lighting up inside me. I read through pages until I reach the most recent photos of the Sacred Twenty-Eight today.
And I see my father's face.
MACMILLAN Lamar (b. 1942- d. 1979)
Husband of GOLDHORN Anita (b. 1949- )
Father of MACMILLAN Duncan (b. 1978- )
*Notes: For anonymity purposes, Anita changed her child's name to MACMILLER after her husband's death. "It's not the Blood that defines him." - Anita Goldhorn, 7 August 1981, for the present update.
Something inside me cracks. It's my father for sure. My heart stops. Or perhaps it speeds up. I find it hard to concentrate on the beating. All that dances before my eyes is my mother's name, combined with my father's name. She always told me his name was MacMiller. The name MacMillan doesn't mislead, just after Longbottom and just before Malfoy.
My father was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
I am one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
I am pure. I've been pure for generations. My name is not MacMiller. I am Macmillan. I belong to the Pureblood realm, to the power, to the elite.
And it's been hidden from me. It's been taken away from me.
A dull anger flares up in me from head to toe when I think of my mother. My mother who changed my identity, who stole it from me. I was destined for so much more, I was already so much more than the ordinary, unremarkable Ravenclaw Duncan MacMiller. I am Duncan MacMillan, a Pureblood already powerful and destined to keep the Purity of my blood alive for generations. Destined to find a Lord who knows how to command respect and who understands the importance of that Purity. Who wants to establish it in the Wizarding World.
I blink and I close the book. When I look up again, the world is a different colour.
BLACK.
For the first time I kiss Angela passionately in a narrow alcove of the castle. It is the end of March. Ever since I learned my true identity, I couldn't stop thinking about her. I knew she was a Pureblood. I wanted her. I wanted to taste that Purity. That freedom. That pleasure. And this is so much different, so much better than...
Hermione.
When her face appears in my mind, I pull away from Angela, probably with a sneer of disdain. I can't afford to think about her. I push her back into a corner of my mind. I still have time to deal with her.
"Are you all right?" breathes Angela.
"I've never felt better," I reply, pressing my lips to hers again.
BLACK.
I feel something rising in this world. A dark power, a sovereign kingdom that will finally be established. I think it's the truth. I think Harry Potter may have been right, and that Lord Voldemort has returned. The more time passes, the more I sense that I am being called to a greater purpose. I want to learn. I want to be taught as one of the Sacred 28. I don't belong at Hogwarts. I don't belong hand in hand with this… Mudblood. I don't understand what I feel. I don't understand what I think. Every time I start thinking about Muggles or Muggle-born wizards, something inside me flares up and fires me up. Something is wrong. Only by eliminating, or at least disqualifying, all those who associate with Muggles can we reach Pure Heaven.
BLACK.
I continue to dig into reading books from the Restricted Section. I don't understand why they are banned, though, because they are full of multiple and accurate information. They are not just theories. Many ideas are written in them, but only a few of them have any real application in the Wizarding World.
A radical movement is called upon. Things have to change and cannot remain locked up in a book in the Restricted Section, away from intelligent eyes and ears. The concept of Purity must be practiced, and starting now. Pureblood rule must begin, and it cannot wait. All wizards must be made aware of this. All should know and understand the importance of magical Purity being passed on.
What are we waiting for?
BLACK.
In April, I manage to drag Goyle with me to the Restricted Section. I show him the book. I show him the picture of my parents. I show him that I am a MacMillan. He widens his eyes and leans over the page, his nose almost glued to it.
"Are you fucking serious?"
"I'm one of you people," I reply.
He puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. "Hell yes!" he exclaims. "I can't believe it. All this time you didn't know."
I clench my fists. "I know," I spit. "My mother didn't raise me on the Purity of Magic and Blood principles. I think she was ashamed."
"Do you want to talk to her?"
"No, I don't." My answer is quick, and I realise I had made up my mind long ago. "I'm not going back to her," I add.
"So what now?"
"I still need answers."
BLACK.
It's the last day at Hogwarts, and I can't wait to leave. I knew that meant my release from that Mudblood. I was only keeping her with me to get information out of her. I knew she was up to something with Potter. They went to the Ministry for a prophecy story. There was a battle; the Death Eaters showed up to catch them.
I wonder where they are, and where I might be able to reach them. The Death Eaters, I mean. I'm sure one of them could give me answers, or even guide me to the Dark Lord, who will undoubtedly fill in the last gaps in my understanding.
I go through the whole graduation ceremony. I am handed a diploma, which I don't even look at. I keep my eyes fixed on Angela. It's better if she doesn't know where I'm going. I can only tell her when everything is settled and stable. I'll come back for her. I'll come back to take her with me and give her the life she deserves as a Pureblood and a wife of a Sacred Twenty-Eight.
The ceremony ends and Hermione hops over to me. I don't care that we're in public. She's of no use to me anymore.
"I don't want to be with you anymore," I say.
Her expression does not change, and I wonder if she heard me. I inhale, and resume. "It's over, Hermione."
She frowns, and I can see that she's hurt. "Why?" she whispers, looking betrayed.
I almost want to tell her the truth. Because your blood is impure. Because you are not worthy of me. Because you don't deserve a Sacred Twenty-Eight. Because you will never be able to contribute to the Wizarding World as any wizard should. Because you will never be able to understand the importance of magical Purity. Because you were born of Muggle parents. Because you are simply dreadful and represent the disgrace of all magic.
"I don't think we want the same things anymore," I explain, emotionlessly.
She stammers and I see the tears welling up in her eyes. My impatience grows. "We don't need to dwell on this decision any longer. I am doing the right thing."
She turns quickly on her heels and runs out of the Great Hall. Finally. I pack my bags, take the Hogwarts Express, but I don't go home. So begins my search.
BLACK.
It's August. A muggle shop window shatters and splinters, slashing the cheeks of the nearest muggles. Too bad for them. Two Death Eaters, wrapped in their cloaks, cackle with glee, pointing their wands at anything that was still standing. My heart leaps in my chest. At last.
I rush towards them and kneel at their feet. They push me aside.
"Please," I beg. "Take me to your Master. I want... I want to help. I understand what you do and why you do it."
One of them puts his sole on my shoulder and presses hard. "Oh, do you?" he grunts. "Prove it."
I stand up slowly and point my wand at the first Muggle that comes into view. How pathetic they are, all swarming around like poor hapless fools with no fate.
"Avada Kedavra!"
BLACK.
They put my head in a cloth bag. They took my wand. Rough hands squeeze my arms, but I'm fine. I don't care. I'm shaking with excitement, fear and nervousness at the thought of meeting Lord Voldemort. I'm thrown onto the hard, cold floor of an unfamiliar building. The Death Eaters who accompanied me leave the room. I hear the door close. Then silence.
"I was told you were looking for answers."
I flinch as I hear the voice, hissing and hoarse at the same time. I stay on my knees.
"Yes," I whispered.
"I want to see your face. Reveal yourself."
I pull the bag away from my head. My gaze is immediately drawn to the Lord's white face and red eyes. He exudes respect, power, authority, fear. I feel myself trembling again despite myself. His eyes probe me curiously. He is sitting in a green velvet chair, wrapped in a black cloak, in the centre of a dark room with a very high ceiling. It looks like a mansion or a castle.
He smiles. "I recognize the features of my faithful servant, Lamar MacMillan, in you," he says.
I blink and bow my head in submission. "Yes... my Lord," I say quietly. "I only recently learned that I am his son. My mother changed my last name to MacMiller. My name is Duncan."
Lord Voldemort nodded slowly, as if considering my words. "Do you know how your father died, Duncan?"
"My mother told me he died in a magical accident. I never knew he had been... one of you, my Lord."
He shakes his head, looking a little displeased, and slowly rises from his chair. I keep my knees firmly planted on the floor, and make sure I don't look him in the eye for too long. I linger on his feet. My heart is beating excessively fast.
"Your mother is a liar," he whispers as he approaches me. He reaches my level, but I continue to stare at his bare, white feet. "Stand up and look me in the eye," he orders.
I do so. He is taller than me. He lifts his chin.
"Your father died at the hands of Muggles," he said. "He was stabbed on his way home. His belongings were stolen."
My heart misses a beat and my breath catches in my throat. I blink. Muggles. Muggles? My jaw clenches.
"You have a right to be angry, Duncan," he adds, reading my face. "Were those the answers you were looking for?"
"Among other things," I huff, my breath coming in short. "I would like... I want to—"
"State your requests clearly," he asks. "You're not just anyone. Raise your chin."
I obey and swallow. I square my shoulders and readjust my posture. Anger warms my veins. I didn't know my father. But knowing he was killed by... Muggles...
"I would like to avenge my father," I say. "I would like to understand more and more what it means to belong to one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families. It's... a real honour for me. I want to make it count. I want to contribute to the supremacy of Purity in the Wizarding World."
"You say lovely things," he replies. "Probably from the pages of books. Your mind is still pliable and weak. The only way you can determine your role in the Wizarding World is to be a part of it. It is not enough to learn. You must practice."
I nod humbly, lowering my head. "I want to practice," I say.
"Are you willing to be shaped and molded by my teaching?"
"Yes, I am."
"Are you willing to be taught the truth, and to put it into action?"
"Yes."
"Will you give me your allegiance, your loyalty, and your time?"
"Yes, my Lord."
He smiles, and I feel good. He reaches into his cloak and pulls out a long knife. For a few seconds I am convinced he will kill me with the weapon, but he only slides a long, thin finger over the back of the blade.
"This is the weapon that killed your father," he says. "I give it back to you."
He hands me the dagger. I grasp it with a trembling hand. The handle moulds perfectly to the shape of my palm, as if it had always belonged to me.
"Do you want to avenge your father?" he asks.
"I do. I won't deceive you, my Lord."
BLACK.
I started my Death Eater training with Bellatrix. No other Death Eater knows about it. Those who guided me to the Lord think I'm dead, probably at the hands of their Lord. I am the Dark Lord's new secret, the new project. The next success story.
Bellatrix tortures me with the Cruciatus Curse, but I learn to withstand it and adapt to it. She teaches me Dark Magic. I feel the power flowing through my veins. I learn control. I learn to channel my hate. I learn to repress my human weakness that wants to prevent me from reacting with violence.
BLACK.
It was in December that I received the Dark Mark on my left arm. Only Voldemort and Bellatrix were present. The Lord wants to keep me away from the others and keep my identity secret. Bellatrix taught me how to fly in my Death Eater form. All I have to do is invoke the power of Darkness with two non-verbal words: Fuga Tenebris. The black smoke envelops me and lifts me up, and I manage to spin and fly wherever I want in the sky. It's much quicker than a broom.
My first mission is to infiltrate the Muggle world to eliminate the Mudbloods. My Lord told me that using the knife could give me the sense of justice I so desperately seek. Before leaving, he said a few final words to me.
"I will not tell my Death Eaters who you are," he said. "For the sake of your mission, I prefer you to stay in the Muggle world. I will come to you once a month to determine your progress. In the meantime, you will be called Mackie."
"Mackie?"
A cruel smile stretched his thin lips. "It's derived from a play about a knife," he explained. "I'll give you carte blanche as to how you want to infiltrate the Muggle world. But if you're not careful, the Aurors will spot you and might catch you. Don't hesitate to kill them when you meet them."
"Right," I say.
"Goodbye, Mackie."
I bow down submissively. "Goodbye, Master."
BLACK.
I changed my appearance. I abandoned my home. I steal jewels to fill my pockets. I've never experienced anything so rewarding in my life. I've been on this mission for almost a year. I think of her, of my sweet Angela, whom I want to see again more than anything, but it's not the time yet. I'm clever. I'm a black plague. The Aurors can't catch me. The rumour of 'Mackie' among the Death Eaters is spreading. I hear about it. I hear the stories of my victories from others. My Master is happy with my work. At night I sometimes pray to him, and I believe he really hears me.
BLACK.
Dumbledore is dead. This is a night to be celebrated. My heart is happy that a better reign is coming. The inclusive world is ending. It's the dawn of the exclusive world. The Purebloods can finally prevail. Dressed as a simple wizard and not as a Death Eater, I go unnoticed when I go to the wizarding villages. I even meet a Parkinson. Another of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. She is sixteen years old. She is in her sixth year at Hogwarts.
I fuck her as she waits for me with open and eager legs. She tells me how Draco Malfoy has paid no attention to her all year, too focused on his mission. I don't understand how a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight couldn't care less about another member of the same elite. Draco. He was tasked with completing the Master's mission. He almost succeeded. I have no doubt that one day I will be able to meet him and shape him as the Dark Lord did with me.
It's only when I think of Angela's face that I reach my release. Pansy is in her blossoming prime, young and ready to latch onto any man who shows her a little attention, anything that Malfoy has failed to give her. I know it will come in handy sooner or later. I return to my mission only a few days later. The war is coming.
BLACK.
I've been thinking increasingly more about her for a while. I haven't seen her since we graduated from Hogwarts. She's a Pureblood, after all. We deserve each other. I'm sure that with a fairly convincing explanation, she would understand who I've become. I'm a whole new person. People from my old life wouldn't recognize me. But she would. I have a symbol tattooed on my neck that represents everything I want to achieve, everything I have become.
I still remember the date of her birthday. I believe that visiting her is the right thing to do.
BLACK.
My Lord is dead. Everywhere, the excellence and bravery of the golden trio who brought down this 'monstrous' Dark Lord is praised. She. Hermione. That fucking Mudblood was part of the downfall of the new kingdom. She will pay.
BLACK.
I'm still hunting down Mudbloods all over the world. I kill them one at a time. It will never be too late to bring about new order. This world needs a new Lord. I will keep trying. At the beginning of June, I apparate to Bloomsbury. Of course I know her address. I amuse myself by guessing the expression she will make when she sees me for the first time in two years.
I knock, but no one answers. I hear laughter. I refuse to be kept waiting like this. I kick the door down. Angela and that fucking Mudblood Samuel Granger were snogging on the couch. I had forgotten this little prick, quite honestly. They jump to their feet and look at me as if I've come straight from hell. What is she doing with someone like him?
"Happy birthday, I guess," I say.
That bastard Granger raises his wand at me, pushing Angela behind him. "Is that really you, MacMiller?"
"Good call." I didn't want to correct him on my name.
"What do you want?" he growls.
I laugh. The Mudbloods will never manage to impress me in the slightest. "I want something you can never give me yourself, Granger, and that's a world without Mudbloods."
"Duncan..." Angela whispered, her eyes filling with tears. I thought you were dead…"
She takes a step towards me, but Samuel pushes her away. "You're a Death Eater, aren't you?" he asks.
"I see that brains run in the family," I point out.
"I forbid you to even mention my sister, MacMiller."
How dare he talk to me like that?
"Duncan, Sam—" Angela pleads.
"Your fucking sister will pay for what she did!" I yell.
"EXPELLIARMUS!" shouts Samuel.
Spells explode around me. Samuel doesn't get the upper hand in the duel. I am too skilled. This isn't the first Auror I've fought.
"I'll look her in the eye," I say, "I'll look her in the eye while I take her life! I'll take you all out one by one, you Mudbloods!"
"YOU WILL NOT TOUCH HER!" he yells.
"Oh, I won't? I rather think she'll beg me to fuck her like a whore!"
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
"NOOOO!" shouts Angela.
I don't know what's happening. A flash of green light fills the room and the next moment Angela's limp body falls lifelessly to the carpet at my feet. Samuel, horrified, stares at her dead body. I say nothing. He falls to his knees in front of her and starts bawling like a dog.
"You killed her," I say. "You killed a Pureblood…"
"No, no, no…" he cries.
He holds Angela's body against him and cradles her. A smoldering anger inflames me from head to toe. Samuel raises a red face to me. His eyes are cruel, mad, and full of rage. He throws himself on me with his bare hands and starts hitting me.
"It's YOUR fault!" he yells.
I think he even manages to break my nose, and blood runs down, but I push him away without difficulty. His knuckles are bleeding. I punch him in the jaw and he falls backwards.
"YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS, MUDBLOOD!" I shout, pointing at him. "YOU DESERVED TO DIE! NOT HER! I WILL COME FOR YOU. I WILL COME FOR YOU AND YOU WILL REGRET IT. AND THEN I WILL COME FOR YOUR SISTER AND I WILL DESTROY HER. PHYSICALLY AND MENTALLY."
I leave him to weep over Angela's remains and apparate. In Pansy's bed I burst into tears. She doesn't ask me any questions. That sodding Mudblood killed a Pureblood, the last star that still shone in my memory. I wonder what he did with her body.
BLACK.
I go back to visit her house and bring flowers every time. Her sister Ivana always welcomes me with open arms. She thinks I was one of her work colleagues. With each visit I talk to her a little longer. I don't tell her who killed her sister. Rather, I want her to know what an abomination the Mudbloods are. She listens to me but says nothing. I even manage to convince her that Samuel Granger was a toxic boyfriend for Angela, and that his little Mudblood sister helped make the world even more unfair and filled with inequality. I see in her eyes that she drinks my words like the elixir of truth. Little by little, I win her over.
"One day or another, I dare to believe that the golden girl will come back here," I tell her. "When that happens, you'll have to do everything you can to keep her here, if you're able. If not, let me know so that I can get here as soon as possible."
BLACK.
I have been tracking him for several days. I follow his movements. I am surprised that no one can see me. I have become too skilled at concealment. On July 3rd, I decide to act at last. I go back to see Pansy. She resents me for not giving her my full attention. I don't give a damn about her, but she is useful to me, so I don't want to tell her.
"I need you to do something for me," I say.
She looks at me, unfazed. I stroke her cheek with a finger and she closes her eyes. Yes, tenderness is indeed the way to tame her.
"Please…" I add. "I trust you. You have extraordinary abilities."
I have her full attention. Good.
"You will go to Main Street tonight. While I'm doing my... business, I want you to collect some wealth for me. Anything you want. Jewels. Silver. Anything that glitters."
"But... Blaise lives on Main Street! I... I don't want—"
"You will do as I say."
She keeps shaking her head. "Blaise is my friend, I can't... I won't—"
"Impero!"
Her face softens. I wish she would have obeyed me by choice, but I guess you have to force the issue sometimes... I lower myself to her eye level.
"You will steal all the wealth you find on Main Street. Do not linger in any house. Put on your hood, and wear a mask. You will also make sure to immobilize Samuel Granger and steal his watch. You will take everything you find back home with you. Is that understood?"
Pansy nods and I feel myself overflowing with excitement. Finally, the moment has come. She does exactly as I say and we apparate together to Main Street. I let her go and follow closely behind.
Then Samuel Granger appears.
I'm not going to make this quick and easy with a simple Death Curse. No. This time I'm going to make him taste real pain with an object from his own world. But first... first I want to see him beg. I want to see that Mudblood light leave his eyes.
The street is deserted. I wait for him to turn between two buildings and Pansy points her wand at his back.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
He falls to the ground, but I don't move forward right away. Pansy rushes at him, flips him over, and snatches the watch from his wrist. She tosses it to me with a precise throw, then turns on her heels and leaves to begin her long night of thievery.
I lean over to Samuel and cast a Silencio and a Disillusionment Charm around us. No one will be able to see or hear us. I draw my knife. His eyes stare at me with the kind of anguish I used to crave.
"You killed a Pureblood," I tell him. "You killed the woman I loved."
I push the edge of my blade against his arm. Blood spurts out at once.
"You helped..." I continue. "You helped the wizarding world get rid of the Dark Lord."
I thrust the tip of the knife into his shoulder. His eyes cloud over in agony. I feel an extreme pleasure rising in me. "You were born. You were born of Muggle parents."
I stab his thigh. "You're a traitor."
I thrust my blade into his stomach. I feel the blade working its way through his organs. Blood splashes onto my hands. I lean gently towards his face to make sure he hears me. "I will get your sister. I will make her pay for your crime, but also for her crime against humanity."
I take my wand back and end the spell that was petrifying him. Immediately he coughs and spits out a trickle of blood. He gasps. He is pale. I have never seen anything so delightful. His almost closed eyes look directly at me.
"Hermione..." he whispers. "Hermione... fight. I know you will see this someday. Fight... I love you."
I don't allow him to say any more and I shove the knife down his throat. He convulses for a few seconds and his body goes limp. He suffocates as the blood flows profusely. His useless life vanishes from his eyes and soon he lies still.
BLACK.
BLACK.
BLACK.
Hermione used all her focus to pull herself out of Duncan's head, unable to bear the sight of her brother's body. She regained her awareness. Her back was against the snow. Blood flowed from her cuts. She shivered with cold. Her arm rested at her side.
She sobbed, the image of the knife in her brother's throat clear in her mind. "He didn't have to die for it..." she murmured weakly, still remembering all the memories of Duncan, of his readings in the library, his conversations with her, his kisses with Angela, his training with Bellatrix...
Duncan gripped her forearm hard. "He died for this," he said, running his blade under the scar of the word Mudblood on her arm.
A tear of blood flowed from this new wound and Hermione screamed. "It was Pansy, wasn't it?" she sobbed. "It was Pansy who cursed all those people and sent me m-messages."
"Good girl," Duncan repeated, smiling fondly. "I didn't even have to Imperiused her for that. She volunteered. Oh, how she hates you, Hermione. She hates your blood. And I think she's also jealous because of a boy thing. My precious Pansy…"
The brunette said nothing. She was no longer able to put her thoughts in order and the burning of the cuts was becoming unbearable.
"Did you know that she found a way to get a hair from Blaise and brought it to me? She taught me all about him. The nickname he gave you... I've been planning for MONTHS to come and see you on this very day, the first day of winter. What a happy coincidence that it happened to be the Ball! You looked lovely."
He paused and sighed. He took Hermione's wand and threw it with all his might into the Forest. Nobody heard it land.
"Okay," Duncan said. "Enough said. Let's get on with it."
He took a third cigarette, lit it, and drew the first puff. Hermione tried to kick her legs out from under him, but they were too numb for her to succeed. Besides, Duncan's weight was far too heavy against her and hindered any movement at all.
Slowly he leaned over her face, pressed the flaming tip of his cigarette against her collarbone, and waited for her to open her mouth to scream before he blew all his smoke into her mouth. Hermione gagged and coughed violently, gasping for air.
Duncan took another drag, sighing with pleasure, and crushed the tip of his cigarette this time on her cheek. Hermione felt her flesh crackle. The pain was unbearable.
"STOP!" she screamed. "STOP, STOP, STOP! I BEG YOU!" Her voice was raspy.
He leaned towards her again and released his smoke into her mouth as she begged. She choked and her head spun violently. With a gasp she hiccupped and vomited right next to her.
"Disgusting little Mudblood..." he grumbled.
He repeated the same burning process dozens of times, placing the tip of his cigarette on her arms, her neck, her chest, even her thighs. Revelling in the sound of her flesh roasting under that little red ring and the ever more broken screams that came out of her.
Then voices echoed like faint shouts in the Forest. Hermione's heart leapt in her chest. She felt like she was hearing her name.
Duncan lifted his head and looked around. "I guess I need to speed things up, then…"
He threw his cigarette away and immediately began to slash at her. He ran his blade over her arms, her hands, her collarbone, her shoulders. He tore the straps of her dress, sliced the fabric at her hip and thrust his blade between two ribs. Hermione's screams stirred something in him that was inexhaustible. Her sobs quenched a thirst that he had been building up for too long. At last, someone was paying for his crimes. At last, the Dark Lord was being properly avenged. At last, Angela was redeemed. The death of a Pureblood, the torture of a Mudblood. Duncan bit her lips, her ears, her neck, her chest, and continued to run his blade down her legs, her thighs. The snow around them was stained with blood. What a wonderful sight! What magnificent art!
Hermione's strength was draining away with each passing minute. Her voice was broken and dulled by all the screams her throat had been giving out. She was hot. She was cold. She was shaking. A trickle of blood flowed from her lips. She could not move. She could feel her consciousness leaving her. Mind slowly closing. The echoes in the forest were getting closer. She had to... She had to stay conscious until she saw them. The outline of the trees was becoming blurred.
"HERMIONE!" Someone shouted.
Duncan leapt to his feet and sped through the Forest, leaving Hermione's bloody corpse sprawled in the snow like a fractured angel fallen from above.
If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
The Band Perry, If I Die Young
oOoOoOoOo
This is was a loooong chapter, my longest so far ! I'm sorry if it was hard to read for any reasons (maybe you don't like an original character's POV, maybe you prefer dramione scenes, etc). This was a necessary chapter, and it took me long to write. I had the help of my alpha Angelina, but also Wise_Owl26 who acted as an alpha for this one to help put my ideas in order. Originally, this chapter didn't have that much detail about Duncan's backstory. I hope you understand better where he's coming from and how he slowly fell into madness...
Can't forget to thank my wonderful beta enchanted4life who's getting married tomorrow! Woo-hoo!
Let me know what you guys thought of this one!
Chapter 30 coming next Tuesday as planned!
Axiomea