Chapter Three: Research—Summer of Fifth Year

Rachael darted through Knockturn Alley, fancying she could hear dust mushrooming into the air after being disturbed by her steps, loud on the cobblestones. The dark cloak she wore fluttered around her as she walked, her blue eyes shifting left and right anxiously. She held her wand nervously in a tight, sweaty grip.

She made a turn, then another. She stopped to look over the sign and nodded slightly to herself. Rachael felt a thousand eyes on her back, although she knew there couldn't be. Hesitantly, she walked up the shallow steps that led to Borgin and Burkes. She adjusted the hood of her cloak, making sure it covered most of her face. She took a deep breath, then pushed the door open and walked inside.

She did not know whether it was Burkes or Borgin at the counter, although she didn't really care. Draco would have known, she thought—he was good at remembering people, although he constantly made them feel insignificant. Rachael walked up to the ill-lit register. "I know you accept Death Eater custom," she said bluntly.

"We 'ave a don't ask, don't tell policy 'ere," the man behind the counter said carefully. "Are you from the Dark Lord?"

Rachael bit back an ironic laugh. "No." She drew her wand subtly out of the folds of her cloak. She didn't point it at the man, instead merely letting the tip rest nonchalantly but conspicuously on the countertop. The man's eye was naturally drawn to it.

"Then who are you? And what are you here for?"

Rachael sighed. "I want to know everything you can tell me about the Death Eaters. Not who they are or any of that. Just what you know of them and their ways."

The man's face hardened. "I can't—" but when Rachael's pale hand casually flicked upwards so that the wand was at his jaw, he reconsidered. "I—they'll kill me."

"No one will know." She paused, then said the four magic words that any informant wants to hear: "You will be compensated."

The man moved to straighten his vest, only to have her poke the wand into his jowl.

"Or," she continued calmly, "you will be threatened. Your choice."

"Are you from the Ministry?"

Rachael tapped her wand against his jaw, hard. A green spark flew from it, stinging the man slightly. "I am the one asking questions here. Answer, or there will be consequences." A small part of Rachael's mind said, What consequences? I'm not going to use an Unforgivable on him! I'm not even supposed to use magic outside of school for another two years. Come on, man, I'm scary! Be threatened!

"Er… how much will I be—"

"It is lessening with each extraneous second you take up of my time."

"Right. Can I sit?"

"You'll tell me?"

"Yes."

Rachael smiled a benevolent smile with a cruel edge. "Good. Start with Lord Voldemort, why don't you."

The man shivered at the sound of the name, and started to speak.

#

Rachael got off to a less than satisfactory start at Borgin and Burkes. The man was clearly uneducated, and he spent at least half the time Rachael talked to him hemming and hawing. Surely Draco would know, but he was increasingly hard to get a hold of these days. And she was reluctant to bother him too much about the Death Eaters—although he could probably provide a valuable insider viewpoint, since his father had groomed him for it practically his whole life—since his father was in prison. She wanted to give him closure.

However, Rachael managed to persevere, having a particularly long talk with Snape. She spoke to her mother briefly, who spat and said, "Murdering scum," and wouldn't talk about it any longer. She tried other members of the family, but they either ignored her, changed the subject, or got very cagey and endeavored to be rid of her any way they could.

Rachael compiled her spare and scattered notes in a neat blue binder, carefully filled with neat composition paper unmarred by tears or dog-ears. She wrote carefully, making sure everything was legible.

Her investigations went uninterrupted, except for a period around midsummer when her mother found out about their subject. She had said in a tight, high-pitched voice, "Rachael, come into the library now. I need to talk to you."

Rachael had obeyed, slightly confused. Her mother was gripping the back of one of the plush armchairs in the high-ceilinged room. Her back was bent and her face drawn. She looked up at Rachael and asked quietly, "Are you thinking of joining the Dark Lord, Rachael?"

Rachael's eyes widened and said, "Merlin, Mother, no! Never."

"Then why are you researching Death Eaters?"

Rachael bit her lip sadly, anxiously. "It's to help a friend. He… might be forced into their ranks."

Her mother's eyes, the same piercing blue as her own, searched her daughter's face. Finally, finding honesty there, she said, "This is dangerous, Rachael. I won't forbid you from doing it, because it's a truly honorable pursuit. But you need to know that this is exceedingly dangerous. The Dark Lord does not appreciate people poking their noses into his business and his past. If you are discovered, you could die. And if on the slight chance you do manage to help this friend of yours get out of being a Death Eater, they will certainly want your head on a platter." She sighed. "I think I know who you're talking about, too. Are you sure he doesn't want to be a Death Eater?"

"I heard it from his own lips, Mother."

Mother and daughter studied each other for a while. Then, Rachael's mother walked over to her and hugged her tightly. "Please be careful, Rachael. I do not want to see you in your grave before I enter mine."

Rachael stroked her mother's hair solemnly. "Don't worry. I know what I'm doing."

I hope.