Week 5: Self-preservation vs. forgiveness
Which is more important: self-preservation or forgiveness?
Sometimes, they are one and the same.
***
"Lucius? What's wrong?"
Narcissa's voice was an echo in the background as my arm caught fire. I stood up so abruptly my chair overturned behind me.
"Lucius! What is it?"
My lungs were constricting from the sudden lack of oxygen as I tore at my shirt sleeve with trembling fingers. The fabric shredded and fell away, revealing a patch of skin so swollen and tender that the very air swirling around it added another layer to my agony. I yanked the tattered remnants of my sleeve up to my elbow and stared down at my forearm.
My Mark was black.
"My God." Narcissa's gasp was warm against my ear, her fingers ice cold where they stroked tentatively across my boiling flesh. Hissing, I jerked my arm away. "What does it mean?"
But we both knew. It had been thirteen years since the Mark had last burned like a brand, but neither of us had forgotten what it meant.
"Get my robes and mask," I snapped at the hovering house-elf. "Now!" A loud crack signaled its haste to carry out my orders.
"What will you tell him?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but I could still hear her fear.
My bowels turned to water. "I don't know."
The elf returned with another crack, and my mind spurred back into action. I ripped the robes from its arms and hastily pulled them over my head. The mask felt foreign in my hands.
"Lucius, I --"
I disapparated before she had a chance to finish her sentence.
***
My first thought as I re-appeared beside a crumbling gravestone was that I was a fool. Surely the inconceivable could not have happened. The Dark Lord could not possibly have returned. I'd allowed some ridiculous trick to interrupt my meal and send me into a panic when neither had been necessary. A trap, most likely, perhaps even set by Aurors. I should have known better.
The fear began to recede, anger tinged with curiosity as to precisely whose power had set my Mark aflame rushing in to take its place. I was reaching inside my robe, preparing to draw my wand, when a whoosh sounded behind me and Macnair appeared. Even in the dim light of the moon, I could see that his face was white as a sheet.
We stared at each other for a moment, and then Macnair slowly turned his head. A silent shadow stood waiting for us in the clearing beyond.
Macnair's pale face grew impossibly paler, and I felt the blood draining from my own. My hand was shaking as I lowered my mask.
Then something drove me to my knees, and my trouser legs grew damp as I crawled forward on the moist earth. "Master," I murmured, pressing the hem of his robe against my mask. Beneath, my lips were dry and felt as though they would crack as I spoke. I dared not look up at his face as I backed away slowly and took my place in the circle, my knees nearly too weak to support my weight.
"Welcome, Death Eaters," the Dark Lord murmured, and I finally gathered the courage to face my Lord. The sight was a horrible one; he seemed more snake than man. I shivered and tried to straighten my shoulders, act as though I weren't afraid, though my heart was pounding so loudly I was sure they could hear it in the small village beyond.
"Thirteen years... thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday. We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?" He lifted his head and gave a great exaggerated sniff. "I smell guilt. There is a stench of guilt upon the air."
Across the circle, a hulking shape I knew to be Goyle shifted uneasily on his feet, but no one spoke. The only sound came from a pitiful figure huddled on the ground, a glistening pool of blood puddled around its middle.
"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact - such prompt appearances! - and I ask myself... why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?"
The figure on the ground rolled onto its back, and I realized with a pang of disbelief that it was Pettigrew. I stifled the gasp that struggled to escape my throat. My God. How many resurrections had taken place on this night?
"And I answer myself," the Dark Lord continued in a voice so low I had to strain my ears to hear it, "they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment..."
My heart froze in my chest. He knew. My Master knew of my lies, my bribes, my traitorous renunciation. We had all betrayed him, denied our allegiance and publicly scoffed at his name to save ourselves from a lifetime in Azkaban, only to meet a worse fate in this moonlit graveyard a decade later.
We were, every one of us, dead men.
The Dark Lord continued to speak, and though I heard every word none of it made any sense. I swayed on my feet as he tortured Avery under the Cruciatus, stared numbly as he rewarded the sobbing Pettigrew with a hand of gleaming silver, all the while aching for Severus and Narcissa and Draco, knowing I would never see them again.
And then suddenly, he was standing before me. The stench of his stale breath filtered through my mask.
"Lucius, my slippery friend," he whispered, and a thrill of horror swept over me. Every hair on the back of my neck stood on end. "I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius... Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay... but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master?"
"My Lord, I was constantly on the alert," I lied swiftly. Could he see how I was trembling? Was he reading my thoughts as I spoke? Seeing my betrayal written as plainly as words on a page? "Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me -"
"And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer?" he said lazily, and I closed my mouth with a snap. "Yes, I know all about that, Lucius. You have disappointed me..."
The words closed around my heart like an icy fist.
"You have disappointed me, Regulus."
Black's screams died abruptly as the Dark Lord lowered his wand.
"My Lord..." he gasped, trying to roll over onto his back, but the Dark Lord silenced him with a glare.
"Tell me again what you heard, Regulus." His voice was soft and patient, but the rest of us knew Black's lifespan could now be measured in minutes.
Regulus choked and spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. "The woman... the... the Seer... she said, 'The one... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born -" another retching cough "- born as the seventh month dies...'" The words trailed off, and Black hung his head. His hair was so long that the ends trailed through the blood, painting a grisly portrait on the ground beneath him.
"And then what happened?" my Master urged quietly.
"I... I was discovered, my Lord. The innkeeper found me and... and threw me out of the building."
The Dark Lord straightened and gazed down at Regulus with an imperious glint coloring his eyes. "There was more?"
Black nodded, and a sob echoed through the chamber.
"Then you have failed me."
Black's body convulsed in a violent shiver, and he tried to raise himself up on his hands and knees. "My Lord," he said, falling back down onto his belly. He reached out one hand in fruitless supplication. "Forgive me. I -"
"Avada Kedavra."
*"You have disappointed me, Lucius."*
Black's transgression was mild compared to what I had done.
A plea for forgiveness trembled on my lips. A heartbeat before I uttered it, I realized it would do no good, and with a great effort I managed to swallow it. Let me die a man, at least. Let it be swift.
The Dark Lord examined me closely for a long moment before he spoke again. "I expect more faithful service in the future."
My breath whooshed out of me with a suddenness that made my head swim. The atmosphere inside my mask became thick and humid with my relief. "Of course, my Lord, of course. You are merciful. Thank you."
A/N: Some dialogue is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
Sometimes, they are one and the same.
***
"Lucius? What's wrong?"
Narcissa's voice was an echo in the background as my arm caught fire. I stood up so abruptly my chair overturned behind me.
"Lucius! What is it?"
My lungs were constricting from the sudden lack of oxygen as I tore at my shirt sleeve with trembling fingers. The fabric shredded and fell away, revealing a patch of skin so swollen and tender that the very air swirling around it added another layer to my agony. I yanked the tattered remnants of my sleeve up to my elbow and stared down at my forearm.
My Mark was black.
"My God." Narcissa's gasp was warm against my ear, her fingers ice cold where they stroked tentatively across my boiling flesh. Hissing, I jerked my arm away. "What does it mean?"
But we both knew. It had been thirteen years since the Mark had last burned like a brand, but neither of us had forgotten what it meant.
"Get my robes and mask," I snapped at the hovering house-elf. "Now!" A loud crack signaled its haste to carry out my orders.
"What will you tell him?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but I could still hear her fear.
My bowels turned to water. "I don't know."
The elf returned with another crack, and my mind spurred back into action. I ripped the robes from its arms and hastily pulled them over my head. The mask felt foreign in my hands.
"Lucius, I --"
I disapparated before she had a chance to finish her sentence.
***
My first thought as I re-appeared beside a crumbling gravestone was that I was a fool. Surely the inconceivable could not have happened. The Dark Lord could not possibly have returned. I'd allowed some ridiculous trick to interrupt my meal and send me into a panic when neither had been necessary. A trap, most likely, perhaps even set by Aurors. I should have known better.
The fear began to recede, anger tinged with curiosity as to precisely whose power had set my Mark aflame rushing in to take its place. I was reaching inside my robe, preparing to draw my wand, when a whoosh sounded behind me and Macnair appeared. Even in the dim light of the moon, I could see that his face was white as a sheet.
We stared at each other for a moment, and then Macnair slowly turned his head. A silent shadow stood waiting for us in the clearing beyond.
Macnair's pale face grew impossibly paler, and I felt the blood draining from my own. My hand was shaking as I lowered my mask.
Then something drove me to my knees, and my trouser legs grew damp as I crawled forward on the moist earth. "Master," I murmured, pressing the hem of his robe against my mask. Beneath, my lips were dry and felt as though they would crack as I spoke. I dared not look up at his face as I backed away slowly and took my place in the circle, my knees nearly too weak to support my weight.
"Welcome, Death Eaters," the Dark Lord murmured, and I finally gathered the courage to face my Lord. The sight was a horrible one; he seemed more snake than man. I shivered and tried to straighten my shoulders, act as though I weren't afraid, though my heart was pounding so loudly I was sure they could hear it in the small village beyond.
"Thirteen years... thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday. We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?" He lifted his head and gave a great exaggerated sniff. "I smell guilt. There is a stench of guilt upon the air."
Across the circle, a hulking shape I knew to be Goyle shifted uneasily on his feet, but no one spoke. The only sound came from a pitiful figure huddled on the ground, a glistening pool of blood puddled around its middle.
"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact - such prompt appearances! - and I ask myself... why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?"
The figure on the ground rolled onto its back, and I realized with a pang of disbelief that it was Pettigrew. I stifled the gasp that struggled to escape my throat. My God. How many resurrections had taken place on this night?
"And I answer myself," the Dark Lord continued in a voice so low I had to strain my ears to hear it, "they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment..."
My heart froze in my chest. He knew. My Master knew of my lies, my bribes, my traitorous renunciation. We had all betrayed him, denied our allegiance and publicly scoffed at his name to save ourselves from a lifetime in Azkaban, only to meet a worse fate in this moonlit graveyard a decade later.
We were, every one of us, dead men.
The Dark Lord continued to speak, and though I heard every word none of it made any sense. I swayed on my feet as he tortured Avery under the Cruciatus, stared numbly as he rewarded the sobbing Pettigrew with a hand of gleaming silver, all the while aching for Severus and Narcissa and Draco, knowing I would never see them again.
And then suddenly, he was standing before me. The stench of his stale breath filtered through my mask.
"Lucius, my slippery friend," he whispered, and a thrill of horror swept over me. Every hair on the back of my neck stood on end. "I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius... Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay... but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master?"
"My Lord, I was constantly on the alert," I lied swiftly. Could he see how I was trembling? Was he reading my thoughts as I spoke? Seeing my betrayal written as plainly as words on a page? "Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me -"
"And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer?" he said lazily, and I closed my mouth with a snap. "Yes, I know all about that, Lucius. You have disappointed me..."
The words closed around my heart like an icy fist.
"You have disappointed me, Regulus."
Black's screams died abruptly as the Dark Lord lowered his wand.
"My Lord..." he gasped, trying to roll over onto his back, but the Dark Lord silenced him with a glare.
"Tell me again what you heard, Regulus." His voice was soft and patient, but the rest of us knew Black's lifespan could now be measured in minutes.
Regulus choked and spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. "The woman... the... the Seer... she said, 'The one... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born -" another retching cough "- born as the seventh month dies...'" The words trailed off, and Black hung his head. His hair was so long that the ends trailed through the blood, painting a grisly portrait on the ground beneath him.
"And then what happened?" my Master urged quietly.
"I... I was discovered, my Lord. The innkeeper found me and... and threw me out of the building."
The Dark Lord straightened and gazed down at Regulus with an imperious glint coloring his eyes. "There was more?"
Black nodded, and a sob echoed through the chamber.
"Then you have failed me."
Black's body convulsed in a violent shiver, and he tried to raise himself up on his hands and knees. "My Lord," he said, falling back down onto his belly. He reached out one hand in fruitless supplication. "Forgive me. I -"
"Avada Kedavra."
*"You have disappointed me, Lucius."*
Black's transgression was mild compared to what I had done.
A plea for forgiveness trembled on my lips. A heartbeat before I uttered it, I realized it would do no good, and with a great effort I managed to swallow it. Let me die a man, at least. Let it be swift.
The Dark Lord examined me closely for a long moment before he spoke again. "I expect more faithful service in the future."
My breath whooshed out of me with a suddenness that made my head swim. The atmosphere inside my mask became thick and humid with my relief. "Of course, my Lord, of course. You are merciful. Thank you."
A/N: Some dialogue is taken directly from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.