Wedding Tears; Funeral Tears

Chapter One: Hopeless

Numb.

My skin was prickling with the reality of my life. The fact that it had strayed so far from anything I had ever considered to be in my potential future was so real, I could feel it, a force, all around me.

A few simple events, and time itself seemed no longer to exist. The past and future were now just more parts of the present.

“Would you consider marrying me?�

Tisha raised her eyebrows.

“You’re kidding, right?�

“Am not.�

When I finally looked at Morticia properly, I could see straight through her look of apparent calm. She was excited, ecstatic.
She was perfect.

“Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I might consider it.�

Was I to make even the smallest of movements, I was sure I would feel reality pressing against my skin as it pressed against my mind.

It was solid.
No, not solid…

It was liquid. I was drowning. I was being consumed.

Gideon,

Alright, it’s bad news. I won’t be back in time for Bill’s birthday. Don’t give him my present just yet; I’ll visit Molly’s bunch when I come home. I really can’t put this trip off. With Jam McKinnon gone, they needed a replacement and Caradoc’s been planning this for weeks. It’ll be worth it if we bring down Tate and Dolohov though, right?
Other than that, things are going fine – the Irish are coming around, so that’s all good. Especially considering that about half the Order now owe me money.

Just to be safe, please don’t contact me again until Dearborn and I get back. And apologise for me about Bill’s birthday.

Fabian

At the same time, I couldn’t be more lost. While feeling everything, I somehow managed to feel nothing at all.

As I drowned, I also fell. My reality was full, and yet devoid of a single thought, a single feeling, a single touch. What should have meant the world to me seemed to mean nothing. Every concern and care I had seemed drawn from my grasp, beyond reach. My life, the Order, Molly and the family, and the slight possibility that my brother might still live, were so important it ached. Yet I was too detached to feel it.

But that wasn’t a bad thing.

I reminded myself of this.

Dear Mr. Prewett,

It is with respectful grief that I must inform you that Trainee Healer Morticia Cornfield-Prewett has suffered an untimely death while on duty in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries during the attack on Monday 19th November.

Deepest regrets,

Healer Hippocrates Smethwyk,
Nancy ‘Nipper’ Nit-Tocker Ward: Bites, Nibbles, Nips and Gnaws

Detachment made it harder for You Know Who to see inside one’s mind; repression of emotions, and being apart from one’s memories just made obstacles in Legilimency. Memories were all open to a skilled Legilimens, but thoughts and feelings impossible to interpret.
That was the theory of it, anyway.

I clung to the feeling of being lost. Every emotion I had, I took and shuffled. In my mind, I split everything apart. I mutilated the desires, the passions, and the fears, and took it to the point where nothing had a target. I had changed everything in my head, so when You Know Who looked inside, he would see anger without objective, misdirected hatred and grief, and a desire to be reckless. Then, he would think my mind could be used, that he could manipulate me into revealing secrets. He would think he could draw out my desire to survive, although by now I truly doubted there was any of that left.
He would believe that, as a Death Eater, I could be useful.

At least, that was the theory of it.
At the time, I saw no other option.

G,

I don’t have much time.

You’re right about Fabian – he was meant to come with me. I waited, but he didn’t arrive. Last time I saw him was at least a month ago, but I see him rarely anyway.

Don’t contact me again until further notice.

C. D.

I didn’t know why I had planned this fool-hardy plan, and even less why I went through with it. I knew how it could work out; in the worst possible scenario, I could find myself tortured for information. I knew I might never see the dawn. But still, I went. I thought perhaps it was simply because I felt reckless, and wanted to be out there doing something dangerous. I thought maybe, somewhere inside me, deeper than the drive to live, I truly wanted to die.

All I knew was that, whatever my inane reasoning, I had found myself standing there.
Waiting. Just waiting.
The Death Eaters would soon arrive.

:oOo:

Then, He came.

It scared me that I felt nothing, save hints of bemusement and a distinct feeling of being impressed upon seeing the heartless mass murderer and evil dictator in person. The very same humanoid, yet somehow serpentine monster who was responsible for the devastation which swept both my mind, and the rest of the wizarding world.

It scared me that, despite the odds, I did not feel compelled to attack this soulless beast. I wasn’t burning to curse him, even to shout miserable words in his uncaring face.

I should have felt angered, I should have felt fury.

I should have felt fear, mounting and mounting, as Death Eater after Death Eater appeared. Even without Voldemort there, I would be fighting a losing battle, if it came to that.

Nothing.

Most of the Death Eaters, hooded, robed, masked, and without visible identity, had apparated to the scene by the time their fearsome, statuesque leader so much as looked at me, deciding now to properly recognise my presence.

“Has Dumbledore sent a messenger?� asked Voldemort, and I got the idea that he spoke to provide a bit of a show, to test my boundaries and work out why I was here without asking directly. Without giving away the upper hand.
I didn’t answer. I just stared, standing there plainly, not even ready to defend myself. The creature’s eyes seemed to be of blood, while his body appeared devoid of it; so inhuman were his characteristics that it seemed impossible for him to actually be a person.
He wasn’t a person.
He wiped out light with darkness.

“No, of course not,� Voldemort told them and I with the most elegant of sneers. “He would not send one of his fighters to their death – well,� he paused for effect, “not on purpose. His precious Order has suffered far too many losses than they can afford already.�

Around the circle of Death Eaters, many gave nearly soundless expressions of amusement and contempt, and something then unidentifiable stirred inside me.

“I do wonder who, of my followers, has been foolish enough to allow himself to be followed,� Voldemort went on, and I knew that how I had discovered this place was no mystery to him. “He would do well to hope that good will still come from the situation. Have you informed the Order of your whereabouts?�

“I haven’t,� I told him. My voice came out croaky, unused. “I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here.�

“Such an act would seem foolish,� Voldemort said to me. I didn’t respond. Something within me churned. A voice in my head, however tiny, was telling me to do something, be it fight, run or at least stand my ground, and as if he had heard this and taken it as invitation, Lord Voldemort’s wand was out immediately. He was within my head. It seemed completely effortless.

I had known this would happen. I had known that, no matter what, there was no preventing it. Still, it felt strange, like failure as I attempted to keep my expression, to stand firm, but at the same time put up no defence against his intrusion. It didn’t hurt exactly, but there was an alien sensation in my head, in my brain, in my mind.

And then the memories came forth.

My mother, sitting properly upright like a doll, while reading me a bedtime story when I was four.

Fabian, five, dividing up a piece of cake, using a fork as measurement to make sure each slice was exactly the same.

My father, sending us out of his sight, to do whatever uncouth activities children did.

The images flashed by in a rush, and I barely had time to recognise each one before it disappeared. Again, something churned in my belly. It wasn’t fear; it was something else. I wanted to cry and lash out at the same time, but the feeling was so distant. So very distant.

Fabian and I at my father’s death bed.

After what seemed like hours, but at the same time could only have been several, long moments, the memories began to slow down. I could actually see them, and watch them. They were more recent.

“Who is that?� asked Voldemort, and as his cold voice pierced the scene, I was reminded of the present. I must have stumbled, and could barely make out the red pin-pricks that were his eyes when I tried. I stared forwards.

“My sister,� I replied. The feeling within me grew stronger. It spoke, but I couldn’t hear the words.

“What is happening?�

“She’s getting married,� I explained, strained.

The memory changed again. I could barely hold on. I felt myself working hard, but it was all I could do to remain upright, and keep Voldemort’s emotionless eyes even vaguely in view.

“Who is that?�

“My mother.�

“What is happening?�

“She is writing a letter.�

“To whom?�

“My brother.� It was only a couple of weeks previous. There had been no reply.

The memory changed again, so quickly it felt almost violent. Morticia.

“Who is that?� I had to consider this for a moment, my mind having been greatly slowed.

“My wife.� I had not even gotten close to being used to those words, that title. We were not even married yet. Our engagement had been a beautiful reminder of the bliss that was to come. When Voldemort was dead. When this man, lazily exploring my memories, had been finally defeated.

“What is happening?� Again, I had to think.

“She is laughing.� The morning I had proposed, when Morticia was half-dressed and in a hurry. Inside me, somewhere, a barely articulate thought bubbled up.

No…

I couldn’t do anything, anything at all. The memory changed.

“Who are they?�

“My nephews. And my brother,� I said, trying to keep my voice even.

“What is–�

“Breakfast,� I interrupted. I wanted to get it over. “Breakfast on my birthday, last year.�

The memory changed swiftly.

“Who is that?�

“My brother,� I replied. It was the last time I had seen him, one week before Morticia died, two weeks before he and Dearborn were pronounced as ‘missing’, just like Jam McKinnon.

There was a pause. Blackness. I was worried that I had passed out – that I had failed. I had done nothing, however. Very faintly, I heard sounds – murmurs, laughs perhaps.

“What is happening?�

“He’s saying goodbye,� I told Voldemort. The voice inside me, whatever it was, was much more audible. I was struggling, determined, terrified of losing focus.

Injustice. Intruder.

“Where did he go?� inquired Voldemort further.

No! Out! Out!

“I don’t know,� I replied. When he had left, he had been going to Ireland, but I knew that was not what Voldemort meant.

“Where is he now?� he asked smoothly.

Stop. Leave. Intruder. Injustice. Monster.

“I don’t know.�

“Is he alive?�

Turn back. Run. Fight. Out!

“I don’t know.� I didn’t allow my voice to falter.

“And this brother,� Voldemort went on calmly. “What is his name?�

Out. NO!

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. The voice told me to say one thing, and Voldemort expected another. I couldn’t see into the future. I could see only that moment, and my mind, in its present confusion, couldn’t make a decision, or come up with anything.

He knows why you’re here.

At the slightest hint of resistance from me, the situation changed again. My memory faded, but something else was coming up.
It was dark. I didn’t recognise the area. A figure was sprawled on the ground, whether dead or alive it was difficult to say. The man lifted his head, his face mostly hidden by the darkness, although I knew who it was.

He seemed to barely have the energy to sit up, and yet once he had, he slid backwards as quickly as he could, scooting along the ground, as far away as possible. He turned his head to the side, wincing in anticipation, his knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped tightly around them.
A curse was shot, and for a split second, red light bathed the scene. For that moment I saw his face, before the Crucio hit.
The body convulsed, unable to shy back from the pain of the curse.
The form, the room, the memory disappeared.

That was not my memory, but I wanted it back.

Like a slap in the face, the presence that was Voldemort removed itself from my head, and the real scene came back into view. At some point, I had dropped to my knees, but still I looked into Lord Voldemort’s gaze, to see a self important flash of victory.

I saw. And I felt. To some degree, my mind was again mine, and in the thick mist, which kept me lost, I had found something to cling to.
It would seem that Voldemort had won, and I had lost.
But really, it was the other way around.

I had felt that there was nothing, but now?
Now there was a glimmer of hope.

:oOo:

Wedding Tears, Funeral Tears

Chapter Two: A Man Can’t Fly

The voice in my head revelled in the feeling of life, which now nudged at my heart. My chest was constricted. I wanted grief, happiness, anything that wasn’t nothingness.

I wanted the memory back. I wanted to know how to find my brother. If he was alive, I knew I would be alright. I would ache, and burn, and feel the crushing of my heart when the penny dropped that Morticia had been ripped from existence. But I would live. I would feel.
Although my life would still be long gone with Tisha, my heart and mind would be mine, and would suffer like they were meant to.

I had to find him.
I realised now – that was why I was here.

Voldemort still had a hard gaze fixed on me, but I wasn’t looking into his eyes any more. Foolish, I was. Foolish. All my precautions now seemed weak, pathetic, but I needed to stay. There was no other way.

“What can you possibly hope to offer me?� Voldemort demanded, his voice soft, tone of pure ice. “What can–�

“I–�

“Silence,� he hissed. I obeyed. “Explain what a lowly vermin of Dumbledore’s pathetic ranks could hope to give the Dark Lord. How could you possibly be useful to me, in any way?� Nothing. There was nothing I could do, nothing I could give. I had no skills, no power. Just information.

Fight. Run. Break away, you fool.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Voldemort interrupted before I had begun.

“Why should I not just take the information from you?� he asked. Had my mind not still been fogged, I may have found this terrifying. “Then I would not have to worry about ensuring your loyalty. I would not have to grant you the honour of serving me.� There was another pause, and I took in a breath to speak. “Well?�

“Nothing,� I told him simply. “I have nothing.� I couldn’t promise accurate information – I wasn’t sure I would tell Voldemort if I had a choice anyway, there was no way I would or could spy on the Order, and there was, in short, nothing at all special about me.
I couldn’t even promise loyalty.

Voldemort laughed. There was no amusement in his laugh, although I wasn’t quite sure he was capable of anything so real and human anyway.
“Honesty,� he said, and then, without warning, “Crucio.�

I had never felt anything like it before. For several long seconds, all I felt was pain; all I knew was pain. The voice in my head was completely silenced, as my entire being was taken over.
Pain. Hurt. Burning. Tearing. Needles. Knives.

Every fibre that made up what I was suddenly got torn up into a million pieces, and every nerve was shattered. It was raw. Undiluted. There was no escape.

When I could see again, I found myself curled at Voldemort’s feet. Like an animal.

“Loyalty can be developed,� he informed, without a hint of mercy in tone, and I knew the feeling that perhaps motivated the Death Eaters to become so hideously, repulsively obedient. This, in their eyes, must be worse.

I stood hastily, ignoring the aching that still afflicted my body.
The pain was unbearable, and down this path there was undoubtedly more to come.

It doesn’t matter. Find him.

:oOo:

Voldemort appeared to have lost interest in me, or something. I thought perhaps he was finished, that he had reached his conclusion, and it struck me how premature it was, especially considering how useless I had been to him so far. However, apparently I was worth one more flick of the wand.

“Aperio.�
The spell cast very faded blue light, not at me, but to the ground, right under my feet. I didn’t understand.

Move. Run.

The ground felt liquid for a moment, and then, all of a sudden, simply disappeared. It was a hole.
I quickly lost sight of Voldemort and the Death Eaters as I fell down. I don’t know how deep it was, or even how long I fell for, but it was like I had left my insides behind, up on the surface.

Then, I landed.

The sound it made when I fell on the ground was possibly the clearest moment so far, like the thump made when fighters were killed in battle. For several moments, I thought that perhaps that was the situation, although surely I had honour no where near that of a fallen warrior. I lay there, waiting for everything to be explained to me. In death.

It wasn’t, though, and I took that to mean that I was alive. Death was many things, but complicated, I was sure, was not one of them.

I closed my eyes, and focused my attention, and tried to apparate.

Nothing happened.

And that was really fair enough, considering that if there was no anti-apparation precaution, I would have splinched myself anyway.

Shakily, I tried to move, and found that somehow I was able. One shoulder was hurt, broken or sprained; I didn’t have the heart to find out, but I knew I could barely move that arm. My body ached, from the fall and from the Cruciatus curse, but I rose. That was what mattered.

When I had gotten to my feet, I looked up to the hole I had fallen though.

It was gone.

The darkness was absolute. The silence was absolute. The only senses I could use were touch and taste, and even then what was there but pain, and the metallic and foreboding taste of blood? I reached for my wand, but found it was gone. What was I meant to do? Was I here only to die?

Escape.

“I don’t understand,� I said, pointlessly to the darkness.
Then I shouted it.

“I DON’T UNDERSTAND!�

My voice echoed. At least there was sound to keep me company. The echoes caused some cog in my brain to begin to whir. Echoes meant walls. Walls meant solid objects, and the possibility of there being something in here, something useful. Something to get me out alive.

Carefully, I dropped down to my knees. This prompted the discovery of some injury in my left knee cap. I payed no attention though, of course, and simply tried not to use that or my damaged right shoulder when I crawled forward blindly.

Escape.

The ground was gritty – probably dirt – and it was all uneven. I crawled for several minutes before reaching the bare wall. It was dirt, too, but harder. Rocky clay. Clenching the muscles that felt they still could work, I used the wall to push myself to my feet once more, and as a consequence hit my head squarely against a torch poking out the side of the wall. As soon as I reached up to touch it, the thick wooden stick ignited, and the whole cave was bathed in light.

For several moments, I squinted in the brightness, but my eyes adjusted eventually. I resisted the urge to inspect my wounds. That would do no good. The cave was plain and empty, save for one other torch on the far wall. The roof was too far away to be seen with my limited light.

I realised, at this point, how lucky I must be to have come out of that fall still able to move at all.

Automatically, I began to limp heavily in the direction of the other torch, not sure of the good it would do but wanting to do something. I had taken very few steps, however, when what appeared to be a black cloud formed, right in front of my face. Shocked, I almost teetered backwards, but managed to remain upright.
If only I had used the good leg to steady myself.

The black cloud seemed to be made of smoke, swirling of its own accord.

“Hello?� I called, though I could see with my own eyes that the cave was empty. “Is someone here?�

Nothing happened, save for the black cloud spinning faster. It was moving, forming shapes – letters.

‘No.’

I frowned at the black smoke.

“What am I supposed to do?� I asked it pointedly. The two shapes drifted together, to become a shapeless swirl before the black smoke split once more into letters.

‘Prove your claims.’

“What claim – I didn’t make any claims!� I argued. Apparently, the black smoke did not accept contradictions. “Okay,� I said to it after a moment of silence had passed, “How?� A few moments later, the smoke had formed a cryptic answer.

‘Live.’

“Down here?� I asked. This was no place to live, especially without a wand.

‘No.’

“Then – then what am I supposed to do?� I demanded from the black smoke. It was like a guide with no answers.

‘Prove your claims.’

“I told you!� I cried back, as the pain from my shoulder became harder and harder to ignore. “I didn’t–� I covered my eyes for a moment, trying to think. “What did I claim?�

‘Determination.’

“So – so I’m meant to be determined,� I clarified incredulously, “and live, but not down here?�

‘Prove your claims.’

“Right,� I said, fighting the urge to lash out against anything, though of course there was nothing here to lash out at. “Right.� Had I been able to pace, I probably would. “You know, no matter how much determination he has, a man can’t fly.� I stared at the word. “But…� Hoping for the best, I reached forward to touch the black smoke, and for a moment all I felt was a warm tickling sensation from it. Then, however, it sort of seized up, grew much hotter, and then, apparently, exploded.

The whole cave was cast into darkness once more. All I could see was my torch, and even then I could only see it when it was drawn close to my face. The cloud had been some sort of darkness powder. For several moments, I just stood there, in the dark, alone.

Determination.

I continued, as originally I had planned, to move forward, towards where I remembered the other torch to be.

When I reached it, the second torch lit up just as the first had, but the room still remained consumed by the darkness. All I could see was the firm, clay wall.

Determination.

“I’m meant to be determined,� I repeated once again to myself, “and live, but not down here.�

Nervously, I looked up towards the invisible ceiling, and then back at the wall, then reached forwards with one of the torches, and used the dull end to dig out some of the clay. It was firm, somehow. I pulled on the hole, as hard as I could. It barely budged from my weight. That couldn’t be a coincidence, right?

That’s it. You’ve cracked. Not only are you talking to yourself, but you’re thinking of climbing this wall. In your condition.

Ignoring the voice in my head, despite the idea that the fact that I had a voice in my head supported that same voice’s theory that I’d gone completely mad, I dug two more holes, and took a deep breath, lodging the dull ends of the two torches into the wall. Then, I fitted my good foot neatly into the lower notch, and pulled my weight up, unable to stop myself from making a noise as I put the pressure onto my wounded shoulder.

It worked though.

Determination.

If only I’d come up with something else. Something easier. I’m alright at duelling – I should have tried that instead. I raised my left foot into the next hole, and heaved myself up, feeling tears form in my eyes. I clenched my jaw and made another notch above me. I could feel blood – hot blood – running down my shin.

With another pained grunt, I pulled myself up once more.

The climb proved almost beyond me, and the strength I had to muster just for that one more step felt like my last, every step I took. By the time I had reached the top, I was numb with the exertion and the pain. The ceiling was flat and firm above my head, but somehow I knew what to do. There was only one option.

I shouted at nothing in particular as I hit at the ceiling with one of the torches. Slowly, it began to fall away, into my hair, and my clothes, and my eyes; and when I heard the larger chunks of clay hit the ground, the sound of my falling that same distance came to mind, and felt I would be sick. If I fell again, I would not survive it, that was for sure. Or perhaps Voldemort was watching, and would have stopped my fall just in time to get me back to land and go to ‘the trouble’ of torturing me for information.

When the ceiling had all come down, I climbed the final feet up onto the surface, and fell onto the grass when I had emerged. It was cold, but the feeling was welcome to my aching body.

I only just managed to suck in one lungful of fresh, night air before passing out, right there and then, not a moment too late.

It’s over.

:oOo:

Suddenly, I was awake.

Sleep…

I was in exactly the same position, face-down in the grass. In fact, the only change I could feel was the numbness having ebbed away, allowing a dull, throbbing pain to surface. I groaned, and my voice was coarse and raspy; my mouth and throat felt dry.

You should be asleep…

And then, much less distinguishable was the feeling that I had been awoken at a time that was, by far, premature. Under most circumstances, if I was this exhausted I would simply be left to sleep, at least for a while. This time, however, I could tell I had awoken from my unconsciousness after a very short time – minutes, at most.

Awoken – but that means…

“Stand.�

The very last sight I wanted to see when I tilted my head up, was the mighty figure of Lord Voldemort, towering up towards the dark sky while I, once again, could barely rise after having collapsed on the ground at his feet. But what else could I have expected?

“I’m weary of these delays,� Voldemort hissed, an edge of irritation in his tone. My injuries, gone unheeded, had become much more grievous with my climb, and yet ignoring the unfairness – the injustice – and obeying seemed the most sensible of options, even if my knee felt as if it could give way at any moment. Obedience, in my state, was better than the Cruciatus Curse, and was almost always better than death. “I said I am weary,� pronounced Voldemort more aggressively, “of these delays!� I took a shaky breath.

“I’m standing,� I told him foolishly. I’m sure, had I taken a second longer to process his statement, I would have found myself writhing on the ground once more. “Sorry – I mean, I’m sorry,� I corrected myself hastily when the situation had clicked. “Forgive me.�

“Give me your right arm,� commanded Voldemort, clearly used to giving orders.

What?

“What?� I asked defensively. I needed that arm. Voldemort seemed to gain some kind of perverse pleasure from my exhaustion-induced stupidity.

“The Dark Lord has decided that you may be put to use in his service,� Voldemort told me. “Your arm.�

Upon attempting to actually move my right arm, I discovered that independent mobility was completely impossible. So, pathetically, I presented my arm, using the opposite hand to hold it up. When Voldemort didn’t react, I was reminded of what was actually going to happen, and pulled the sleeve of my robe aside. When had it gotten torn?

Lord Voldemort firmly placed two fingers where, I knew, I would be marked. He drew his wand and rested the tip upon his own fingers. I bit the tip of my tongue firmly in anticipation of yet more pain, as he muttered some barely audible spell.

Save for the coolness of his fingers, I felt nothing.

Voldemort raised his head now, to look to his ring of Death Eaters, then walked surely into the centre, leaving me on the outside, arm unmarked. Apparently understanding, the anonymous, cloaked servants parted so a place was now left open. My place in Voldemort’s circle of loyal followers. Just the thought made me shiver, but I tried to hide it.

Run. Run now.

I glanced at the empty spot, not sure whether to take it. After going to so much trouble in his test, why would being initiated as a Death Eater be so easy? Even to my confused and befuddled brain, it didn’t make sense.

The process, predictably, grew more complicated, of course. It had to grow more complicated. After a small period in which nothing happened at all, a spark lit itself, like the simple flame of a candle, where I was meant to stand. Slowly, it grew into a magical fire, and didn’t stop growing until it was at least as tall as me – probably taller. The flames leapt and jumped, unnatural. The fire seemed almost green.

Run now!

Now, the path was clear before me. Just five steps – five steps at most, and less if I moved quickly – and I would be a Death Eater. Choosing to simply try not to think about it, I closed the space between me and the fire very hastily. One more step – one more would do it.

“Take your place,� Voldemort’s voice said to me, although I couldn’t see past the brightness of the fire. Under any other circumstances, I would probably ask if it was going to hurt. Today, I didn’t want to know. “Have faith.� It wasn't comforting, or supportive, nor anything vaguely resembling such aid. Everything was a test in Voldemort’s ranks. I limped into the fire.

It hurt.

Run, escape… No more of this. No more pain.

The voice in my head wasn’t silenced as it had been when Voldemort had used the Cruciatus Curse on me, and I knew in this situation it would not be a good idea to fall. The fire burned, and I could have sworn I was burning away with it. In my mind’s eye, I could see myself deteriorating, melting, becoming a pile of ash.

Get away. Get away now, it hurts!

I closed my eyes tightly as my skin seared, and bowed my head, keeping every muscle I thought I could use clenched tight. As if that would make a difference.

It hurts…

The fire did not last forever, no matter how it felt, and when it faded and died I had not been reduced to ash. Though I thought I had run out of moisture through sweat and tears in the cave, around my eyes was wet and cold. I felt tingly all over, although that could very easy have been from blood loss, and just one part of my skin still stung with fiery heat. I opened my eyes carefully, and raised my right forearm with my left hand.

The Dark Mark burned black against the paleness of my skin.

:oOo:

Shocked, I could barely comprehend this. Me: Gideon Prewett, harmless fool, and newly initiated Death Eater, serving the evillest man who ever lived. It was a nightmare. Wherever I was living, it was not reality.

Voldemort raised one hand, and, understanding this command, the Death Eaters – the rest of the Death Eaters – apparated away. Of course, I had not considered that their business must have been discussed when I was in the hole. Voldemort soon left also, leaving me alone without explanation, in the dark. My robes were filthy with blood and dirt, my head was spinning and everything ached in some way or another. The Dark Mark on my arm still burned dully, like a candle was being held a little too close.

I spotted my wand in the grass, near where I had been standing when the ground had opened up and swallowed me into darkness. Nervously, and painfully, I limped over and picked it up, before apparating twenty feet away from the spot. I never wanted to be in that hole again.

Sleep.

I didn’t know what to do though. Where was I supposed to go? Was I supposed to check in to St. Mungo's? Even if I hadn’t become a Death Eater this wouldn’t be an option. St. Mungo’s, of course, was where Morticia had worked. Half the people there knew her, and most of them would recognise me. The last thing I should get now were condolences.

I didn’t deserve their sympathy.

And where else was there? The home I had so desperately avoided, filled with Tisha’s clothes, and memories of her, her belongings, her photos, her scent…? Fabian’s empty house, my mother’s house, Molly’s – everywhere was out of the question.

Abandoning the prospect of finding a home to stay at, I apparated to a safe point in the Leaky Cauldron. Here, at least, in the darkness of the night and of the bar, I would be alone and endangering no one. There were very few customers there – two quiet, pale looking fellows who were undoubtedly vampires, and several Ministry workers who had obviously either worked late or were on their breaks from the night shift.

I had forgotten the sight I must have been – bloody and pale, covered in grime – but the barman, thankfully, did not object to my patronage. I sat in one of the little booths at the back and grunted as I lifted my bad leg up onto the cushioned bench next to the wall. In the shadows, I could barely be seen. I was anonymous.

Like a Death Eater.

The barman, Tom, didn’t seem to recognise me like this, for which I was glad. He gave me a tall glass of – well, something anyway; it wasn’t as if I could really taste the stuff – and went back to the bar. I just sat there, cradling my mangled right arm, the sleeve raised just enough to reveal my mark. It still burned. I wondered whether it would ever stop.

Gingerly, I rubbed my thumb over it. The skin there wasn’t hot, but the mark wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how long I lived. The skull seemed almost alive, like a presence, a presence branded on me for all eternity.

Why? Why would you do this?

“I don’t know,� I told the voice in my head. Several of the men at the bar glanced towards my dark corner, but apparently decided they didn’t want to know either. Left alone, I stared at the mark, glaring at me, like it was taunting me. “I don’t know why…�

Of course, I clearly remembered what had happened; sitting there at the bar, staring at the brand on my arm I could recall the events that had led to my being at the gathering.

I had been a mess – a complete mess, shifting from one place to another. I hadn’t slept properly for weeks, only closing my eyes when they could no longer stay open. I couldn’t stand to see nothing, to hear nothing. Every time I did, in my mind I heard her voice – their voices. Two of the three most important people in the world to me were gone.

I had awoken on the couch at Headquarters, restless. My anticipation was thick, almost tangible. Six days earlier, I had begun tracking Death Eater movements and meetings, trying to find something – anything – starting with where Fabian had been supposed to meet Dearborn. I didn’t even know why I was doing it. All the evidence – patterns, eavesdropped conversations and the like – had led me to a meeting that would take place on that very night.

All along, I suppose I had the crazy idea in my head that I’d try to become a Death Eater, and then use my position to find out what had happened to Fabian. I didn’t ever acknowledge it, though. Who would dare to articulate such a plan, to seriously consider it along with the dreadful fate it would undoubtedly lead to? I never really thought I would try it, let alone that it would work. Surely something would stop me along the way.

It hadn’t though. Unable to ignore the information I had and without anything else to do with it, I apparated to the meeting place. I hadn’t even consciously decided to become a Death Eater before coming face to face with Voldemort, and yet here I was. Doomed to be forever associated with him – until my death and beyond the grave.

It was doom. Really. Doom.

The little skull stared endlessly back at me, about as sympathetic as Lord Voldemort himself.

I wasn’t even aware of it when, despite the pains of my body and mind, my eyelids began to droop.

Wedding Tears; Funeral Tears

Chapter Three
Part One: Madness

“White weddings are so boring.� I looked up from my breakfast in confusion. Morticia was sitting on her chair cross-legged, a shiny muggle book in her hands and a plate of scrambled eggs and toast sitting, forgotten, on the table. She showed me the page she was looking at – a frozen picture of a traditional wedding. “If I wanted to look like a marshmallow, I’d transfigure myself into a marshmallow.�

“We don’t need to have a traditional wedding,� I told her reasonably. “I don’t suppose anyone would be surprised.� Tisha looked thoughtful.

“What about purple?�

“What about purple?� I asked back.

“Come on, can’t you see it? ‘Purple Wedding Shocks Nation’…�

“I doubt we’d make the papers,� I said honestly. “If you want to have an article written, try, ‘Eager Bride Transfigures Self into Marshmallow’.�

“Clever, Gideon. Really witty,� Tisha told me sarcastically. “I think I’ll wear blue. I look good in blue. And you’d look charming in purple.� I rolled my eyes.

“Convince me.�

“Alright,� agreed Tisha. “You wear purple, and I will personally see to it that Solum and Fabian turn up in forest green muggle suits, with lime green pinstripes and foot-high top hats.� I had to prevent myself from laughing into my breakfast.

“Seriously?� Morticia nodded enthusiastically. “Well, deal then.� We shook on it over the breakfast table. “But only if you eat your eggs. I didn’t curse them, you know.�

She was smiling at me when, from out of no where (or so it seemed), human-sized snakes suddenly appeared, shooting fire from their mouths. Tisha turned to face them, looking vaguely annoyed that they were in our house.

“Gideon, cover me!� she ordered, but didn’t have a chance. I took a bite out of my toast, as what seemed like half a dozen of the snakes hit her at the same time, felling her, before fading into what seemed like spectres, formless but deadly. I saw a hand clawing the table, as a pale image of Morticia pulled herself up to face me.

“Sir?� she asked, her voice sounding odd. “Sir, excuse me?�

I opened my eyes suddenly, awakening from my semi-conscious doze, and jumped at the sight of Tom, the barman, right in front of me. Hastily, I covered my exposed arm.

“Yes?� I asked, too quickly. “What?�

“I’m sorry, Sir,� apologised Tom, “But you’ve been here for several hours now. Would you like to take a room?�

“A room?� I asked.

“Yes, we have bedrooms out the back – not much business; I can offer you a good discount…�

“Oh,� I replied absently. “Yes. Yes, I suppose so…� My dream image of Morticia was fixed firmly in my head.

“Very good, then. Would you like me to show you there now?� I blinked several times, looking around the bar. It would be dawn soon.

“Yes, thank you,� I told him.

Tom led me to a small room with a single bed huddled in the corner, and turned on the light.
“If you need anything,� he began kindly, but then paused, staring.

“What?� I asked, subconsciously clutching my marked arm.

“Prewett?� questioned Tom, looking alarmed. “Gideon Prewett?� I frowned.

“Yeah,� I told him. “But I’d really just like to sleep now.� Tom nodded, clearly concerned.

“You should,� he told me. “You look terrible. Would you like to get me a Healer, or–?� I shook my head hastily, and then wished I hadn’t. It tugged on my shoulder.

“No,� I told him. “No, definitely not. I’m alright.�

“Alright then,� Tom told me. “I won’t be here when you wake up, but the fellow at the bar–�

“Yes,� I interrupted. “I know. Thank you, Tom.�

Far too polite for a Death Eater, really.

Tom bowed, and worriedly tottered out into the hall, closing the door softly behind him. I turned to the room, and, slowly, limped over to stand in front of the mirror.

I looked like… well, death. The blood had dried on my skin and robes, and my face was dangerously pale.

Why? Why have you done this?

In my mind, I saw Morticia spinning around to face a horde of giant snakes.
“I think,� I told the mirror, “I think I didn’t want to be me anymore. I didn’t want my life.� The mirror version of me rolled its eyes.

“Fantastic choice of replacement,� it said sarcastically. “Really.�

I suppose it was a subconscious choice between anger and tears.
The dresser fell with an almighty crash, the base structure collapsing and shattered bits of mirror scattering all over the floor.

:oOo:

I stumbled back a few steps.

What’s wrong with you?

I ignored the voice.

You’ve lost it, you know.

“I lost it hours ago,� I muttered.

You’re talking to a voice in your head. You’ve gone insane.

“I know!� I snapped out loud, because the inside of my head was such a mess that nothing in there really counted anymore. “I’m mad!� I breathed in deeply.

What have you done, you psychotic moron?

“Stop it,� I told myself. “Stop thinking like that. You’ll only make it harder, you know. There’s no point in even being angry. There’s no point in throwing things around. I’m a different person to who I used to be.�

So over the course of half a month you’ve turned into someone who doesn’t care about anything?

I covered my ears with my hands, willing the voice to leave. The waves of guilt, so common over the past weeks since Morticia’s death, were starting to return. I had felt so bad, so useless, unable to protect my brother, or even my own wife.
“I’ve had enough guilt!� I moaned. It didn’t go away. It never went away.

Have you even thought of Molly? Of course not. You’ve run away to become a selfish bastard.

I was stunned into silence for a moment, my head full of fearful thoughts. What if something happened to her? What if I was off losing my mind and there was an attack? What if something happened to one of her children, one of my little nephews?

I could feel my hands shaking.

“That’s not fair,� I hissed at myself. “That’s not fair, you can’t do that.�

Selfish bastard.

“I am not!� Morticia’s lifeless body, Fabian’s empty house, Molly, undefended. The guilt within me made me think I might explode. “I’m – I was the opposite! I’ve lived my life for people who aren’t me. Look where it got me! Just – just…� With a groan, I got to my feet, and cast a levitation spell on the dresser so it would lift and reveal the bulk of the broken mirror. I picked up one of the larger shards, and let the dresser crash down again before falling back onto the bed.

I gazed at my reflection.

The man in the mirror was parchment-pale and battered, dirt riddled through his rusty brown hair and some kind of overtired madness lurked behind his eyes. I gingerly pulled off my robe, and then the already torn shirt beneath it to see the damage this night had done. Most of my shoulder was a deep shade of purple, and, having lived with a Trainee Healer I was sure it must be either sprained or fractured in the joint. I moved the shard of mirror around behind, to see where the skin was broken. It was a deep, wide scrape and the bruising told me that there was something wrong with the shoulder blade also. I sort of personified unhealthy grief, and I had no one to blame but me.

“I can’t even move my shoulder,� I told myself, “and I’m getting it used to throbbing, like the whole thing could easily have been ripped off. And I volunteered for this, in the foolish hope I might find my brother, who’s dead.� I felt itching behind my dry eyes, and snapped to myself, “I’m not crying anymore! I did all of this because I was stupid. But now I’m not that stupid person anymore.�

Sacrifice isn’t stupidity.

“I am stupid though,� I told myself angrily, and glared at my reflection in the mirror. “You are an idiot. A crazy, half-dead idiot with really bad hair.� I thought I could see what had happened to me. I thought I could see my mistakes. I blamed everything on the fact that I had wasted my entire life on other people. It was like a moment of even greater weakness than usual.

“I’ve always done everything for everyone else,� I told the shard of mirror, after a long period of silence. “That’s why this has happened. I’m too stupid to live for myself.� I sighed, momentarily calm, and lay down on the bed carefully, the cold sheets feeling good against my aching shoulder. “My father was a stony bastard, you know? So long as we behaved and didn’t embarrass him, he’d just stay out of the way. Before I went to school, the last thing he said to me was that I, as a Prewett and a pure-blood, had a reputation to uphold. The last thing he told Fabian and I before he died wasn’t any better.� Conversationally, I imitated my father.
“’You two – you’re stupid, but you’ve got each other. Try and make something of yourselves, for your mother, will you?’ Stony bastard.�

I laughed weakly at my reflection. In many ways, I closely resembled my father, but only in looks, I hoped.

“And my mother herself?� I went on, because anger felt like life. “She’s never been much better, has she? Her idea of raising children was to tell us what to do, to not explain anything and keep her distance from the dirty children – Merlin forbid we should get her gloves dirty, right?�

By now, I wasn’t even paying attention to the fact that I was talking to myself. I didn’t care that my voice was all that filled the silence. Everything else was a dull buzz – I couldn’t see any more than that shard of mirror from which my reflection argued back at me. I couldn’t hear anything more than my own voice.

“I had nothing to say at my father’s funeral. But I spoke for the sake of everyone who wasn’t me.�

I paused, grinning at my reflection.
“I was pathetic. They never said it, but everyone must have known. What kind of young boy devotes his life to his family, his parents haven’t even done the same?� Again, I let the silence run for a few seconds. “Maybe I’ve always been insane.�

No, you’re good. There’s a difference between kindness and insanity.

“What is ‘good’ anyway?� I paused, as if expecting the voice in my head to answer. It wasn’t a person, though. It was a train of thoughts, inside my own head, and if I didn’t know the answer, why should it? “Failure,� I decided, after a moment, “Stupidity. A lack of power.�

No…

“This is pathetic.� I threw the shard of mirror across the room, and this time lifted my right arm without assistance from the other – I ignored the pain. Pain was nothing.

The Dark Mark still burned in my skin although it looked just the same. It scared me, despite my ranting and raving. It was terrifying, although I wouldn’t admit such a thing at that point, determined to believe that this choice had given me power, the first real decision I’d ever made purely for myself. I’d rather be angry than scared.

“They’ll see though,� I explained. Just the fact that I was a Death Eater meant that they had all been wrong. Not one of them had a clue. “I can do anything now,� I explained to no one. It was comforting and disturbing, both at the same time. Voldemort had power, I was sure of it. Power almost absolute. When I died, I thought, I would be a powerful man, and then, wherever we were, my father would see. I was out of my mind.

Something inside me couldn’t bear to look at the Dark Mark any longer, and I dropped my arm back to the bed. It was imprinted though, on my mind, in my brain, like the brand had been burned into my eyes. I stared at the ceiling – just… stared. After all this, the guilt still returned, the grief, and was drowning in confusion just as much as I had been before.
I wanted to escape – that was the only reason why I was doing this, wallowing self-centredly in the woes of the past. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to escape from.

You’re crazy.

“I’m crazy.�

:oOo:

Chapter Three
Part Two: The Mission

I don’t know how long I lay there for, semi-conscious out of both tiredness and an unwillingness to sleep. It must have been at least an hour or two though, because by the time I was jolted to attention, it was already light outside. I was warm from the sunlight pouring in, but all my drowsiness had disappeared because of a sensation I felt on my arm.

It wasn’t the same dull burning that I had felt since the Mark had been made, but a sharp sting like fire or acid on an open wound. I yelped and sat up, clutching my arm, but there was no change. The only difference was the colour of the Dark Mark, which had changed from black to a vivid blood red. I knew Voldemort was calling.

Not wanting to seem weak, I cast a quick succession of spells, and within half a minute or so, my wounds had healed a little; I wasn’t a Healer and couldn’t make the bruising go down, but at least no skin was broken (although I’d have a pretty impressive scar on my shoulder) and my bones weren’t either. Hastily, I pulled my robe back on over my bare torso and cast a cleaning spell on my hair, before apparating without hesitation.

When I arrived, it wasn’t the same place as last time. I don’t know how I knew where to go, but suspect it was part of the dark magic that made one a Death Eater. It was inside, dark and dank, like we were in a cellar or shelter and only Voldemort and one Death Eater were present, still robed, still anonymous. The intense burning on my arm had stopped, and when I looked down to it automatically, I saw that my skin and old robe were hidden – I was clad in heavy, black robes also, but the hood didn’t hide my unmasked face.

“What’s–�

“I have a mission for you,� Voldemort told me. I blinked.

“A – mission?�

“It will be simple, and easy, and fast,� informed Voldemort. “You must be quick, as I will be needing the object of your mission very soon – a very large, ceramic pot and what’s inside it. Do you understand?�

“Y–�

“The portkey is at your feet.� Voldemort interrupted heedlessly. I summoned the half-brick from the ground, trying to make it look natural as, with my knee, picking it up from the floor would be nothing short of foolish. I hated being in Voldemort’s presence, so it was only moments later that he, the Death Eater and the cellar disappeared from sight.

Simple, easy and fast. It couldn’t be too bad, right? Perhaps if I pulled this all off, Voldemort would give me something resembling a break.

Subconsciously revelling in the fact that I had a simple, clean-cut task to complete, free of the problems and thoughts that plagued my mind, I arrived steadily at the destination.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and I wondered where I could be that would be so black. There was no visible roof or walls, so wherever I was, it undoubtedly couldn’t be in England. After the darkness, the next thing to occur to me was how very warm this place was. Although it was night, it felt like a hot summer’s day to me – warmer, even, and the air was thick and sultry.

“Lumos,� I whispered, just in case, and my wand lit up faintly. I was indeed outside, and directly in front of me, I could see a very large structure, ornate really, but at the same time completely dilapidated. A large building – a mansion or hotel – stood in ruins before me.

Quickly, I checked my surroundings to make sure the pot I was seeking was not out in the open. I couldn’t see anything, in any direction, save for large mounds like small hills. When I turned, I felt that the ground beneath me was sand, and when I looked up the atmosphere was so clear, I could see every star shining brightly in the sky.

Nothing remotely ceramic though.

I looked back towards the fallen structure, which must have been a masterpiece in its day, but now, it was as if it had collapsed, blackened by a fire of long ago.

Morticia would love this place.

“Shut up.�

Apprehensively, I approached the silent ruin. When I moved a plank of wood away from an opening that seemed to lead to whatever was left of the place, it broke at my touch, worrying me even more.

Never the less, I climbed into the opening, careful not to come into physical contact with anything, save for the crumbling floor. About ten feet away was what was left of a doorway, and I was about to make my way towards it when I heard a sound. It was as soft as can be, but I was sure I had heard it, something on top of the ruins. Cautiously, I used my wand to move aside several planks of what was once a balcony, and then, through thin and ornate charred iron bars, I saw it, looking directly at me.

Instantly, and instinctually, I dropped to the ground, hands firmly over my ears. I closed my eyes also, and pressed them against my knees as I scrunched up tightly into a ball.

I could feel the vibrations of the banshee’s cry, and pressed very hard against my ears. Thankfully, although my head, all of a sudden, lost most of its focus and began to throb, I was alive. One moment slower, and that wouldn’t be the case. Surely Voldemort should have warned me about a banshee?

When the vibrations stopped, I uncovered my eyes and ears. I couldn’t hear anything, although hopefully my hearing would come back shortly, and my eyes swum. The banshee would be on its way now, and I had to get it the second it arrived, or else it would scream again. I could apparate home, but there was no way I’d be able to get back to this place; the banshee would be crying, and I wouldn’t get a chance to find what I was here for.
I didn’t want to die.

A shadow, cast by the stars, approached, hunched over – banshees tended to run on all fours when they were hungry. A set of long fingers with fingernails resembling talons closed around the opening, and the banshee’s face appeared, slightly green and completely inhuman.
It was comforting to meet something less in its right mind than me.

I couldn’t hear my own words when I cast the spell, and what appeared to be an orange fireball emitted from my wand, hitting the banshee square in the neck. She tried to scream at me again, but no sound came out. With her long fingered hands, she clasped at her burnt-out throat in anger and shock, and her eyes seemed to bore holes in me.

“Sorry,� I apologised, shrugging, although banshees don’t feel pain and her throat would grow back in a day or two. Obviously, she didn’t speak English (or perhaps didn’t speak at all), or maybe she was understandably still furious, because she pounced at me, clearly more animal than human. Not wanting to be on the brunt end of her claws, I cast an explosion spell, which sent her flying into, and through some of the rubble, but she probably wasn’t wounded in the slightest, so I hurried through the opening into the only room of the house that seemed to still be whole.

Thankfully, there was a huge ceramic jug in the centre, at least three feet taller than me but quite thin. I touched it experimentally, to make sure it wouldn’t attack. It didn’t, thank Merlin, but the banshee, who had just burst through the wall looking infuriated, wasn’t likely to be so harmless.

Clutching the giant jug like I was hugging it, I concentrated on apparating out of there immediately, bringing the room where I had last seen Voldemort clearly into my mind.

:oOo:

I felt the familiar sensation of apparation, pushing in from all directions, then after those few seconds, my vision came back into focus.

The banshee didn’t look the slightest bit more forgiving.

I swore; it must have been loud, but I still couldn’t hear anything. The world was silent. At the last moment, I managed to swing the pot in front of me. The banshee ran straight into it, knocking the surprisingly hard pot over and smashing me to the floor in the process. Luckily, I’d half expected this and simply got thoroughly winded, but not too much so to cast another explosion spell and get the silenced banshee away.

Again, I tried to apparate, this time to the place where I’d first met Voldemort.

Finally, slightly panicked, I tried to apparate home, the next place that came to mind.

Nothing.

I couldn’t help but wonder whether Voldemort expected me to get through this ‘simple’ mission alive.

The banshee clawed its way out of the rubble behind the wall, covered in charcoal and less than happy.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?� I muttered to her, somehow maintaining a calm exterior. Really, I was terrified, exhausted and injured, trapped in a desert unable to apparate, with a furious banshee in a crumbling, burned out old mansion. I never thought my tomb stone would say ‘death by mauling’.

I hastily cast the conjunctivitis curse, the only spell I knew which would have a slightly lasting effect on a banshee, and blasted my way out the side of the building, dragging the huge, ceramic pot (which, it transpired, must have weighed at least as much as me) out onto the sand. I floated it after me as I staggered as far away from the old mansion as I could, before, gathering all the magical power in my scattered mind, I levitated one of the nearby sand hills onto the mansion, dropping it from above. What was left of the structure must have been completely crushed, but I knew the banshee wouldn’t be.

Finally, I cast a simple freezing charm on the large mound in front of me, to trap the banshee once and for all, but didn’t stick around to see if it had worked.

“Locomotor Voldemort’s big pot thing,� I pronounced absently, trying to get everything back into focus after the banshee’s cry had further befuddled my mind. Then, without any obvious other options, I proceeded to trudge through the dark sand.

I didn’t know how it could possibly be so hot at night. I was sticky with sweat all over, no matter what cooling charm I tried, and became so thirsty so quickly, it was necessary to conjure myself water to drink. At least I had my wand this time, unlike when I had been trapped in the hole. What was more, the silence all around me was so constricting, I felt short of breath.

Banshees. Not the most pleasant of creatures.

And yet still, I wasn’t happy to have left the mansion behind. Somewhere in my muddled mind, I had quite liked the banshee’s presence. She had no magic, she couldn’t read my mind and she wasn’t more intelligent than me, all of which was very refreshing.
Blinking into reality again, I mentally slapped myself in the face.

“I’m lonely,� I admitted out loud, “but I’m not so lonely as to desire the company of a barely controlled banshee.�

I couldn’t hear my words in my head, and the sound was sorely missed. I even missed the voice, which had fully and totally convinced me that I had driven myself crazy earlier that day. It wasn't my ears that had been stunned, but the part of my brain that registered noise. There was no sound at all.

It’s funny how very much you can miss the thumping of your own heartbeat; I did, almost as much as I missed the feeling of Morticia’s, right beside me. I wished for any sound – my footsteps, my breath, the sound it made when I shouted at myself, but there was nothing. In the middle of a dark desert, messed up and completely soundless due to a banshee’s cry, it wouldn’t have taken long for me to be completely convinced that I didn’t even exist.

Something changed, though, which prevented this from happening. I had been standing near the top of one of the indistinguishable sand hills, when a light wind had begun to pick up, at first barely noticeable, but it wasn’t long before there was sand flying everywhere – a dust storm – and I found myself teetering blindly on a moving platform of sand, steadily giving way beneath my very feet.

I almost dropped my wand, but in the end held it in my mouth as I rolled off what was left of the sand hill, clinging to Voldemort’s giant pot. I arrived at the bottom with the pot on top of me, probably covered in hot sand and dust, evidently where the heat was stored. The pot was heavy, but I scrambled from underneath it, trying to cough out the sand which had, somehow, gotten itself stuck in my throat, and cast a banishing charm.

The wind died down, instantly. I batted the sand from my eyelids, and looked around to see nothing. The sand storm was gone. However, the jug of Voldemort’s lay open on the ground, and I hastily ran towards it, jamming the clay lid back on. I couldn’t see anything, and supposed that none of whatever was in the pot (if anything) had gotten out.

The sand added to the weight of my heavy robes, and I took off the Death Eater robes that covered my own and threw cast them down. Then, brushing dust from my face, I turned to keep walking, and, for the first time, saw a welcome sight on the horizon – something, anything, which was not accursed sand. Lights. Even – a village? Invigorated and desperate, I dragged the jug towards the horizon, just in case there were muggles there who wouldn’t appreciate a floating, ceramic object.

Slowly, step by step I got closer to the lights – it was lightly populated, just as I had suspected. Various little cloth structures had been raised on the sand, like I’d turned up at a market, and the people wore brightly coloured muggle clothes, very large, baggy garments of presumably very thin material, to suit the heat of this place. It was strange, almost mystical, and the place was so lit up by flaming torches in the ground that, had I not been able to see the starry sky, it might have been day time.

Exhausted and grateful for company, I stumbled towards the strange village with Voldemort’s pot, wand concealed in my robes. Nobody payed any attention to me when I got closer, but I cautiously observed them. Despite the fogginess of my vision, from the sand and from the banshee, some of the villagers seemed oddly familiar…

:oOo:

Wedding Tears, Funeral Tears

Chapter Four: Lost

I just couldn’t place them, and thought perhaps it was just my imagination.
Laying the pot down carefully, I approached the mysterious market place in apprehension. Everyone was looking at various pendants and plants in the stalls, none even slightly interested in my arrival. No one stuck out from the crowd, until I caught a glimpse of a little red-head, no more than seven or eight, walking behind one of the smaller cloth stalls, and for a moment was convinced I knew who it was. Then, of course, I thought this was ridiculous, and I was obviously just desperate for a familiar face.

However, despite my doubts, the young boy reappeared on the other side of the tent, very familiar indeed.
“Charlie?� I called cautiously. Through the confusion there was a hint of familiarity, and my spirits rose. I hadn’t seen Charlie since…

Well, for longer than it should have been, anyway.

“Uncle Gideon!� he called excitedly, and ran towards me, I picked him for a hug. Charlie’s heels dug into my tailbone, and he squeezed as hard as he could, oblivious to my sorely wounded shoulder, and I suddenly realised how much I missed him – all of them. Another sense seemed to kick in too…

“Are you here on your own?� I asked. At the time it didn’t seem like a silly question. Charlie snorted.

“No, stupid,� he told me. “You’re standing right in front of me. And look at all these people!�

Carefully, I placed Charlie back down on the warm sand. He was wearing a relatively loose, long-sleeved cream coloured shirt, and matching pants. I frowned.

“Charlie, what are you doing here?� I asked, much more sensibly. Charlie just shrugged. “And where is here?�

“It’s a complicated kind of place,� answered Charlie vaguely. Now, a little doubt nudged at my thoughts. Something was wrong here… If Voldemort had cast some kind of spell on Charlie, I would kill him myself.

“Is it dangerous?� I asked him simply, protectively scanning what I could see of the crowd. Charlie giggled.

“That’s ridiculous. How could this place be dangerous?� he asked. Apparently, I was meant to understand. Whatever was happening, it was magical, and the magic was very strong. After all, before I had seen Charlie I had not been able to hear my own thoughts, let alone people around me speaking. I half expected something else to be grossly out of the ordinary, impossible.

“How–?�

I didn’t finish, however, as my expectation had then been fulfilled, as if on command, with the entrance of another person. I felt myself freeze, and for a moment everything disappeared from my mind. I knew in my head that I should not trust the situation, but that didn’t stop my heart from almost leaping out of my rib cage.

She fitted in at these markets so naturally, like an angel among the common folk. The top of her dress was a little like Charlie’s shirt, but stretched all the way down to the ground and in a dark blue, and her black hair, almost to the shoulders, framed her face simply. All of her features seemed soft, softer than they ever had, and her dark blue eyes were mellow and calm; in death, she was the epitome of peace.

She spotted me and blessed me with a smile, and I remembered so clearly the ache of having lost her. Then, she swiftly and excitedly made her way towards Charlie and I, bare feet hitting the sand silently.
“Gideon!� she greeted, running up and standing before me, one dainty hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “We’ve been waiting! It feels like so long, doesn’t it?�

“Morticia,� I uttered simply, gratefully, and it must have been a full minute before my mind could see past the bliss and question what was happening. “Am I – have I died?� I asked, looking around at the happy market place. “Did I pass out in the desert? Am I dreaming?� Charlie and Tisha laughed.

“No,� Morticia told me. “You’re alive. This is a place where life and death collide.�

“What?� I asked, confused. “How is that possible?�

“People narrowly escape death every day, and Voldemort has tampered very much with the gateway, not to mention the various ways to cheat death, taken by few over the years. Surely you can see how there might be a tiny loophole, out here in the middle of no where.� It was amazing; I was amazed. No one had ever done this before, no one had ever seen…

“Wait,� I said, my heart skipping a beat. I glanced at Charlie. He was grinning at me. “Wait, does that mean–?� The both of them looked at me intently. I felt numb, shock eating at my nerves. “Charlie, you – died?� Charlie rolled his eyes.

“Oh,� he said. “That. Yeah, I did. In the attack, they got me in the heart; here, I’ll show you…� He went to lift up the back of his shirt, but Morticia hastily stopped him.

“Charlie,� she jumped in, “Sweetheart, I don’t think he really needs to see. Not quite yet.�

This new thought swirled in my mind, like bitter poison. Charlie had been killed. Charlie was dead.

“I’m – I’m so sorry,� I told him, my heart wrenching. “I can’t believe – how did this happen?� My eyes prickled. I was scared, I couldn’t bear to think of how Molly was faring. Molly. I covered my mouth with my hands and stepped back half a pace.

“The attack,� said Charlie again. “At our house. It was really scary.� Again, my heart jumped. “Oh, don’t worry,� he added hastily, apparently reading my expression somehow. “It was just me. Mum will be okay, eventually. Both of the twins have come and gone, but it’s never for very long; they’re surviving. I think they liked the sand. Oh,� he went on again, having gotten another thought, “Me and uncle Fabian, that is.�

“Yes,� agreed Morticia, “You and the uncle Fabian you promised to stay with.� Charlie looked slightly ashamed. A thought occurred to me, however, and I frowned, this time not in shock or grief, but doubt.

“Wait,� I said slowly, “Wait, why would Voldemort send me on a suicide mission with no way of getting home?� Tisha looked worried.

“Gideon, do you think you could have heat stroke or something?� she asked. “Voldemort has hundreds of people killed every week. I would know.� Tisha reached forwards to take my temperature, and I stepped back hastily. It would make me so happy to touch her again, to know the feeling of her skin again, her hair, her perfect cheek, her kisses…

“No,� I told her firmly. My judgement could not get clouded. I couldn’t let it. “Stop – wait. Think about it. Between me and Fabian, there’s information. Voldemort’s got Fabian too. Why would he want both of us dead?� I thought about that for the moment. The only way I could see was if he thought that there might be a common denominator between us, someone who could be driven to telling everything they knew at the threat of our deaths. But there was no one like that in the Order…

“It could be a third party,� suggested Tisha, shrugging, “A common denominator between the two of you, someone who could be driven to telling everything they knew at the threat of your deaths? But there’s really no one like that in the Order…�

I blinked, confused. That was not Morticia’s voice, not her words. There was only one solution.

“You’re not real,� I told her. I had always suspected it, but had wanted so desperately to be talking to Morticia again. She placed her hands on her hips angrily. I wanted so badly to see that expression again, but on Morticia. The real Morticia. I’d seen it every time we’d broken up or she’d thrown a tantrum, and no one else had one like it.

“Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I’m not here–�

“Stop saying that!� I told her, not wanting to consider the option that this was truly happening. It wasn’t. This wasn’t her. Experimentally, I thought about the fact that my father was dead too, then looked around. Suddenly he was there, lurking beside a jewellery tent, trying on an ornate looking ring.

He spied me, and started to walk over, looking oddly comfortable in purple and green thin muggle desert clothes. My father wouldn’t be caught dead wearing muggle clothes.
“Gideon,� he addressed when I arrived, “What do you think you’re doing here?� None of this was real. It was all in my mind. None of these people – they were only my perception of them, figments of my own imagination. Wearily, I glanced around again, worried that whatever had done this would be angry, that I would be attacked.

The illusion of the market place read my mind. Everyone, save for Morticia, Charlie and Father had changed. They were all looking at me. They were all scowling. And then, they were all slowly approaching. I began to recognise why they were so familiar – I had met all the people here, thoughtlessly or just in passing.

“You’ve got to stop this!� Morticia told me. “Stop it, now!�

“But I don’t know how!� I argued back. “I’ve never heard of something that creates solid hallucinations.�

“It’s almost obvious; use your head, Gideon,� Dad told me snappishly. “It’s got to be the jug.� This was so confusing, but I believed him, though he spoke words that had come from my own head. Voldemort’s tall pot was the only thing I could count on to be real. Suddenly, as if just because I had been thinking it, several of the villagers all had copies of that same simple-looking ceramic jug, inside which were various demons and monsters, liquids and powders. Yet, when I looked back to where I had left the real thing, it was normal, unaffected.

Hastily, I pulled off the lid to see what was inside.

Pincers. Brilliant. I jumped back. A giant hallucinogenic crustacean disguised as a jug.

I dropped the lid and staggered further from the beast, drawing my wand. A stunning spell bounced easily off its deceptively ceramic looking shell, in which it was still hidden. How was I supposed to kill this thing?

“You’re not supposed to kill it,� Morticia told me, now standing nearby and replying to thoughts I had not verbalised. “It’s supposed to kill you, on the off chance that the banshee failed.�

“I was sent here to die,� I conceded, and then felt a great rush of realisation. “That means…�

“You were right. Fabian’s alive,� concluded the image of Tisha. “He must be.�

“Well, at least Voldemort made the right decision,� commented Father, also suddenly right behind me.

“Alright,� I told myself, and everyone around me, although they were truly only fabrications. “I just have to kill the mad lobster thing, and find my way home.� I prepared to try the strongest severing charm I know, but Morticia grabbed my arm.

“Stop, Gideon. Think about this. How will you find your way home from the middle of the desert, if you can’t apparate?� I scowled.

“I don’t know. I suppose it doesn’t really matter, does it?�

“Of course it matters!� Tisha told me pleadingly. “Don’t you want to get back and find Fabian? You’re so close…� I paused.

“But if I don’t get rid of the lobster, the villagers will kill me.� Conveniently, however, none had actually reached me. It was as if they were suspended in animation, a looming threat that I hadn’t been paying attention to. When I considered the options, this imaginary vision of Morticia was right – I was right.

Concentrating hard, I closed my eyes, imagining a fire place. When I opened them, it stood in front of me, as if it had been there all along.
“I hope this works,� I said pointlessly, and looked back to Morticia – in fact, my father also. This was the last time I’d ever see them, realistically living, breathing, before me.

“Don’t think about it,� Charlie told me wisely. “It’s not real, anyway.� They had taken the place of the voice in my head, the part of me I had pushed to the side. Nodding, I turned my back from the hallucination of an after-life paradise, and threw the floo powder, conveniently resting in my hand, into the fire, which I was sure had not been there before. I stepped into it, without looking back.

“1,267, Brimley Drive!� I shouted with determination, trying not to let my mind dwell on the hallucination. It was a dream, nothing more.

It wasn’t long at all until the lounge room of Morticia and my house buzzed into view, empty and lifeless. Tracking the Death Eaters – even becoming one – had all been a ploy to escape the realisation of what was now truth, that Tisha was gone. I hadn’t been able to see it, to deal with it, it had driven me a significant distance down a path which led to a man I didn’t want to be. On the table lay a large photo of the two of us dancing. She had always been a fantastic dancer, and had always laughed at the fact that I was pretty good at it too.

I picked up the picture, disgusted with my reaction to her death. She was so clearheaded, so carelessly peaceful when it came to it, she would never have wanted this for me. She had loved me.
Tears came at the most unexpected of moments.

Slowly, my comprehension of sound was starting to recover. I could hear my heart racing, my harsh, sporadic breaths. The voice in my head, however, didn’t come back, but in a funny way, that made sense. I didn’t really need it. The voice had only been me – the side of me that wanted my family, and the side of me that wanted to properly mourn for my lost fiancé. She deserved that.

I had not taken anything seriously enough to be ready for such a tragedy. Then again, there was no preparation for tragedy anyway. Such a simple truth, and yet I had taken so long to fully realise it, and even now I couldn’t face up to the prospect of her death without feeling as if my heart and mind might explode with confusion and hurt.
I once fell in love with an unlikely angel. I once had a bright future, a lovely wedding, to look forward to. I once had a fiancé, and everything about her was beautiful, and maybe, in some way, when I’d been with her I had been beautiful too.

“I’m sorry,� I told the photo of us.

She was gone now. It was terrible and unfair. I would never see her again. Never.

My arm burned. A red, hot poker was jabbing me, mercilessly. I still had a brother, who was still in trouble, I still had the scattered debris of what was left of my life, and I still had a chance to do good with them.
I couldn’t leave this photo on the table. Trembling, I picked up the moving picture, and climbed up onto the table, and then further onto the mantelpiece above the fire, overlooking the room in which I had sat at, cheerfully and without care only weeks beforehand. With a simple charm, I stuck the large photo to the bare, brick wall. That simple moment of happiness was one of the most important memories of this house. Not the crying, not the loss, and not the day I got a letter from the Healer under which Tisha had been working.

I wasn’t running anymore, and if I died, which seemed particularly likely, this was how I wanted Molly, Arthur, all my nephews, my friends, my would-be step-parents and even Mother to remember me.

Resigned, I apparated out.

Wedding Tears; Funeral Tears

Chapter Five:

“Voldemort,� I addressed, barely conscious of the hot tears still in my eyes. Flanking him were two unmasked Death Eaters, both of whom I recognised on sight. Lucius Malfoy sort of hissed involuntarily and Rodolphus Lestrange seemed to grit his teeth, as if burned by the pronouncing of his Master’s name, and unwilling to show it.

To my great surprise, I was not instantly cursed as punishment. The only thing stopping me from trying to curse Voldemort was the desire to live. No matter what had changed ever since I became a Death Eater, I was still determined to find Fabian.

Determination.

The memory of the hole sprung to mind, and very clearly I felt a pang of hatred for ‘Lord’ Voldemort, which probably should have come sooner.

“I confess myself surprised and impressed,� Voldemort told me.

“Because I’m alive?� I clarified coldly. “You meant to kill me.�

“Of course,� Lord Voldemort agreed. “Judging by your performance, however, the Dark Lord has decided to relent. I will allow you the honour of serving amongst my ranks.�

I refrained from any sarcastic, foolish comment.

“I even have a first task for you, this time with one clear objective.�

“What, another simple, easy and fast mission?� I asked furiously, unable to help myself.

“Crucio.� Apparently, he wasn’t so impressed as to allow me another infraction. Just like the first time, my mind was completely blanked, consumed in the pain of the curse. It ripped at me, without mercy breaking me down again, and this time when I regained the power of thought, I could hear my screams, quite clearly. Echoing.

I didn’t care for Voldemort’s respect anymore. He gave it to no one.

The Death Eaters standing on either side were, apparently, used to such a sight as an innocent person being tortured beyond belief, reduced to a screaming, writhing body on the floor. Malfoy seemed simply unaffected, and when my eyes connected with Lestrange’s, he had the most disturbing, perverse glint in his gaze, which made me want to strike him dead within an instant. My body was filled with tremors; it couldn’t take much more of this. I felt as if one more blow might break it.

“Your imprudence is unsettling,� Voldemort informed me. I wanted to snap back, but I didn’t. “Never the less, the task I have assigned you is a simple one,� he went on, not waiting for me to get to my feet. At the moment, I was still kind of reeling, kneeling on the ground. I didn’t trust my legs to stand. “He is already quite worn down, and I doubt he will expect the killing curse from you.�

“You – you want me to kill–?� I asked pointlessly. I didn’t need to ask who.

“If you value you life, you will,� Voldemort told me icily. “Do you understand?� I hesitated.

“I do.�

“And what is your response?� he asked. My teeth were chattering, and I could barely comprehend such a suggestion, but still I looked up into Voldemort’s soulless red eyes with some kind of confidence.

“I will,� I told him. “I’ll kill him.�
Voldemort sneered.

“I can only hope your loyalty towards the Dark Lord is stronger than this,� he told me with an air of endless superiority. “Go now.� Voldemort apparated to somewhere else, presumably to await the news of my killing.

Both Rodolphus Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy had their wands pointed at me.
“Get up,� commanded Malfoy. I took a breath, and slowly tried to push myself to my feet, testing the limitations my shaking legs were placing on my ability to move.

“He said, ‘Get up’!� snapped Lestrange impatiently. I felt something hard connect with my back, and was thrown face first onto the wooden floor. My wand went rolling and one of the Death Eaters – Rodolphus, I thought – picked it up.

“The Dark Lord will not be pleased if he doesn’t make it downstairs,� Malfoy warned. Lestrange ground his teeth.

I pushed myself back up, and even got to my feet as quickly as I could.

“Why would he want his blood traitor for a servant?� scowled Lestrange, prodding me with his wand to indicate that I should start out of the room.

“I really don’t know,� I responded. “It would seem his first condition for recruiting is ‘must be psychotic’–�

“Vermin,� Rodolphus hissed, and again Malfoy had to stop him from attacking me. We were now in the hall. “Down the stairs.�

“Say, you don’t suppose I could get my wand back?� I inquired, gripping the rail very firmly to stop myself from toppling down the stairs. Lestrange made a noise of contempt, but other than that ignored me. “I mean, I understand that maniacs like yourselves most likely have no problem with killing your brothers with your bare hands, but–�

Thankfully, we were almost at the bottom, because I then found myself hit with the Cruciatus Curse for the second time that day. It was much quicker this time, and only lasted for a moment, but it was just as strong, just as blinding. I didn’t scream this time, but had fallen on my wounded shoulder at the bottom of the stairs, and this time, heard a resounding crack. My wand dropped in front of my face from above.

“Rodolphus!� snapped Malfoy angrily “Have you no will power?� Weakly, I sat up, clutching my shoulder. My breathing came short, from the pain, the shock.

“T-touchy, aren’t you?� I managed to squeeze out. It was rather pathetic, really, sitting in the middle of the floor, insulting a man who would not usually so much as hesitate to kill me.

“Get up!�

The fact that I really had no choice but to obey was even more pathetic. Somehow, I scrambled to my feet, my right arm hanging limply at my side. The cellar of the house was empty – this was the room I had apparated to before Voldemort had sent me to the banshee. In the plain, cement room, the only exits were the stairs we had just come down, and a small door near the corner, evidently my destination.

“Through there,� Malfoy told me, predictably. I walked towards the door and they made as if to follow me through.

“I’ll go,� I told them firmly, “But I’ll go alone.� There was a moment as the two high ranking Death Eaters considered this. Finally, Malfoy gave a curt nod.

“Try anything funny and the neither of you will ever see the light of day again,� Rodolphus agreed. Despite myself, I rolled my eyes.

“Very dramatic, Lestrange.� Lucius grabbed the wrist in which the wiry looking fellow held his wand, and reluctantly, rippling with frustration, Rodolphus snatched his arm back and forcefully indicated the door.

“Well, hurry up then!� he snapped.

Seeing the logic in this, I wrenched open the door with my left hand, and stumbled in, closing it behind me. The room was shadowy and gloomy, and my eyes needed a moment to adjust to the darkness.

“G-Gideon?� I heard a trembling, though highly familiar voice, ask in disbelief. I turned. Despite the situation, I found comfort in the sight of my little brother. He looked exceedingly pale, his robes were dirty and he seemed oddly thinner than usual, huddled in the corner with his legs almost to his chest. But he was alive, and he was here. After all this time.

“Yeah,� I told him simply, bringing my left hand back up to hold still my broken shoulder. Fabian used the wall to push himself to his feet, and rushed over to me.

“I can’t believe it,� he gushed. “You’re alive. I’m so glad you’re alive. They said you’d be dead. Here, sit down…� Although he seemed significantly weaker than usual himself, Fabian helped me to sit down, back comfortably against the wall. “Are you alright?�

I snorted.

“Are you alright?� I asked back. Fabian looked self-consciously around the blank room.

“I could be worse,� he said, and looked back to me, a little alarmed. “For example, my shoulder could be pointing in the wrong direction.�

“It’s broken,� I told him. “Lestrange – pushed me down the stairs.� Carefully, Fabian pulled the dirty robe off my otherwise bare shoulder. I clenched my jaw as he pulled my arm out of the sleeve. Then, Fabian paused. That was the arm with the Dark Mark.

For a moment, he looked at me with a hard gaze. I just looked back. I didn’t know what to tell him.

“Hold still…� He gripped the top of my arm firmly, and I grunted as he pushed it back into place, before quickly using a spell to heal the bone. It was far better than the spell I had used before. Now, my arm actually seemed to work.

“I suppose Auror training really can come in handy,� I said pointlessly. “Thanks.� Fabian was sitting on his feet in front of me.

“What happened? Didn’t they send you?� he asked anxiously. “Or did they bring you here first?�

“To where?� I inquired blankly. “The desert?� Fabian stared, his eyes wide and carrying a strangely animalistic quality, like a territorial cat. “Voldemort sent me to this weird desert to get a giant hallucinogenic jug lobster guarded by a banshee, if that’s what you mean.�

“And – you’re alive?� I rolled my eyes weakly.

“No, I’m a particularly solid ghost.�

“But how?� Fabian ignored my sarcasm. “Voldemort said he wouldn’t tell you, he said it was a suicide mission.�

“It was,� I replied, shrugging though my shoulder still ached dully. “I guess I just got lucky.� I remembered something and asked quickly, “Is Charlie okay?� Fabian frowned.

“Charlie?� I nodded. “I’ve been missing longer than you, but I’m sure they’d have told me if something happened to him,� my brother said, frowning. “What–�

“The hallucinogenic jug lobster,� I told him simply. “For a while it seemed like this place, with Charlie… and Morticia…� Fabian’s eyes seemed over bright. “What?�

“I’m so sorry,� he told me. “I’m sorry, I really – I didn’t think of the monster. I thought the banshee would…� he trailed off.

“What are you talking about?� I was confused.

“It sort of starts with Dearborn–�

“Is he dead?� I asked worriedly. Fabian interrupted in abruptness.

“He’s a Death Eater. Jam turned up when it was scheduled, and didn’t know anything because he’d just joined, so Voldemort killed him.� He covered his eyes with his hands. So moral, Fabian had always been so moral. Moral to the point of being naïve. “He thought since I was an Auror I’d make a better Death Eater than Jam, and for weeks while I was here, he spent the time trying to get into my mind and find out what could make me turn. Then he told me you’d turned up at a gathering, and I–� He cut off, seeming oddly ashamed. I was just astounded, amazingly proud of my little brother’s prowess as an Occlumens.

“That’s–� He didn’t let me speak.

“I convinced him neither of us knew anything, and Dearborn was wrong, we didn’t know more than him about the Order. He told me he’d kill you, he told me all about the desert, and the banshee, and the Inedia Beast which made people lost in the desert die of thirst, although they thought they were drinking all the water they could get. I told him you were – you were irrelevant, and didn’t do much or know much or anything like that. That you weren’t worth – worth keeping alive.�

I stared at him, blankly, not comprehending.

“He was going to go after Molly!� Fabian justified, somewhat hysterical, and with a dry sob. “He was going to go after Molly and Bill and Charlie and Percy and Fred and George, and–� he was almost out of breath, reduced to the tiniest of pleading voices. “And little Ron. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I never thought you’d get back alive…� He looked at me again, and I could see he was crying. I was forcefully reminded of the Fabian I had known as just a child. Over this time, he’d been driven a little mad too.

“Fabian,� I said firmly, “Fabian!� He sat more still, but twitched. “I’m alive,� I told him. “Look at me, see?� I grabbed his hand and pressed it against my chest, to feel the heart beat. “I’m alive. You did the right thing. I – I don’t think I could have done that.� I laughed at myself. “It’s my own fault I ended up in this mess with Voldemort anyway. I’ve got more to be ashamed of than you. I thought I was going mad. I thought you’d died too.�

“Too?� asked Fabian, looking frankly terrified. “Too? What too? Is Molly–?�

“Molly’s fine,� I interrupted. “They’d have told you if she wasn’t.� I paused. I hadn’t ever told anyone. They’d all found out from her parents, who Smethwyk had also contacted. “It’s Morticia.� My brother’s eyes seemed to widen.

“Is she–�

“She’s dead,� I told him bluntly. “At St. Mungo’s. I got an owl from Hippocrates Smethwyk about a week after you left.� Fabian clamped his hands together, looking shocked. “I was going to wait until you got back.�

“I’m sorry,� Fabian told me, looking young, small, not at all the strong Order member and Auror he had become. “I’m really sorry. I can’t – I would have come back early, you know. If I wasn’t here. If you’d gotten a chance to tell me.� It didn’t seem to have processed in his mind. “I don’t understand…�

“It was just a random attack at the hospital,� I explained, surprised at how calm I was. Perhaps with Fabian there, I had switched, become the older brother again. “But I’ve been in this room for a long time. Lestrange’s not in a patient mood.�

“Which one?� asked Fabian. He seemed to have shivered at the name.

“Rodolphus, but–“ The look in my brother’s eyes was disturbing.

“At least you didn’t get Bellatrix. We wouldn’t still be talking now. Not alone, at least. And not for so long. She–�

“Fabian, what has happened to you here?� I demanded, a protective, angry feeling bubbling in my gut. “What have they done–?� A new thought seemed to have occurred to him though, also, or perhaps he just didn’t want to discuss it.

“What are you doing here? Why did they bring you…?� He trailed off, confused. I sighed heavily.

“Apparently Voldemort decided that my trip to the desert proved my worth or something,� I said. “He wants me as a Death Eater instead of you – I suppose servants who are rubbish at Occlumency are better anyway. I’m supposed to kill you.�

Fabian was oddly quiet.

“Okay,� he said, after a moment. I frowned.

“Okay?�

“Okay,� repeated Fabian. “Alright. Say goodbye to everyone for me, will you?�

“What are you talking about?� I demanded.

“Well, you’re going to kill me, right?� Fabian inquired quietly. He seemed a little shaky, like he was on the brink of crying again but the tears wouldn’t come.

“No!� I told him, forcefully. “What are you talking about? Of course not.� He looked at me angrily.

“Gideon, be serious! We’re here, and you’re a Death Eater. I die tonight, you last until Voldemort is defeated and Crouch has you killed. We’re not going to survive this war.� It was a realisation, and not good enough.

“We’re not going to survive this day,� I corrected, angrily putting my arm back into the sleeve of my robe. “Because I’m not a Death Eater, Fabian. I don’t – I don’t have the strength to kill you, even if I thought it was for the best.�

“It is for the best,� he argued. Something inside me hurt, hurt so much that my little brother was sitting in front of me, weak and probably tortured, prepared to convince me to kill him. “You’d be alive–�

“Life as a Death Eater is not life,� I corrected. “Look at them. They’re slaves – animals.� Fabian looked away.

“If you’re so sure… he knows,� he muttered nonsensically, and paused for a moment before apparently disregarding this thought. “So we’re not going to survive the day?�

“No.� He glanced fearfully at the door.

“What should we do then?�

“I think – we should write to Molly,� I told him. “She deserves to know.� I paused, then added quietly, sorrowfully and with regret, “It must have been Bill’s birthday last week.�

We didn’t spend much time on the letter, simply because there wasn’t any to spare. When we finished it, Fabian tucked it securely into his robe. No spells for communication outside the room had worked, apparently, when he tried it. We can only hope that, some day, a member of the Order will find our bodies.

Our bodies.
The thought is terrifying, and I can’t let it cloud my judgement or impair my actions because right now I’m standing at the door with Fabian, and we’re preparing to storm out. He seems to know exactly how to go about it, exactly how we should do it. He’s clutching his wand like a life line.

“Gideon?� he says to me.

“Yeah?�

“Are you sure about this?�

“Of course I am.�

“Then…� he pauses. “This is going to sound really stupid.� I’m smiling slightly. I don’t know how – I’m about to be killed, my little brother’s about to be killed.

“Try me.� I’m not going to cry.

“I’m,� he’s taking a deep breath. He wants to keep his voice steady. I’m not going to cry. “I’m really glad you’re my brother.� I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. “And I’m proud to die with you.�

I’m crying, silently, but crying all the same.

“And I’m really sorry about Morticia. I wish I could have been there with you.� I touch my forehead against the door. I can’t stop the tears. I don’t want to die.

“Me too,� I’m telling him. My voice is clear and my words make sense, but I don’t know how that can be. My mind is in panic. “About all of it. You’ve always been better than me, and it’s been frustrating as hell, but I’m… yeah, proud. I tried to protect you, but I guess I didn’t manage that, and you really did better anyway, huh? I wish you didn’t have to die like this.�

He can’t really form a smile.

“Thanks.�

Neither of us wants to be the one to say it, to be the first one to propose we run to our deaths.
“Fabian?� I ask. He looks at me. “Why didn’t you ever get serious – you know, get married?� He looks sadly at the door.

“I figured there’d be time after the war.� His voice is really only a whisper. “When there was peace, and life could keep going, and I could go out and live mine without worrying about Voldemort and evil. You and Morticia were meant for each other, but I didn’t want to fall in love, not knowing whether it was real, or whether it was only happening because we might die.� Now with determination, I stare at the door.

“Well, there’s only Lestrange and Malfoy out there,� I tell him. We’re both weak, and he can barely stand, but I want my little brother to die with hope. Or at least die thinking that I have hope. “Let’s get working on that.� He finally manages a smile.

“Alright.� Resigned to death, I count down with Fabian, and when we reach zero, the pair of us jump out of the room and into the main cellar.

Rodolphus and Malfoy are by the end of the stairs, but as well as them I can see three more Death Eaters. We’re in the middle of a circle of them. Automatically, we meet back to back.
“Run for the stairs if you get the chance,� I tell Fabian. I know he’ll never make it. “And don’t worry about me. I’ve got the Mark; there’s no way I’d survive anyway.�

The three Death Eaters remove their masks – at least, the two I can see do. Dolohov and Tate, the villains Fabian had been working to take down. His back is touching mine, and I can feel it tense with anger.

“Dearborn,� he hisses.

I don’t know who will start the fight, but it seems likely to be Rodolphus. He still looks impatient, still mad, and Lucius Malfoy is still cold and calculating, like none of this really matters all that much to him.

To my surprise, however, the next thing I hear if Fabian’s voice again.
“Impedimenta!� I can’t help but note, with the same protective feeling as before, that my brother chose to curse Rodolphus Lestrange over Dearborn. The room comes alive.
There’s a stunner from Lucius, which I’ve deflected and returned with a jinx, and both Fabian and I have dodged a shot of blue light from Dolohov. Fabian tries to curse Malfoy with the memory charm, but he manages to regain movement fast enough to block it. It’s all automatic; there’s no time to think. I’ve found myself duelling with Rodolphus and Tate, Fabian’s got Malfoy and Dolohov, and Dearborn could join the fray at any moment. Curses are flying everywhere, bouncing off the walls, and Fabian and I have managed to get back against the wall so as to not get cursed from behind.

When it seems Fabian’s about to get the best of Dolohov, Dearborn finally sends a curse his way. I jump in and deflect, and just as I’m getting back to Tate, who’s on my unprotected side, there’s a flash of green light and the sound of a body falling to the floor. Panicked, I turn towards Fabian, but it’s not him.

He killed Dearborn.

A wave of shock sweeps my conscious mind, but I can’t pause. I can’t do anything, I can’t even think. Rodolphus is breaking away from duelling with me, and I’m panicking. I can’t think of anything, and without a moment’s hesitation, I shoot the same fireball from my wand as I shot at the banshee, hitting him, like her, directly in the throat.
There’s blood everywhere. I hope it’s hurting him. He’ll probably never talk again.

Tate’s lost his wand and I’m sending a stunner at Dolohov, who’s blocked it, but gets hit by a banishing charm from Fabian. Malfoy, he’s been quiet. I go to curse Malfoy, and out of the corner of my eye, just as I’m uttering the words, I notice something coming from Rodolphus. He’s used the window of opportunity to build it up, despite the burnt out hole in his neck which barely allowed him to breathe. It’s bright, almost white, and I can tell it’s a powerful curse. I’m going to die; I know I’m going to die. I’m going to die and then Fabian’s going to die too, left alone.

At the last minute, however, Fabian dives between me and the curse. I can’t stop it. I can’t block it. The white light hits him straight in the heart, and whatever it is, he’s dead before he hits the floor. It takes seconds – less than a second, but it’s as if I can feel him leaving, I can feel him dieing, and when he his body crashes down onto the cement with a sickening smack, I can feel him gone.

He’s gone.
He’s gone, I can’t save him now.
He took a curse for me.
He’s dead.

There’s a moment of near silence, and a lone stunner bounces off the wall.

Fabian’s dead. His eyes are still open, staring blankly. He doesn’t deserve to die. He didn’t deserve to die. It’s not fair. I can feel my heartbeat pounding.

As I turn, determined to kill Rodolphus Lestrange, I notice movement on the stairs. A wooden leg, and a curse has knocked Lestrange out.

I don’t have time to comprehend that the Order – or, perhaps, the Ministry – is here. Dolohov is back up.
I don’t even have time to try and dodge the rush of green light.

Everything had been so bright. I was going to be married, and Morticia was going to make my brothers wear lime green pinstripes and top hats. Bill was going to carry the ring, Molly would be crying her eyes out in the front row, but they would be happy tears.
Not the tears of a funeral.
The tears of a wedding.
The light at the end of the tunnel.

A rushing sound, like I could hear death spiralling towards me.

…………………………………………………………………………………

Dear Molly,

Sorry. We wish we could see you again, but that’s not likely to happen.
Love to you, to Arthur, to all our gorgeous nephews and to Mother, to Morticia’s parents, Norton, Kaila, the Goodnotes and to everyone we don’t have time to mention.

And to all of you: be happy. Go on, do it for us!
Live.

Love,
Gideon and Fabian

The End

Thank you for reading. I'd like to send out a great big box of cyber-chocolates to MithrilQuill and the Gauntlet supervisors, and everyone who made this challenge possible.
This story was just... really magical to write. It made me take these Prewetts, who I love and adore, to a very dark place, and tested my characterisations of them very thoroughly. Now (when they stop being mad at me for killing off their loved ones and themselves), I feel more confident with these guys, and the darker side of writing.

And finally, if you see fit to write a review, it will absolutely make my day. Good luck to everyone who's entered the Gauntlet!