The cracked pavement sits nestled between two indifferent concrete walls, illuminated only by the yellowish glow cast by the lightbulb outside a doorway with peeling green paint. An anxious-looking boy walks up the alleyway, his wand held at his side in a vicelike grip. He is young – barely even out of school. He looks uncertainly around at the shadows, and jumps when a voice speaks from behind him.
"Good evening, Eridanus."
Eridanus turns to look at Rodolphus Lestrange, emerging into the circle of light. His face looks sallow and sickly under the harsh glare. "First, I would like to make it clear to you that I would not be meeting with you were you not family. Now, what is it you wanted to ask me?"
Eridanus gulps visibly, then says, "I want to become a Death Eater."
Rodolphus stares at him for several seconds, his expression unreadable. Then he speaks.
"Go home, boy. Now."
Eridanus's eyes widen, and he says, in a frantic voice, "But I want to do the Dark Lord's bidding! I want to put Muggles and Mudbloods and filth in their place! I – " Rodolphus raises a hand, and Eridanus is silenced.
Rodolphus leans forward, and as his head tilts to look into the boy's face his eyes are cast in shadow. His skin looks waxlike and almost transparent.
"You wish to join the elite members of the Dark Lord's inner circle?" Eridanus nods fervently, a look of eagerness momentarily replacing the fear on his face. "You wish to murder and torture and lie, all in the name of a master who cares nothing for you? Is that what you wish?" Eridanus looks taken aback at these words, but Rodolphus continues.
"Or perhaps you wish to lose the woman you love to this master, to watch her become increasingly obsessed with doing his bidding over time. The love of your life, who was so beautiful when you married her and utterly in love with you – but also in love with the ideals that led the both of you to join the ranks of the haters, the destroyers, the warriors of discrimination.
"The rest of the world cannot forgive you for this – you are shunned from common wizarding society for your fanaticism, but it does not matter to you, overly; you will be praised as a hero once the Dark Lord triumphs. That your wife is delving further and further into this madness does not matter to you; you are too. But after awhile it starts to disturb you – just the smallest bit. But instead of taking this as a sign that what you are doing is wrong, you convince yourself that what you feel is only guilt that you aren't doing your utmost to serve the Dark Lord, also. Because, of course, this is easier – so much easier – to believe, than the idea that everything you've been taught, since birth, is wrong: that perhaps those who aren't wizard-born are not the scum you take them for. Impossible, surely!"
He lowers his voice now, and Eridanus leans forward to hear him, enraptured.
"But one night . . . one night you are sent on a mission: to kill a blood traitor. This girl was born to purebloods, yet she keeps Muggle company. The Dark Lord overlooks those who are friends of Mudbloods – there are too many of them to stamp out completely. But this one girl has gone so far as to marry a Muggle, which the he finds inexcusable. Of course, you leap to obey his command.
"You arrive at the girl's house, swathed in your Death Eater robes. Silently, you open the door and enter. The hall is shadowy, and the paintings on the walls appear black. There is no light, but for the glow exuding from a door at the end of the hall. You creep along the hallway, making no sound at all. You reach the end of the hall, and peer through the crack between the door and the frame. This is your mistake.
"The girl's hair is a feathery brown; her skin has a healthy, tan glow; her soft pink mouth curves in a smile as she and her husband, who is sitting beside her, exchange jokes. But her eyes – her eyes are dark and hooded. The sense of recognition is overwhelming: her eyes are exactly like your wife's.
"The second thing that strikes you is how happy she and the Muggle seem. They are innocent and carefree, laughing uncontrollably at something the man has said. The woman looks up into his eyes, and they kiss. You cannot bear this expression of affection – you, who have not felt such love for someone else in years. The man reaches around the woman, drawing her into a tight embrace but knocking over his glass of wine as he does so. They break apart for a moment, look at the shards of glass on the couchside table, but they just laugh and resume their embrace. They have not the faintest notion that Death is waiting outside the door.
"You have no choice. You push open the door, see the fear in the couple's eyes as they catch sight of you. Without permitting yourself to think about it, you do what must be done. You leave them on the couch, still in each other's arms. There is no sound except the slow dripping of wine onto the floor."
Rodolphus pauses. In the moments before he speaks again the lightbulb overhead buzzes.
"There is no turning back. You've come too far. You haven't the courage to desert the Dark Lord. There is nothing you can do but continue carrying out his wishes, never revealing to anyone how much it destroys you to do so. But you will never forget the fright frozen in those heavy-lidded eyes as the life behind them was erased."
There is silence. Eridanus's mouth is open, and his eyes reveal nothing but horror. Rodolphus's eyes, however, are unfathomable.
"Now, tell me, child . . . is that what you truly want?"
Eridanus's mouth closes. He looks into those unblinking eyes, and that is enough of an answer for Rodolphus. He turns around, his cloak swishing behind him, and starts back up the alley. Right before he vanishes into the darkness, Eridanus hears a whisper – so faint he is not even sure he heard it.
"I thought not."