Before the Dawn | George Weasley

47

I felt hollow for several days after leaving Diagon Alley. I couldn't quite seem to shake the image of George's face, the desperation in his eyes, the final whispered plea for me to stay.

But I couldn't stay.

I couldn't bear to tell him how I'd spent the last few months, how I'd allowed myself to be swept up into Voldemort's Army, becoming acquainted with his most ardent supporters and pledging my allegiance to his cause.

How I'd taken spell-casting lessons with Antonin Dolohov, in which I not only strengthened my preexisting skills, but became quite familiar—and quite good at—some of the darkest and most violent spells and hexes in existence.

How I'd allowed myself to be absorbed into the Death Eater ranks, spending more time at Malfoy Manor than at the villa with Jamie. 

How I'd allowed the Dark Mark to be carved into my flesh only a week before I travelled to Diagon Alley, the sensation of the ink moving under my skin something I could never quite rid myself of; when the mark burned, we were being summoned, and we had to apparate immediately to report to the Dark Lord. Now, whenever I apparated, I travelled in a cloud of black smoke, just like all the rest who followed Voldemort.

Jamie still didn't know. I told her I was with Miles whenever I left the house, which wasn't entirely a lie, as my friend had been swept along in the process as well, nominated by his uncle as a new inductee. I realised, now, what Lucian had been so 'busy' with the year before, why he hadn't been able to spend time with Jamie like he'd promised. I couldn't tell her, though, couldn't risk her getting involved; she was one of the people I was determined to keep safe at all costs.

My father was among the lowest in the social caste of the Death Eaters, doing all the dirty work the higher-ups couldn't be bothered to do themselves. I kept myself distant from him, unwilling to associate myself with him for a number of reasons beyond just that. He never tried to speak to me, anyway.

The Dark Lord was a force to be reckoned with. I met him that day I first travelled to Malfoy Manor, and I felt my blood freeze in my veins at the very sight of him. Now, a few months later, I was still very much afraid of him, but I'd found a way to compartmentalise my fear.

I was so far in, sometimes I wondered if I'd ever be able to crawl back out.

* * * * * *

My first time back to Grimmauld Place after officially becoming a Death Eater was, in a word, tense.

Remus was there, as well as Tonks, Severus, Molly, Arthur, and Bill.

I could feel Molly's gaze on me as we sat at the kitchen table, but I couldn't bring myself to look at her, knowing I'd broken her son's heart only weeks prior. I kept my eyes steadily on the table in front of me, looking up only as Bill took the seat next to mine.

"You alright, there?" he murmured.

I nodded wordlessly, unconsciously rubbing my left forearm.

"George is alright," he said in a low voice, and I looked to him hopefully. "I went and checked on him a couple of days ago. He's still upset, but I think he's starting to come around. Fred's been working overtime trying to cheer him up."

"He must hate me," I sighed.

"I don't think he could hate you if he tried." Bill's words were meant to be reassuring, but I only felt worse about what I'd done. I managed a tight-lipped smile in Bill's direction but said nothing else.