The Mark of a Death Eater : Sequel

Chapter Twenty One

I grew up in a house where my family line, as far back as I could trace, were either Ravenclaws or Slytherins. That meant that we didn't have the genuine kindheartedness of the Hufflepuffs or the reckless chivalry of the Gryffindors. As Evergreens, I have come to believe that what we lacked was heart.

The Evergreen mansion was something to behold. Not unlike Malfoy Manor is its size and grandeur, but not the same in its lavishness. Where Lucius Malfoy boasted white peacocks, gilded gates and water fountains in his garden, the Evergreen mansion preferred its even, dark green grass and beds upon beds of dark red roses, my mothers pride. Its upkeep was her leisure activity when she was away from work.

I liked my home well enough. I had spent eleven straight years there after all. But I loved the Osman home so much more. The Evergreen mansion was a palace. It was regal, cold, untouched and solitary. Our home was a fortress, with huge wrought iron gates and solid structure. My brother and I grew up knowing that we were dignified, we were smarter, and we were fearless. We would work for what we wanted and we would get it.

Once Rigel and I were able to walk and talk, our parents never tried very hard to be around us. Christmases and easters were the rare occasions where the Evergreen family would sit around a table, fully lit only then, to dine together on food that my mother and Rigel would prepare together in our stone kitchen as my father and I read books in his study, side by side in mutual silence. That was not to say that my parents were completely absent. However, (and this was mostly my own fault) I loved them mostly out of obligation.

Despite how negligent they were, my mother had never missed a day to see me off on September the first and she tried very hard to do as much for me as she was able to until I was twelve. I respected that and was grateful to her for that.

My father, a cold man of few words, never really saw eye-to-eye with anyone and never really made an effort to. But distant as he was, my father taught me more than most people did. It was only when I spent my first summer with the Osman's, aged eight, that I realized most sons and daughters called their father something like 'papa', or 'father', as opposed to 'sir'. My father was quick to teach us that behind our gates and over the Osman's sunny home, there was an ugly, vicious world, waiting to prey on our insecurities. It was best to glide through it with walls around your heart and ice in your fingertips and with silence as your friend and cunning as your ally. And as Rigel left for school and I was doomed to spend months on end alone in that stone house, I learned that I would either have to be strong alone or make connections in order to survive the world outside the Evergreen mansion. It was on my tenth birthday that my father called me to his study, all leather and fur and snakewood, and told me to never trust anyone with anything that could compromise me, that people would let me down and as such, I should never let my guard down. People cannot be trusted, Emmerentia, he said. Later that evening, my mother called me to her bedroom and, tucking one of her precious roses into my hair that she so adored, told me that it was okay to choose one person, just one, and trust them with whatever it is you would. Choose wisely, she told me.

And I did. I chose Zayn Osman.

Oh, how different the Osman family was to mine.

I knew Jasmine and Alia as fierce and formidable sisters with eyes like birds of prey. People who saw them immediately turned the other way because they were, for lack of a better word, intimidating. They were unapprachable, cold and formal. They were the very epitome of a hard and true Ravenclaw. They struck fear into Ministry men's hearts because no girl should be that smart. They didn't smile, they smirked. You could tell when they were listening to you because they locked eyes with you when they did, scaring you and making you uncomfortable with the intrusion. Straight out of Hogwarts, the two of them immediately managed to score jobs of status within the ministry. Different departments, but political all the same. They were sisters who walked down hallways together, stared down enemies together, and sat up all night working on a personal project that wouldn't benefit anyone, soley out of interest. They were sisters who chose to share a bedroom even though there was no need to. Their room was always brightly lit, and depending on which day of the week you entered it, either completely cluttered or completely empty.