Death Eaters
Death Eaters: wizards and witches that followed You-Know-Who during the course of the Wizarding War (years: 1973-1981). These wizards and witches did unspeakable things while following Voldemort, including murder and torture. Most of the death eaters followed Voldemort in the name of blood purity, believing muggleborns to be ‘stealers of magic’ and ‘unworthy of the magic they held,’ therefore targeting muggleborns and so called ‘blood traitors' (those who did not believe in Voldemort or blood purity) in raids. The symbol of the Dark Mark is printed below; during and after every raid and attack, the symbol would appear in the sky, and every witch and wizard knew what it meant.
The first thing Percy was aware of was that he was sitting up. That was strange. Had he fallen asleep sitting on the couch again with his book? Something was digging into his wrists and ankles, uncomfortably tight. The air smelled musty, like a place no one had lived in years, accented by the scent of rotting wood. Percy knew it was definitely an old building, even before he opened his eyes.
Which meant he wasn’t at the Burrow.
Percy’s eyes shot open, and for a moment, all he saw was darkness. He was beginning to think he’d went blind, but after a second or two, his eyes started to adjust to the dim lighting.
He was in some kind of shack, built out of rotting wood. Pieces of broken furniture were scattered across the floor. The curtains were tattered and had what looked like claw marks ripping through them. Behind the tattered curtains, the windows were boarded up, allowing only small slivers of light to slip through the cracks.
Percy looked frantically around the room and noticed he was sitting in a chair with rope binding his wrists and ankles to the arms and legs of the chair. Percy looked around for a door and found one… with a man standing in front of it.
Seeing the pudgy, haggard man made everything come rushing back. The spell, Scabbers, the man…
Percy licked his dry lips nervously and gripping the arms of the chair tightly. “Who are you?”
The man approached him, and Percy tried to move away, but the chair prevented him from getting very far.
The closer the man got, the more Percy noticed how… nervous he looked. He kept rubbing his hands together and running his fingers through greasy blonde hair. He was hunched over on himself, like he hadn’t stood upright in who-knows-how-long. Percy realized with horror that he probably hadn’t. Percy had had Scabbers since he was five, and if Scabbers had been an Animagus that whole time…
Percy had carried Scabbers everywhere when he was younger, excited to have a pet for the first and probably only time, given his family’s limited amount of money. They couldn’t afford owls or even cats, so Scabbers would have to be enough. Percy had brought him to the breakfast table, to the sofa when he read, to his desk when he worked. Scabbers slept in his bed, nuzzled on his pillow right next to Percy’s head.
Percy was going to be sick.
“I know this must be… a surprise to you,” the man rasped.
“You think?” Percy muttered before he could stop himself. He flinched a little, but the man didn’t respond to that, just pacing the length of the shack.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen this wasn’t supposed to happen this wasn’t supposed to happen!” The man exclaimed, putting his head in his hands. “Nine years, and no one ever expected a thing. All it took was a little accidental magic to ruin everything!”
The man grabbed one of the few pieces of furniture still intact- a chair- and threw it across the room. Percy flinched, wondering if he’d be next, but the man just leaned heavily on a table. It didn’t look sturdy enough to hold his weight, but against all odds, it did.
The man breathed heavily, head still in his hands. Percy plucked up his Gryffindor courage. The man was nervous; he hadn’t planned this. Maybe Percy could convince him…
“You could just let me go,” Percy whispered. The man stiffened but didn’t speak. “I-I won’t tell anyone. Who would believe me anyway?”
The man lowered his hands and looked at Percy. He actually seemed to consider it for a moment, and Percy felt a slight bit of hope creep in.
“I can’t,” the man said, and that hope deflated. “I’ve already called them.”
“Them?” Percy repeated. “Who’s them?”
As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door, and the man went to answer it.
“Password?” The man asked, and Percy was strangely reminded of when Bill and Charlie used to do that to him whenever he tried to come in their rooms.
“Darkonus Bondide,” a voice responded.
Percy didn’t recognize the words- had never heard them or read them in any book- but clearly, the man knew the words because he opened the door.
Percy’s heart rate skyrocketed when two people entered. His palms started to sweat, and his hands were shaking. He clenched them in the fists to hide the trembling.
Percy didn’t remember much of the war, being only five years old when it ended. But he was old enough to remember the aftermath— the quiet of the house for months afterward, speaking in hushed tones out of habit. They still moved around a lot while his dad built the Burrow, so it felt similar to moving from safe house to safe house. His parents’ grief was palpable in the months afterward. Percy had just wanted to understand all that in what way a five, six, seven year old could, so he turned to books. Eventually, he found one written on the war and hid it under his bed, not wanting to upset his parents.
To this day, the images printed on the pages haunted him, and now, one was staring him in the face.
The bone white mask of the Death Eater stared at Percy with hollow eyes, a dark hood over the Death Eater’s head. The robes they wore were heavy and black as night, and one of their sleeves was rolled up, revealing the Dark Mark.
Percy’s eyes darted to the man- Scabbers, the Animagus- and noticed the same mark on his left forearm.
Percy had been living with a Death Eater. Now, he really wanted to be sick, but he couldn’t afford to show that weakness, not in front of these people who would kill him without a second thought.
“Is it really you?” One of the two Death Eaters that walked in said to the man. “Thought you were dead.”
“Just… in hiding. From Sirius, you know,” the man said.
Sirius. Where had Percy heard that name before?
“More like hiding from the Dark Lord,” one of the Death Eaters spat, roughly shouldering past the Animagus.
The Death Eater approached Percy, and Percy tried to move away, but the ropes kept him firmly in place. He awkwardly leaned away as far as he could, but the Death Eater followed him and leaned down so Percy was eye level with that chilling mask.
“One of the Weasley kids?” The Death Eater said. “Fucking blood traitors.”
Percy cringed at the term, one of the ones his parents always taught him and his siblings never to say and to stand up for the ones it was spoken to. Percy didn’t understand it when he was younger, but as he got older, he eventually got it. His parents never told him what to do if the word was directed at him.
Although, his parents hadn’t really prepared him for any part of this situation.
“Which one is it?” The Death Eater asked, and it took Percy a moment to realize he was the it. Percy resisted the urge to glare at the dehumanizing term.
“Percival. Percy,” the Animagus answered.
The idea that this man knew his name, his siblings’ names, and probably knew almost everything about him made Percy even more nauseous.
Why had he picked up that stupid rat in the garden that day?
“Percy,” the Death Eater said, and Percy could hear the smile in his voice. The Death Eater moved his hand to the side of Percy’s face, and Percy cringed away in disgust as the Death Eater caressed his cheek. “Young one, ain’t he?”
“He’ll be fifteen in August,” the Animagus said.
Percy glared at the Animagus. “You know so much about me. Who are you?”
“You seriously think we’re going to tell you our names? You’re clearly missing the point of the masks,” the Death Eater said.
“Well, that one-“ Percy jerked his head towards the Animgus. “-has been living in my house for nine years. I think I deserve to know who he is.”
The other Death Eater had been so quiet, Percy didn’t even see the slap coming. The Death Eater’s hand connected with the back of his head, inflicting a sharp sting. Percy’s already aching head protested.
“You deserve nothing,” the Death Eater said, coldly, and his voice sounded oddly familiar. “You are the prisoner. Remember your place.”
Percy opened his mouth to respond, but the man raised his hand in warning. Percy flinched and gulped, backing down.
The Death Eater lowered his hand and turned to talk to the Animagus like Percy wasn’t even there. The other Death Eater joined the conversation, the three of them talking in hushed ones. Percy only caught snippets of the conversation.
“Leave—in the shack.”
“Needs—guard.”
“Well, not like— anything better to do— attacking children—“
Percy had learned from his book on the war that Death Eaters were ruthless and merciless. They wouldn’t hesitate to torture or kill him if he put one toe out of line. Percy wasn’t Fred and George or even Bill and Charlie, with their hot tempers and no brain-to-mouth filters. If he wanted to survive this, he had to do what he did best: follow the rules and be smart.
It was the only way he was getting out of this in one piece.
For hours or minutes- Percy didn’t know. The only signal of time was the changing position of the ray of light on the floor- they waited. None of the Death Eaters spoke to Percy, barely even glanced at him, except for the Animagus, who cast him a look every so often. His nervousness was increasing by the minute, Percy noticed, and even the other two Death Eaters were whispering with slight anxiety in their tones. Who exactly had they called to guard him?
The time dragged on, and Percy was caught in the suspense. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the torture to start or someone to hit him or something. That was what Death Eaters did, wasn’t it? Percy’s mind drifted to Alice and Frank Longbottom. Percy had the vaguest memories of them; their house had been one of the safe houses until they had their son. He remembered Alice had a huge book collection, and Frank would often use his wand to create sparks and vapor, sometimes creating shapes like shadow puppets, to entertain the frightened children.
That was all Percy remembered of them before the Death Eaters tortured them into insanity. Were they going to do that to him, too?
Percy’s chest clenched in terror, but he tried not to let it show. As a kid, he had always saw the Death Eaters as a kind of shark- they could smell fear as well as they could smell blood in the water. He wondered if his younger self had been onto something because the minute the slightest ounce of fear flickered across his face, one of the Death Eaters turned to him. The Death Eater approached him and leaned down to make eye contact with Percy through the holes in the mask. His eyes were gray, almost silver, Percy noted.
“He-“ the Death Eater jerked his head towards the Animagus. “-says you like rules, yes? Very obedient? A little goody-two-shoes?”
The twins always called him that— a goody-two-shoes. The familiar insult grated on Percy’s nerves, but now was not the time to be irritated by something so trivial.
He had to be smart.
“Yes, sir,” Percy said, meekly.
The Death Eater laughed. “Sir? I like that. Kid knows his place.”
The Death Eater straightened up and rounded the chair Percy was in to stand behind him. Percy stiffened, hating how he couldn’t see the Death Eater. If the Death Eater rose his wand or his fist, Percy would never see it coming, and that put Percy off kilter. He resisted the urge to try and turn in the chair; with the restraints, it was useless, and it would just show his discomfort.
The Death Eater rested his hands on Percy’s shoulders, and Percy tried to keep himself from trembling, but with the Death Eater so close, Percy was sure he felt the shaking.
“This is how it’s going to work,” the Death Eater said, almost a whisper, but it was loud in the silent room. You could’ve heard a pin drop. “You are going to be obedient- no talking back, no screaming for help, no fighting, no trying to escape- and you’re going to let us torture you.”
Percy’s breath hitched.
“We haven’t had someone to torture in years, not since the end of the war,” the Death Eater continued, like he was discussing the weather and not torturing a child. “We’ve missed it.”
“You’re already going to torture me,” Percy said, his mouth and throat dry as a desert. It took all he had just to force the words out. “What happens if I break a rule?”
“We kill you, plain and simple,” the Death Eater said. “And we’ll dump your body at your parents’ doorstep. I wonder who would be the one to find you- your parents or maybe one of your siblings?”
Percy couldn’t help but picture his body, broken and lifeless, at the front door of the Burrow, the door opening. Ginny would cry, Ron would freeze, the twins would scream. His mother would wail. His father… well, Percy didn’t know how he’d react, but Percy was sure it would be as horrifying a reaction as any of the others.
Percy didn’t want to die, and he definitely didn’t want his family to see him like that.
“Do you understand?” The Death Eater asked, a professor making sure a student understands the consequences.
Percy swallowed harshly and nodded.
“Good,” the Death Eater said. “You’re smart, and you know how to follow the rules. Maybe… that’ll keep you alive.”
A knock made all of their heads jerk towards the door. The Death Eater abandoned Percy and went to the door.
“Password?” The Death Eater asked.
“Who else would it be?” A gruff voice asked from outside. “You called me, remember? Now, open the door.”
The Death Eater did so, and a man- no, not a man. Not entirely- stepped across the threshold.
Percy had read about the First Wizarding War, trying to make some sense of the fleeting, brief memories he had of it. He had seen pictures of convicted Death Eaters- Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius Black, Barty Crouch Jr…. And the scariest one of all, in Percy’s opinion. He stood in front of Percy now with jagged teeth baring like a dog about to attack; small, beady eyes that narrowed in a predator’s gaze; and thick hair over every inch of his body. He towered over all of them, and when his eyes landed on Percy, he smirked, like a cat who got the canary.
Percy recognized him immediately, had never been able to forget the photograph in the book he’d read or the tales of him attacking children, sometimes killing them, sometimes turning them. Percy didn’t know which fate was worse.
“Greyback,” one of the Death Eaters barked. “Took you long enough.”
Greyback shrugged. “Coming out of hiding ain’t easy after ten years. Was surprised to get your message.”
Greyback approached, and Percy instinctively tried to edge away, but the chair kept him in place. Percy leaned awkwardly as far as he could to put even the slightest distance between himself and Greyback. Greyback closed the distance easily and knelt so close to Percy, Percy could smell his rotting breath. His teeth were a hair-breadth away from Percy’s neck.
“He’s a little older than the ones I usually go after,” Greyback noted, “But that’s not a problem. I haven’t tasted blood in years.”
Percy wasn’t even trying to hide his fear. He was shaking like a leaf; his palms were sweating; his breath was stuck somewhere in his throat. Percy wondered if the lack of breathing would kill him before Greyback. A small part of him hoped it would.
“Not yet, Greyback,” one the Death Eaters said. “We don’t need you to turn him, and we’re not killing him, unless he decides to misbehave.” The Death Eater gave Percy a pointed look.
Percy choked down a whimper as Greyback leaned even closer to him, if that was possible.
“Come on, you guys have all the fun. Just one bite?” Greyback said with a smirk. “Full moon just happened, so he wouldn’t even transform for a month.”
“Not yet, Greyback,” the Death Eater said more firmly. “We don’t want to break him yet. There’s plenty of time for that.”
Greyback sighed and rolled his eyes, but he straightened up and took a step away. Percy almost cried in relief, and he couldn’t hide how he slumped forward, breathing for the first time since Greyback arrived.
The Death Eater turned to Percy. “You break a rule, maybe we won’t kill you. We’ll just have Greyback turn you, and you’ll understand the phrase… “a fate worse than death.””
The Death Eater turned back to Greyback. “We need you to guard him. People will get suspicious if we’re-“ he gestured to himself and the other Death Eater- “gone for too long, and he-“ this time, he gestured to the Animagus. “Clearly can’t be trusted, hiding like a coward for ten years.”
“Can I have some fun?” Greyback asked.
The Death Eater shrugged. “As long as you don’t turn him or kill him.”
Greyback smiled. “Excellent.”
He approached Percy again, and he lifted one clawed finger to Percy’s face. Percy cringed away, but he had no where to go. Greyback touched the claw to Percy’s cheek, just beneath his eye, and started to drag it down- featherlight at first but gradually pressing deeper.
Percy felt the skin break with a sting, and blood began to drip down his face.
The cut didn’t even hurt that bad, no worse than when Percy got bitten by a gnome in the garden or when the twins blew up one of their inventions in his face and singed off his eyebrows. But it wasn’t just the cut. It was everything. They were going to torture him. Would he end up like the Longbottoms? Would he ever see his family again? Or would he die in this shack, surrounded by Death Eaters, a werewolf, and a man who’d masqueraded as the family pet for years?
Percy couldn't help it: he whimpered.
Greyback laughed. “He’ll be easy to break.”
Percy was wrong. The Death Eaters couldn’t smell fear, but Greyback certainly could. He could smell the blood in the water, and it wouldn’t be long before he tore Percy limb from limb.
“I call first Crucio,” the other Death Eater spoke up. He’d been so quiet, Percy had almost forgotten he was there.
Percy’s blood ran cold.
The other Death Eater sighed. “I suppose.” He gestured to Percy, as if to say ‘go on, then.’
The Death Eater raised his wand, and for the first time since being kidnapped, Percy cried.
“Crucio.”