Gift: You Gave Me Something
@markedpotter
Marcus had heard about them, the Death Eater who always occupied the space next to Evan Rosier. He’d heard that they would do anything without question, hideous things that would make your blood run cold. He’d heard they painted the homes of their victims red with blood, made a concert of their screams. But when Marcus first met this Death Eater, they were wearing the traditional garb worn by all the Dark Lord’s followers, a silver mask and black cloak, and so was Marcus. No names had been spoken. Their voice was... gravelly, like they’d been smoking. Or screaming. How many of the rumours were true, Marcus wondered? Surely enough to justify his sweaty palms, the anxiety stretching through his limbs, the fear that he would fail, ever at war with the hope that same fear came true.
“No,” the wix said, impatiently. Quickly, they’d been told, but the pressure was getting to Marcus and he couldn’t do it--couldn’t torture the crumpled figure in front of him. Not successfully. And not tonight. It was his birthday; hadn’t he earned this night off? “Like this,” the wix continued, steadying Marcus’ wand-hand, showing him the motions of the curse. It wasn’t the kind of magic taught at Hogwarts. Marcus had learned by doing, but even after months on the job, his dark magic spellwork was coarse, unstable. Did that make the pain worse, like trying to cut meat with a blunt spoon in place of a sharpened blade?
This fearsome wix had helped Marcus when they could have mocked or jeered. It was the only gift he would receive on his nineteenth birthday, and when he later learned the identity of the wix beneath the mask, that kindness finally made sense. The rest of it? James Potter the Death Eater who would do anything without remorse? Marcus is still wondering how much of the rumours are true, but one fact is beyond doubt; James is One Army. He must have done something terrible to get there.
