Death Eater's Child

Death Eater's Child--Chapter 2

"Get up, you stupid oaf!" exclaimed a harsh voice above me. I felt a claw-like grip on my upper arm, and I was roughly pulled to my feet. I knew I was going to have fingerprint bruises on my arm come morning, but I wasn't worried about that at the moment. I was more worried about where I was.

I had landed in the sitting room of a magnificent house that had seen better days. I could smell the scent of decaying wood, and something else--the foul stench of evil. I looked up at the person who helped me up, and my eyes locked with those of my mother.

She was even more intimidating in person. Her hands were long and thin, her fingers ending in long, yellowed nails. Her skin was deathly pale and her eyes were sunken. When she sneered at me, I could see yellowed and blackened teeth. I almost fainted when she breathed on me, her breath was so foul.

"Well, what are you staring at?" she asked hoarsely. It was obvious that she hadn't used her voice in many years; I guess no one did much talking while they were in Azkaban. "You do know how to speak, don't you? Or are you so dim that you can only grunt?"

"I can speak just fine," I said, finally finding my voice. There was no way I was going to be compared to Crabbe and Goyle; after all, they were the only ones I knew that could fluently speak Troll.

"That's good," my mother said absently. "Bit scrawny, aren't you? Doesn't that sister of mine feed you at all?"

It was true; I was quite small for my age, and the size deficiency was accentuated by my large robes. The orphanage never really had much money, so we didn't get fed very well at times.

"Hate to tell you, Mummy dearest," I began with cool sarcasm, "but your dear, wonderful sister's hospitality extended to sending me to a destitute orphan asylum in the slums of wizarding London. I never knew I had family until I arrived at Hogwarts."

I glared at my mother, but it was short-lived because my mother slapped me, her long claws slicing my cheek open. I raised a hand to my cheek, and sure enough there was blood running down my face. I looked up at my mother, whose face was a visage of cold fury.

"Speak of your family in tones of respect, or don't speak at all. You come from a long line of purebloods, and you should be proud of your superior heritage," she said. "Now come along, William. Our Lord is anxious to see you." She grabbed my arm again, and I winced in pain. That, of course, was the last thing on my mind. Surely she didn't mean He Who Must Not Be Named, did she?

We entered a room, and there was a large, wing-back chair in front of the fireplace. I recognized nine of the people in the room almost immediately; they were the Death Eaters who had escaped from Azkaban. Standing near the mantle was Lucius Malfoy, my uncle, and many others scattered around the room. I had no clue who they were, though.

"Bring him forward," said a snake-like voice from the depths of the chair. My mother led me by the arm to the front of the chair, and I could see who it was. The image in front of me will be burned into the backs of my eyeballs for the rest of my days.

Voldemort was not what I expected. He was not a man; to tell you the truth, I couldn't tell you what he was. His scarlet, snake-like eyes regarded me with suspicion as his flat, slit like nostrils flared. His lipless mouth parted, and a forked tongue darted out, tasting the air.

"Do not stare, boy!" hissed my mother. "Kiss his robes!" I hastily went to my knees and kissed the hem of his robes. I straightened up and bowed my head in respect; I didn't exactly want to be yelled at. In case you didn't notice, I don't take criticism very well.

Voldemort still regarded me with suspicion, and I could feel his angry crimson eyes burning into me.

"He's a little on the runty side, Bella," he remarked, looking me up and down. "Of course, size has nothing to do with loyalty or magical strength, now does it?" He shot my mother a look. "He is loyal, isn't he?"

"Of course my Lord, of course," said my mother in a fluttery, girlish voice, bowing so low that her cleavage was exposed. Voldemort looked on appreciatively as I cringed at the interaction. I mean, how the hell that could that happen? Assuming, of course, Voldemort was more snake than human. I came to the conclusion that I would never join the Death Eaters, even if it was just to save myself from seeing my mother and Voldemort make goo-goo eyes at each other.

"Crucio," hissed Voldemort suddenly, catching me off guard. The Cruciatus curse hit me like a ton of bricks, and it took the wind out of me. Within seconds I was in the ground, writhing and screaming in pain. As suddenly as it had begun, the pain was over. I rolled over and stared at the ceiling, panting heavily.

"Not very tough, is he Bella?" Voldemort remarked in a conversational tone. "Or attentive, for that matter. Are you sure he's your son?"

"Yes, my Lord, I am certain," simpered my mother, giving her Lord a sickeningly sweet smile. At least, it would have been sickeningly sweet if her teeth hadn't been yellow and black. So, really, it was just sickening. "He must have gotten that from Rodolphus' side of the family."

Someone in the shadows coughed slightly, making himself known. Everyone in the room turned to the source of the noise. Out of the corner stepped a tall, thin man with dirty, matted, waist length hair. He, like almost everyone else in the room, had the gaunt, haunted look of Azkaban.

"Don't you think you should at least wait until I am out of hearing range before you start slandering me, Bella?" he asked, glaring down at my mother.

"Oh, it's you, Rodolphus! I didn't see you there!" Bellatrix said, with obvious fake surprise.

"That, Bella was obvious," Rodolphus replied coldly. I watched my parents, fascinated. They had one of the strangest husband-wife relationships I had ever seen. Of course, the only other husband and wife partnership I had seen was the two people that ran the orphanage I lived at two months of the year.

"Well, you shouldn't be hiding in the corners," huffed my mother. "It's a very creepy thing to do."

"You said so yourself when your father told you that you had to marry me," my father began. He put on a high, squeaky parody of a girl's voice. "'I'm not going to marry him; he's creepy!'" I winced; it reminded me too much of Pansy Parkinson for my liking.

"I don't remember that," my mother said quickly, looking around nervously. She changed the subject. "Shouldn't we get William back to the school before anyone notices that he's gone?"

"You've never cared about anyone but yourself," spat my father. "Come William, you have to get back to the school before Severus, or anyone else, figures out you're missing."

My father pulled out his wand and picked up a scrap piece of paper and took out his wand. "Portus," he said. The paper glowed slightly, and after the glowing subsided, my father handed the Portkey to me. "Just touch the Portkey, William, and it'll take you back to Hogwarts."

"Thank you Father," I said, taking the paper. For the second time that night, I felt a tug behind my navel and was flung through a tunnel of swirling light and colour before landing on something soft.

The thing I landed on was soft, warm and alive. My eyes widened as the person I landed on stirred and rolled over, and I was faced with the countenance of Crabbe (or was it Goyle? I could never tell those two apart), who was still fast asleep. I quietly slipped out of the fifth years' dormitory and tiptoed my way to my dormitory, where I lay down on my bed and breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that no one would remember me falling on them in the middle of the night.