Reconstruction of a Death Eater

Chapter 1

Deconstructed

My Lord is good. My Lord is great. My Lord is right. I am not worthy of his attention. All loyalty to the Dark Lord, all hail to the Dark Lord, blessed is the name of the Dark Lord. Mighty is the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord is always right. I am not worthy of his attention. His attention uplifts me and I am not worthy.

The litany! Never lose the litany. Let it fill my mind and buttress my soul, let it build the bricks to protect the essence of 'me'. Feel only the praise, feel only the rightness, this is the way it should be. A servant deserves no better than to be a 'thing' in the hands of his master. Don't feel the pain! Never notice the pain! Wall it out, wall me in. The PAIN!!!!!!!!!!!....................

'Occlumency demands complete concentration, hold the litany in the forefront of your mind. Use it as a cover to blur your intentions. Wall up the thoughts within the litany and be safe. There is no Pain!'

Thank the Lord for his blessings and don't choke on the bile. Back up now, crawl if you have to, but walk if you know what's good for you! Do not show weakness or this pack of hyenas will devour you. They smell your blood and your fear and your pain, and they feast on it. Hold it close, sneer at them. Show them how a real Death Eater behaves. Make them realise their own insignificance.

The Death Eater glided out of the dingy cellar and into the night, his mind still safe behind its impregnable walls.

~~*~~

4 am at 12 Grimmauld Place was no less busy nowadays than at any other time of the day. The war had been raging full force for over a month now. 'The Death Eaters have absolutely no respect for decent hours,' thought Molly pensively. She couldn't remember the last time she had a full night sleep. If it wasn't people coming and going, it was the nightmares that haunted her. She could probably face a boggart now and laugh at it, all her worst fears for her family had already happened, there wasn't much left that could shake her. 'It was Friday, no, Wednesday, hell, what day is it? I know it's September...or is it October now?' Her thoughts were disturbed by the sound of Tonks' head thudding softly on the wooden table as she seemed to fall asleep right there in her chair, not that Molly blamed her. Tonks had definitely been burning the wand at both ends in an attempt to fulfil her duties as both Auror and Order member.

Roger Maxim, an ex-St Mungo's healer, Tonks, Arthur and herself had taken a short break from attending the wounded in the makeshift hospital the old house had become since Sirius died last year. With raids becoming more frequent and indeed more vicious, there was little time to spare for speculation, except in the wee hours of the morning.

For a while it looked as if Bellatrix Lestrange was going to inherit 12 Grimmauld Place, but when they moved Buckbeak and cleaned out his room they found Sirius' Will leaving the house and half his money to Harry. The big surprise was a marriage certificate, a quiet and longstanding marriage to Remus Lupin, who inherited the other half of Sirius' property even though he did his best to refuse it until Professor Dumbledore spoke with him. Since then, the old house had become more than just the Order's Headquarters; it was also the only safe place to hide their injured.

St Mungo's was not a safe place for any Order of the Phoenix members or their families anymore. The Death Eaters had - on several occasions - broken the sanctity of the hospital to brazenly execute vital members. The first time it happened, Roger had tried to stop the Death Eaters and had been badly injured. It had taken weeks for him to recover, and after his convalescence he had tried to go back to work but the Death Eaters had their eye out for him. He had barely begun his first shift when two of the Death Eaters had apparated into the burns ward and began firing hexes at him. Fleeing, he had almost made it to his front door when the whole house exploded from a blasting hex. He had become a marked man, and so he was no longer safe at work or at home. The St Mungo's board had very politely asked him not to come back to work until he was no longer a target, which meant he could not work. A week later Professor Dumbledore had approached him and proposed that he set up a small, private clinic at 12 Grimmauld Place. So now he plied his healing magic over the Order members, and Molly helped him care for them as they arrived....

"...and we've got absolutely no idea where this information is coming from?" Arthur asked wearily.

'What were we talking about again? Oh yes, the anonymous provider of information about what the Death Eaters were doing.' She drifted back into her half-awake state.

The first piece of information they had received had allowed them to evacuate four injured Order members just prior to another attack on St Mungo's hospital. It had been brought to them by a strange owl no one recognised, and they had almost treated the message as a hoax but - just in case - they had decided to move the two Aurors and two civilian members to another ward far away from the original one. Thank Merlin they had! Twelve of the black-clad bastards had apparated into the Magical injuries ward, casting Unforgivables even as they finished materialising. When they realised the whole ward had been evacuated, they swept through the halls of St Mungo's, indiscriminately blasting anyone too slow to get out of their way. When it became apparent that they would not find their legitimate targets, they had burst into the special ward and finished the job they had started on the Longbottoms sixteen years before, spreading them all over the walls and ceiling in an act of petty revenge. The Aurors under Rufus Scrimgeour had arrived too late to be of any use once again, and serious questions had been raised in the Wizengamot in relation to where the Head of the Aurory's loyalties lay.

Since then the Order had foiled many Death Eater assaults, saving numerous lives. They were a lot more careful about survivors and how the Order protected them until they were strong enough to protect themselves. In a way it kept the old place humming with company, in another it stretched the Order's resources to the limits, so many bodies to feed and only so much food in the pantry. Thank Merlin for Hogwarts, whose vast kitchens sent a host of supplies every week for Molly to feed the multitudes with. Since the death of Albus Dumbledore, Headmistress McGonagall had continued to support and succour the Order members just as her predecessor had. Sometimes Molly thought Minerva had a better grasp of the dangers of the situation than Albus ever had, but such traitorous thoughts were quickly squashed.

Unfortunately, when the strange owl brought news that allowed them to foil raids, the Death Eaters often went on rampages, killing and torturing innocents, especially the families of known or suspected Order members, Aurors and Ministry employees who sympathised with the Light. Grimmauld Place had become a regular clinic, dealing with all kinds of trauma wounds, from mere scratches to cursed flesh. Molly, as the most constantly present person, was left to bear the brunt of the workload. She had all but closed up the Burrow and come to live at headquarters full time to try and keep up with the ever increasing load. When it became obvious that she lacked certain skills, she had taken a crash course in Trauma nursing with Roger in an attempt to make her more useful. 'Chief cook and bottle washer, that's all I was a month ago...or has it been two months now? Now I am chief nurse as well.'

"There's no one amongst the Death Eaters we know of that matches the info we're getting," Tonks added, making them all jump a little. They had thought she was asleep with her head on the kitchen table. "It's not complete, nor as detailed as the intel Snape provides but it is always fairly accurate. When it's added to other bits and pieces we manage to glean, it sort of glues odd facts together."

Tonks had been a Godsend with her cheerful manner, wide range of knowledge, Auror training and sheer willingness to do whatever was necessary to help the cause. She had been injured a week ago in an official engagement with a group of Death Eaters in Birmingham. Fortunately, the curse was not fatal and she was nearly well again, strong enough for all practical purposes but not enough to go back to her Auror duties, or at least that's what the Chief Medical Inspector of the Aurory said. It was the best he could do to help out the Order without compromising his own position with the Ministry. As an undercover agent for the Light, the Chief Medical Auror was excellent at passing information garnered when a Death Eater was taken and questioned.

"Whoever it is, the information has been totally reliable so far," Roger mused. "They can't be inner circle, but they know enough to be of help."

"A most interesting supposition...and that is the most interesting cup of tea I have ever seen, my dear."

Arthur's voice filtered into her thoughts and she glanced down, too tired to be astonished to realise she had put both tea and cocoa powder into the same cup. If the truth be told, she hadn't even noticed that she had stood up to make tea in the first place! "Oh, yes, sorry, I was just; well...what month is it?"

"I think it's time you took some of your own advice and get some rest. You're no good to us dead on your feet, my girl. Let's take the chance to get some shut eye while things are quiet." Arthur smiled indulgently and patted his wife's hand, really noticing the black circles and drawn cheeks for the first time. To him, Molly was the most beautiful girl in the world, had been since the very first day he had seen her as a runty first year with more attitude and heart than physical substance. Time and children, war and peace had only added more depth and richness to that perfect vision of a helpmeet. She had only grown more precious over the years until now she was the very centre of his existence - a tired and confused centre perhaps, but still a perfect gem.

"Er, yes, yes, you're right, I can't even remember what day it is. By the way..."

Roger cut her off with an understanding smile. "It is 4 am, Friday the 28^th of September. Now get some rest," he ordered sternly then softened his tone, "You're the cog that turns this place, Molly, we need you fighting fit or I'm afraid it would all come to a screeching halt!" Giving them a cheeky grin, he wandered off toward his own room with a yawn so wide Molly could hear the tendons crackle in his cheeks. She smiled indulgently; he would probably be asleep before his head touched the pillow, if he wasn't already sleep walking. Without Roger they would not be half as effective as they had been so far. He was a powerful and knowledgeable medi-wizard who was fully converted to their cause but modest enough not to try and enforce his will on the Order. There had been rumours about Roger, hints that he was not what he purported to be. That there was some sort of deep, dark secret in his background that made him unsuitable for promotion up the St Mungo's ladder of success. The others of the Order had been a little reluctant to entrust their health and very often their lives to his hands, but Molly didn't care for those nasty rumours, ignoring any sly gossip that cast less than a fully supportive light on her friend and colleague. She worked with him every day and had come to trust his skill and knowledge implicitly. In many cases, Molly's unwavering belief in Roger had done more to promote trust in the man and his abilities than any other factor.

Arthur supported her elbow as she rose from the table and guided her to the corridor that led into the main part of the house. Bidding Roger goodnight and closing the door, they meandered down the hall toward the stairs, crossing the entry quietly so as not to disturb Mrs Black's portrait, and headed for the stairs to the upper floors, where the bedrooms were situated.

As they reached the base of the stairs they both became instantly alert, drawing their wands swiftly when an errant breeze stirred the candle flames. The front door was wide open! Two black shrouded figures were lurking in the shadows of the entry hall, the wavering light making them hard to see unless the Weasleys squinted. The shorter had his wand drawn and held firmly in a defensive position, his left arm trying to hold the taller figure up. Before either Arthur or Molly could cast Expelliarmus, the figure very deliberately dropped his wand. The wood clattered to the floor with distinct surrender, and he finally gave up the battle to keep his companion upright. Both sank to their knees in a stiff billow of black robes. Again, it was only the smaller figure's arm that kept the taller from hitting the floor face first.

"Good evening, Mr and Mrs Weasley, isn't it? I'm so glad it's you; I had no idea where he was leading me to. He just kept mumbling something about getting back and stumbling forward most determinedly. He virtually dragged me here, even when the spells on the place tried to repel me. I have no idea how he managed to crawl, never mind walk after what the Dark Lord did to him. He should have been dead by now. No one could stand that sort of punishment for so long and still be sane, no one!" There was a slightly hysterical note in the young voice that tried for urban affability and just failed to make it.

All Molly could see through her rising hysteria was two bodies in all too familiar and dreaded black robes, torn and bloodied but still there, right in the hallway of their supposedly secret headquarters. This was not right! The taller one was drooping forward from the waist as the other spoke and now rested his weight heavily on the shoulder of the smaller speaker. The smaller figure did his best to hold his companion up but was losing the battle, his breathing becoming as ragged and as desperate as his tone. Neither was recognisable in their dull white masks but there was something in the cut glass tones of the speaker that triggered a glimmer of recognition. "Draco? Draco Malfoy is that you?"

"He was in the alley outside the meeting hall, just lying there in the mud and filth, muttering to himself and not making any sense at all. He must have crawled in there to hide after he left them all standing in awe! You should have seen what he went through - Cruciatus Curses, a blasting hex - and then he literally walked out, back straight, head held high. It was amazing. I...I couldn't just leave him there, not after all he's done. So, so.... You gotta help him...." At this they both sank to the floor, Draco giving up the struggle to keep his companion from lying on the floor unconscious.

Molly went to go to their aid but Arthur restrained her. "Arthur, for Merlin's sake, can't you see who it is?" she demanded, shrugging off his hold impatiently.

Realisation dawned on Arthur's face. When the light reached his conscious mind, he acted with such affirmation it took Molly totally unawares. Arthur may appear to be a dottery old fool obsessed with Muggle things, but it was his mental acuity that drew and held Molly's love and devotion the most. Striding forward, he knelt by the fallen Death Eater and carefully felt for a pulse in the depths of the robe without trying to move him from his fallen position. He finally located one, fine and thready and so erratic it was almost imperceptible, but there was still life in the man. Even as he let out a sigh of relief, the figure convulsed, all too familiar tremors shaking his frame. Arthur shivered in sympathy. "Call Roger, then put a firecall in to Poppy. NOW!"

His explosive imperative was enough to wake Mrs Black, and her shrill tones began the usual ranting that was now so familiar that ignorance was an automatic response. Molly absently noted that she really must get rid of the old bat when she had a spare moment, even if she had to remove half the wall to do it. It would be just another small chore to add to the growing list. While her mind was occupied with trivialities, her feet, taking on a will of their own, had her racing down the hall toward the nearest Floo-connected fireplace in the front parlour.

As Molly left she saw Arthur using his wand and casting spells to manoeuvre the now prostrate figure toward the kitchen. 'Why would he be doing that, he's not contagious....' She hurried to complete her tasks and arrived in the kitchen with a dazed Roger in tow just as the figure was laid on the table. It was only then that she recognised how mortal it was.... Her gasp was heartfelt and prolonged. 'Oh, Severus, no! Not you, not now!'