'Tis a Question of Why

I once had a ritual. I attend the funerals of every person killed by the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. It wasn't to spite them; or at least not all the time. I was a Seeker of Knowledge. I wanted to know what people saw in the ones that the Dark Lord wished to kill. I wanted to know what commoners found different. What muggles thought different.

The ministry found out about this at one point. I was pretty sure that it was Sirius that pointed it out, when looking for leads one day. They saw the pattern. They decided I was a woman of the people. I would be a spectacle among the lower class, in my netted hats and fashion black velvet dresses and diamond hair pieces and earings. I 'set and example' to the rest of the higher class.

Like hell I did. A journalist once called me a 'flapper of the modern wizarding world'. On non-formal occasions I went corset-less, walking around in muggle dresses, stocking-less. I was the first and only female Death Eater. I sat in bars and drank hard whiskey instead of champagne and sherry, and hung around with common, bad-spoken and ill-mannered riffraff. It was unheard of for my time.

I visited Lily and James Potters' funeral. I wore a dark overcoat, and black dress that was gathered at the back. My hair was I a mass of black curls on top of my head, with my hat perched on my head, net pulled down over my face. I carried white lilies in my gloved hand, to put on top of the coffins before the dirt was laid down.

"What are you doing here?" I heard a cold voice behind me.

I turned to see the Potters' friend, Remus Lupin standing behind me.

"I'm paying my respect to the dead. Unless that custom disappeared without my knowing it?" I said, in an equally cold voice.

"Do you make this a habit? To appear at peoples' funerals in order to mock them?" he asked. "It's not very polite, you know."

"Who said I was here to mock them. I pay my respects to all killed by the Dark Lord."

"Yeah?" he said, sneering. "They say you're one of them."

I ignored that last statement. "How's my cousin?" I asked. "I haven't heard of him lately."

"Are you really that out of date?" he asked, surprise in his voice. I turned to look at him, and he looked very befuddled.

"What do you mean?"

"He was arrested two days ago, on account of being a Death Eater."

I wanted to laugh at that. "Sirius, a Death Eater? That one did surprise me."

He gave a small snort.

That was the last time we really talked like that. I laid down my flowers and left.

Now, I wish to attend my cousin's funeral. All those funerals and years in Azkaban must have softened me, because I actually do regret him falling through the veil. I keep telling myself it was an act of self-preservation on my part. I've been telling myself that a lot lately. About a lot of things. About kissing the Dark Lord's boot, when I can't go take a bath later; about running around with the rest; about more things than I can name.

But the question is, am I really sorry? Sometimes I am split in two. It's the big question lately: loyalty or self-preservation? Someday--soon, I hope--I will know. And when I do, I'll be ready to take my true stand.