Salvation

You always thought that this would be the hardest thing to do. The mark would be easy, the word, the curses, the torture. The hardest thing would be the killing, the taking away of a life. You remember watching your first owl die at the hands of your father. He said you were too attached to it. You knew he meant you were starting to love it. A Malfoy should never care /love/ he said and he broke its neck. You found its body on the top of a pile of rubbish. It was cold, hard somehow. There was something missing and you thought that the hardest thing would be to take away that thing. That spark of life, if you could take that you could do anything. In the end it wasn't so hard. In the end the rest of it destroyed you. By the time you had to kill you were already broken and it was easy.

The mark came first, the pain so all-consuming you thought there was nothing left in the world. The scar on your arm, the proof of what you became, burns when he calls. When it burns it is worse than any curse you know. It is worse than Cruciatus, your father used to use that on you and it holds no fear for you. The pain of the mark does things to your head, it makes you obey without question. There isn't any room for questions in your head when its full of the white-hot pain of his call.

Next came the words, the curses. Next came the mocking of the Boy Who Wouldn't Die and his friends. This wasn't new. This was how it had always been between you. It should have been easy. Cursing people should have been fun, it always had been. They weren't your words though. They weren't your curses. It hurt to say them, like quicksilver pouring from your mouth. They burnt you as they passed through. The hatred that poured out through you from Him was stronger than any you had felt before. You tried to switch your mind off when the words came. You tried to turn your mind on and make them your own. The curses ripped from your mouth like tongues of fire. You discovered what the words you had tried to say before meant. You had no room left for yourself when the words filled your mouth with burning oil.

After this you felt that torture would come easily. You never learnt. You watched as they danced for you. For Him. You made them fly, you made them soar, and you made them fall. You made them hurt each other. You made them hurt themselves. Your arm burnt with the fire of His call. Your mouth was full of his hatred and your mind was almost all burnt away. They were your puppets and you were his. Their screams filled your ears and you heard them even when you were alone. You hated their screams. You wanted to scream too. Even when you silenced them they screamed in your head. They filled your ears with the same unbearable pain that your every action did now.

When he told you to kill, it was easy. You pointed your wand at the quaking form before you and shouted the words and...

...for a few brief seconds there was silence as the curse stole the life from your victim. The first time you killed you nearly cried with relief. You discovered why those who followed your Lord didn't leave. If they left, they would lose the relief. You would lose that moment of quiet. You were damned long before you killed. The destruction of a soul was an oasis compared to the pain He filled you with the rest of the time.

You thought it would be the hardest thing to do. You thought that taking a life was the worst and that you would struggle. You didn't know you would be so far gone by then. You didn't know that being eaten from inside by Him would make it easy. The first time you killed you found salvation.