The Future Will Be Better Tomorrow

The Future Will Be Better Tomorrow: Chapter Four

7:30 P.M.

10 August 1996

Molly Moggs
2 Old Compton Street, Soho, LONDON, W1

Marcus first went, what the fuck? Then when it burst into flames he went 'what the fuck' again.

This was how, on the 10^th of August 1996, at 7:25 P.M., Marcus found himself in some Muggle bar. Having worked in a bar himself for the past couple of years, he found himself comparing the standards of practically everything.

Truthfully, the Muggle bar won in every aspect, but Marcus, being Marcus, still declared 'The Screaming Banshee' the better bar. He headed to the bar, and found the range of choices of drinks very disappointing. After some deliberation, he decided to order something.

But before he could, the bartender turned to him and gave him a beer. Marcus was rather surprised, really, but still took it. He stared at the mug for a while, trying to decide if it was safe to drink. Finally, he decided to drink it, but when he lifted the mug up, words started to appear on the coaster.

OLD COMPTON

BREWER

LEXING

BROADWICK

MARSHALL

BEAK

WARWICK

GLASSHOUSE

PICCADILLY

Marcus stared at the coaster. What was he supposed to do? He didn't quite recognise a few of the names on it. What was he supposed to do? Were they people he was supposed to look for? It was not as if he spent much time in the Muggle world. He looked around the bar. Maybe it was just, well, the coaster? Maybe the coaster was just an advertisement? He turned it over. Nothing. He turned it back, still the same old words. He tried to peer at the coaster of the person nearest to him. The coaster was blank. He looked at his coaster once again, then pocketed it and gulped down the rest of his beer.

When he exited Molly Moggs he bumped into Percy Weasley. His first reaction was to run. Then he saw Percy clutching something too, and asked what it was in a conversational tone. A look of guilt swept over Percy's face. Then Marcus leaned in and asked if the serviette contained various names of roads. Percy looked confused, and then looked at the crumpled serviette in his hand then looked at Marcus then raised his eyebrows.

"Do you want to follow them?"

"Are you sure we got the same directions? Are you even sure they're directions?"

"How would I know? Let me see yours"

They compared their directions, and when they found out it was the same, they started off together.

Along the way, they both tried to make some friendly conversation, and since they both knew nothing about the mysterious notes they decided to stick together. Although they didn't mention it out loud. They just continued walking together, and looking around nervously, and then Marcus grumbled that they were walking in circles.

They weren't of course, as they reached Piccadilly Circus. Cars zoomed by noisily, and the neon lights shined brightly. Something very unusual to both of them, of course. They stared, transfixed, at the lights and passing cars and passers-by. They stared, lost in this unfamiliar world that possessed an almost magical quality to them. Then...

"GET IN."

A black car had pulled up in front of them. It was a Rolls-Royce, not that they knew anything about it.

Marcus and Percy exchanged looks. Percy shrugged. Then they obediently got in the car.

Once inside, Marcus tried to talk to the driver. The driver did not respond. Percy tried, and failed too. So they talked to each other, where they both found out they were probably the only two 'failures' of their graduating year. They were the only ones that didn't quite have stable or high-income jobs, and they both began to wonder if they were being packed off to nowhere because they were such a disgrace to the wizarding society.

At exactly 8:00 P.M., the car left them outside a house. That was in a row of houses. But since that house was the one they were left outside it was probably the one. Although 'the one' was still a very vague concept here.

They exchanged a look again, before they reached out to open the door. And they were Portkeyed to another place. Marcus would have made some comment on his being spirited away halfway round the world to some unknown place, except that this place really was unknown, and completely dark.

"Marcus! Are you there?" Asked Percy, in a thin voice.

"Yes."

Marcus reached for his wand, but Percy had already lit his.

But as soon as he did, it went out.

Percy let out a yelp and dropped his wand. The yelp made Marcus drop his wand as well. Accidentally, of course. The worst thing a wizard could do is to lose his wand. But before they could pick them up, a green flame lit up in the fireplace to the right, providing an eerie glow to everything.

Marcus heard a whiny noise from Percy's throat, then some ostentatious throat clearing to cover up the fact that he was scared. Marcus squinted at the other side of the room, but he could not see anything. The green light was not enough to illuminate the room; it only made things mysterious and shadowy.

"Are you in, or are you out?" A voice, female, cold, and not unlike those of the receptionists who always put you on hold.

"What?" Marcus squeaked.

"Yes, or no?"

Marcus and Percy looked at each other. What were they supposed to do anyway?

"Who are you?" Marcus managed to ask.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"You will know, soon enough"

"What will happen if I'm not 'in'?"

"Oh, then we'll invent some heroic death for you, and put in the Daily Prophet. We will tell them that just before you died, you wanted us to tell your family you loved them."

"You're, you're the Death Eaters, aren't you? I read the newspaper," exclaimed Percy.

"Why, yes." A different voice this time. Male, and dripping with condescension.

And another voice, "The Dark Lord has deemed you worthy to be one of his closest followers."

"What, you can't choose who to follow?" Marcus couldn't help it.

"Ah. You. You can never keep your mouth shut, can you?"

"'Course I can." Then Marcus realised that he probably shouldn't have answered that; he might have been Avada Kedavra-ed.

"So, yes, or no?"

"Yes."

Marcus stared at Percy. This was all wrong. Percy was a Gryffindor. Percy was a Weasley. Percy was a Prefect. Percy was a Head Boy. People like him don't do such things.

"It's not like I have any other choice, do I?" Marcus asked.

An "Ever the Slytherin, aren't you", followed by laughter from the Death Eaters. One might consider it to be some show of House unity.

"Yes?"

"Answer us."

"But I'm answering you!"

"No, you aren't."

"Um, yes, I'm willing to join?"

Laughter. Marcus wanted to die. He looked at Percy, who looked away.

"Yes?"

"Yes?" The condescending one asked.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"How many times do I have to repeat myself?"

Laughter.

"I'm taking that one."

Laughter again. Marcus wanted to bolt out of the door. It was the knowledge that if he ever dared gravitate towards the door he would have been killed by no less than a dozen Death Eaters in no more than a millisecond that kept him rooted. Besides, Percy was one of them now, wasn't he? To think of it, he was one of them now, right?

All over the room, lamps lit up, and the green fire in the fireplace turned orange. The Death Eaters were all in their black swooshy robes and white masks, and laughing. This was too weird. Marcus had difficulty coping with the reality. But, for the first time in a long while, he started to feel quite optimistic about his future. Then he wondered if it might have been a false feeling to give security to the newest members.

The Death Eaters removed their masks, and introduced themselves. In alphabetical order, Avery, Crabbe, Dolohov, Goyle, Jugson, Lestrange, Lestrange, Lestrange, Macnair, Malfoy, Mulciber, Nott, Pettigrew, Rookwood and Travers.

"Oh, don't you just love torturing the newbies?" Asked female Lestrange.

Marcus and Percy looked at each other again. Marcus shifted uncomfortably. How was he supposed to know what to do?

"Oho. How cute. They're squirming."

The Death Eaters all flashed them wide grins, and Marcus felt an overwhelming need to run.

They burst out laughing, in the most ordinary way possible. Not anything like the evil, wicked laugh one expected a Death Eater to have.

"Welcome, welcome to our family," Mr. Malfoy drawled.

"Here, you might learn the most useful spells known to wizardkind."

"And partake in missions that potentially endanger your life and reputation."

"But for now, some tea and biscuits?"

Marcus made some indiscernible sound. Percy cleared his throat and accepted the kind offer.

"Here, have a seat." Goyle motioned for them to sit down.

Marcus and Percy practically clung on to each other as they moved through some of the Death Eaters to the empty space on the sofa.

"We're not going to harm you, relax."

"You'd never know," Marcus offered brightly, and everyone laughed.

"Now that you're a part of us, it is our duty to introduce the rules"

"The first rule of the Death Eaters is you don't talk about the Death Eaters."

"The second rule of the Death Eaters is you don't talk about the Death Eaters. "

"Can I ask a question?" Marcus asked. "You don't seem very anti-Muggle to me. I mean, you made us go to a Muggle bar, drive us away in a Muggle car, and now you make references to Fight Club."

Then they all laughed.

"Oh, all in due time. And you know it's from Fight Club? Good for you!"

"Other important things are, throw away your conscience, forget what anyone ever told you about us, and always be prepared."

"Why do I feel like breaking into a rendition of "Be Prepared" from the Lion King?" Avery piped up.

"Please don't," said Rookwood in mock horror.

Everyone laughed. Marcus felt completely comfortable where he was now.

"But um, what was the point of sending us all over the world?" Percy asked.

"Ah. That. That was just to let us have some fun," quipped Dolohov. "Oh whoops, sorry. I meant, you. Not us."

Marcus and Percy were frankly, quite awestruck. They were impressed. They were filled with admiration and wonder. They wanted to have that much control over their emotions. Every laugh, every remark, every display of emotion was so perfectly choreographed, so perfectly calculated.

"You will each be assigned a mentor, who will fully introduce you to the Dark Arts."

"Flint's mine," Dolohov reminded.

"Yes, yes, we know."

"Can I take the Weasley?" It was Nott.

For a fleeting moment, Marcus caught Malfoy scowl at Nott.

"Okay. So it's set then. Antonin takes Flint and Alexander takes Weasley."

"Well, that said, goodbye everyone."

With that, everyone stood up and headed for the door, Marcus and Percy none the wiser on what was going on.

When they stepped out of the door, Marcus and Percy found themselves in a toilet cubicle. Upon exiting, they were met with stares from the other men using the toilet. Marcus scowled at them, and dragged Percy out of the place as quickly as possible.

They found themselves in the Menswear department of Harrods. Percy claimed that he would like to refurbish his wardrobe to keep up with the Death Eater standards. Marcus felt mildly horrified. Percy was already acting like one of them. But admittedly, the Death Eaters were very well-dressed, so Marcus thought he might want to see if he could get any new clothes.

Marcus looked at a plain shirt, and checked the price. Then almost died of a heart attack. For fuck's sake, couldn't the new recruits at least be sponsored a few clothing items?

Marcus started to feel horribly out of place, and was begging Percy to go. Then it struck him that he didn't have to ask Percy to leave, but before he could do anything else Percy grabbed him and asked him to offer his opinions on the outfit he had chosen.

Marcus was all 'how am I supposed to know?' and 'are you sure you can afford these?' until he noticed that Percy was already wearing designer wear. Marcus then wondered if the Death Eaters had made some mistake. Maybe they were looking for some other Marcus? He took out the coaster just to check again, but the coaster was blank. Marcus now felt sure that they had made some disastrous mistake, and the Dark Lord (they were supposed to call him that, weren't they?) was torturing them for their silly mistake and they would probably drop by the next day to kill him.

They, or just Percy, really, shopped for some more, until Percy looked at his watch. "My, how time flies. It's six o'clock already."

"Um, what's the time again?"

"Six... Wait," Percy stared at his watch. "What day is it?"

Marcus was confused. "Um, did we go back in time?"

"I think we did."

"But we went back a couple of hours earlier!"

"Not sure why. Listen, would you like to get something to eat?"

Marcus nodded, head still spinning from trying to figure out what was going on.

So they went to Morelli's Gelato, where Marcus felt pathetically poor, and Percy ate his most flavoured meal in months.

The next day Marcus was rudely woken up by a sharp knock on the door. When he didn't bother to open the door, the person knocked again, and eventually started tapping on the door to the rhythm of the Rolling Stones' Sympathy for the Devil. In the end Marcus got so irritated he opened the door.

And found Dolohov. Marcus almost screamed in horror. They were here to kill him!

"Morning!" Dolohov greeted cheerfully.

Marcus mumbled a reply, and Dolohov suggested that he go out for breakfast before he started his training. Marcus was horrified, of course, after what he spent last night he barely had enough of his salary left to last him through the month.

"Breakfast on me?"

And Marcus felt guilty, as if Dolohov had read his mind. "Um, anything, really. I'm not hungry."

But Dolohov had already dragged him out of the door.

Walking down Diagon Alley, Marcus suddenly asked Dolohov how he could walk down the streets like that, considering that the ministry was still after them. Dolohov stopped by a lamppost with a "Have you seen these wizards? Reward: 1000 Galleons per Death Eater caught". Marcus supposed if he was desperate enough, he could stage a capture just for the money.

"Look at them. And look at me."

Marcus looked at Dolohov. "What?"

"Look at how different we look. We look so dreadful in that picture," Dolohov sighed dramatically. "At least, we look so different we are barely recognised. If we are, we just Apparate somewhere else, and they'd think they were just seeing things. They're that stupid, really."

Dolohov's voice was soft but not mumbly and had a hypnotic quality. Marcus was gazing at Dolohov, enchanted, until he realised how awkward it must be, then stopped himself.

Dolohov extracted a photo from his pocket. He asked Marcus if he wanted to see something. Marcus replied that he never had a choice when dealing with the Death Eaters, and Dolohov laughed. Then he whispered something to the picture of the escaped Death Eaters, and waved his wand over the photograph he was holding. The next thing Marcus saw was a picture of various Ministry personnel in place of the Death Eaters, and in the photo Dolohov was holding, the Death Eaters. Dolohov waved his wand again, and then kept the photo and the wand.

Marcus was completely bowled over and awestruck. He was all ready to swoon at Dolohov's feet. The Death Eaters were so efficient, so effective and so... Marcus sighed and wondered how long it would take for him to reach that level.

Dolohov laughed. "I could put you up there too; you'd better watch out."

This made Marcus snap out of his fantasies, and pay attention.

He then found out that Dolohov moonlighted as a photographer. For both the wizarding world and Muggle one. It was how he earned money. He would send in photographs for competitions under an assumed name and he lived off the prize money. And the Lestranges, he added with a laugh. Dolohov was Russian, went to Durmstrang, was never rich, escaped into the capitalist world through Voldemort and was as old as the older Lestranges, who, Marcus learnt, were Bellatrix and Rodolphus. Rabastan was the younger one. And the one Dolohov fancied, but that was out of point. He ended his introductory speech with a "I really love Coca-cola, you know, they even made it red."

Marcus couldn't help but laugh. It was really nice to actually meet a wizard who was interested in the Muggle world the way he was. Marcus was interested in the political systems, the way their society functioned as a whole, literature and music. Then again, Marcus had always considered these things universal, and he didn't like to group music and literature along the lines of 'Magical' and 'Muggle'. It was illogical to him anyway.

Along the way to the Florean Fortescue's for breakfast (because Marcus does not have a healthy diet), Dolohov kept whipping out his camera to take photos, an act that unnerved Marcus, quite frankly.

There was a huge crowd gathered in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies. It was an autograph session, with none other than Oliver Wood. Marcus felt a fluttery feeling in his stomach, before running into Florean Fortescue's to hide. Unfortunately, the inside was full, and so Marcus was forced to sit outside and stare at the fawning crowd in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies. He ordered a sandwich with milkshake, and Dolohov slipped into the chair nest to him.

"What are the three qualities a Death Eater must possess?"

"Um, uh, efficiency, loyalty and alertness?" Marcus offered.

Dolohov smiled, then got up to take a few photos.

Marcus decided to take out a book to read while reading, and so he flipped open "War and Peace" by Tolstoy and began to read. Sometime, Dolohov returned to his seat, and asked him if he was a fan of Russian literature. Marcus replied that he was sort of; he liked Tolstoy and had read a few of Fyodor Dostoevsky's and Ivan Turgenev's works and Lolita and Dr. Zhivago and more he can't remember.

Dolohov gave him a cryptic smile, and started to talk about the Imperius Curse. He went on to say that Mulciber was the one who was talented at the Imperius Curse, and gave some information on the invention of that curse. Dolohov then went on to say that one trained in Occlumency would be able to resist the Imperius Curse etc, and then he told Marcus that he would train him in Occlumency first.

Then Dolohov suddenly looked surprised and looked over at Quality Quidditch Supplies. "You like Oliver Wood?"

Marcus dropped the spoon he was stirring his milkshake with in shock. "You weren't supposed to know that!"

"Make me then," Dolohov said with a smirk.

Some of Marcus' memories began to float about, memories he wanted no one to know. And because he wanted no one to know, he managed to block Dolohov just before he accessed the one about seeing Oliver in the showers.

"Well, that was interesting" Dolohov commented. "Hey!"

Marcus, as some form of revenge, decided to try looking through Dolohov's memories. There were those of studying in school, his mother being taken away by the KGB, and so on. Dolohov quickly stopped Marcus, of course.

"You're a fast learner, but not fast enough." Dolohov half-smirked.

Marcus felt very indignant about it. It was his first 'lesson', and he knew nothing about the Dark Arts beforehand. Or rather, what he knew was just that they were illegal.

"Well then." Dolohov continued. "On to the Imperius Curse. Watch me."

And with that, Dolohov got up and walked over to the crowd in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies. He walked to the front of the queue of people, who did not object to his cutting the queue. He stood in front of Oliver Wood, and asked for an autograph. Dolohov tugged down his pants, to reveal black Calvin Klein boxer briefs, which Oliver promptly signed with silver ink.

Marcus' jaw dropped to the floor. He was in his 'what the fuck' mode again, and he was, well, dumbstruck at Dolohov's actions. He was also burning with jealousy. What did Dolohov do to deserve his underwear being signed anyway? Not especially by Oliver Wood.

Dolohov returned to his seat, and the people continued on, seemingly unaware of what just happened.

"I fucking hate you, you know that?"

"Sure do." Dolohov had a full-fledged smirk on his face now.