[Spitfire : Chapter Seventy-Two]

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4 July, 1996

        The stopwatch that rested in Isaac's front robe pocket ticked wildly, it's little hands falling under rapid control of the wild magic flying aimlessly through the air outside the Malfoy Manor. You didn't have to be a harmless muggle device to feel the overbearing remnants of magic, and you didn't have to be a spell-grader in order to deem the magic impressive. Isaac waited in front of the tall black gates, his anguish and worry being flushed by the rapid wisps of magic that reminded him terribly of his dilemma in his early seventh year.

"Deehan, ya' okay, lad?" Asked the figure beside him, their voice unrecognizable but grammar easily distinguished.

       Mad-Eye Moody, a man who full-heartedly petrified Isaac Deehan, was going to be the boy's companion, and protector for the evening. However, he was disguised as recently captured Augustus Rookwood who somehow made the already terrifying good-guy even more scary.

"Y-Yeah, I'm alright," Isaac responded in a whisper, trying to shake away the magnificent warm rush of magic flowing through his veins. "Moody, speak less . . . Scottish, yeah?"

"I know how to handle myself, boy," The man grumbled, taking a swig of a familiar metal flask; poly-juice potion. "Just make sure your arse doesn't pass out when we're in there. You remember what you have to do, right?"

"Of course, I've been worrying about this day for as long as I could remember." Isaac groaned, through the darkness of the night sky, Isaac could spot two figures heading toward them from far down the path that led to the front doors of the Malfoy Manor.

"You will not show weakness when it happens," Mad-Eye warned with a silent but harsh whisper. "You may hiss, you may swear, but if you scream or yell your arse is devil-meat. If you cry, the last thing you'll feel won't be the mark, but Voldemort's unforgivable curses striking your body."

"I know, Moody," Isaac said, his exterior straightened readily but internally rumbled with nerves. "We've been over this a thousand-and-one times."

Mad-Eye ignored the moody teen. "What do you say when they ask why Mr. Rookwood arrived with you?"

"Augustus helped me rearrange my path," Isaac recited, cringing at the first-name basis he was forced upon. "I was going to betray my life's true past and join the Ministry as an Auror. But then I met Augustus, he treated me as a son, redirecting my bastardized path. I know my true reasoning now, why I've been chosen to live in this period of time. To be a soldier, warrior, to fight for what is right for the wizarding world. I will lay my life down for the purebloods of this earth, and I will dedicate my war against evil to those of whom we've lost throughout the years to this never-ending battle."

"And when you ask the dark lord for forgiveness?"

Isaac gulped, hot tears welling under his eyelids. "I will fall to my knees, and beg."

"Good, this will go just as planned." Mad-Eye stated, taking another swig of his rancid potion. He glanced again at Isaac, and something remotely close to pity engulfed his steadily-beating heart. "You'll be fine, lad. I'll be here every step of the way, and if anything goes wrong--Dumbledore and the rest of the Order will be right on it."

Isaac stayed silent, shuffling his feet and clasping his arms respectfully behind his back. "Your British accent is better now, Moody. They won't suspect a thing."

A couple more moments passed before the two fingers coming to retrieve them arrived; Lucius Malfoy, and Narcissa Malfoy. Despite the circumstances they were under, the sight of a loving mother somehow diminished the little bit of fear that was festering in his stomach, encouraging his rancid bile to rumble up his esophagus like an erupting volcano. Narcissa smiled at the boy almost pitifully. Her husband, however, kept a straight face familiar to all of whom ruled under Lord Voldemort.

"Rookwood, haven't seen you recently." Lucius said, straightening his posture to almost be as tall as his death eater companion. "We've . . mourned your lack of presence at our recent meetings."

"The Ministry is becoming more strict, getting out of work early without the blink of an eye has got tougher." Rookwood-Moody responded, his newly-adopted accent conjured more understandable, and accurate. "I've already begged for the Dark Lords pardoning, Lucius, so please, take a step backward."

Lucius snared his pearly-whites at Rookwood, who was notorious for his hostile nature, but ignored the somewhat aggressive order--he turned to Isaac, instead, who was standing silently and patiently for something to happen. "Deehan, when I heard your name in our recent meeting with the Dark Lord, I thought my son was making up stories again. I'm glad you've come to your senses."

"Me too, Mr. Malfoy." Isaac respectfully responded, "I'm incredibly thankful to finally experience this day."

"It will be positively splendid, my dear," Narcissa assured softly, "shall we go, Lucius?"

"Yes," Lucius said, opening the gates for the new arrivals to enter through. "We must'nt allow the Dark Lord to wait."

"Any longer . . ." Rookwood-Moody added, introducing his facade once again more realistically.

The walk felt miles long. The closer the four got to the castle, the stronger the surrounding magic grew--and that was when it hit Isaac. They were entering protection spells. Not any ordinary ones, either. These ones were newly-designed, they were deadly--they expelled the luring effects of love potions, with the toxicity of a killing curse. Isaac would have supposed that if they weren't directly invited by the Dark Lord himself, Isaac and Rookwood-Moody would be corpses lying on the bridge.

There went Mad-Eye's reassurance of backup, though.

Upon entering the Manor, Isaac was met with relief--it seemed any or all protection spells vanished there, probably so Voldemort and his cronies could apparate out swiftly without any issue if there were a conflict to arise. What he was newly struck with now was stress--it felt like he was being stared down by a million emotionless souls. All over the Malfoy Manor were darkly-dressed soldiers, either lounging on wooden stools with their death eater mask beside them, or even on their heads--hiding their identities from the newest arrivals. Rightfully so, Rookwood-Moody was very obviously analyzing each and every soul in there.

"Got a problem, Rookwood?" Snarled a new man, his skin glowing grey with the illumination of death.

"Just observing what scum the Dark Lord chose to raise in his ranks before me," Rookwood replied, wearing a deadpan-stare.

The grey-skinned living-death man choked out a wheezy laugh, their decade-aged features lessening and giving them a more youthful look. He patted Rookwood-Moody on the shoulder, "I'll take that as a 'congratulations.' Augustus, glad to see ya', mate. Where've you been of late?!"

"Working," Rookwood-Moody replied, easing his stance. Isaac was left to awkwardly wait as both Narcissa and Lucius left the room. As he simultaneously listened to Mad-Eye and the unrecognizable death eaters talk, he managed to spot a familiar white-haired Malfoy by the fireplace up front. Isaac felt his own expression softening, the lad looked terrified. "You know how the Ministry are at any hint of a fight; cowards. Haven't got a proper day off since the battle."

"Aye, understood." The death eater nodded. "I remember back in the early eighties when I worked at the Ministry for that bastard Alastor Moody. With the slightest rumor of a death eater on the loose, whole establishment when dark and locked up like Azkaban. Hasn't happened for a while, though, seem's we're making proper progress now, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah," Roockwood-Moody chuckled, his tone strained but simultaneously delighted. "We're living in some good times, Merkle."

"Indeed we are," 'Merkle' looked over at Isaac, who was trying to place some type of familiarity with the name of the death eater ahead of him. "Is this the new inductee?"

"Yes sir," Rookwood-Moody responded, "Isaac, meet Hoosier Merkle. Merkle, meet Isaac Deehan. Lads only seventeen, but ready to lie himself down for the cause."

"Good on you," Merkle grinned, shaking Isaac's hand. "I've heard of your doubt from that Thorfinn lad. Salazar, did he speak harshly of you. Boy's always been a bit of a complainer, though. I'm very glad to meet you here today, it is a wonderful time to join the cause."

"Quit flirting with the lad, Merkle." Rookwood-Moody joked, Isaac felt his own eyes widen. "It's the nineteen-nineties, I'm afraid society both mudblood and pureblood don't support such age-gapped relationships anymore."

"Inference me as a twinkle-toe again, Rookwood, and I'll have your blood decorating the tonight's feasts desert."

Rookwood-Moody opened his mouth to snarkily reply, but was interrupted by Lucius Malfoy who called for silence. Immediately, everyone had. Those of whom were lounging stood up straight, their arms flat against their sides. Those of whom were already standing did the same. Isaac followed the motions of everyone else, and Rookwood-Moody beside him. His heart began to rapidly beat, and sweat submerged his palms. Behind Lucius Malfoy entered the Dark Lord himself, as beastly as eye-witnesses reported him.

Isaac always imagined the Dark Lord to have more human-like features. Apparently, he was like any average-Joe back in his first era of reign. Now . . . he looked like a corpse. He had slits for eyes, his pupils shining red like true serpents. There were two identical slits as a nose, and the man's teeth and finger nails were as sharp as razor blades. Lord Voldemort held an aura of someone who could be easily beaten down with a gust of wind, while all simultaneously mirroring the imaginative-embodiment of death incarnate.

"Good day, ladies and gentlemen," Voldemort greeted in a soft hiss, no one responded--the Dark lord did not seem to mind. "I see we've got a new face today."

"Names Isaac Deehan, my lord. The boy who wishes to join our cause." Lucius Malfoy explained. As if he were in a nightmare--Lord Voldemort rapidly glided face-to-face with the graduated Slytherin. Isaac tried his hardest to keep calm, but he could see the Dark Lord had already read the fear from his eyes.

However, the Dark Lord seemed to like it, he encouraged it. He also seemed slightly irritated he couldn't penetrate the boys mind.

"I've been expecting this one," Voldemort hissed, his voice a mixture of pleasantry and delusion. "For many many years I've heard the whispers of this boy, this man. But Mr. Deehan, I've heard from several friends that you deterred from the cause."

       It was his time to speak. Isaac's mouth was dry, he soundlessly begged for a mere drop of water. When he realized that he wouldn't receive any positive responses, and that he was actually in the presence of a notorious commander of genocide, he collected his thoughts and arranged them in order. "I did deter, I'll admit it. As I matured, I realized my wrongs--I've come to completely regret the times of which I sided with the enemy, I look back at it with embarrassment."

       Voldemort was silent, eyeing the boy for any discontent other than what he intended to construe. "I understand Augustus has helped you refine your path?"

       "That is true, Augustus helped me rearrange my path," Isaac stated, biting the inside of his cheek anxiously. With any wrong word, Isaac could be leaving that night in a wrap of bed-cloth, his heart stopped and face misconstrued in an expression of horror, and pain. "I-In a dark time, I was going to betray my life's true path and join the Ministry as an Auror. But then I met Augustus at the Battle of Mysteries, and he treated me as a son, redirecting my bastardized path. I know my true reasoning now, why I've been chosen to live in this period of time. To be a soldier, warrior--to fight for what is right for the wizarding world. I will lay my life down for the purebloods of this earth, and I will dedicate my war against evil to those of whom we've lost throughout the years of this never-ending battle."

       "Sounds rehearsed, my lord." A new person chimed, their voices low and rough from the haunting past miseries of Azkaban imprisonment. "We shouldn' trust em', ain't the Deehan's a whole lot of Ravenclaws, anyway?"

      "I'd hope it's rehearsed, Angler," The Dark Lord simply replied, not looking back whatsoever at the hunched-over man. "Rehearsal means practice, practice means perfection--I cannot allow any screw-ups in our mission."

      The death eater with a hunchback moved away, their voice lower than before, "Apologies, my lord."

        The Dark Lord sniffed with his two slits, and then let out a long exhale. "You are seventeen, correct?"

      "Yes,"

      "Yes . . . what?"

      Isaac's face flushed. "Yes, my lord."

      "You truly wish to join my delegacy, and fight until the very end if it very-well means death?"

      "Yes, my lord."

        "You agree to take the searing pain of the Dark Mark? To come to me whenever, and if-ever I call?"

       "Yes, my lord."

        "You promise to keep this delegacy a secret, to treat us with the clandestine of a conqueror on the run?'

         "Yes, my lord. I will lie my life down for the cause, and it's people." Isaac said, his chest filling with dread. "I will not see the end of this war until I'm buried under the hedge of a gravestone."

        The Dark Lord snared his teeth--a smile. "Perfect, Mr. Deehan. We may now begin the induction."

       The death eaters around them cheered, some whistled and others cackled loudly, and excitedly at their new addition. Voldemort strutted his way toward the fireplace up front, Isaac followed behind--Rookwood-Moody behind him, holding his shoulder comfortingly but determined. There were two seats on either side of the fireplace, the backs pointing horizontally to each other. Voldemort sat in one, and Isaac was directed to sit in the next. Another death eater brought a flame-torched table and placed it between them. Isaac's hands began to sweat even more, he desperately wiped them on his robes. Voldemort pulled out his wand, and Isaac nodded--relaxing his left arm with his forearm facing up on the table. It was obvious the table had been used for many other inductees before.

      "Bella, get the boy a cloth."

       Throughout all the madness which resided in the Malfoy Manor, Isaac hadn't once recognized the notoriously crazed Bellatrix Lestrange. The wacky-haired woman cackled before disappearing, moments later, she reemerged with a white cloth in which she aggressively placed in Isaac's mouth. Isaac breathed rapidly through his nose, and ensured to keep his jaw closed tight. He could not scream, he could not yell. He's been through much worse than a mere introduction hazing, he would be able to survive this with dignity. Before he could further ready himself, Voldemort was hovering his wand silently above Isaacs inner forearm.

       There were black yarn-like wisps protruding from the tip of his wand, they were somewhat peaceful until his entire arm jerked with searing pain. Thankfully, the only obvious reaction he had was the onset jerk, afterward, Isaac simply clenched his eyes shut and kept his jaw locked closed. It was safe to say this was a pain Isaac never once experienced before, however, he could bare it just long enough. After a few moments of intense silence, the Dark Lord leant back in his chair and the entire Manor broke out into cheers.

        Isaac peeked one eye open to spot the dark wad-like mess on his arm, which eventually conjured into a skull with a snake slithering through it's hollow chasms as his eyes adjusted to the light. The boy was struck into a silence, staring at his newest body-adjustment. From a young age he always expected to receive the mark, but now, as he actually had hope for a positive future, it pained him excessively to see the skull indefinite on his forearm.

      "Welcome to the party, young hero!" Bellatrix crazily congratulated, ruffling his hair. "You will have a mighty time with us!"

       "And long after this war is over, you will be renowned as a hero in Hogwarts history books." Voldemort grinned, his eyes unfocused and dream-like.

        Isaac sat back in his chair, painfully observing his arm--he was now officially inducted into the Second Wizarding War. Not as a full-fledged death eater, but as an Order spy.

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       When Isaac arrived back at the Grimmauld Place later that night, he was met with many cheers and gracious 'thank-you's'.' However, he could not match their delighted emotions as he stood with his heart plummeted long into his arse, each one of his senses focused on the slow ticking of his pocket watch. Molly Weasley cooked him a secretive dinner, and Dumbledore gifted the boy with many new robes to wear in order to hide his newest addition. By ten o'clock in the evening, everyone who had no idea of Isaac's newest occupation arrived back--and now he had to move onto his newest challenge; hiding his mark, and his missions, from Cassie Snow and all the Weasley-children.

       Midnight was when his body finally allowed him to sleep. His head rested on Wendy's shoulder, light snores erupting from his slightly parted mouth. She had his limp arm resting on her lap, Wendy sadly carcasses her thumb along black-pulsing mark on his forearm. Hugging her son against herself as if she were going to lose him any day.

AUTHORS NOTE

ah shit, *bites lower lip seductively* whasss poppingggggg

i honestly love this chapter so much?? and i shouldn't because isaac is once again suffering tremendously?? i'm ngl, i honestly did not intend on writing this today—but i suppose boredom took me over. so now we have this beautifully-written monstrosity.

i haven't updated in a bit due to mid-terms, but now that they are over i hope i'll be able to update a lot again. also, 600k on wristbands !! and 100k here!! that is freaking awesome.

when i planned this chapter i originally had it so that it'd cut off to cassie's pov, and what she was doing as isaac was inducted into a death eater. should i do that as an entire chapter for chapter 73? or should i skip that idea completely and move onto the next plot point?

vote and comment if you liked this chapter, or if you just want to be nice—it'd be appreciated. (:

January 29, 2021
3,100 words