Death Eaters... Forever?

“Her name was Serina, and she was Severus’ Muggle half-sister.” I almost choked. I’m related to Sev?
“I’m…I mean, he’s…”
“Yes, Severus is your uncle.” Oh wow.
“Does…does he know?”
“Yes, I told him yesterday.” I nodded, swallowed convulsively and Apparated straight into the kitchen. Molly screamed.
“Sorry, Mrs Weasley!”
“That’s alright, Kyera,” she said shakily, one hand on her neck. “But how did you get past the wards?”
“Dumbledore did it for me,” I lied before going upstairs.
I was sharing a room with Ginny, Autumn and Hermione, which reminded me of our sleepover at Hogwarts ages ago; or at least it seemed like ages. I sighed; even back then, it had been easier for me. I was confused: on the one hand, half my friends would get killed as well as innocent people if I sided with Voldemort, but on the other hand, the rest of my friends would probably be sentenced to life in Azkaban (and possibly me, too) if I sided with the Order. The wizarding world would go back to normal, until someone else decided that their ideas were better than everyone else’s, and it would start all over again.
“Kyera! Are you even listening to me?”
“Huh? Oh, um… yes?” I hadn’t even heard Hermione talking to me, and I gave her a grin of apology. She just shook her head in exasperation.
Later at dinner, there was the usual friendly bickering as the twins fought over the food with Ron. Arthur Weasley was working late, so wasn’t present. Harry and I smirked at each other, watching with amusement as a chicken leg went flying.
“That’s it! I’ve had enough with this behaviour! Upstairs, Fred, Ron, George! Now!” Still grinning, the three of them fled to the safety of their rooms while Mrs Weasley stood there, face bright red.
I suppressed a giggle, but Harry wasn’t so lucky and couldn’t help but laugh; Mrs Weasley gave him a withering glare and stalked from the room.
I was glad that Harry had managed to laugh at all; I saw in his eyes that same depressing helplessness and I knew it was because of Sirius’ death.
I finished my dinner quickly, unfazed as it disappeared from the table. I excused myself and trudged upstairs, where I could hear the twins arguing.
“…if she is? She’s still our mate!” That was Fred.
“If she was our mate, she’d stick by us no matter what! She wouldn’t join the other team!”
“Maybe she had no choice, maybe-”
“Maybe isn’t good enough, mate! If you won’t confront her, then I will! Just because you’re still in love with her doesn’t mean she’s perfect!” Heavy footsteps neared where I stood at the top of the stairs, and I composed my face, continuing toward my own room. I had butterflies in my stomach, which was a particularly unpleasant thing when one is trying to act normal.
The door to the twins’ room opened.
“Kyera, can I talk to you for a minute?” George asked curtly, his face set in an unfamiliar scowl. I nodded, resisting the urge to gulp, as the butterflies in my stomach did a little jig. I followed him back into the room, where Fred looked at me as though I’d betrayed him. I wasn’t so stupid as to not have guessed what this was about by now, but I was still surprised at George’s bluntness.
“Are you a Death Eater?” I was about to say no when I hesitated. Am I?
“Yes, but-” Dumbledore suddenly appeared, cutting off what I was about to say. Fred slumped in resignation, as though I’d died. And perhaps I had.
“You will come with me quietly?” It was a question more than anything, but I couldn’t seem to answer it. Dumbledore stood there, eyes expressionless, as though he didn’t even know me. I finally found my voice.
“Yes.”

Dumbledore and I Apparated to the Ministry of Magic, where three Aurors, including Moody, were waiting. They took me into custody, disarming me before taking me to a large dungeon, like the one Harry had told me he’d been tried in. As I stepped in, I saw that the entire Wizengamot were there for my trial. And I also knew, looking at each of their faces, that they’d already made their decision.
In the very middle of the front row sat a fierce looking man – not Cornelius Fudge, obviously. He reminded me of a lion, and had that same feral power.
The three Aurors guided me to a large metal chair in the centre of the room, and I sat in it, jumping slightly as it gave a metal clunk. However, nothing more happened, so I returned to studying the man sitting where the Minister for Magic should’ve been.
“Trial of the 14 of July,” began the man, his feline gaze locked on me, “for one named Kyera Esheron Wilson, into offences of Death Eater connections.
Now, do you promise to answer our questions truthfully?” I realised he was addressing me. I hesitated, but there was really nothing I could do.
“To the best of my abilities,” I replied. He nodded as if it confirmed something.
“Do you know Lucius Malfoy, known requited Death Eater?”
“I do.”
“You live with him?”
“I do.” My heart was pounding; all evidence was against me, even my silver tattoo.
“Are you or are you not his friend?” I hesitated slightly.
“I am.”
“Are you or are you not in a relationship with said man?” God, he’s blunt.
“I am not.”
“You know Severus Snape, known requited Death Eater?”
“I do.”
“You are his friend?”
“I am.”
“Are you or are you not in a relationship with said man?” He repeated again. I smothered a laugh at that thought.
“I am not.”
“Why do you have a necklace from Severus Snape?”
“It was a gift of friendship.” I wondered how he knew it was from Sev. Behind me, I could feel the weight of more eyes, and knew that these were more familiar people. I wondered if Sev and Lucius were among the crowd.
“Are you the friend of Barty Crouch Jr, known fugitive Death Eater?”
“I am.”
“Are you the friend of Bellatrix Lestrange, known fugitive Death Eater?”
“I am not.”
“Are you the friend of Avery Mulciber, known fugitive Death Eater?”
“I am not.”
It continued like this, and I found that I knew most of the Death Eaters who were called out, but I was not their friend. Luckily for me. Until Rufus began to ask different questions.
“Have you met He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”
“I have.”
“Are you in league with him?” I hesitated slightly; what could I say to that?
“I am not.” True enough.
Rufus paused, and there was a quiet muttering among the Wizengamot.
“Have you spoken to You-Know-Who?”
“I have.” More muttering ensued.
“Are you on equal terms with him?” Even the question caused an increase in volume of the Wizengamot.
“I am.” I was suddenly drowned out by shouting.
“Order! Order!” Rufus banged a large block of wood with a handle on the table, which caused everyone to stop talking at once. I wondered what kind of magic was used to have that sort of reaction.
“Are you or are you not You-Know-Who’s friend.” Shit.
“I am Tom Riddle’s friend.” Muttering began again, but no-one knew that Tom and Voldemort were one and the same. Except Rufus and a few of the people behind me. I resisted the urge to turn around to find where the outraged whispers were coming from.
“Do you have a Dark Mark?”
“Yes and no.” I made do; after all, I had told them I would be truthful. My hands were shaking slightly, and I felt oppressed in my black wizard robes.
“Answer truthfully!” Rufus roared, and I jumped.
“I did.”
“Show me if you have one,” he snapped. I pulled back my left sleeve, where the bright silver tattoo glowed against my pale skin. There was a collective gasp, and then not even the strange magical wood could quiet the throng.
“The Wizengamot will retire to decide the fate of Kyera Esheron Wilson. Moody, Shacklebolt, please restrain Wilson. You have permission to kill if necessary.”
As the Wizengamot filed out of the room, it quieted, and I looked up at Moody. He looked mad; I couldn’t blame him – I was friends with Barty Jr, who had impersonated him, during which the real Moody was incarcerated in a large chest.
I was blocking out the thought of Azkaban with my mind barriers, and my teeth were clenched with the effort.
“Who is Tom Riddle?” Shacklebolt, who appeared on my other side, asked me. I sighed.
“Voldemort is the name Tom Riddle gave himself.” Shacklebolt did his best not to flinch from Voldemort’s name, but couldn’t help himself when I finished my sentence. He reeled back as if struck, before he regained his composure and masked his expressions.
“You are a Death Eater then.” It was not a question, but I turned to look at Moody and shook my head.
“I may have the Dark Mark, and I am friends with the Dark Lord, but I have not helped-” I caught myself before I lied; I had in fact helped him to find Allen Worvle, although we failed. Moody saw that I’d stopped there, and turned from me, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of my deeds.
“May I speak to Kyera alone, Alistor?” It was Dumbledore. Moody nodded, and both he and Shacklebolt moved away.
“I’m disappointed in you, Kyera. What possessed you to become his friend?”
“He was the one that saved me and Autumn from those rapists.” Dumbledore stepped back, alarmed.
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully. He looked paler than usual.
“Will you use your extra powers to get yourself out of Azkaban?” I thought about it.
“No. I do not deserve this, but I will not become a fugitive like Barty Jr.”
“Will you take an Unbreakable Vow with me to ensure this?” I nodded. It wasn’t like I had a choice.

After a lengthy time in another room, the Wizengamot came out. I had taken the Unbreakable Vow, ensuring that I would not use my extra abilities to get myself out of Azkaban, to hurt the Aurors or any person or thing. Dumbledore didn’t even leave me a loophole in which I could protect myself with my magic from the Dementors, so I hoped that someone would realise the truth. Before I was a rotting corpse in one of the cells. Or worse, a vacant-eyed, soulless shell of a person.
“We, the Wizengamot, have reached a verdict. Kyera Esheron Wilson, we find you guilty of being a Death Eater, and sentence you to life imprisonment in Azkaban.” It was like a slap to the face. I knew that Veritaserum – truth serum – wouldn’t be any help, as they’d only ask these questions again. I slumped back in my seat, wondering why George of all people had been the one to betray me. Although I supposed from his perspective, it would’ve seemed like the only thing to do.
Moody and Shacklebolt, as well as a few other Aurors, Apparated with me to Azkaban docks, where I was placed in the hands of six Azkaban Keepers.
“You’ll like it here, I’m sure,” one of them sneered as they stripped me and replaced my robes with Azkaban ‘uniform’. It consisted of a black-and-white striped top and pants. Original. Fortunately, it was a female guard that changed me, for which I was eternally grateful.
They then placed me in shackles and guided me down to another gate.
“State your business.” Two guards with wands at the ready stood at the gate.
“Camron Jyve and guards to escort Kyera Esheron Wilson to holding block 3, cell 23.” They waved us through, and Camron pulled me roughly down the narrow block.
After a while, two gates and seven Dementors, we reached block 3. I felt the cold beginning to seep into my bones, and shivered despite myself. Already the Dementors were following, waiting for my guards to leave me. As we passed other cells, the occupants either groaned, screamed, shrieked for mercy or simply sat there, lost in their vacant-eyed nothingness. I wondered if there was a way to break an Unbreakable Vow.
“Cell 23.” Camron produced his wand, and muttered something under his breath, causing the door to open. Pushing me inside, I fell heavily to my knees. The guards laughed as the lock clicked back into place, and I was left in the darkness.