Somewhere in Manchester...
Jul. 13th, 2006 12:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iambetadraconisWhen I look upon my life, look upon it to see where I am and where I've been, and if any of it unfolded the way I intended it to do when I was five, or ten, or even fifteen, the things that stand out the most are the things that are the darkest in nature.
The salient events are the ones that involve the Dark Lord, the Death Eaters, and everything I did in his service as one of his Death Eaters.
I can't remember when I became one; that memory has been purposefully blocked out by sheer force of will. But I do remember the early days, and the hell they made up. A reluctant servant I was. While Rodolphus took to his role like a duck to water, I needed a lot of encouragement to perform effectively. And I say "encouragement" with a lot of sarcastic distain, because the Dark Lord's idea of "encouragement" involves a lot of blood and pain and visits to St. Mungo's where you can't tell the mediwitches and mediwizards what happened to you because if you did you'd be in Azkaban.
Well. I ended up there anyways, didn't I?
I look out the window, taking note of the Manchester skyline, looking out over the very Muggle city it is.
Oh sure, there's a wizarding community here; there always is. Just about every large city in the world has a magical community. We're a clannish lot, us magical folk, and as we gravitate to each other we form our little communities where we can live in anonymous safety from being discovered by the Muggles.
And it's in this community that I've come to stay in, to think about things while I do my level best to find at least one Death Eater that I do know of, to [and this will take a considerable level of verbal gymnastics to achieve without everything going wrong] determine whether or not I'm on his list of People To Kill.
It's also why I've gone to lengths to disguise my appearance; I'd prefer to get my information in a somewhat anonymous manner.
Merlin's beard I can't believe I'm doing any of this.
It's one thing to think back upon your life, or to stare at aged calendars in your family home, but to seek out the very people you most want to avoid is another thing altogether.
I'd rather be at Milliways, but circumstances dictate that I be here, staring out at Manchester's Muggle district while waiting for a Death Eater or two to arrive.
But this place is not the most ideal. Sure, where I am attracts a questionable crowd the way Knockturn does, but after three days, it's unlikely I'm to come across any of the Dark Lord's followers.
I suppose I should just pack up my disjointed thoughts and move on.
There are other places to search after all...
The salient events are the ones that involve the Dark Lord, the Death Eaters, and everything I did in his service as one of his Death Eaters.
I can't remember when I became one; that memory has been purposefully blocked out by sheer force of will. But I do remember the early days, and the hell they made up. A reluctant servant I was. While Rodolphus took to his role like a duck to water, I needed a lot of encouragement to perform effectively. And I say "encouragement" with a lot of sarcastic distain, because the Dark Lord's idea of "encouragement" involves a lot of blood and pain and visits to St. Mungo's where you can't tell the mediwitches and mediwizards what happened to you because if you did you'd be in Azkaban.
Well. I ended up there anyways, didn't I?
I look out the window, taking note of the Manchester skyline, looking out over the very Muggle city it is.
Oh sure, there's a wizarding community here; there always is. Just about every large city in the world has a magical community. We're a clannish lot, us magical folk, and as we gravitate to each other we form our little communities where we can live in anonymous safety from being discovered by the Muggles.
And it's in this community that I've come to stay in, to think about things while I do my level best to find at least one Death Eater that I do know of, to [and this will take a considerable level of verbal gymnastics to achieve without everything going wrong] determine whether or not I'm on his list of People To Kill.
It's also why I've gone to lengths to disguise my appearance; I'd prefer to get my information in a somewhat anonymous manner.
Merlin's beard I can't believe I'm doing any of this.
It's one thing to think back upon your life, or to stare at aged calendars in your family home, but to seek out the very people you most want to avoid is another thing altogether.
I'd rather be at Milliways, but circumstances dictate that I be here, staring out at Manchester's Muggle district while waiting for a Death Eater or two to arrive.
But this place is not the most ideal. Sure, where I am attracts a questionable crowd the way Knockturn does, but after three days, it's unlikely I'm to come across any of the Dark Lord's followers.
I suppose I should just pack up my disjointed thoughts and move on.
There are other places to search after all...
