Confessions of an Ex-Death-Eater

3.

Being one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight meant the bloodline was everything for my father; tight associations with pure-blood families like the Blacks and the Lestranges were perfection. These interconnections meant more power through the accumulated wealth that was kept within the families and wealth meant the ability to manipulate those around you. He was rather devastated that none of our close relatives had children of my age, that is, one with whom he would arrange a marriage.

In fact, there were two female cousins, but neither were deemed suitable.

My father's sister, Pandora, had married into another old pure-blood family and my cousin is a year younger than me but, when my father was alive, the Lovegoods were not considered appropriate people to associate with, let alone marry. Pandora was disinherited after blotting her copybook one too many times: she was also the first Malfoy, ever, not to be sorted into the House of Slytherin (she was a Ravenclaw); and, despite being a potions genius (albeit with rather eccentric methodologies), there were unsubstantiated rumours of experimenting with moon-dust and magic mushrooms. As a result, I was prohibited from socialising with my cousin at school, let alone admitting we were related. I truly hope that one day, this can be undone and I may re-establish a connect with my cousin and uncle.

For pure-bloods fanatics like my father, some sins are greater than others: Pandora's transgressions paled into insignificance when compared to that of my mother's oldest sister: the name Andromeda Black was forbidden from ever being mentioned and she was scrubbed from the family tree because 'she-married-a-muggle'. Old Grandmama Malfoy would sometimes conspiratorially mention the Black family scandal when she had one glass of honey-mead too many at family gatherings: the phrase 'she-married-a-muggle' was merged into one and mouthed in undertones with over-pronounced m's. Even saying it seemed dirty. I learnt very early that it was a phrase associated with shame. The existence of my other cousin, Nymphadora, otherwise known as Tonks, was never acknowledged.

According to my father's logic, it was better to lay one's hopes for the future in the mad aunt who would probably drink the blood of small children and skin kittens alive if the Dark Lord asked her to. Yes, better to love a psychopath and hope she had marriageable daughters than acknowledge my two aunts who married out of love and admit to the existence of their offspring.

You see, dear Reader, my father lay his hopes for a dark ruling class in the other members of my mother's side of the Black family. Bellatrix Black had married father's best friend from school, Rodolphus Lestrange. I know my father hoped that one day they would have a daughter I could marry but, thank Merlin, Bellatrix and Rodolphus never had children. Theirs was a strange and dark marriage, Bellatrix never hid that she loved Voldemort to the point of obsession and how could Rodolphus Lestrange ever compete with that? It seemed that sadistic perversions could only provide for that relationship – the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom is evidence enough. It makes me feel ashamed to even be distantly associated with that. One of my many regrets is that I never understood this earlier. I will forever live with the guilt that I made a sport of bullying their son while at school. I can never undo that and I am truly mortified that I added to the burden of this inspirational and courageous man.

When it became clear that Azkaban meant the Lestrange bloodline would never be continued through Bellatrix, my father looked to my mother's cousins. Sirius Black had already been cast out by old Walburga Black, burnt from the family tree in one of her infamous fits of fury. Unconfirmed gossip was that Sirius was homosexual, and combined with his Sorting into Gryffindor, and his continued association with the Potters and his rumoured partner, Remus Lupin, his disinheritance came quickly. And despite being in Azkaban for guiding the Dark Lord to the Potter house that fateful night, my father openly declared that Sirius had never affiliated himself with Voldemort and had certainly never taken the Dark Mark: it was an ill-kept secret amongst Death-eater circles that he wasn't the one who betrayed the Potters, though, at that time, no one knew who had. Whatever Sirius' story, it meant no pure-blood offspring existed to marry me off to.

My father's last hope was resting in Regulus Black, Sirius' younger brother and one of the youngest members to join Voldemort's ranks at merely seventeen years of age. My father had hoped that Regulus would marry Rionach Sayre, a descendant of the Morrigan family who date back to the times of the Slytherins and the Peverells. Lucius even involved himself in talks between Orion Black and Thrain Sayre, but Regulus never even met his intended before his mysterious disappearance. My father was never to find out that Regulus had used his position as a member of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black and as one of Voldemort's inner circle to betray his master and, unfortunately, until after the second war, after Harry Potter had pieced the jigsaw together, no one ever knew what really happened to him.

But, dear Reader, you must understand that I grew up believing this was all very normal and appropriate behaviour for the elite wizarding families. It is only now that I realise the undercurrent insanity of it all. It is only now that I see it clearly with disgust. The enlightening part of all this is that not all family members cared about the purity of the old pure-blood names and loved the Dark Arts. And when it comes to opposing the beliefs like those of my father, the Lestranges, and old Walburga Black, this is encouraging. I can take comfort in the knowledge that I am not the only apple who has fallen and rolled as far away as possible from the tree.

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