Dracena Malfoid, Part VI

[I had to write it as an article. It was too long to write as a tweet.]

Hogwarts was wrong when it was empty. Dracena had never noticed that before. There were always footsteps somewhere. Students shouting across corridors, suits of armour complaining about being bumped, Peeves doing something that would eventually require a mop, and portraits gossiping about everyone who passed.

Now there was only the sound of Dracena’s shoes against stone.

Some Christmas decorations still hung in the Great Hall. Filch was taking them down, slowly. The enchanted ceiling was pale and grey, threatening snow. A handful of staff had already returned, along with a few students who had remained over the holiday, but the castle otherwise felt abandoned.

Dracena had told her mother she wanted to return early to prepare for term. Narcissa had stared at her for several seconds. “Of course.” she finally said. Dracena suspected her mother knew perfectly well that her daughter had never voluntarily returned to school early in order to prepare for term in her life. Fortunately, Mother had not asked for any details.

Dracena’s trunk was upstairs. Dracena was not. She stood outside Professor Snape’s office. She had been standing there for almost ten minutes. This was becoming embarrassing.

She raised her hand. Stopped. Lowered it. “This is ridiculous.” she said to herself.

The door opened suddenly. Professor Snape stood on the other side. Dracena nearly jumped out of her skin. He looked at her. She looked at him.

“Miss Malfoid.” he said, in his monotone voice.

“Professor.”

“Have you developed an objection to doors?”

“No.”

“Then either enter, or cease haunting mine.”

He turned away and went inside his office. Dracena quickly followed, and gently closed the door behind her.

Snape’s office smelled exactly as unpleasant as she remembered: old stone, dried ingredients, things suspended in jars that Dracena strongly suspected had once possessed opinions.

Snape returned to his desk. There was a stack of essays before him. He picked up his quill. “Term begins tomorrow.” he said, in his icy monotone voice.

“I know.”

“Your presence suggests otherwise.”

“I came back early.”

“So I had gathered.” He made a mark on an essay. Dracena waited. Snape did not look up. She suddenly understood why Potter found him so infuriating.

“I need to speak to you.” She said, voice shaking.

“I had assumed you did not travel halfway across Britain for the pleasure of watching me mark essays.”

“It’s important.”

“Everything is important at sixteen.”

Dracena bristled. Snape finally looked up. His eyes moved over her face.

The sarcasm receded. Just a bit.

“Sit.”

Dracena sat. Snape put down his quill.

“Has Potter done something?”

“What?”

“Potter. Has he…”

“No.”

“Miss Granger?”

“No.”

“Your father?”

Dracena hesitated. Snape noticed. Of course he did. Snape noticed everything. Another infuriating thing about him.

“Ah.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“I assure you, Miss Malfoid, I have made no attempt to imagine the domestic affairs of your family.”

Dracena took a breath. “I need to know how someone becomes a Death Eater.”

Snape stared at her. “Get out.” Snape said, angrily.

Dracena blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” His icy monotone voice grew angrier.

“But…”

“Whatever adolescent melodrama has inspired this astonishing display of stupidity, I have neither the time nor inclination to participate in it.”

“It isn’t...”

“Out!” Professor Snape shouted, a bit louder this time. She heard more emotion from his voice than she ever noticed before.

“I heard my father talking to Voldemort.”

Snape stopped. Dracena had never seen anyone become so completely still.

“Sit down.”

“I am sitting.”

“Then continue to do so.”

The icy, cold monotone returned to his voice.

“When?”

“Three nights ago.”

“Where?”

“At home. Father’s study. Through the Floo.”

“You saw him?”

“A little. I peeked under the door.”

“You heard him?”

“Yes.”

“What precisely did you hear?”

Dracena swallowed. “He wanted Father to use me.”

Snape’s face revealed nothing. “To do what?”

“Kill Harry.”

“Continue.” Snape said, coldly.

“He said Harry trusted me. That I could give him something. A potion, I think. Father refused.”

Snape leaned back.

“He refused?” Snape asked, surprised.

Dracena couldn’t keep the pride from her voice. “Yes.”

“Your father told the Dark Lord ‘no?’”

“Several times.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“He said I wasn’t a Death Eater.”

“An accurate observation. Now, unfortunately, it seems your father appears to have developed an unexpected enthusiasm for suicide.”

Despite herself, Dracena laughed. It came out strangely. She hadn’t realized how frightened she was until that moment. Snape didn’t laugh.

“What happened then?”

“Voldemort kept pushing. He said I was uniquely positioned. That Harry trusted me. Father told him I hadn’t sworn anything to him. Voldemort called me a resource.” Her mouth tightened. “Father said I wasn’t one.”

Something unreadable flickered in Snape’s expression.

“And?”

“He told Voldemort if he wanted Harry dead, he could kill him himself. Or find someone else. But he was to leave me out of it.”

“And the Dark Lord agreed?”

“Eventually.”

“No.”

Dracena frowned. “He did.”

“The Dark Lord does not agree to abandon useful ideas, Miss Malfoid. He finds other methods.” The warmth she’d carried since overhearing her father suddenly felt much smaller. “Your father bought you time.”

Dracena looked at the floor. “I thought that might be the case.”

“And therefore you’ve decided to reward his efforts by doing precisely what he risked his life to prevent.”

“No.” Dracina said, quietly.

“You’ve travelled here a day early to ask a former Death Eater how to become a Death Eater.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“It is precisely what you mean.”

“No. I want him to think I’ve become one.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. She had his attention now. Dracena leaned forward.

“He already wants me in his circle.”

“Yes.”

“He already thinks I’m useful.”

“Yes.”

“He thinks Father is preventing me from being useful.”

“Apparently.”

“So let him.”

Snape looked at Dracina, but said nothing.

“Let him think Father was wrong. Let him think Potter confused me. Let him think Hermione filled my head with Muggle nonsense. I went home, remembered who I was, remembered I’m a Malfoid, and decided I’d had enough.”

“That sounds remarkably like several things you’ve actually believed.”

Dracena flinched.

“I know.”

“Good.”

She hadn’t expected that. Snape folded his hands.

“Continue.”

Dracena gathered herself.

“I tell Voldemort I want to prove myself.”

“By doing what?”

“Whatever makes sense.”

“An inspiring, detailed plan.”

“I haven’t got that far!”

“Clearly.”

“That’s why I’m here!”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. Dracena forced herself to lower her voice.

“I don’t know how this works.”

“Obviously.”

“You do.”

Snape said nothing, his face inscrutable.

“I know you were one of them.”

“Many people know that.”

“Dumbledore trusts you.”

“Many people question his judgment.”

“I don’t.”

That seemed to surprise Snape.

“I don’t know what you did. I don’t know why Dumbledore trusts you. And I’m not asking.”

“How generous of you, Miss Malfoid.”

“But if there’s a way to get close enough to Voldemort to hear things without actually belonging to him…”

“You are making assumptions about matters far beyond your understanding.”

“Probably.”

That stopped him. Dracena swallowed.

“That’s why I’m asking you.”

Snape studied her. “Suppose I tell you no.”

“I’ll go back to my dormitory.”

“And?”

“I don’t know.”

“An unsatisfactory answer.”

“It’s a truthful one.”

Snape watched her. “What exactly do you imagine accomplishing?”

“I don’t know that either.”

Snape sighed. “Then this conversation has been enormously productive.” Snape said, icy sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“I could hear things.”

“Things.” Snape said, sarcastically.

“Names. Plans. People they’re targeting. Where they’re going. What they’re doing. I don’t know.”

“And then?”

“I tell someone.”

“Whom do you think would listen to a Death Eater?”

Dracena looked at him. Snape’s expression changed almost imperceptibly.

“Oh, no.”

“What?”

“You imagine I would be this someone.”

Dracena suddenly felt much less clever.

“Well...”

“Extraordinary.”

“You know what you’re doing!”

“And you demonstrably do not.”

“Then teach me.”

“No.”

“Professor…”

“No.” Snape said, sharply.

Dracena stood.

“You haven’t even heard me out.”

“I have heard more than enough. You are sixteen years old. You overheard one conversation which frightened you, discovered that the Dark Lord wishes to exploit your relationship with Potter, and have responded by concocting a fantasy in which you infiltrate his organization and report his plans to me.”

“It’s not a fantasy.”

“It is considerably worse. Fantasies are generally somewhat believable.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Snape stood. “The people you are discussing torture children, Miss Malfoid.”

Dracena’s anger vanished, replaced by terror.

“They murder families. They make people disappear. They will kill you if they suspect you. They may kill you merely to determine whether someone else is loyal. Like your Father. They may do the same to him, to test your loyalty. Or your mother.”

Dracena said nothing.

“You appear to imagine becoming a Death Eater involves attending sinister meetings, nodding gravely while villains discuss their plans, then slipping away afterward to send Potter a helpful owl.”

“I don’t…”

“Do you know what the Dark Lord does to people who lie to him?”

“No.”

“I do.”

The words landed like a bird hitting a window. Dracena looked at him. For the first time, she understood that Snape wasn’t trying to frighten her.

Or rather? He was. But he also wasn’t exaggerating.

“Sit down.”

Dracena sat. Snape remained standing.

“If we continue this conversation… And I have not agreed that we shall… You will first abandon several childish assumptions.”

“All right.” Dracina said.

“First: Potter cannot know.”

Dracena nodded.

“I assumed…”

“No. You haven’t.”

His voice sharpened.

“You think you understand that sentence. You do not.”

Dracena went still.

“If Potter knows, Potter must lie.”

“He can.”

Snape actually looked offended.

“Potter?”

Dracena nearly smiled.

“He’s not that bad of a liar.”

“He is a catastrophically poor liar when emotionally invested.”

“He’s gotten better.”

“Yes. Largely because you’ve spent time informing him when he’s being an idiot.”

That almost made her smile again. Snape didn’t let her.

“If Potter knows, every glance becomes a performance. Every argument becomes a performance. Every moment the two of you occupy the same room becomes an opportunity for someone to notice that Harry Potter does not behave like a young man betrayed by the girl he loves.”

Dracena’s smile vanished.

“He has to believe it.”

“Yes.”

“Completely?”

“Completely.”

Dracena looked down.

“No messages.” Snape continued. “No hidden notes. No coded assurances. No secret meetings. No touching his hand beneath a table when nobody appears to be watching. No clever little phrase only the two of you understand.”

Dracena’s throat tightened.

“Nothing?” Dracena repeated.

“Nothing.” Snape said, coldly.

“But if..”

“Nothing.” Snape said, sharply.

Snape leaned toward her.

“Potter must not act heartbroken, Miss Malfoid.”

She looked up.

“He must be heartbroken.”

That hurt. Snape saw it. He continued anyway.

“The Dark Lord will not merely watch you. He will watch Potter. Others will watch Potter. And Harry Potter, for all his many faults, wears most of his emotions on his shirtsleeves with the subtlety of a Gryffindor banner.”

Dracena whispered, “I know.”

“No. I don’t believe you do.”

“I said I know.”

“You will have to make him hate you.”

Dracena flinched.

“Maybe. Not...”

“Yes.”

“He doesn’t have to hate me.”

“He has to despise you.”

“No.” Dracena whimpered.

“He must believe you a coward.”

Her eyes burned.

“Stop.” she pleaded, forcing the tears back.

“He must believe you used him.”

“Professor, I know!” She said, wiping a tear from her face.

“Believe every conversation in which you questioned your family’s beliefs was a temporary adolescent rebellion.”

“Stop.” She said, a hair’s breadth from tears.

“Believe you chose your name, your status and your father over him.”

She held back the tears with nearly superhuman strength.

“Believe that when you told him you loved him…”

“Enough!“ She screamed. Her voice echoed through the dungeon.

Snape stopped.

Dracena was breathing hard. Her eyes were wet.

Snape’s expression remained infuriatingly calm.

“That.” he said quietly, “is what you are proposing.”

Dracena wiped her face angrily. “You’re being cruel.”

“Yes. If cruelty in this room prevents you from discovering the reality of your proposal while standing before the Dark Lord, I will consider it time well spent.”

Dracena hated him. For perhaps thirty seconds, she genuinely hated him. Then she realized something worse. He was right. She took a deep breath, and gathered herself. She put on the “Malfoid face” she wore when she wanted to lock the world behind a door.

“Enough.” She said, with a calmness she didn’t feel.

“Granger cannot know either.”

Dracena shut her eyes.

“Hermione…”

“No.”

“She can lie.”

“Better than Potter.”

“Much better.”

“Which is irrelevant.”

Dracena opened her eyes. “Why?”

“Because Miss Granger will attempt to help you.”

“That’s one of her better qualities.”

“Not here.” Snape returned to his chair. “She will research. She will plan. She will worry. She will watch you. She will watch Potter watching you. She will attempt to anticipate problems. Eventually she will do something intelligent.”

Dracena frowned.

“That sounds useful.”

“Which is precisely what will make it dangerous.”

Dracena understood.

“And Dumbledore?”

“No.”

She stared at him.

“Dumbledore has to know.”

“He does not.”

“You’re serious?”

“Entirely.”

“But you trust him.”

Snape’s expression became unreadable. “With my life.”

“Then why…”

“Because the Headmaster is one of the most perceptive men the Dark Lord knows.”

Dracena waited.

“And if Albus Dumbledore believes Lucius Malfoid’s daughter has finally embraced her father’s cause, the Dark Lord will find that fact extremely persuasive.”

Dracena felt sick.

“And I have to let him think…?”

“Yes.”

Dracena stared at Snape.

“Who knows, then?”

“If this were to be done?”

“Yes.”

“Me.”

“And?”

“No one else.”

Dracena blinked.

“No one?”

“No one.”

“What if something happens to you?”

“Then you have discovered one of the many reasons this is a terrible idea.”

She stared at him.

“That’s insane.”

“At last, we agree.”

Dracena stood again and began pacing.

“This isn’t what I thought.”

“You thought?”

“I thought…”

“I know what you thought.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I assure you…”

“I thought I’d lose Harry.”

Snape stopped.

Dracena turned toward him.

“I knew that.”

Her voice shook.

“I knew if I did this, Harry and I couldn’t stay together. Voldemort wants me because Harry loves me. That’s the whole point. If I’m still with Harry, the first thing Voldemort will do is ask me to use him. To hurt him.”

Snape said nothing.

“So I knew.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“And your solution?”

“I leave him.”

“Potter will not believe you.”

“I’ll make him.”

“How?”

Dracena didn’t answer.

Snape waited.

“He knows you.” Snape said.

“I know.”

“He knows how you speak when you’re angry. He knows how you behave when you’re frightened. He knows when you’re lying badly.”

“I know.”

“He will ask questions.”

“I know.”

“He will follow you.”

“I know.”

“He will probably conclude that your father has threatened you.”

“I know.”

“He may decide to confront Lucius.”

“Oh, Merlin.”

“Quite.”

Dracena sank back into the chair. Snape watched her.

“You have promised Potter things, I assume.”

Dracena looked at him sharply. “That is none of your business.”

“Then I shall take that as confirmation.”

She looked away. “We don’t lie about not knowing.” she remembered him saying. Harry had promised her that. So had she.

Snape’s voice came quietly. “Can you do it?”

Dracena didn’t answer.

“Can you look at Harry Potter and convince him that whatever exists between you is finished?”

She heard Harry’s voice, again in her head.

“And if we can’t?”

“Dracena, don’t.”

“Seriously. If we can’t?”

Then another memory.

“You can’t say it.”

“I want to.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I know.”

And then she remembered:

“We don’t lie about not knowing.”

Dracena swallowed.

“I don’t know.”

Snape’s mouth tightened.

“‘I don’t know’ is not sufficient.”

“It has to be.”

“No.”

“It has to be.“ Dracina said, sharply.

Snape went silent. Dracena looked at him through wet eyes.

“I love Harry.” Her voice broke. She didn’t care. “I really, truly love him.”

Snape looked away.

“And it’s because I love him that I have to be willing to do this.” She wiped her face. “For him. And more importantly, for me.”

Snape’s eyes returned to her.

Dracena continued before she lost her nerve. “This isn’t just about Harry.”

“Then what is it about?” Snape asked.

“I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You should really try, Miss Malfoid. It’s your best hope to convince me.”

Dracena stared at her hands. “I read about Edwin Pritchard.”

Snape knew the name. She could tell.

“He was found dead.”

“Yes.”

“Death Mark over the body.”

“Dark Mark.”

“Yeah, that. Whatever.”

She rubbed her palms against her robes. “I knew his son. Not well. He was a Hufflepuff. Graduated last year.”

Snape listened.

“His father came to Hogwarts once wearing this ridiculous badger scarf. It moved. Like some kind of silly badger.”

Snape continued listening.

“He was funny.”

“I remember Mr. Pritchard.”

“You do?”

“I taught his son for seven years.”

“Oh.”

Dracena looked down. “Father knew him.”

Snape continued to listen, saying nothing.

“I don’t know if Father had anything to do with what happened. I don’t want you to tell me.”

“Why?” Snape said, genuinely curious.

“Because I’m not asking you to make this easy.”

Snape studied her.

“I don’t know what my father has done.”

She spoke slowly now.

“I know he’s involved. I know he’s involved more deeply than I wanted to believe. I know he gives Voldemort money. Contacts. Influence.”

She looked down at her hands, thinking intently.

“I know he protected me.” Her voice softened. “He stood up to him for me.”

Snape said nothing, watching and listening.

“I’m proud of him for that.” Her eyes filled again. “And I’m furious with him.” She hadn’t intended to say that, but once it was out, more followed. “Because if he can stand there and tell Voldemort no for me, then he knows how to say no.”

Snape remained perfectly still.

“So why doesn’t he?” Her voice cracked. “For everybody else?”

A single tear fell down her cheek.

“I don’t understand.” She shook her head. “Maybe there are things I don’t know. There probably are. Maybe Father thinks he’s protecting us. Maybe he thinks Voldemort is necessary. Maybe he thinks whatever they’re doing is worth it. Maybe he’s trapped. Maybe he’s frightened.” She laughed bitterly. “Maybe I’m still making excuses for him.”

Snape didn’t rescue her from that thought. Dracena was grateful.

“I don’t know.”

Again. Those three words, but Harry had taught her something about them. Sometimes I don’t know was the most honest thing a person could say.

“What I do know is that people are dying.”

Snape’s face remained unreadable.

“And I know it’s wrong.” Dracena looked directly at him. “And if I can do something that helps stop it, I think I have to.”

“You think.”

“I do.”

“Those are different statements.”

“Fine.” She breathed. “I have to.” she said, with a bravery she didn’t quite feel.

Snape leaned back. “You will lose Potter.”

“I know.”

“You may lose your father.”

Dracena’s face tightened. “I know.”

“Your mother.”

“I know.”

“Your home.”

“I know.”

“Your inheritance.”

“I know.”

“Your name.”

That one hurt unexpectedly. Dracena looked at him. “My name is mine.”

Snape’s eyes sharpened. She hadn’t meant it defiantly, but suddenly she heard herself saying it to her father.

“I belong to me.”

“My name is mine.” she repeated. “Even if my family decides otherwise.”

Snape said nothing.

Dracena’s hands were trembling again. “I could lose everything.”

“Yes.”

“I could die.”

“Yes.”

“I’m frightened.”

“Good.”

Dracena stared at him.

“Good?”

“Only fools are not frightened.”

“I’m terrified.”

“Better.”

“You’re awful at comforting people.”

“It is a skill I have lacked after many years at Hogwarts.”

Despite everything, Dracena laughed. It lasted only a second. Then she looked down at her hands.

“I’m going to be a mess.”

Snape didn’t contradict her.

“I know that.” Her voice became very quiet. “If I do this, I’m going to hurt Harry. I’m going to hurt Hermione. Dumbledore will think I’m horrible. My father might think he’s won, which somehow makes this even worse.” She swallowed. “And I’m going to hate myself sometimes.”

Snape watched her.

“But if I don’t do anything...” She stopped. That possibility frightened her differently. “If I go back to school tomorrow and pretend I never heard that conversation, and somebody else ends up like Mr. Pritchard...” She looked up at Snape, pleading “I’ll always wonder.”

Snape said nothing.

“For the rest of my life, I’ll wonder whether there was something I could have done.” Her eyes met his. “I think that would make a bigger mess of me.”

For the first time since she’d entered the office, Severus Snape looked at Dracena Malfoid without sarcasm, irritation or contempt. He simply looked at her, for an uncomfortably long time.

“You are not ready.”

Dracena’s heart sank. “But…” Dracena began

I did not say no.” Snape said, a touch of warmth in his voice he never heard before.

She stopped. Snape rose. “You came here with an idea.” He walked around the desk. “A dangerous idea. Poorly conceived, sentimentally motivated, strategically incomplete and based upon an almost insulting ignorance of the organization you propose to infiltrate.” The ice returned to Snape’s voice

Dracena glared at him. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

He stopped in front of her. “But not entirely without merit.”

Dracena stared. “Really?”

“Do not look so pleased. It is unbecoming.”

She immediately stopped looking pleased.

“The Dark Lord already wants you involved. That matters.”

Dracena nodded.

“Your father has explicitly denied him access to you. That matters more.”

She hadn’t considered that. “Why?”

“Because things being forbidden makes things more valuable.”

“Oh.”

“You are Lucius Malfoid’s daughter. You are a Slytherin. You are connected to families the Dark Lord wishes to control. You have been publicly close to Potter and Granger. And, if presented correctly, your apparent repudiation of them could be interpreted as evidence of commitment.”

Dracena listened.

“But the greatest obstacle remains Potter.”

“I know.”

“No, I still don’t think you do.”

Snape stepped closer.

“Understand this now.” His voice was very quiet. “If you proceed, Harry Potter is not your accomplice.”

Dracena held his gaze.

“He is not your confidant.”

Her throat tightened.

“He is not your secret lover.”

She said nothing.

“He is not waiting for you at the end of this.”

That one landed. Dracena’s eyes burned.

“You do not know what he will be.” Snape said.

“No.” Dracena whispered “Neither do you.”

Snape’s expression was merciless. “You will not permit yourself to imagine that Potter owes you forgiveness because you did this partly for him.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You will.”

Dracena started to object. Snape cut her off.

“You will imagine the explanation. You will imagine his face when he learns the truth. You will imagine him understanding. You will imagine everything returning to what it was.”

Dracena couldn’t look at him anymore.

“You will use that fantasy to comfort yourself.” He paused. “And if you do, it will make you weak.”

A tear slipped down Dracena’s cheek. She wiped it away.

“So what am I supposed to believe?”

“The truth.”

She looked up.

Snape’s face had changed. Only slightly. Suddenly Dracena wondered how much of this conversation was actually about her.

“You do not know whether Harry Potter will forgive you.”

There it was again. “I don’t know.”

“You do not know whether he will still love you.”

Her chest hurt.

“You do not know whether your father will survive this war. You do not know whether your mother will forgive you. You do not know what Dumbledore will think of you when this is finished.”

Snape’s voice became quieter.

“You control none of those things.”

Dracena stared at him.

“You control Dracena Malfoid.”

Something inside her shifted.

“Nothing else.”

Dracena breathed. Once. Twice. Then she nodded.

Snape returned to his desk and sat, picked up his quill and returned to marking essays.

Dracena stared at him.

“That’s it?”

“For today.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Go to your dormitory.”

“And?”

“You need to think.”

“Professor Snape…”

His quill scratched across parchment.

“Think.”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Then attempt it competently.”

Dracena stood. She made it halfway to the door.

“Miss Malfoid.”

She stopped. Snape still wasn’t looking at her.

“Tell no one about this conversation.”

Dracena swallowed.

“Not Harry. Not Hermione. Not Dumbledore.”

Dracena nodded as she reached for the door.

“And Miss Malfoid?”

She turned. Snape’s expression was unreadable again.

“Return tonight at eleven and tell me if you’ve changed your mind. If so, I will think no less of you.”

Dracena blinked. That might have been the kindest thing Severus Snape had said to her in six years, which was depressing.

“And if I haven’t?”

Snape regarded her for a long moment.

“Then we begin by teaching you how to lie. I will try and teach you to become a proper spy in the limited amount of time we have.”

Dracena’s hand tightened around the door handle.

“I already know how to lie.”

Snape’s mouth twitched. It wasn’t a smile. It was worse. “No, Miss Malfoid.”

He lowered his eyes to the essay.

“You know how to lie to your father.” The quill scratched across the parchment. “Tomorrow, we discover whether you can lie to Harry Potter. And then, you’ll become a Death Eater.”