Chapter Text
Many citizens fought against us initially. But after a few public Avadas and Dementor’s Kisses, the people learned that the best way to stay alive was to follow our orders. There were already so many Death Eaters at the Ministry, dissenting voices were quashed like baby animals crying in a room full of roaring giants and trolls. Or they disappeared somewhere in the Department of Mysteries, after having angered a particularly short-tempered Death Eater, never to be seen again. For all Fudge’s talk about how the Ministry was meant to protect people, the building housed a surprising number of traps that could kill or maim. Our soldiers took full advantage of this, of course.
The truth of my identity spread like wildfire. A few days after we took over, there was a Daily Prophet article speculating how I’d ended up becoming Tom’s bride. It was full of off-base psychoanalyses, insults to my intelligence, and outlandish conspiracy theories. This missive opened the floodgates to several weeks of scathing Letters to the Editor. Tom and I found those verbal tantrums highly amusing—because of the content, and because ranting to a newspaper was the only thing these people could do. Free speech was the only power they had left, and it had become akin to a child throwing a fit because they didn’t get their way.
A toddler can scream all they want, but their behavior won’t alter their family’s power structure.
The citizens can get angry all they want, but their insults won’t reduce my power. Or Tom’s. The way we see it: let them hate, so long as they fear.
As soon as we took hold of the Ministry, we questioned all the employees to make sure they understood how our world was changing, and how they would need to conduct themselves. Those who quietly acquiesced remained unharmed. Those who retaliated either ended up dead or in our service, in a role akin to house elves—never to be released, under any circumstances. (We knew that these new servants would try to run away; so we placed a tracking curse on all of them, which would kill them instantly if they set one foot outside the properties where they were stationed. Lucius Malfoy, in particular, has had a lot of fun with this.)
Tom has never actually wanted to run the British Wizarding government or take over the world—he’s not the late Gellert Grindelwald. He has simply realized that controlling the country’s magical institutions is the only way for him to be able to do what he wants. This is why he’s always prioritized planting so many Death Eaters at the Ministry—and unseating the Minister of Magic. He killed Fudge the day after we took over Hogwarts, and replaced him with Sinjin: a young, smart man who’d already been working at the Ministry for years before we’d seized control, so he knew all the ins and outs of the institution. He has done a marvelous job as Minister. So, no, Fudge did not detain Tom and me and have us Kissed after the graduation ceremony.
Having a Death Eater in the highest governmental office allows Tom to work behind the scenes, which is what he does best. Like me, he’s very reclusive and does not enjoy dealing with the banalities of politics.
Francesca has continued to visit regularly, and she often relays what people are saying about me, in and out of the Ministry. Some details she overhears, while others have come up in her own personal conversations. No one outside of our ranks has discovered that she’s a Death Eater, even though she’s landed her dream job in the Department of Mysteries. She’s a classic chameleon, altering her outward presentation to blend in with her surroundings. Her friends and colleagues confide in her readily.
And one of those “friends” is my sister.
During a recent visit, Francesca told me that my family has quietly accepted their fate. They’re too afraid and exhausted to put up a fight—and they’re thankful to live in America. They don’t want to be anywhere near Tom and me. My parents had apparently considered writing a statement for The Daily Prophet to divorce themselves from me, right after the Hogwarts coup; but they couldn’t bring themselves to follow through because I was still their child, and they couldn’t bear to deliberately cause me pain.
I found that curious.
They had caused me immeasurable pain when I was a child, and then played the victim when I had reacted to their abuse—sometimes going so far as to taunt me for being upset and angry, which only poured salt in my gaping wounds. In their eyes, my every strong emotion was an inappropriate overreaction. Every tear shed was a sign of hypersensitivity. My every angry word was borne of mental illness and an innate desire to harm them for fun; it was never a sign that I’d simply snapped after being pushed too hard. They had consistently invalidated my needs, disrespected my boundaries, and demonized me for wanting to be myself. They’d acted as if my personality and self-expression were unfair punishments from on high, meant to ruin their lives, and so I grew up seeing myself as evil.
And then they wondered why I gravitated toward the Dark Arts as I grew up.
They’d had no problem denigrating me, hitting me, screaming at me, making me cry, and denying me meals when I was living under their roof. And yet, upon finding out that I had married Lord Voldemort, they couldn’t even submit one character-damning word about me to a newspaper...because they didn’t want to hurt me.
Or so they said.
Perhaps they only felt comfortable insulting me in the privacy of their own home, absent the risk of an outside observer judging their treatment of me—and thus forcing them to examine their own behavior.
Whether they were trying to protect their hypocrisy or not, my parents wisely decided to keep their heads down after the coup, and just go about their lives. And Morgan, for her part, now only speaks freely in front of Francesca, and no one else. Little does she know that Francesca has only retained contact in order to keep tabs on my family. Tom isn’t thrilled about the way they speak of us in hushed tones; but he knows that they are no threat, and so he ignores them.
As many other people do want to hurt me, Tom has since shown me how to create a Horcrux, in case the worst should happen. I chose one of my sketchbooks from my teen years, and we now keep it locked in our gigantic lair behind the library. I figure that one day, when I reach a certain age, I will opt to die and resurrect through my Horcrux with the lifeforce of an unsuspecting victim, the way Tom did with Ginny Weasley. That way, Tom and I will be young, strong immortals together forever. How morbidly romantic.
We spend a lot of time in our hidden chamber, and in the library, when we aren’t travelling on missions and conducting magical research. It is invigorating to know that I get to spend my life with the only person who shares my hunger for knowledge and magical prowess, especially in the Dark Arts. We are always learning and honing our skills; and clearly, neither of us can get enough. Every day is a new adventure. And it’s always fun experimenting on people who think they have what it takes to usurp us—they’re dead before they can even begin to formulate a plan of attack. Their horror, upon realizing that their egos had been mightier than their abilities, cracks us up every time.
In a spectacularly hilarious turn of events, Francesca began spending a lot of time around the werewolf Fenrir Greyback a few years ago, and eventually became his partner. Tom was mildly amused, as he’d never thought of Greyback as marriage material—Mimevas let it slip that her one date with him had been an absolute disaster—but Francesca had wooed him with her twisted mind and curiosity about his lycanthropic way of life. I'm not certain they will marry, but I’m glad that they're happy together, regardless.
Francesca also quit her job at the Ministry and returned to Hogwarts as the Herbology professor. This development has proven infinitely useful to us—when Tom and I travel to Hogwarts to monitor its operation, Francesca gives us information that many other teachers would try to withhold, such as dissenting voices planning an uprising, or promising students with the potential to become Death Eaters.
Speaking of becoming Death Eaters, Ashlee retained contact with our old Housemate, Monica, who confessed her desire to join our ranks a few years ago. We’ve reconnected since then; so Death Eater meetings have become something of a social event, in addition to the standard fare.
Also, Zach turned Ashlee into a vampire, at her own request. She had apparently been fascinated by vampires for a while, and she was no longer content with being human. She and Zach are the only vampires in our ranks. They’ve become very close friends because of that.
The atmosphere among the Death Eaters has changed dramatically since my recruitment. Seeing as Tom got what he wanted by taking over Hogwarts and the Ministry—infinite power and freedom—we’re no longer this secret organization scurrying around like rats in the gutter. We are running the British Wizarding world. We are the authority. We’ve gotten louder, and we’re out in the open. Tom and I can travel anywhere else we choose, without worrying about being harmed. People know the consequences for opposing us. It’s so refreshing to be able to walk into a government building unbothered, stroll through Diagon Alley, or even just have dinner with Tom at a restaurant. We are always guarded by henchmen, but we can at least go outside. Life feels more normal now.
Still, though, no one ever comes to our home except Francesca. No one else even knows where we live. That will likely never change.
But what has changed is the ethos of the Death Eaters, with regard to blood status. Tom’s revised views on the subject began to spread quickly, once people realized that he cared more about a prospective recruit’s loyalty and abilities—and when he stopped asking new soldiers for their blood status. It wasn’t even a topic of conversation anymore. Our ranks already knew that their Muggle relatives were forbidden from encroaching on our plans, and so blood status became irrelevant. As Tom told me the night before we seized Hogwarts: he views all magical beings as superior, regardless of their ancestry. As long as they’re not house elves, of course.
Tom still can’t stand Muggles, but he has begrudgingly admitted that magic would likely die off without them. Therefore, he has placed a few Death Eaters in administrative positions at the Ministry, to monitor who is breeding with whom. When a wizard and a Muggle have a child, a Death Eater finds the family and instructs the Muggle to stay in the shadows; to avoid the magical world, under threat of death. Our attitude is: You leave us alone, and we’ll leave you alone. Some Muggles have died trying to break this rule, but most have slinked back inside their homes and accepted the new state of things.
Many older Death Eaters objected to this new form of governance in the beginning, as we knew they would, but Tom and I convinced some of them that it was worthwhile. Those who refused to budge had to acknowledge that their prejudices were no longer in fashion. They began keeping their true feelings to themselves—Tom made it clear that they were still serving us, and so they’d either continue to obey, or die. Predictably, some did sacrifice themselves to Tom’s wand in a frenzied rage while trying to make him see reason. But the people who have joined us lately care more about Tom’s true vision for the Wizarding world, and less about blood status. Magic is might.
We have also revolutionized the Hogwarts curriculum, and we have the final say in the school’s staffing. There are Dark Arts lessons as well as Defense classes, because Tom wants students to learn about all aspects of magic. He viewed the school’s prior aversion to teaching the Dark Arts as censorship, and few things anger him more than having access to knowledge restricted.
Some longtime professors have remained, while others have died and/or been replaced. McGonagall passed away a few years after our overthrow—probably more from a broken heart than old age. She held out as long as she could, having lived and taught at Hogwarts for decades; but she simply could not withstand the pressures of the changing world, and how our power impacted her beloved school. Her heart gave out one night, while she’d been attempting to address the student body over dinner, and she could not be resuscitated. My former Housemate Leah took over her post of Transfiguration teacher, and she has settled into the role very well. She’s neutral about the way Tom and I run things, rendering her far less susceptible to emotional fatigue, the way McGonagall was. It’s a good fit.
Tom, of course, appointed himself Headmaster. He doesn’t live at Hogwarts, as per his initial plan from his youth, but he spends enough time there that his influence is felt deeply in every corner of the castle. He couldn’t be happier.
We have also instated Sheena as the Defense and Dark Arts instructor. She has been running a joke shop with Chicky since I was a Hogwarts student, and now she brings in Chicky as a guest speaker for special lessons. (Even if Sheena hadn’t told us about these visits, the disgruntled students exiting the classroom covered in pink glitter would have given us a clue.) Sheena sometimes plays practical jokes on her students as well, to train them to become more aware of their surroundings. And also because she just thinks it’s hilarious.
Since Tom now controls Hogwarts, he has finally removed the curse he’d placed on the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. He’d originally planned on taking over the school by teaching Defense and then becoming Headmaster, but Dumbledore had thwarted him. After a failed interview with the former Headmaster a few years after graduating, in which he’d vied for the Defense position, he’d placed a curse on the teaching post so that no professor would last longer than a year. Was it petty? Yes. But did I think he’d gone overboard? No. Dumbledore had been a thorn in Tom’s side since his matriculation at Hogwarts, and so I couldn’t blame him for wanting to retaliate in such a manner. In his place, I’m sure I would have done the exact same thing.
I tried to hide my amusement when Tom admitted all of this to me, but I was unsuccessful. Thankfully, he wasn’t angry; he just rolled his eyes and let me laugh. Since I was giggling over the hilarity of the situation, and not making fun of him, I was safe. I know better than to mock him in any fashion.
One thing Tom never tolerates is disrespect, in public or at home. Though he and I are equals outside of our estate, I have made peace with the fact that he truly is my superior and I must obey him. It’s taken some getting used to, given how fiercely independent I’ve always been, but I’ve had no other choice. Without surrendering to Tom’s authority, I would never have attained even half my level of success as an adult. Absent Tom’s influence, I may have been able to land a decent job, but I doubt I would have ended up in the lap of luxury...or married to Dark magic royalty. So I have no reason to complain.
And truthfully, I don’t mind my station. Tom and I interact almost as equals at home, and we’ve never had another episode like the one after he first showed me his globe. We have arguments, sure; but I keep my tone respectful when I disagree with him, and he always listens to what I have to say. I’ve long since grown accustomed to our dynamic.
Tom and I have not lived “happily ever after,” but our life has become more than good enough for me. I can speak my mind and do what makes me happy. I can simply exist, without looking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not incriminating myself by being myself. I have finally found my place in the world, and nothing is better than that.
And I’m still adorning everyone’s walls with my creepy paintings.
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