Through a Glass Darkly

A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face:

now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

I Corinthians 13:11-12]

Lieutenant Draco Malfoy, the youngest commissioned officer in Death Eater Intelligence, and its rising star. He does his job well, although without the enthusiasm that distinguished his father; he is well liked among the soldiers, and more than that he is respected. He is known for his temper, the Lieutenant, as he is known for his control. He is tough but fair, intelligent and dishonest, ambitious and lazy--in short, the perfect officer.

It is a matter of luck that he happens to be the officer on duty when they see it. He is in the small office reserved for the captain of the watch, sitting with his spurred boots on the desk, talking on a black market mobile phone to a girl he is not supposed to know. The knock comes and the sergeant, who has not learned to wait to be acknowledged, follows it immediately. Another man might be uncomfortable, caught doing something illegal on duty; Draco only says goodbye and pockets the phone before he rises to his feet. "Well, soldier," he asks. "What is it?"

The sergeant salutes and holds out the omnioculars without a word. Draco takes them out to the rampart, under the sweeping arc of the spotlight, and raises them to his eyes. He looks for a long time, as if he cannot quite believe what he is seeing, and the sergeant and the two guards on duty stand silently behind him. The night is quiet and dark, though they are only six miles outside London. There have been no planes since the war began, no cars, no electric lights.

Without a word Draco lets the omnioculars go. They fall three stories to the flagstone of the courtyard, and when they hit they shatter into a thousand sparking pieces. He turns and goes to his quarters, and the three men exchange glances before they follow. Draco shuts the door in their faces and leans against it, gathering his strength for a long moment until he can find the strength to stand. His face in the mirror above the fireplace is a dead man's, white and cold; his hair hangs in his eyes and the corners of his mouth tremble as he tries not to laugh.

"Friends, Romans, countrymen," he mouths, and the words are as ridiculous from him as they had once been from Mark Antony. His uniform is flattering; it suits his coloring. Dark green, so dark it looks black by torchlight--silver facings, the silver serpent on one shoulder and the dragon brooch of his cloak on the other. The high tab color of his dress uniform, the untidy ends of his pale hair, the Malfoy signet on his right hand and his wedding ring on his left; he is aware that they call him the Boy Lieutenant, and that the term is wholly undeserved. He grew up a long time ago, though he is only seventeen. He is old enough to have buried his parents, to have fathered a son, and to have led soldiers into battle and performed Avada Kedavra.

With his right hand he steadies his sword and turning in a swirl of cloak he faces the soldiers in the hall. There had been three when he had closed the door and now there were twenty-seven. "Sound the alarm," he says, his voice distant and cold. This is a moment that belongs to history. "I want every man and woman in this castle in the courtyard in five minutes." All of them salute and one of them goes at once. They are well trained, the Death Eaters; they know authority when they hear it. A moment later the great war horn of Merlin sounds, ringing through the stones like thunder pealing.

They will think it was an attack and they will come at once, some seven-eighths of Voldemort's army, perhaps three hundred wizards in all. They will come half-dressed, cloaks and armor thrown over their nightclothes, swords unsheathed and wands clutched close. They will be off balance, dismayed, and Draco will take advantage of that. He will destroy them this night and remake them into something far stronger, into a weapon--into an army--a man can be proud to have at his back.

Draco has seen the truth, and he knows how to use it. He will tell them Voldemort is dead, that their way of life is dying. He will offer them a chance to make a stand. They will follow him, not all of them but most of them, because they are fools and they are desperate. He will lead them to war, as Voldemort refused to do, and he will win or fall. There is nothing now to stop him, nothing but the truth.

They scream when he comes, not the cry of a vulture but the roar of delirious children. He almost loves them, and he almost pities them. This is his father's dream, and he will die to fulfill it if he must. He tells them what he has seen, that Voldemort is dead and Potter dying, that Hogwarts has fallen and the Forbidden Forest is burning. He does not tell them that Dumbledore's forces have regrouped, that the old man is stronger than ever. Leadership is a burden he must bear alone.

He can see how badly they want to believe him. Voldemort has done badly by them; if ever there were an army that wanted to fight it is this one. It is what they are born for, and more than that it is what they are. Death Eaters. He binds them by their names and one by one he calls them forward. They kneel and swear to him and he takes their lives, takes their magic, because now it is his right. Their leader is dead and their worst enemy dying, and only the most powerful wizards in the world stand between them and victory. There is Draco to lead them now and he has destiny on his side.