Seven of them. The Dark Lord had seen fit to send seven. The town was somber even before the Faceless Ones arrived, for the plague had swept through their people and taken most of the children.

'Burns. Darkwood. Grey.'

The three men stood and made their way through the hastily erected curtain, to sit in the black iron chairs and face the seven Faceless Ones.

'Evan Burns,' said the leader. The only one to have spoken to the people of the village. She had killed three when she appeared outside the village walls, and then destroyed the enchantments on the fortifications. And then she had waited while the other six gathered the villagers.

'Yes,' said Burns, his hands trembling beneath his robes.

'Your wand will be returned to you if you join the Dark Lord and aid us in bringing His rule to the rest of the world.' Her words were indifferent, monotone, for she had a task to complete, and Burns' answer did not greatly matter in the grand scheme of her master. 'Will you join Him?'

'No,' said Burns, and closed his eyes against the jet of green light that issued from her wand. One of the other Faceless Ones dragged the body out of the room.

'Deshawn Darkwood,' she said.

'Yes,' said Darkwood. His hands were still, for he had made his peace with his god hours before, and waited only for her whispered curse to end him. 'I will not join you.'

The Killing Curse took him, and a second Faceless One disposed of the body.

'Clint Grey.'

'I will not,' said Clint, and the light came, and the next three villagers were summoned.

The village burned at the rising of the sun. The seven Faceless Ones waited only to see that the town was leveled before Disapparating. They had taken four with them, four craven fools who believed that life under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was preferable to entering the next life with a pure soul. They would not be Marked, but would be given masks and cloaks and sent to the front lines to die.

Five of them. The Dark Lord's rising had caused a greater resistance and the people of Europe had begun to fight, and the Dark Lord could spare less of his servants than before.

They had erected magical barriers, invoking ancient enchantments learned from their dark master. They had sectioned off a city, one which had no walls, a wizarding town in the center of Spain. The inhabitants of the place were herded together and their wands taken away. Few of them dared to protest; the methods of the Dark Lord were widely known, and the curses his servants used were no less painful.

They were summoned before the five, as had always been the custom when the Dark Lord recruited souls to his Mark.

'Will you join the Dark Lord?' the senior Angel of Death asked the first woman, not asking her name.

'Yes,' said the woman, and her daughter was returned to her.

The second man would not answer, and when the Angel asked him again, he began to sob. He was killed, and his baby son was left, screaming, next to his lifeless body.

The third man stiffened when asked, but refused to move or make a sound, even when asked a third time.

When the Angel threatened death to his loved ones, he laughed and told her there were none left, and that he had nothing more to lose.

The town burned at the rising of the sun. The five Death Eaters did not even stay to witness the destruction, for the Dark Lord grew impatient, and they had thirty-four new recruits to whom they could give orders.

The Dark Lord had few servants to spare, for the Order was growing and magical Britain was fighting. Three, now, he sent, to each recruiting party. Three only, and those three his least needed.

But three Death Eaters, given proper curses, could subdue a village, and so they did, shattering the shielding magics around a central African village, where the wizards and magicless lived together, and the only English they had ever heard was from a missionary in the 20s who had fled in horror at what he termed Satan-worshipping.

The villagers were gathered and brought before the demons. The elders of the village explained to the people what the demons wanted, and then explained to the demons that the people would not join them.

The three Death Eaters burned the village, and moved on, capturing a more Westernized village and enlisting all the inhabitants who were parents, all of whose children had been Cruciated until they agreed to join.

The village did not burn, simply because there was no one to burn with it. The Death Eaters mass-produced Portkeys, and transported the villagers to the Dark Lord to be given battle orders.

Only one. The Dark Lord's power was slipping, the Order of the Phoenix growing, and the sheer force of the Wizarding world was being brought to bear on his armies. Only one was sent at a time now.

She appeared on the outskirts of a village deep in the heart of China. Still a Wizarding village, however, and one that knew the events of the world beyond the borders of its country.

She moved through the town, and was halfway to the center when three Stunners smashed against her shield. She retaliated, but the village fought, and her body was Vanished at morning.

That village burned. The Dark Lord felt the death of his servant, a Marked one, no less, and he sent three more to use Fiendfyre and obliterate the town.

And then he was gone.

In the early morning, Petunia Dursley opened her door and almost stepped on the boy.

'Vernon!' she screeched, waking Harry. 'There's a baby on the mat!'

'Chuck it away,' Vernon shouted from the kitchen. 'What does it want?'

She read the note Spellotaped to his chest.

'It's Lily and James' boy,' she said, her voice quieter than it had been for years. 'They're… they're dead. And the Dark Lord… the Dark Lord is…'

'What?' Vernon roared from the kitchen. 'Where are the kippers, darling?'

I made this fic in response to what I term Death Eater Hate. I feel that too many people consider all Death Eaters to be all evil, and that to use the Killing Curse on one would be a perfectly acceptable act.

Here's why I think that is wrong: Some of them were forced. Most of them were forced, in fact, in some way or another, and at some point or another. Many of them were threatened with something other than death.

Take the Malfoys, for instance. At the beginning of his career as a Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy took the Mark willingly and at that point was fair game for the Avada Kedavra. But towards the end of the series, he was being forced to serve You-Know-Who, his wife and son's lives were held over him as an assurance for his obedience, and he would have liked nothing better than to have renounced the Dark Lord and fled to America. Draco was also forced to serve, to keep his parents and himself alive.

Not all Death Eaters are good. But not all are evil. That's why I understand Harry's hesitation to use Stupefy during the Battle of the Seven Potters. That's why I wrote this fic.

Anyway... Peace out! Survive!