One
thing was for certain. The Dark Mark hurt. A lot.
The newly black-cloaked figure bit their lip hard, trying to stifle the yell of
pain that was threatening to escape their mouth and pierce the silence of the
night.
The long, ghostly white fingers continued to stroke the exposed forearm of the
newly appointed Deatheater.
The other Deatheaters stood in a circle, surrounding their master and their
newest ally. Though each of their faces was shrouded in black and concealed
from outside view, they were all smiling coldly as they watched the newest
being admitted to their group.
As Voldemort continued to etch the Mark onto the skin of the hooded and masked
figure, he gave a demonic smile. The satisfaction of being able to shoot the
sharp, black flames out of his fingertips and fix them into the shape of the
skull and serpent onto the flesh of a supporter once again was wonderful.
The Dark Lord's blood-red eyes glittered as he imagined the look of pain that
must be contorting the face behind the mask of his new recruit.
Forcibly and mercilessly, Voldemort thrusted the last of the black, gleaming
flame into the fully formed Mark upon the Deatheaters arm.
The figure's battle to fight the pain seemed to have been forgotten. With the
last of the searing flame pushed into their skin, the Deatheater gave a raspy
yelp and a violent wrench. They sank to the ground, whimpering, and clutching
their newly marked forearm.
"You don't know how much it excites me to finally have you in my midst,
young Deatheater," Voldemort said softly, looking down at the figure that
was slumped on the ground, trembling uncontrollably. Obviously the pain was
still lingering. Voldemort looked on in satisfaction.
"I have always known that you had potential," Voldemort continued, a
sly smile inching worm-like across his pale face, "And I've watched you
for many years, waiting for the day that you would join me. And now that you
are sixteen, you are finally the right age to be of service to me and the rest
of my supporters."
Voldemort indicated the circle of Deatheaters that was surrounding him and the
young Deatheater.
The newly hooded figure on the ground nodded wordlessly, holding their arm up
to inspect it more closely. The Dark Mark glittered in a ray of moonlight,
making Voldemort's smile grow wider still.
"Your father would have been very proud to see you finally fulfilling your
destiny," Voldemort said so quietly that only the Deatheater in the middle
of the circle could hear him.
The hooded head at Voldemorts feet rose a few inches at the mention of their
father.
"I know he would have," They said in a barely audible voice, some
coldness seeping into their tone, "I know."
"Your father was a loyal Deatheater," Voldemort remarked, more loudly
this time, making a point to gaze at each Deatheater that was forming the
barrier around him. "He was an expert at concealing his loyalty to the
Dark Order from the rest of the Wizarding world. You will follow in his
footsteps, I trust?"
"Yes Master," said the firm voice from behind the hood.
"Good, good," Voldemort said, smiling in a snake-like manner, "I
can only hope that that you will not be quite as foolish as your father.
Recklessly brave he was, a faithful supporter, yes. But he was too willing to
do anything to gain more respect from me." Voldemort turned away from the
new Deatheater and spoke softly into the night.
"That was how he met his death," The Dark Lord hissed, "That was
an unnecessary loss of a good supporter.
The circle of Deatheaters that werre surrounding Voldemort shifted slightly.
Voldemort snapped at them. "All of you may go now! Go back to your homes.
I will summon you when I need you."
The Deatheaters looked quizzically at each other, but upon seeing Voldemorts
livid face they quickly and silently dissaparated, leaving him along with his
new supporter.
Voldemort suddenly whirled around to face his newest member, who gave a slight
jump, but recovered almost at once.
"You will not meet the same fate as your father, I trust. You will not
fail me in the end," he whispered venomously. It wasn't a question. His
eyes flashed and his upper lip curled.
The Deatheater seemed to regain new courage at his words. They straightened up
and stood tall as they faced Voldemort.
"I will not fail you, Master," they said strongly and determinedly.
They reached up with a steady fist and removed their black hood, looking
Voldemort in the eyes.
"I will not fail you or the Dark Order," they finished, eyes gleaming
as much as Voldemorts own.
"Very well," Voldemort said, his mouth curling into an amused smile,
"You may leave now. May you be forever faithful."
The young Deatheater kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes, then straitened up.
And Voldemort watched as Ginny Weasley disapparated swiftly and silently into
the darkness.
