Fuck the disclaimer, you know Harry Potter doesn't belong to me.
I started this story about two years ago, it was the first one, but I took it off. I felt like putting it back on as a reminder to finish it. I only got one chapter done last time so hopefullly I'll get more than that this time around.
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There was no moon out, and only a small fire gave off what little light there was. Around the fire stood silent, unmoving figures, their faces concealed by masks. But there was one who didn't wear a mask, who sat stoically, watching the flames reach up to the sky.
This man, who boldly showed himself without fear or consequence, sat upon an uncomfortable looking chair; more of a throne than a chair really. He looked middle-aged, almost human, but for his crimson eyes, which told another story. Gone was his snakelike visage that he first had on his return, but somehow, he looked more frightening. Eyes, cruel and unnatural, showed no mercy or kindness in his falsely human face. This man, if he could be called such, was in fact Lord Voldemort.
No one dared to speak. They had been waiting for quite awhile; some of them were getting restless, shifting from foot to foot, stretching. A warning glance from Voldemort stopped this at once. Suddenly, though, the sound of leaves rustling heralded the appearance of two new figures. At once, everyone was on the alert, tensing, warily observing the two newcomers.
Their faces were hooded, features covered in darkness, and they only thing you could see were their eyes gleaming slightly from the firelight. They ignored the others, heading straight for Voldemort. Voldemort, however, didn't say a word. He only stared at them, face expressionless. The smaller of the two new figures, though, understood immediately what he wanted. He hastily bowed, pulling the other down with him, and waited. Voldemort still stared, perhaps he wanted them to kiss his shoes or something equally demeaning, but he would never get such a reaction from these two.
He realized this and spoke, "So, you have come…and you're late." Voldemort uttered the last in a low, deadly voice. He did not like to be kept waiting and a collective shiver swept through the awaiting Death Eaters. One never knew when Voldemort attacked, even if the person was innocent and on his side.
"My apologies Lord Voldemort, but there was some," The taller man paused somewhat, thinking carefully on what he wanted to say, "There was some discontent over this decision. However, we are one on this now."
"So, you'll do as I asked." This was not a question, but the taller figure treated it as such.
"Yes, we will do as you ask," responded the taller of the two as he stood up, though his voice suggested he would rather do anything else.
"Then give me your arm, Adrian."
"Lord Voldemort, we are not your minions, and so we have no need to bear your mark," the smaller one finally spoke up, while stopping Adrian from revealing his left forearm.
Voldemort's eyes briefly flashed, the only sign that showed his anger at being questioned. "Which is why I ask that only one of you bear my mark. See this as reminder that treachery will not be tolerated…and a reminder for what is at stake for you. Unless you want to sacrifice one-? "
"NO," the smaller person roared, knowing exactly who would be sacrificed.
"Lord Voldemort, those blood rituals of the pass aren't practiced any longer. They haven't been done in over a thousand years. Do not insult us by suggesting it," the taller one, the more reasonable of the two, cautioned.
"Then give me your arm," Voldemort commanded.
Adrian hesitated, then cautiously pulled up his sleeve, his hands shaking almost imperceptibly as he offered his arm to Voldemort. Voldemort impatiently grasped the offered hand, and with his other hand placed his wand upon the other's forearm. Red light emitted from it, burning the flesh, as he slowly drew out an image. Adrian may have showed emotion, but the observing crowd could not see for his face was half covered in darkness, and no sound escaped him.
Voldemort removed his hand, revealing the sign of the Death Eaters, a sign that many still feared and hated. It was a grotesque image, a skull with a serpent protruding out of its mouth, but it had a simple, deadly beauty to it. Adrian clutched his forearm harshly; his finger nails digging into the flesh, almost as though he wanted to tear it out with his bare hands, but he said nothing.
"Excellent, how about some drinks to commemorate this event. I will feel quite the terrible hostess if I didn't offer anything to our new allies." With a snap of his slender fingers, house-elves appeared, passing out red liquid that could be wine or-and no one would put it pass Voldemort to do this-blood. He leaned back, smirking. The smaller of the two made motion as though to attack him, but Adrian wisely held him back. The smirk on Voldemort's visage only widen in response. A tiny house-elf offered the wine or whatever is was to the two new people. They did not accept it but Voldemort seemed to expect this.
A sudden load crack, like a gunshot, was heard. It was that annoying, stealth-lacking sound that was always present when someone apparated. The newcomer went straight to Voldemort and whispered something in his ear. Surprisingly enough, Voldemort did not seem angry at the interruption, he seemed glad.
"Sorry to cut this meeting short, but I have business to attend to. Our next meeting will be on the New Moon and, if you succeed, we will start planning. Don't be late," said Voldemort as he drank the red liquid. "And I hope to see others of your kind here next time. Be prepared to accept the Unbreakable Vow." The two only nodded, impatient to leave now that their purpose here was finished. And with that, a series of cracks signaled the departure of the Death Eaters and Voldemort.
As the last of the cracks died, the smaller one spoke up, "Adrian, you did not have to do this. We have not explored all our options yet."
Adrian glanced at the person next to him, his expression one of surprise, although the other could not see it. "I keep forgetting that you have been with us only a little awhile. No, we have exhausted all our options. This is the only way, and if it wasn't, it is still the quickest and most efficient. And we have waited so long for an opportunity such as this it would be mere folly to ignore it now." Imaging the look on the other's face he said, "I do not like this anymore than you do, but it has to be done. And let us count our blessings now, after all, Voldemort could have asked for much more."
"What are you going to do about that," replied the smaller one, pulling up the other's sleeve and pointing at the Dark Mark.
Adrian didn't answer but took out a dagger and expertly started slicing out the skin that contained Dark Mark. Blood profusely poured from the wound as Adrian forced the offending chunk of skin out and merely chucked it away. He placed two fingers on the wound, whispering softly, as the skin knitted back together. Examining his handiwork in the firelight, he was surprised, and angry, to see the Dark Mark still there. With one final swoop of his hand, he amputated his whole forearm off.
The taller one immediately clutched the stump, healing it, but not replacing the forearm. He easily could have done so, but he knew, as did Adrian, that the mark would still be there if he did. He also knew that Adrian would rather go without an arm then bear the mark; secure in the false sense of freedom that the unseen mark provided.
0_--_00_--_0
Instead of a clear night to welcome them home, it was pouring and thundering. Harry looked to the ceiling, and all he saw were the heavy rain drops that pounded away and occasionally a flash of lightening. Gloomy. Just like his mood. Sirius, who he loved like a father and brother, was dead. He had lost weight over the past couple months and it wasn't all because of the Dursley's neglect. Sighing, he listened to the rest of Dumbledore's speech.
"I apologize for not being able to introduce you to one of our new professors, he seems to be missing. However, I would like to introduce you to Professor Slughorn, our new Potions Master, and Professor Snape, who you all know, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
As soon as Dumbledore finished announcing the Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions position and was seated, the Great Hall broke out into whispers and murmurs, furthering the disheartening mood. Even after the food appeared and everyone finished eating a hearty meal, they still refused to converse louder than a whisper, as though afraid to speak over the rain. It was rather depressing.
"Harry, are you listening to me?" Hermione asked, worried about Harry. He had, once again, retreated into his own mind. She vaguely wondered if he talked to anyone since Sirius' death. She doubted it; who would he talk to if not them? "Harry? HARRY?"
"Oh, sorry," Harry apologized. He knew Hermione and Ron were worried about him, saw the furtive glances coming his way. He could try to talk to them, knew they would always be there for him, but they wouldn't understand. They couldn't understand. So he tried to change the subject. "Hey, if Snape is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts and Slughorn is the Potions Master, what will the new teacher teach?"
"Oh, Harry, that's just what we were talking about. As far as I know, there are no vacancies. All the professors are present." And so they were, Harry confirmed as he counted the professors at the staff table. He was about to make another comment, but the crack of lightening flashed, blindingly, and a strong wind whipped the door opened. The Great Hall fell silent.
From the doorway strolled in a tall, lean man, hidden beneath a cloak. He casually walked to the high table, dripping wet, his gaze focused forward. Once he reached his destination, he lowered the hood covering his face and turned around. Harry couldn't see his features very well because of the distance, but he could tell the man had long, midnight-black hair and seemed young.
Dumbledore stood and clapped. "May I introduce you to Professor Erasmus. He will be instructing you in the fine art of wandless magic. Treat him with respect."