Chapter Four: The Survivors
Deep in the Black Forest, three hooded figures huddled around a small, smokeless fire in tense silence. Around their necks hung thin chains of silver bearing a small charm, a circle within a triangle, divided by a vertical line. A branch cracked just beyond the light of the fire and instantaneously the three hoods were looking at the direction of the sound. Out of the shadows stepped a tall, thin figure, wrapped in a tattered traveling cloak. The three hooded figures stood, wands drawn. The unknown traveler raised his left arm, showing a scar of a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth. It was a Dark Mark that, as with the other Death Eaters, had turned into a scar after the death of Voldemort. Putting down his arm, the traveler then reached into the collar of his cloak and pulled out a silver chain with the same charm the three hooded figures wore.
The largest of the hooded figures nodded at the traveler and motioned for him to join them around the fire. The traveler's face shone clearly in the firelight. His eyes, narrow and black as coal, appeared even more menacing against his pale, nearly translucent skin. His nose was small and pointed. Though his thin-lipped mouth remained stoic, his entire body seemed to radiate a powerful, dark, and angry energy. Thin, bony hands pushed the thick brown locks of hair from his eyes, revealing a deep, ugly gash above his left eye and a scar above his right eye that, at first glance, appeared to be a lightning bolt. However, a closer look would reveal it to be more of an elongated S.
"What news do you bring, Nott," growled one of the smaller hooded figures.
"The wind is whispering that Harry Potter has been asked to teach at Hogwarts and that he has chosen not to return the Elder Wand to Dumbledore's grave," said Theodore Nott, son of one of Voldemort's earliest and most loyal Death Eaters who had perished in the Battle of Hogwarts. Theodore had followed in his father's footsteps, receiving the Dark Mark over the previous summer. After being shooed into the Hogs Head, with the rest of the Slytherian students and the underage students of the other houses, on the night of the battle, Theodore ran back from Hogsmeade to join his father in battle. He managed to survive with the gash and the scar, but the memory of seeing his father crushed under a stone thrown by magic from one of the towers still burned in his mind.
"If Potter has not returned the wand to the tomb, where has he hidden it?" inquired one of the hooded figures suspiciously. "Rumors mean nothing to us and lies will earn you death."
Nott's black eyes glared in controlled fury, "I assure you, I would not waste my breath speaking about that filthy bastard if I did not think it would assist us. McGonagall has asked Potter to teach, whether he has accepted, I do not know. In regards to the wand..." Nott paused, looking at each figure one by one. "The wand is in Potter's possession. He does not trust Gringotts to keep it safe, nor any other witch or wizard."
"So he is using the wand?" the largest of the figures said, a slight hint of worry in his voice.
"Did I say he was using the wand?" Nott asked, clearly annoyed. "He is using the holly and phoenix feather wand. The Elder Wand, he is merely safeguarding."
"Watch your tone boy," snapped all three hooded figures at once. "We will not tolerate disrespect from someone so young and weak."
And at that, Nott jumped to his feet, reaching into his cloak for his wand. Before he could pull it out, the three hooded figures had drawn their ones and together shouted, "Incarcerous!"
Thick ropes soared out of the three outstretched wands and wrapped tightly around Nott, forcing him to the ground with a heavy thud. One of the ropes had managed to cover Nott's mouth so he could only grunt and stare enraged at his assailants.
"Eventually, you will learn, boy, that if you want to continue to survive, you will learn to listen. We are among the last free Death Eaters, besides you. We have seen blood, death, and glory far beyond what you saw at Hogwarts. Our power and skill, clearly, surpasses yours. If you wish to avenge your father's death and destroy Potter and his feeble friends, you will do as we tell you. Once we have the cloak, the stone, and the wand, nothing can stop us from fulfilling the Dark Lord's plan," said the largest figure, with his back to Nott.
Nott, who had realized struggling against the magical ropes was a lost cause, lay still. Sighing, he gazed upward at the few stars that were visible through the canopy of the trees. He mentally kicked himself for letting his anger get the best of him once again. He knew the three figures, whose names and faces had yet to be revealed to him, were far stronger than he. As Nott lay there, wondering when he would be released from his bonds, the three hooded figures sat back down around the smokeless fire that had begun to wane. Nott, taking their movement as a sign he would not be released for a bit, let his thoughts drift to Potter. Immediately, his heart filled with a bitter, hot rage that constricted his muscles and made his bound hands shake.
Potter was the reason the Dark Lord was gone. Potter was the reason he had to live in these god-forsaken woods. Potter was the reason he was always looking over his shoulder, waiting for the day an Auror appears to take him to Azkaban.
Potter was the reason his father was dead.
Nott, who had always been a bit of a loner, was now truly alone. His mother had died quite a while ago and his father, who never re-married, had raised him. He could still remember his father's eyes billowing with pride, when he received the Dark Mark and vowed his eternal allegiance to the Dark Lord. Throughout the school year, his father sent him letters, updating him on the progress in taking control of the Ministry of Magic, identifying and "taking care of" the muggle-borns and blood traitors. His father always ended his letters reminding him that he was making his mother very proud and that a better son could not be asked for.
His heart swelled with hatred again. Potter must and will pay. Rage engulfed him. Still bound by the ropes the hooded figures had sent upon him, his whole body began to shake.
"Quit your struggling. We'll let you go once you've calmed down," the smallest of the figures said, without looking.
Nott's mind could think of nothing but torturing Harry Potter, making him feel every ounce of pain that Nott has felt since seeing his father's crushed, lifeless body. His breathing quickened. His body began to shake more violently. He no longer saw the midnight sky or the forest, only brilliant flashes of red as pure, hot wrath coursed through his veins.
Sensing a build-up of magical power, the three hooded figures turned towards Nott. They barely had time to shield their hidden faces, when a burst of black energy exploded from Nott's body, breaking the binding ropes and sending the three figures flying 50 feet. Nott stood, breathing heavily, fists clenched so tightly blood was beginning to ooze slowly through his fingers. The three figures stood and watched in amazement at the magical power radiating from Nott. Never before had they seen anything like this, not even from the Dark Lord.
After a few minutes, Nott's breathing slowed and he regained control of himself. When he finally unclenched his fists, the three figures walked toward him, cautiously. Nott, not fully sure what had just happened, stared at his bleeding hands.
"It appears," the largest figure said, "that we may have underestimated your power."
Nott looked up and gaped at the 20 foot circle of charred ground around him, even the trees that had been 10 feet behind him were gone, small dark circles the only sign of where they had been.
"Wha-What happened?" Nott asked, eventually finding his voice. Even though he could not see their faces, he could have sworn they were smiling at him.
"Proof that you have the power to beat Harry Potter and rule the wizarding world."