Warning Signs Read Desolation
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I do not own the published masterpiece of Harry Potter. I also do not write and publish this story to earn any sort of profit. I simply do it because I need to.
Claimer: I do, however, own and take full responsibility for this twisted story.
Chapter Seven
As they stood waiting, Harry became hyperaware of every little sound and movement around him; the insistent ticking of the grandfather clock in the West Parlour behind him; the sound of Quirrell nervously shuffling around in the Entrance Hall; the rays of the setting sun spread out over the stone floor, flickering as the last of the storm clouds moved over the darkening sky.
Looking up at Voldemort, Harry noticed he was deep in thought and didn't seem bothered at all by anxiety. He looked to be weighing something back and forth in his mind, tilting his head this way and that every so often.
Trying to mimic his calm demeanour, Harry took deep breaths and stared out through the windows in front of him, getting a view of the sparse pine forest making up most of the island. No matter the fact that Harry was about to attend a sort of get-together with people who were all evil, acting as if nothing was wrong with that, he would also have to act like this wasn't the first dinner party he had ever been allowed at.
Whenever his aunt and uncle had had parties, Harry had been firmly shut into Dudley's second bedroom, where he had been told to hide and 'not exist' until the guests had left at the end of the evening. He had watched his guardians prepare for their parties – cracking odd jokes over and over, cleaning the house until it sparkled, and cooking twenty versions of the same dish – but he had never learnt what actually happened during them. Was he supposed to do anything special? Who was he supposed to speak to?
Just do as he says, came a thought, accompanied with a gust of calming feelings. He's told you that he won't expect you to do anything you're incapable of, so don't worry about it.
Taking comfort in that, Harry closed his eyes briefly to steel himself, and turned to Voldemort. "Are there a lot of people coming?" he asked, watching as the Dark Lord's red eyes went from clouded to knife sharp as they turned to look down at him.
"Yes," he stated simply with the hint of a smile. "We should expect two hundred and thirty six guests, although not all of them are Death Eaters. I have allowed for my followers to Side-Along their spouses if they so wish, which of course would amplify our numbers."
"That's ... a lot of people," Harry said and felt how some of the butterflies returned to his stomach. "Are we greeting them all?"
"But of course," said Voldemort with a crooked smile. "We need to be proper hosts after all ... Don't fret; you have nothing at all to fear."
"I'm not afraid," Harry muttered under his breath in defiance, feeling some of his previous valour return.
He couldn't help sending a startled look towards the Entrance Hall, however, when he heard the distinct scraping sound of the front doors sliding open, accompanied with the soft clatter of a large group of people speaking. He heard Quirrell's shrill cries of "Good evening sir," and "May I take your cloak, miss?", and then the guests started streaming into the room.
The first person he saw was a regal-looking man, looking to be about Quirrell's age, with shoulder-length brown hair and a goatee covering the skin around his mouth. Behind him came a similar-looking man, with short hair but the same kind of beard, and a very thin woman with blonde hair, tied up in a tight bun on the back of her head. They all wore rich-looking dress robes in emerald green, with black and yellow details.
With simpering smiles, the three of them curtseyed deeply in front of Voldemort (even the men, Harry noticed with confusion), before the first of the men stepped forward. "My Lord," he said in a slightly nasal voice. "It is such an honour."
"Welcome Cronus, it is good to see you again," Voldemort said with a pleasant smile, before turning to the other two. "Castor and Selena; I am pleased you all could make it. Harry," he said then, laying a soft hand on Harry's shoulder, "this is Cronus, Castor and Selena Greengrass. Messrs and Mrs Greengrass, I want to introduce my apprentice, Harry Potter."
As he spoke, several other finely clad wizards and witches had come into the room, and everyone stared openly at Harry with expressions of utter surprise. Mrs Greengrass was the first one to recover, and she made another low curtsey at Harry, tugging her husband's arm to make him follow suit. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Potter," she said in a soft tone, and Harry at once recalled that that was what he was supposed to say.
"Good evening, Mrs Greengrass, and Messrs Greengrass," he hurried to say. "It is a pleasure to meet you too." He wondered if he was supposed to curtsey as well, but Voldemort still held onto his shoulder, and glancing up questioningly at his master, he received a short shake of the head that told him that no, he was not supposed to.
"Please," said Voldemort with a pleasant smile, moving his hand from Harry's shoulder to gesture towards a row of tables stacked full of Champagne glasses, "make yourselves comfortable."
After the Greengrasses had thanked their host with more simpering smiles and slipped away to try the aperitifs, a tall woman, who looked to be about fifty stepped up to them and curtseyed. She wore robes in lilac, dark blue and black, and her dark-skinned hands were adorned with what seemed like a treachery of golden jewellery. "Good evening, my lord. I have awaited your return eagerly. We are truly blessed to have you back,"
"I am glad to hear it, Giselle," answered Voldemort with a small nod. "Welcome to Ravenclaw Fortress. This is my apprentice, Harry Potter. Harry, meet Giselle Zabini."
"Good evening, Mrs Zabini," said Harry, wondering if he was supposed to change his greeting around a bit every now and then, "it is a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise, Mr Potter," answered Mrs Zabini, making a small bow towards him with a glittering smile.
People started to pile up, and the clatter of small talk soon rang through both the Reception Room and the Entrance Hall, where people had gathered to wait for their turn to greet the Dark Lord.
Harry felt like the line of people had no end, and it didn't take him long to get a tense feelings in his cheeks from all the forced smiling. He met loads of middle-aged men and their wives; Devin and Gidget Rosier, Hector and Maram Avery, Archibald and Catherine Nott, and so forth. He also met men of varying ages who arrived without partners; Thorfinn Rowle, Walden Mcnair, Benedict Nott, Dismas Crouch, as well as Ormond Crabbe and Vaughn Goyle, who Harry thought with outrage looked like middle-aged carbon copies of their sons.
Then, there were a handful of women who arrived without men; Issoria Carrow, Orphne Lestrange, and Juno Mulciber, to mention a few. Next, Harry flushed furiously as he was greeted by an old, silver-haired man in pink robes, presented as Silas Selwyn, who kindly asked him if the underwear he sent suited him.
"Y-Y-Yes, that was v-very kind of you, sir," stuttered Harry, wishing he could be anywhere else. Anywhere. "Thank you for the gift."
"It was my pleasure," answered Mr Selwyn, winked and then disappeared into the sea of guests, headed towards the aperitifs.
Feeling outraged, Harry looked up at Voldemort, but noticed that his full attention was directed at the next guest. With a wide smile, that actually reached his red eyes, the Dark Lord exclaimed, "Abraxas! My old friend!"
"My Lord," said an old man with a cheerful expression on his slightly tanned and surprisingly youthful-looking face, contrasting sharply against the rest of his wrinkled body. He leaned heavily on a walking stick coated in shiny black lacquer, adorned with silver at the top and bottom. His dress robes were in black, silver and green, and his fine snow white hair lay flat on his head, cascading down just past his shoulders. "I do apologise if I do not bow ... old age does nothing good for stiff joints, I have learned."
Voldemort simply smiled as an answer to that. "It is good to see you," he said softly. "I fear I might have pulled you out of vacation?"
"Oh, don't worry," answered the old man regally, "my stay in Marseille has become quite permanent – once I got there, I couldn't seem to leave. Good for an old man's complexion, you see. Although, I must say, I don't think you need to worry about something like that. My lord, you look just like you did forty years ago."
Voldemort chuckled lightly. "Why, Abraxas, such flatter. I used a very potent concoction, in fact, not very long ago to put some colour on my cheeks ... and some flesh on my bones," he finished while redirecting his attention to the people behind the old wizard. One of them looked just like a younger version of him, with long white blonde hair and a pointed face, and the other was a blonde woman with a very handsome face and a pair of sky blue eyes; the both of them were wearing dress robes in the same colour scheme as Abraxas.
"Ah, Lucius," said Voldemort with another genuine smile, as the couple curtseyed at him, "and you brought Narcissa, I see. Welcome, the both of you."
"I wouldn't miss it for the world, my lord," answered the woman in a soft but clear voice.
"Yes, that reminds me," exclaimed the old wizard and turned to search for something supposedly behind his back. "I thought that since Lucius brought Narcissa, I might as well bring a plus one also." Harry felt his heart freeze inside his chest once he caught sight of whom Abraxas had been hiding behind his back, wondering if Voldemort would notice if he slipped away and hid. "My lord, let me introduce my grandson, Draco."
At once, Draco swooped down into a deep curtsey that, in Harry's opinion, made him look like an evil frog. Voldemort looked speechless for a moment, and the side of his face was twitching ever so slightly, but the next moment the look was gone and replaced by another smile. "What a surprise. Welcome, Draco."
"Thank you, my lord," said Malfoy in a shaky voice, arising again and looking up at Voldemort with worship in his eyes. "It is such an honour to meet –" he cut himself off mid-speech, his face went white as a sheet, and he was staring straight at Harry for a tense second, before "– POTTER!?"
"Oh, I'm sure Harry is just as charmed meeting you, Draco," said Voldemort, not missing a beat, and laid his right hand onto Harry's right shoulder. "Messrs and Mrs Malfoy, may I introduce Harry Potter, my apprentice. Harry, this is Abraxas, Lucius, Narcissa and young Draco Malfoy."
Harry tried, very hard to smile, but his face had moulded itself into a steely mask against his will. "Welcome Messrs and Mrs Malfoy," he managed through his stiff lips. "It is a pleasure to meet you."
"An apprentice?" exclaimed Abraxas Malfoy with wonder, giving Voldemort a questioning look, while Lucius and Narcissa curtseyed politely at Harry behind his back. Malfoy simply stared rudely at Harry with a dumbfounded expression.
"I find myself pleased that you keep to your word, Lucius," said Voldemort with a smile Mr Malfoy's way. "I take it, this is the first you hear on Harry's current whereabouts?" demanded Voldemort then, looking right at his old friend.
"Oh, I guessed, my lord, when Mr Quirrell went for my cloak, that Mr Potter should be under your ... care. But, an apprentice, I could never guess; it is not my place to question of course –"
"That will be quite enough, Abraxas," said Voldemort in a kind, but commanding tone, and Mr Malfoy visibly backed off. "Why don't the four of you join the party while Harry and I finish up here?"
While the Malfoys made way across the room, Harry kept eye-contact with Draco, who still stared at him as if he had never seen him before. When Mrs Malfoy pinched her son's cheek, reprimanding him for staring, Harry felt a small victory in not being the first person to look away. "What is he doing here?" he hissed in Parseltongue, redirecting his stare to Voldemort's face.
"Good evening Peregrinus, ah, and Remigius," said Voldemort silkily, not showing any sign of having heard Harry's question, greeting two identical-looking wizards with shoulder-length hair the same colour as Ron and his family. "Let me introduce my apprentice, Harry Potter. Harry, this is Peregrinus and Remigius Prewett."
Straining his mouth into a new smile, Harry greeted the brothers, listened politely to what they had to say and watched them leave.
"I do not know, but trust me when I say that I will find out," hissed Voldemort at him out of the corner of his mouth, before turning back to the line of guests waiting. As a plump witch with curly brown hair stepped forwards, Harry clenched his teeth together and wished that he somehow could make time go faster so that this repetitive ritual could be over and done with.
Half an hour later, he got his wish, and he couldn't help but sigh in relief as Mr and Mrs Higgs joined the buzz and left him alone with Voldemort. "Are we done?" he asked in a hopeful voice, making the Dark Lord smirk down at him with humour dancing in his eyes.
"But Harry, the evening has only just begun. You cannot tell me you are tired already?" Voldemort chuckled evilly when Harry simply glowered at him. Next, he summoned one of the glasses from the aperitif-table and clinked it repeatedly with the tip of his finger, which shouldn't have made such a crowd-silencing sound, but knowing of Voldemort's special gifts, Harry wasn't really all that surprised.
"Friends," Voldemort called out to the silent room, and the sea of people backed away to create a circular space for the Dark Lord to stand inside. "I thank you all for coming, and wish you welcome to Ravenclaw Fortress, our new stronghold." There was a short applause, and Voldemort smiled widely. "I would like to start this evening off with a toast, to the cause, and to the bright future we are going to build together. Cheers!" Responding calls resounded throughout the room, and as one, the guests and their host drank to the toast, looking cheerful.
"Now, since a dinner party calls for a dinner, a buffet table has been set up in the Dining Hall. Quirrell will show the way," said Voldemort and gestured down the room to the door to the right, where Quirrell stood, waving awkwardly. "Feel free to dine either in the West or the East Parlour. I am sure Quirrell can help you find your way there as well. Enjoy yourselves."
After another short applause, the guests started chit-chatting again, many of them filing out of the room and into the corridor leading to the Dining Hall. "Why don't you get something to eat as well, Harry," said Voldemort once all the attention was redirected away from him once more. "I will be busy making small talk with our guests, and I suspect that such things would soon plaster a rudely bored expression onto your face."
"Probably," Harry confessed, feeling relieved that he wouldn't have to make nice with Voldemort's followers anymore.
"You did well," Voldemort praised before turning to leave. "Now get out of my sight."
With a bemused smile, feeling exhausted, Harry slipped into the corridor and headed towards the buffet dinner, feeling his stomach groan slightly at the thought of food. Before he could make it to the Dining Hall, however, he was captured by a firm grip around his arm and was hauled towards the Entrance Hall and into one of the small loos by his captor.
"Get off me, Malfoy," Harry hissed once they were both inside, and Draco had closed and locked the door behind them.
"What the hell are you doing here, Potter?" Malfoy hissed back at him, standing uncomfortably close in the small space. "You're supposed to be dead!"
"Sorry to disappoint you," growled Harry, taking his wand out and pointing it at Malfoy's snotty face. "And I'm fairly sure that you're the one who's not supposed to be here. Master sure seemed surprised."
At once, Harry felt himself go beet red, realising that he had accidentally called Voldemort master in front of bloody Malfoy.
"Master?" Malfoy repeated with narrowed eyes. "So it's true then – you're the Dark Lord's apprentice?"
"Get out of my way, Malfoy," Harry warned, pointing his wand right at Draco's pale throat, but he only received a disgusted sneer in response. "I mean it," he pressed furiously. "I don't have a trace anymore, so I can do magic outside of school, and I'm gonna curse you if you don't move."
"Bloody Potter," Malfoy hissed under his breath, looking furious. "You just get it all served on a silver platter, don't you? It's just because you're famous; you're nothing special. You're just a silly, Muggle-raised half-blood without talent. But just because of some stupid strike of luck, you got famous for just being a bloody baby –"
"Petrificus Totalus," Harry snarled, and at once, Malfoy's body went completely stiff, and he toppled over, his head missing the toilet seat by just an inch. Stepping over his frozen body, Harry unlocked the door and stepped out into the corridor. "Have fun at the party," he hissed viciously before slamming the door closed. "Colloportus," he then intoned, and listened with satisfaction as the lock in the door clicked. Let him stay in there to rot, Harry thought to himself with glee and headed towards the Dining Hall to get his much-awaited dinner.
Harry soon found out that being the Dark Lord's apprentice, strolling along on his own at a party full of Death Eaters, was not a peaceful affair. He was constantly prodded and questioned, forced to listen to long expositions on a wide variety of subjects, many of which he understood next to nothing about. He was gushed over, his cheeks were pinched, his fixed hairdo was ruffled into a mess and he was constantly under scrutiny. Everybody seemed to want a piece of him, and it was exhausting.
As a last resort, he admitted defeat and escaped back to Voldemort's side, hoping to find some piece where the adults couldn't get to him without infuriating their lord.
Voldemort was conversing with an old couple Harry recognised as Mr and Mrs Shacklebolt; one of the few names he had put to memory, since it sounded very cool. Once he caught sight of his ruffled apprentice, Voldemort looked very surprised and turned away from his guests with a short excuse.
"What happened to you?" he asked with narrowed eyes after turning to face Harry fully, quickly putting two and two together before he started scanning the crowd around him with a dark glare.
"They won't leave me alone," Harry muttered quietly, staying as close to Voldemort as he could without making body contact, to create some more distance to the people around them.
With deft hands, Voldemort carded his fingers through Harry's hair, recreating some sort of order as he seemed to be deep in thought. Feeling some of the tension leave him at the gentle touch, Harry sighed and basked in the peace he had found by Voldemort's side. He could still feel many sets of eyes on him, staring like vultures waiting for the carnivore to stop feeding on him, but they didn't dare come closer at the moment.
"My lord," said a cold voice, breaking the tense silence, and Harry looked up to see Mr Malfoy, looking rather frazzled. "I am so sorry to interrupt, but it is my son. He has gone missing."
Harry tensed up, feeling Voldemort's hand still on top of his head. What was he going to do? Should he tell them?
Tell him in Parseltongue, so that no-one else hears, came a thought, and Harry thought at once that that sounded like a far better option.
"I locked him into the loo," he hissed quietly to Voldemort, feeling nervous about what he had done and wondering if he would get punished for it.
"Why?" demanded Voldemort at once with deadly fury in his red glare.
"He locked me in there with him, and he wouldn't get out of my way, and he was being really rude about it ... so I cursed him and locked him in instead ..."
Slowly, Voldemort turned his furious glare onto Lucius instead. "He is locked into one of the loos. Get him for me – I need to have a word with him."
Paling dramatically, Mr Malfoy stuttered his excuses and hurried to comply, emitting a chilling aura that Harry recognised from having witnessed Uncle Vernon's many rampages. Malfoy was in trouble now; both Voldemort and his father were displeased with him, a notion that brought a spiteful smile to Harry's lips.
"Is something funny?" asked Voldemort tensely, watching Harry's expression from above.
"Err, no, master," Harry said quietly. "I just really don't like Malfoy, that's all."
"School your expression. You need to inspire respect for this to work," Voldemort reprimanded in a quiet voice as they both watched Mr Malfoy drag a red-faced Draco into the room. The murmur of the crowd started to quiet down, and the sea of people opened up for them, creating a corridor leading up to the Dark Lord, who stood waiting for them with a cold expression.
"Draco Malfoy," Voldemort called loudly, effectively making the entire room fall silent, as well as attracting the attention of some curious people in the room next door, who slipped into the room to watch. "Can you explain to me what possessed you to attack my apprentice?"
Malfoy stood in front of the Dark Lord, with his stern-looking father standing behind him, visibly shivering in fear. "My lord, I'm sorry," he managed in a wheeze, looking so scared he might faint.
"Did it not occur to you that Lord Voldemort's apprentice is far above yourself in hierarchy?" Voldemort pressed, stalking closer to the terrified teenager. All around him, the vultures started to squirm, casting fearful looks at Harry, who did his best to mimic Voldemort's usual expression of pure stoicism.
"I'm sorry, my lord," Draco exclaimed and fell to his knees in submission, sniffling and hiccupping pitifully. "I did wrong."
"Yes, Draco, you did," answered Voldemort delicately, coming to a stop in front of his hunched form. "But you are a minor, and as such are not fully responsible for your actions. I rather lay the blame on your guardians, for neglecting to educate you better," he finished, staring straight at Lucius, who flushed in shame.
"I beg your forgiveness, my lord," Mr Malfoy said softly, falling to his knees as well.
"Let it be known," Voldemort called out, so that his voice rang trough the entire room, and out through the open doors, "for those who have not yet understood the implications of what being Lord Voldemort's apprentice entails, that Harry Potter is second to me in rank, and that he bow down to me and me alone. Will anyone try to disgrace him again, be assured that that person will be punished, like traitors were in the old days."
Most of the guests seemed to understand what that cryptic explanation meant, since they nodded sombrely, some of them paling dramatically before visibly shrinking back into the background. A few of the younger guests didn't react as strongly, but they seemed to understand the implications anyway.
"Arise," said Voldemort after an ominous moment of silence, and watched as Draco and Mr Malfoy got back onto their feet, bowed and slipped back into the sea of people, that closed around them while creating a circle of empty space for the Dark Lord to stand inside. Harry, on the other hand, was still standing by one of the windows in the middle of the room, as walls of people closed around him; but in contrast to his previous experience of being surrounded by Voldemort's followers, they stayed at a respectful distance from him now, so that he had a small circle of his own to move around inside if he so wished.
"Friends," Voldemort called out in a light-hearted tone of voice, "I hope that you have had a good time, and that the food proved satisfactory." The abrupt change of subject was welcomed, judging by the concurring murmur of the crowd, and ever so slowly, the mood changed. "The night is closing in, and it has become high time to end the soirée, and to initiate the mission."
The crowd broke out in applause and cheers, and people streamed through the doors to take part in whatever was to come. The word mission sounded ominous to Harry, and he worried what Voldemort could be meaning by it.
"Friends, it has been far too long since someone stepped up to fight for the cause; to fight for the wizarding world. What has happened since last we saw each other? The outlawing of certain branches of magic that the Ministry deems too dangerous; the imprisonment of witches and wizards who tries to better this world, to make a change and rise above what we are; the involvement of Muggles in our wizarding society, who infiltrate and seeks to usurp our world and make it their own."
The roar of the crowd rose as the Dark Lord spoke, and their displeasure was apparent. "It is high time we act; it is high time we step up and take responsibility for this world, and for the wizarding kind. Friends, tonight is the night for the uprising of the Death Eaters."
A raging applause broke out all around the room, and people were cheering like mad, some of them looking insane with glee and happiness. In the middle stood Voldemort, grinning wickedly, waiting for the crowd to quiet down; Harry thought he had never seen him look so genuinely happy before, and kept worrying about what was going to happen. They weren't about to go out and kill people, were they?
After a long moment of cheering, the crowd quieted down again, and Voldemort looked to be about to speak when the sound of the front doors slipping open could be heard, and all eyes turned to the Entrance Hall to see what was going on as voices could be heard.
"Who are you?" exclaimed Quirrell from the other room. "You cannot just barge in here! Stop!"
But whoever was out there didn't seem to listen, and as the sea of people opened up around him, creating a new corridor with Voldemort in one end and the intruder in the next, Harry saw that it was a very plump, flea-bitten little man with a scrunched up face and a pair of watery eyes who stood there, looking at the Dark Lord with adoration.
"My lord," he exclaimed in a squeaky voice, which had a strange sniffling quality to it, and stumbled forwards. There was something about him that made Harry's skin prickle uncomfortably, and judging by the looks on the faces around him, he wasn't the only one who had that reaction to him. "At last, my lord," the little man exclaimed tearfully and fell to his knees in front of Voldemort, kissing the hem of his robes. "I found you. You're back! My lord, you're back!"
With a nasty sneer of disgust, Voldemort pointed his wand straight at the intruder, while simultaneously raising his left hand, claw-like, towards the ceiling, making the little ratty man rise off the ground and hover mid-air above their heads. The little man squealed in a high-pitched tone that had the people around him cover their ears with disgusted expressions.
"Good evening, Wormtail," said Voldemort in a voice that promised death. "I do not recall sending you an invitation."
"My mark, my lord!" Wormtail squeaked. "It burned! It called me here!"
"And you thought you would just show up here?" questioned Voldemort with a glower.
"Yes!" exclaimed Wormtail. "I did everything I could ... it was difficult ... I had to steal a wand ... I had to transform to get through the wards, but I followed the snake once I saw it ... and I found you, my lord!"
"Crucio!" Voldemort bit out with burning eyes, and Wormtail screeched and thrashed violently in the air. It all was so gruesome that Harry had to look away, feeling a bit ill. When the man's screams stopped, Voldemort spoke again. "You filthy, traitorous little rat. Were you followed? Did anyone see you?"
"No! No my lord!" Wormtail shouted desperately, sniffling and crying. "I swear, I am a faithful, good servant. I hide – I always hide, and they never find me, my lord. I swear!"
Voldemort said noting, but only stared into Wormtail's watery eyes with a focused expression, and for some reason, that seemed to be excruciatingly painful for the little man, who howled and thrashed in the air again while fat tears streamed out of his wide, unblinking eyes.
"Very well, Wormtail," said Voldemort suddenly, turning away from the man, who fell painfully back onto the floor with a thump, where he lay still, shivering and sobbing. Coming back to his original position in the middle of the room, Voldemort turned back around and studied the trembling man for a moment.
"You are in luck," Voldemort continued then with a dangerous smirk at his victim, who looked up at him with fearful eyes. "It just so happens that an opportunity for you to prove yourself to me has opened up for you. The only thing you have to do is to volunteer to be the first one in line. Will you?"
"Yes!" squeaked Wormtail, struggling back onto his feet with a hopeful expression. "Anything, my lord! I will do anything!"
Dismissing Wormtail completely, Voldemort turned his back on him to look out over the sea of guests, who actually had been invited. "Who else will volunteer?"
In quick succession, hands were raised, and several clear voices called out "I will!" as the speakers stepped forwards. Voldemort started calling out names, gathering his chosen ones on the right side of the room, where Wormtail stood shivering in a corner. Once the Dark Lord seemed pleased with his selection, he stopped scanning the crowd and instead turned to the group of chosen volunteers.
"Very good – 47 Death Eaters, prepared to make a stand and change this world for the better – it is a welcoming sight. Ready yourselves, garb yourselves in black, drink the Sobering Potions provided for you in the Entrance Hall," Voldemort commanded and smiled widely. "Tonight, we take Azkaban!"
