Disclaimer: I don't own anything owned by J.K. Rowling.
A young, dark-haired man stood in the moonlit Knock-turn Alley. The hood of his black cloak pulled back, revealing his crystal-blue eyes. Nothing but the wind stirred in the street around him. Even animals chose to avoid the place at night. A hiss and swish of a cloak alerted the young man of a new arrival. A man in his early twenties came into his line of sight. He had silvery-blond hair and intense, gray eyes. Just like the dark haired man, he was wearing a raven cloak.
"I am glad that you could make it, Potter," the light-haired man stated.
"I didn't have much of a choice, Lucius," the dark-haired man replied.
"When the Master calls, none of us have a choice," Lucius said, laughing oddly. "If we disobey his orders in the slightest, say, arrive late to a meeting a minute late, he doles out the pain without any mercy."
The two men began walking. They treaded toward the shadowy Forbidden Forest. They stumbled through the trees, ignoring the brambles that tore at their clothing. A brilliant light alerted them that they have reached their destination. A large bonfire stood in the small clearing. About a score of black-cloaked figures gathered around it, attracted to its warmth. Lucius pulled his companion to an outer edge of the congregation.
"Severus!" Lucius exclaimed as he spotted the. raven-haired young man from James's year. James cringed at the thought of meeting his sticky- haired contemporary.
"Hello, Lucius," Severus replied in a low voice. "I see that you have brought noble Potter along."
"Master's orders," Lucius said.
Severus flinched slightly. He then turned to face his adversary. "Potter," he spat. "Pleasure seeing you in such society. I mean, you are the star- chaser of the Gryffindor team, Head Boy, and son of the Minister of Magic; so here I was, thinking that you were a noble example of perfection and you're here to get your Dark Mark!" "Well, Snape," James retorted. "You shouldn't believe all of the good things people say about me." Lucius placed a hand on James's shoulder and led him to the bonfire. "The seat of honor," he muttered darkly as he gestured James to stand near a form draped in black velvet.
"Ah," a voice hissed. "Now that our new recruit has arrived, let us welcome him with all due respect."
The crowd of Death Eaters watched cruelly. Anticipating with sheer blood lust the tortured screams they would hear when the young man with the messy mane would undergo the painful ordeal.
James saw two glowing, red slits beneath the hood of the figure. The snake- like voice coming from the mass of robes whispered one of many forbidden charms. "Imperius." James felt a beautiful, coaxing voice tell him to kneel. He obeyed. The voice proceeded with its persuasion, like a siren luring sailors to peril: "Hold out your left arm." James submissively complied. The cold tip of a wand hovered above his wrist. It then touched the sensitive skin, still cool. Then the tip became intensely scorching. James bit back a scream, disappointing the brutal audience. Then his vision clouded and he dropped to the forest floor. Blood fell from the fresh wound. Blood lust filled his mind. Blood was shed that night at a nearby muggle village. Blood had stained the innocent, white hands of James Potter.
To be continued.
A young, dark-haired man stood in the moonlit Knock-turn Alley. The hood of his black cloak pulled back, revealing his crystal-blue eyes. Nothing but the wind stirred in the street around him. Even animals chose to avoid the place at night. A hiss and swish of a cloak alerted the young man of a new arrival. A man in his early twenties came into his line of sight. He had silvery-blond hair and intense, gray eyes. Just like the dark haired man, he was wearing a raven cloak.
"I am glad that you could make it, Potter," the light-haired man stated.
"I didn't have much of a choice, Lucius," the dark-haired man replied.
"When the Master calls, none of us have a choice," Lucius said, laughing oddly. "If we disobey his orders in the slightest, say, arrive late to a meeting a minute late, he doles out the pain without any mercy."
The two men began walking. They treaded toward the shadowy Forbidden Forest. They stumbled through the trees, ignoring the brambles that tore at their clothing. A brilliant light alerted them that they have reached their destination. A large bonfire stood in the small clearing. About a score of black-cloaked figures gathered around it, attracted to its warmth. Lucius pulled his companion to an outer edge of the congregation.
"Severus!" Lucius exclaimed as he spotted the. raven-haired young man from James's year. James cringed at the thought of meeting his sticky- haired contemporary.
"Hello, Lucius," Severus replied in a low voice. "I see that you have brought noble Potter along."
"Master's orders," Lucius said.
Severus flinched slightly. He then turned to face his adversary. "Potter," he spat. "Pleasure seeing you in such society. I mean, you are the star- chaser of the Gryffindor team, Head Boy, and son of the Minister of Magic; so here I was, thinking that you were a noble example of perfection and you're here to get your Dark Mark!" "Well, Snape," James retorted. "You shouldn't believe all of the good things people say about me." Lucius placed a hand on James's shoulder and led him to the bonfire. "The seat of honor," he muttered darkly as he gestured James to stand near a form draped in black velvet.
"Ah," a voice hissed. "Now that our new recruit has arrived, let us welcome him with all due respect."
The crowd of Death Eaters watched cruelly. Anticipating with sheer blood lust the tortured screams they would hear when the young man with the messy mane would undergo the painful ordeal.
James saw two glowing, red slits beneath the hood of the figure. The snake- like voice coming from the mass of robes whispered one of many forbidden charms. "Imperius." James felt a beautiful, coaxing voice tell him to kneel. He obeyed. The voice proceeded with its persuasion, like a siren luring sailors to peril: "Hold out your left arm." James submissively complied. The cold tip of a wand hovered above his wrist. It then touched the sensitive skin, still cool. Then the tip became intensely scorching. James bit back a scream, disappointing the brutal audience. Then his vision clouded and he dropped to the forest floor. Blood fell from the fresh wound. Blood lust filled his mind. Blood was shed that night at a nearby muggle village. Blood had stained the innocent, white hands of James Potter.
To be continued.