Thank Me No Thankings, Nor Proud me No Prouds.

The building in which the 21 men were now present was broken, the walls were cracking and the door frames and foundation looked ready to give. The house was dead. Quite the opposite of the man talking. He was quite alive, even if his face did not show it, his eyes did. They were red the color of fresh blood. They searched, knowing everything about the men surrounding him. They inspired fear into even the strongest of wizards. They were the eyes that saw everything and felt almost nothing. What they did feel were emotions intensified to their purest form. Weather they were showing anger, malice, disappointment, or joy each emotion was raw and always produced the same result…pain.

He was the only one sitting. He wore black just like the others, except his hood did not hide the hideousness of his face. His hands were folded into a point emphasizing his power. The men around him were silent, heads bowed is an obedient trace. They were waiting, waiting for their lord and master to command them. Waiting for Voldemort to point a solitary finger at one of them and reveal their wrongs.

"SHAW!" He spat the name out like he were drinking poison. His first finger raised and pointed at the form of a tall hooded man. "Step forward and show yourself." Henry Shaw did as he was told. He knew what he had done and knew what he would now have to do. He bowed lower then necessary whispering, "My Lord…I did not know." The panic in his voice shown, the fear apparent on his face.

" FOOL! You knew my full intention and the potential it had. You knew where I was heading. And yet you failed. Weakness is a trait I am not willing to tolerate!"

Shaw closed his eyes tightly. The kind of gesture that to any normal person would have looked honorable, but it was not. Henry Shaw was a promenade Death Eater. He was born into a family of wealth and dark arts. The Shaws had planned Henry's life long before he could live it. He had followed the path laid before him, but he was not the kind of man that one would want to trust with their life. He was easily tempted and selfish. He cared more about his own skin then the skin of his lord. He was not clever and lacked skill and wit. The only trait that had won him his position, besides family ties, was his thirst for power. He hungered for it , just as many others did, but his will for it had no bounds like some. He was willing to turn over, or give, powerful men anything if he were rewarded power in turn. And that is what he had done , or tried to do.

"Do you believe to be better then myself?" The dark lord was asking questions that he already knew the answers to. "I would never dream such a thing Master," Shaw was lying. He did think that he was better then Lord Voldemort. He thought that he should have all of the power that flowed through the evil wizard. And Voldemort new it. "You should not lie to those who posses more power then you." Voldemort made sure to emphasis certain words, waiting for their reactions. And sure enough, subtle as it may have been ,Shaw flinched. It was all that Voldemort need, that twitch of his eye had been the trigger Voldemort was waiting for. "Avada- Kedavra!" Shaw's eyes flew open.

The red eyed wizard had not even left his chair as he took the other man's life. But the power that emanated from him saying that curse sent chills down the spine of all the hooded death eaters present.

As a small scream squeezed through Henry Shaw's lips and he fell to the floor in a messy heap. The thud of his body made a pair of smirking gray eyes finally open.

"Wormtail? The list ." Voldemort was motioning to a small, round ,balding man to his left. The man scuttled over to his master on his knees and handed him a piece of parchment scribbled with exactly 103 names on it. "Aww…It is not time for new members to be welcomed but I have a request for a private an immediate initiation." He took his wand and circled the name halfway down the sheet, " And seeing the man's past I feel inclined to accommodate towards him…next week dear gentleman, we initiate… famous Victor Krum."

At the sound of Krum's name, young Draco Malfoy had to stifle a grunt of disgust. He was not sure why but he never really warmed up to the man. Victor Krum had attended Durmstrang and apparently flourished in the dark arts. But there was always something about him that pissed Draco off. Perhaps it was the fact that he was dating a dirty mudblood.