"Rise, my servant."

Shakily, Karkaroff stood. The fresh Mark seared his arm like needles being driven beneath his flesh. He gritted his teeth; they said the pain was another of His tests.

"Igor Karkaroff."

He did his best not to flinch. His own name spoken in that sibilant hiss sounded like a quiet curse.

"You are now a Death Eater. Whom do you serve?"

"Only you, my lord."

"Whom do you despise?"

"Any whose blood is impure, my lord."

The Dark Lord smiled.

"And how long will you serve me?"

The pain in Karkaroff's forearm stabbed hotly.

"Forever...my lord."