CHAPTER 34: THE DARK MARK PART-1
Elf! Another drink! Lucius Malfoy let out yet another sigh, probably the tenth in less than half an hour, as he saw one of his house-elves rush toward the drunkard who had demanded another glass of wine. What had possessed him to ask Theodore Nott Sr. to bring all the Death Eaters present at this Quidditch World Cup final evening into his tent! Well, it was true that seeing the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland's team win against tiny Albania, a province of the Ottoman Empire, deserved a drink to celebrate, but at this rate, all his cellar would vanish down these drunkards' throats! Wherever his eyes landed, Lord Malfoy saw nothing but men befuddled by alcohol, reveling in victories that would be forgotten once they sobered up. But watching his best vintages disappear down their gullets infuriated him to the point of gripping the arms of the luxurious armchair on which he sat.
Fortunately, they hadn't yet turned their attention to the furniture or the tapestries and paintings hanging on the walls; otherwise, his wife would undoubtedly explode with rage! It was also fortunate that Narcissa and Draco had returned to the manor that same evening—they were spared this sorry spectacle at least! And the evening seemed likely to drag on... Lucius still remembered similar evenings during the time when the Dark Lord terrorized the country, and inevitably, they ended in punitive expeditions against Muggles, Dumbledore's supporters, or, more generally, against anyone in their way. So when fifty Death Eaters gathered in one place, one couldn't expect it all to end in joy and good spirits.
"Lucius!" Lord Nott hailed him, making his way toward him. "You really should start your little meeting before things turn sour!"
His counterpart didn't need to be told when a simple glance around confirmed that indeed, the evening wasn't going as planned, and partly, he was to blame. What had possessed him to offer them all a drink before starting the meeting! This was where excess alcohol led... and the chronic idiocy that seemed to afflict most of these tipplers.
"You're right," he admitted before pointing his wand at his throat and murmuring, "Sonorus." "Everyone, be silent immediately and listen to me!"
His command immediately silenced the conversations around them, and soon, only the sounds from outside the tent reached them, occasionally accompanied by the noise of fireworks launched somewhere in the distance. All eyes were now on him, most impassive and cold, some curious to hear what Lord Malfoy would say, while the rest were too intoxicated to pay much attention.
Lucius cast a final glance over the surrounding assembly, particularly those paying only half attention to him, before finally speaking again, in the composed and cold tone that everyone attributed to him after dispelling the charm that amplified his voice:
"Now that these gentlemen have quenched their thirst..."
"And the ladies too!" giggled a female voice somewhere, provoking a few chuckles.
"You shouldn't be proud," Lucius scolded without dwelling on her. "I was saying that now that you've quenched your thirst and indulged in the human stupidity that characterizes most of you, we could now focus on the subject that concerns us all..."
"And what subject would you like to discuss, Lucius?" an man with a slender face and bushy eyebrows, whom Lucius recognized as Philippe Fletcher, interjected.
"I don't like being interrupted, Philippe. If you dare to do so again under my roof, I won't hesitate to throw you out. Am I clear?" he said in a voice so cold that Fletcher lost all his assurance and now avoided meeting his gaze.
The threat was generally interpreted by all the Death Eaters present as a warning for everyone, and from then on, the few individuals still carried away by their high spirits finally chose to become serious. They were both intimidated by the man who had just spoken and curious about what would unfold from this meeting. For his part, Lucius expressed his satisfaction at having the full attention he desired with a brief smirk that few managed to notice, well aware that his name and great fortune alone were enough to command respect and compliance when he raised his voice a bit. Being wealthy could have some serious advantages when one truly desired it!
"The subject of this meeting is known to you," he resumed in a slow voice, covertly observing the nearby people. "And I am still surprised by your question since it is etched on your forearm..."
At that moment, Lucius couldn't have had a better effect if he had thrown open the windows of his manor in the dead of winter. A cold shiver ran through all the guests, including those who, though not bearing this infamous message on their skin, knew nonetheless what it represented and who was its sender: Lord Voldemort's Dark Mark. Branded onto their skin by a spell known only to the Dark Lord, this mark, a sign of their allegiance, submission, and dedication to his cause, had reappeared a few weeks ago after long years of absence. Though barely distinguishable from their skin color for now, the Mark became increasingly visible over time, and the pain it caused, each time more intense than before, left little doubt about their imminent fate.
"He will return soon, won't he?" Avery asked unnecessarily, nervously running a hand over his face.
Despite the context, Lucius couldn't help but smile again at the Death Eater's behavior, recalling the countless torture sessions during which Avery had been severely punished by the Dark Lord for his failures in the missions entrusted to him. Avery was indeed likely to regret the return of Lord Voldemort, having not suffered the Cruciatus Curse for thirteen years now! The reunion promised to be immensely amusing, for better or worse.
"We're not yet certain," countered Lucius, absentmindedly caressing his forearm. "It might just be a reminder to tell us he is still out there, somewhere, waiting for his return and warning us to be ready for that great day..."
"You can't deny the Mark is becoming more distinct," Nott retorted, thoughtfully stroking his beard. "Soon, it will be as visible as..."
"...As when he was here," Lucius finished with an annoyed air, furrowing his brows. "Thank you for reminding me, but I didn't need your analysis to see for myself that it was reappearing on my forearm."
"So, what do we do?" Avery asked, looking concerned. "We can't hide it forever, and the spell I placed on my arm to prevent its reappearance isn't strong enough anymore..."
"We do nothing," Lucius stated firmly. "If the Mark reappears, it means the Dark Lord is regaining strength and biding his time to return from the dead. So, we will wait for his return and answer his call when we feel our Mark burning. Searching for him would only attract attention from the Ministry and Aurors to our activities, especially if we all attempt it simultaneously. No, patience is a virtue, and we will endeavor to abide by that for now."
Besides, his wife would never have liked knowing he was gallivanting around the country searching for a master she didn't favor, despite sharing some of his ideals. Her refusal to bear the Mark herself and to be considered a Death Eater was proof enough of her aversion to him.
"You know he'll make us pay for this," Yaxley interjected, looking at him with a stern face. "I don't wish to endure his Cruciatus Curse again, and you know as well as I do that he loves to torture his underlings as soon as the slightest hitch occurs in any of his plans! I can't even imagine the fate he has in store for us for not attempting to find him after all these years..."
Lucius raised an eyebrow at the term "underling," and the hand resting on the arm of his chair clenched tightly as he downed the rest of his drink in annoyance. Yes, as difficult as it was to admit, Lucius had been nothing more than a pawn for the Dark Lord for years, and that status, as pitiful as that of a house-elf for a wizard, still rankled him. He, Lucius, lord of the noble House of Malfoy, forced to grovel and beg for mercy and pity from a man he was compelled to call master! His pride had taken a severe blow during these years, but what else could he do in the face of Salazar Slytherin's heir? The Dark Lord possessed powerful abilities, far superior to his own, and against him, Lucius knew all too well that he was worth nothing. So, he played the role of a spy within the Ministry, excelling more than anyone else in this game.
"While awaiting his return, as it is now certain that he will come back sooner or later, you'll just have to find a good excuse to explain to the Dark Lord how you could abandon all attempts to find him," Lucius advised, snapping his fingers to summon a house-elf to whom he handed his glass. "As for me, I already know what I will tell him when we meet again, and I remain convinced that he will find my arguments sufficiently convincing to spare me a painful and arduous torture session."
"Oh, really?" Theodore appeared intrigued. "And what nonsense will you concoct to deceive the Dark Lord?"
"Nothing that concerns you, Nott," Lucius replied lightly as he dismissed the elf with a wave of his hand after retrieving his glass. "Tell him about your life since his disappearance: the bribes paid to certain individuals to dispel any suspicions lingering over you since his fall, the time spent with your wife raising your son in the pure-blood tradition, your small business operations attempting to monopolize maritime trade with the Americas, your ascent within the Ministry in the Department of International Magical Cooperation... I care little for what you tell him, as long as you are convincing, there will be no danger for you."
Lucius paused, observing most of the people present now deeply engrossed in thought. Oh yes, many of them would have much to say to the Dark Lord when he returned, and anyone lacking a good excuse to explain their lack of enthusiasm in searching for him by any means would endure a painful moment in the presence of Lord Voldemort's wand. As for Lucius, he had little to fear from the anger of the one he served. The connections he had woven within the Ministry, particularly with Cornelius Fudge, could facilitate Voldemort's maneuvers to reach the summit of power in the future. And if that wasn't enough, Lucius knew he was still safe from his master's wrath thanks to the fortune he possessed; even Lord Voldemort wasn't foolish enough to eliminate his main financier.
"If I gathered you here tonight, it wasn't, as some might have thought, to deplete my cellar of its finest vintages, but to remind you to whom your loyalty should always belong. For thirteen years now, we've been awaiting a sign, a murmur, even the slightest proof that times will change and fortune will smile upon us again after so many years of putting up a good front and showing our community a friendly and benevolent face. Today, the pain you feel brewing in your arm is merely the first signal of the days that will sing our praises, the beginning of a new era in which wizards will rise again against those who wrongly believe they can dominate, demean, and look down upon us. Today, perhaps a majority of wizards do not understand our actions, our way of thinking, or the reasons why we ardently wanted to join the side of he who must not be named, but later, when the last pockets of resistance succumb to our power, when the filth that has infected our community with impure blood at its core has been eliminated, and our world has been cleansed of all the filth that thrives among us, we can look at ourselves in a mirror with pride, knowing that our goal has finally been achieved because we have ensured a bright future for our descendants!"
Cheers immediately followed his speech, and Lucius felt proud of the effect he had instilled in the hearts of all these people. Perhaps he could later rebrand himself as a speaker for the Dark Lord? It would, in any case, spare him from risking his life in the field for him, something that would greatly please Narcissa.
"For now, let us try to remain hidden, to stay in the shadows as we have done these past years. But, just like serpents, we will strike our enemies at the opportune moment when they least expect it. The Mudbloods, the blood traitors, and all those who love Muggles will then understand that they have never been on the right side, and the relative tranquility in which they believed themselves will be revealed as an illusion! And for this, my friends, remember well where your loyalty lies when the time comes for you to choose which side you wish to be on!"
Again, numerous cheers greeted his words as some already raised their glasses toward him, chanting "Long live Lucius! Down with the Mudbloods!" It took very little now for Lord Malfoy to become the new figurehead of their group, but everyone knew that the true leader was not yet present but would return one day, even stronger than before, equally determined to eradicate the threat hanging over their community.
"The coming months will determine if our observations were justified, but make no mistake: anticipating an event that may happen in the near future would lead us to make a mistake, a misstep that would lose us all. So, keep in mind to remain discreet until further notice," he finally concluded in a tone where the threat was barely veiled. "If any of you get caught, do not count on the support of others to get you out of trouble, and woe to anyone who betrays their own by selling them out to the authorities."
The warning was understood by everyone, and faces immediately became harder, more serious, as each person imprinted Lucius' words in their minds. Then, Lord Malfoy turned away from them, ending their meeting without the need to say it out loud and urging them to leave as soon as possible. Slowly, almost everyone present headed towards the exit, some still having the audacity to take a few extra bottles with them or to burst into laughter when one of them, more intoxicated than the others, collapsed pitifully on a low table. His comrades picked him up, each passing an arm over their shoulders, but the drunkard had to endure the mockery of his peers for long seconds even after leaving Lucius' tent.
The owner of the place, now tired, hoped to quickly find the bed awaiting him in the adjacent room. However, this hope proved more complicated to fulfill than expected when his eyes landed on a few stragglers who, on their part, seemed in no hurry to leave his tent, which served as his home for the night.
"Lucius?" Fletcher called almost timidly as he approached him.
"Hm?" Lucius grunted in an unfriendly tone, fixing his gaze on him.
"I... I just wanted to apologize for my little interruption earlier," Philippe replied, nervously running a hand through his hair. "It was foolish of me to cut you off like that, especially since I knew what this little meeting would lead to, having observed the return of our mark for a few weeks now. I should have suspected that it could only be about that from the moment I saw that all our former Death Eater comrades were invited."
"Our former comrades?" Lucius repeated, surprised. "Come on, Philippe, they are still our comrades. We have never disowned the practical aspects, only... we have not had the opportunity to put them to use until now. But that time is approaching, my friend, and soon we will make up for lost time."
Fletcher smiled at this analysis, and both toasted a few seconds later to the future that awaited the magical community of the country. It was precisely at the moment their glasses clinked that Théodore Nott Sr approached, raising an eyebrow slightly at their gesture.
"I see that something is being celebrated here," he remarked, putting an arm around Lucius' shoulders.
"Yes, and until you arrived, everything was going well," he replied coldly, freeing himself from his comrade's embrace.
"Always the jokester, my dear friend," chuckled Lord Nott. "We haven't had the chance to talk more seriously since the last time we met," he added, pouring another glass from the tray held above his head by a passing house-elf. "How are business?"
"They are thriving," he replied, flashing a predatory smile, the same one he displayed every time substantial sums of money flowed into his Gringott's accounts. "I never thought that the trade of human beings could be so... lucrative. The demand has been increasing for some time in the southern states of America and the Caribbean. I could arrange for you to benefit from this financial influx, but as you know, every service comes at a price."
"Especially for a Malfoy," confirmed Avery, joining their little group, Fenrir Greyback and Spencer Stubbins trailing behind.
The latter was not a problem for Lucius, who, although having no friendly ties with this man, had no prejudices concerning him other than that he was not worth his time or energy to try to get to know him. Stubbins was neither rich nor influential, nor even a good Death Eater, but he was still a pure-blood and a supporter of the Dark Lord, two qualities that allowed him to escape the wrath of Lord Malfoy. However, it was not the same for Greyback, and seeing him approach, Lucius wrinkled his nose slightly, disgusted by the mere sight of the werewolf.
"I thought dogs were supposed to be kept on a leash outside my tent?" he said acidly to Fenrir, without even caring that the werewolf was well over a head taller than him, had an impressive build, and above all, had particularly sharp teeth that could have torn the skin of his face in no time.
"And I thought ferrets had no other use than to make fur clothing?" the lycanthrope retorted, growling.
"You should be careful with what you say, monster," Lucius threatened, slowly sliding his hand towards the pocket of his suit, ready to use his wand. "If it weren't for the Dark Lord's mercy towards you, you and all your kind would have suffered the same fate as your vampire friends or even that of the Muggle-borns during the last war."
Greyback growled even more at this provocation, but a glance from Avery in his direction ordered him to remain calm, at least for now. Lucius was satisfied with winning this little verbal duel, but he was even more surprised by the dominance that Avery seemed to exert over the werewolf—a paradox, considering that his comrade was precisely tasked by the Ministry of Magic to eradicate all dangerous creatures that could threaten someone's life, the latest being a mad Hippogriff that had injured Draco. Perhaps he had a knack for getting magical creatures to obey him?
"A very pleasant gathering, I must say," Avery declared, inclining his head slightly to greet Lucius. "It was a pleasure to see all this lovely company gathered in one place."
"Hoping that it will happen again in the future," added Fletcher, under the nods of agreement from Théodore and Avery. "However, I think we'll need to find another place for such assemblies. A tent in the middle of a valley and in the company of tens of thousands of wizards is certainly not the most discreet thing."
"For that to happen, favorable circumstances would be needed for us to gather in this way," countered Lucius. "Only during international sports competitions can we be so numerous without having to plan such a committee well in advance. But if you have suggestions, Philippe, don't hesitate to share them with us. We are all very interested."
Fletcher opened his mouth to respond immediately, but a sudden explosion louder than the previous ones interrupted him in his gesture.
"What's happening?" he said, looking towards the entrance of his tent, the others following his gaze.
Beyond the canvas, sounds of explosions, screams, shouts, and even strange chants could be heard. Even though he hoped it wasn't the case, Lucius sensed that the cause of this commotion might be traced back to the small gathering he had just had.
"Don't tell me that..." Avery began before being pushed aside by Lucius, who was already heading towards the exit.
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