Few wizards know the secret goings-on of Voldemort's inner circle. Those who have breached the ranks of the Death Eaters have been true to the cause, and faithful servants to the Dark Lord--and those who failed to show their loyalty met a painful end. But loyalty is a curious thing. Few could truly say they know the motives of their friends and allies--few know what goes on beneath the mask.
Author's Note: This is my second attempt at a Harry Potter fic, but my first non-Animorphs related fanfic made public on the net. Apologies if I've gotten the writing voice wrong.
I
A tall, dark haired boy that many would call handsome stood by the large windows of the Slytherin common room, staring out into the black lake that lay beyond the grounds of Hogwarts castle. The water outside the room seemed to glow an eerie green, and every so often some small, scaly creature with tentacles and gills would swim by, completely unaware of the pale faced boy of seventeen staring out into the abyss. Behind this boy was the entire common room, draped in silvers and greens, with emerald encrusted tapestries, ornate silver tables bearing serpents, and various portraits of past students. The room was empty. The boy was alone. Alone was precisely how he liked it; he did his best thinking alone. And on the day of his graduation from Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, there was a lot of thinking to be done.
Tom was an exceptional wizard—this was a fact recognized by his classmates, teachers, even strangers. He was a brilliant, orphaned boy that many wizards and witches across Britain expected great things. And Tom planned to do nothing but great things after Hogwarts. He had ambitions, he had goals; and he would achieve them. But he was still working out how he would come about achieving those goals. There was still much to do; much he needed to learn. The magic always came easy to Tom—potions, spells, incantations, wand work, dueling; he soaked it all up, skimming over, or just dismissing those things he found dull and unimportant. Unfortunately for Tom Riddle, there was much beyond his control. For the time being.
The passage to the Slytherin common room suddenly opened. Behind Tom walked in a small group of boys his age—all of them wearing the same robes that bore the crest of their house. They were laughing at a joke Tom hadn’t heard. The laughter ceased once the boys caught a glimpse of Tom.
“My Lord.” The tallest of the group said, suddenly. “Are you well?”
“I’ve come back from Dippet’s office.” Tom said
“Oh?” one of the other boys replied. “I imagine you got the job then?”
Tom let out a sound that could have been a laugh. “You knew I wouldn’t, Nott.”
“Of course I did, My Lord. There was no way you couldn’t have—“
“He said I was too young.” Tom continued, as though Nott hadn’t spoken at all. “Told me to come back in a few more years.
“Well, my Lord,” the first boy began. “Professor Dippet may have a point—not to say that you aren’t capable. Your power surpasses the abilities of most of the staff at Hogwarts.”
“You believe Dippet is correct, then, Antonin?” Tom asked, turning to face his friends. “I should wait, yes?”
“It would seem to be the proper course of action, yes.” The boy named Antonin admitted. “You can do better things—outside the school. You don’t need to reduce yourself to a teaching position.”
Tom thought on this. “Yes. The proper course...” He drifted off. He turned towards the flames in the fire place, as though he was studying the element. Then he addressed the boys behind him, “Where had everyone else gone?”
“Everyone’s heading to the Great hall, my Lord.” a dark haired boy beside Nott said. “The ceremony is about to begin.”
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” A thickset boy with black hair said, with a laugh. “No more detentions with ol’ Merrythought. No more potions homework. No more Hogwarts.”
The rest of the boys nodded in agreement. “No more Hogwarts.” Tom responded quietly.
“Well…that means no more Dumbledore!” Nott said, excitedly. “We don’t have to worry about the old goat breathing down our necks all the time.”
Tom smiled. “Now there’s a thought.”
“Anyone actually have any plans once school’s through?” A stout boy mumbled, collapsing on one of the emerald sofas placed across the fireplace where Tom’s gaze was fixed.
“My father’s got connections at the Ministry.” The dark haired boy said, taking a seat next to the stout wizard. “I imagine I’ll be looking into that.”
“I’m looking into the Ministry as well.” Antonin said. “There are a lot of interesting things down there. Some I’d figure are worth checking.”
“Am I the only one who was thinking Quidditch would be a suitable career choice?” a thin boy asked.
“I’d hate to break it to you, Lestrange, but you’re a right dreadful chaser.”
“Sod off.” The wizard named Lestrange shot back. “There’s bound to be a team to take me. Besides,” he grinned. “It’s better than a stuffy office job at the Ministry. I don’t need to be hounded by a bunch of beards eight hours a day.”
“What about you, my Lord?” Antonin asked.
Tom thought some more on his future beyond Hogwarts. He continued to stare into the fire. Then, without even turning around to face his friends, he said: “I figured I’d do a bit of travelling. There’s a lot I could learn. And I’m not talking about the sort of stuff they had us learn here. I’m talking about proper magic.”
“Then we will follow.” Antonin offered. “To the ends of the earth, we’ll follow the heir of Slytherin.”
This received a healthy cheer from the group of boys standing around the fireplace.
“No.” Tom said, softly. “You will remain here, in Britain.”
Tom’s friends stared at him, bewildered. “Sir?” the stout wizard said. “Stay?”
“I will return, eventually.” Tom assured the boys. “That is certain. But I need to go this alone—for now. But I will come back one day. And I will be more powerful than anyone could imagine. The road to defeating death has been set.”
“But how will you know when you’ve come back?” Nott asked.
Tom’s eyes flickered with a reserved excitement. His face, however, remained blank. His gaze was still focused on the fire. His hand twitched slightly, as though it yearned to grasp the wand hidden in his robes.
“That is why I’ve asked you all to come here, first.” Tom said. “I’ve come up with a spell. A symbol, really. It’s a symbol of our cause.”
“What cause is that, my Lord?” asked Nott.
“The one true cause, my friend. The same cause my ancestors had worked towards for generations: the purging of the mudbloods.”
The boys were cheering, louder now.
Tom turned to face his friends now, smiling triumphantly. “I have chosen you, above all others, to receive the mark. With it, you will be bound to me—eternally. Do you wish to accept it?”
The boys all nodded eagerly. They told Tom that they would do anything—give their lives, even—to serve the boy.
Tom took out his wand now. “Avery,” he said to the dark haired boy on the couch. “Come.”
Avery got to his feet, visibly excited. What would his master give him?
“Hold out your arm.” Tom instructed. Avery complied by pulling back the sleeve on his left arm. Tom placed his wand above the pink flesh. He waited a moment. Then, he said, “Morsmordre!”
A flash of green erupted from the wand and struck Avery’s arm. Almost instantaneously the look of excitement on Avery’s face changed to one of anguish and pain. He fell to his knees and cried out.
“Be quiet, Avery.” Tom said, quietly. “Get up. You said you wished to serve me. All of you,” Tom said, looking at the shocked faces of the boys around him. “You claim to be faithful to Lord Voldemort. This is the proof I need. You will wear the mark, proudly.”
There was a silence, broken only by the stifled moans coming from Avery as he clasped his right hand over his left arm. The mark, however, was still visible to the eye—a black skull with a serpent crawling out of its mouth. The skin around Avery’s arm was red.
“Get up, Avery.” Tom said again.
Avery, once again, complied. He stepped back from Tom and returned to his place on the couch. Beside him and from behind him, his friends spared quick glances at the mark now burned into his flesh.
Tom looked at Antonin next. “And you, Dolohov?”
Antonin hesitated for a moment, chancing a look at Avery’s mark. His eyes then flickered back to meet Tom’s. Slowly, Dolohov stepped forward, pulling back the sleeve on his left arm, and knelt before his master. He braced himself.
“Morsmordre.” Tom said again.
The same green flash appeared—the same mark was etched painfully onto Dolohov’s arm. And despite the boy’s best efforts, he cried out in pain.
The stout boy, Nod Lestrange was next to get his mark, followed by Mulciber, Nott, and lastly, Rosier. Within a few minutes, each of the boys had been marked.
“After tonight, we will be divided.” Tom said, firmly. “The mark will slowly fade the longer I am gone. But the day you wake up, and find the mark has turned black—that is when you know I have come back. And, when that moment comes, we will start gathering our followers.”
“Master,” Avery started. “What do we do until you return?”
“You will keep a watchful eye on the wizarding world. Join the Ministry, or some other place of importance. Learn all you can there. Your news will be useful once I’ve returned. Until then,” Tom said, “We will go to the Great hall. We can’t be late for the ceremony.”
The boys followed their leader out the passageway to Slytherin common room. The left the dungeons and crossed the entrance hall to the large wooden doors that led to the end of the year feast. They took their seats at the Slytherin table and waited—with what others perceived as attentiveness—to hear Professor Dippet’s closing speech. A sixth year girl next to Avery noticed him rubbing his forearm.
“Got an itch, Avery?” she asked.
“Er…just banged it against an armchair.” He mumbled.
Throughout the ceremony, the other boys tried to supress the need to rub their left arms.
