Fidelitas

Epilogue

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It was a dark, humid night. The moon was hidden by clouds, and the gathering of people in the woods was concealed by large trees.

A stranger coming across this gathering might have been confused by the fifty or so grown men all clothed in black robes and wearing white masks, standing in a circle around a large, almost throne-like chair.

He would have been more confused to see the man seated on that chair; he was tall and unnaturally thin, with a lipless mouth and vertically slit pupils. The likeness to a snake was undeniable.

It is possible that he would have thought this to be a celebration of Halloween

But before all that, he would probably have been killed.

Draco was standing at his place in the circle, along with the six others who would be Marked that day. They had already proved their loyalties, but Draco had not. Occlumency instructions kept running through his head, but it was difficult to keep his mind clear when thoughts like What if I die today? kept drifting across it . . .

The Dark Lord's conference with the Inner Circle concluded, and the high-ranking Death Eaters returned to their places in the larger circle.

And then it was time for the Marking.

One by one the candidates were called to Him. Draco suppressed a smile at the similarity with the Sorting ceremony.

The Dark Lord spoke to the candidates, softly, so only the two of them could hear. The screams which followed this however were heard by all. Each time this happened, those who had not been marked flinched noticeably, and then seemed to brace themselves for the inevitable. It was evident, though, that the Dark Lord enjoyed the screams, and also the obvious discomfort of those awaiting their turn.

When the Marking was over, the newly-initiated Death Eaters prostrated themselves before Him, kissed the hem of his robes, and backed away respectfully.

All too soon the sixth candidate was called. Draco was left alone. It would be his turn next. He steeled himself, preparing his mind for a possible attack, and willed himself to not listen to the screams.

A raspy voice invaded his thoughts.

'Draco Malfoy!'

It was Macnair's voice.

Draco stepped forward, with seeming grace and composure. He walked up to Him, and stopped at a respectful distance. He forced himself into a bow.

Voldemort smiled a terrible smile.

'The youngest of the Malfoys. Your family has served me well, boy. So you wish to join me as well?'

'Yes, my Lord, it is my deepest desire to assist you in your conquest of the world as we know it. It would be an honor to serve you, my master.'

'Indeed,' said Voldemort, apparently pleased. 'I have plans for you Draco. And your father has high hopes, does he not?'

'We only wish to serve you, my Lord.'

Voldemort cocked his head on one side, and suddenly without any possible warning he was inside Draco's mind.

But Draco was prepared. He concentrated hard, and followed his instructions. Soon, the attack subsided.

The Dark Lord looked pleased.

'Come forward.'

Draco walked up three steps to be almost face to face with Him.

'Hold out your arm, and pull up the sleeve.'

Draco did so.

He touched his wand to Draco's fore-arm.

'Morsmordre incanctatus indefinitum-'

The rest of the words were lost to Draco as red hot jets of pain started shooting up his arm, racking his body unbearably. He screamed, and screamed, and it never seemed to stop. Back in his place in the circle, Lucius Malfoy smiled proudly at his son.

Draco found himself collapsed on the ground, with a shooting pain in his left fore-arm. He looked to find a vivid red tattoo, marring the perfect skin: the Dark Mark.

Voldemort's voice broke into his thoughts.

'Rise, my servant.'

Draco stood up, then bowed and kissed the hem of His robes. He backed away, still bowing, and took his place in the circle of Death Eaters.

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