Under Shadow

"This tale is about the McKinnon family: greatest and most fair of all the old names of the magical world, a bloodline pure and unbroken. Hugh Owen was greatest of them all. Son of Morwenna Pritchard and John McKinnon, both wise and skilled, vital opponents of the Dark Lord Grindelwald. Hugh Owen was their eldest son, and his name is revered in wizarding circles. He grew to be an Auror, a hunter of Dark wizards and an enemy of black magic. He steeped himself in lore, and became among the most learned of warlocks, a formidable opponent of the new Dark Lord, Voldemort, who had risen in the wake of Grindelwald's defeat and destruction. Hugh married, Sharia Shah, beautiful and of a most respected and ancient blood of the Middle East. He begot 6 children, Nazima, Fatima, Omar, Mohammed, Owen and Sharia. The family grew in riches, and mansion halls they had in Hogsmeade, Furmat and Cairo.
But the McKinnons were defeated and laid low by the Dark lord, the greatest and oldest of wizarding families all but decimated. So ended a glorious chapter in British wizarding history, in tears and ruin."
- From a History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot.




Prologue.

It was a cold night, and still. The very air seemed tingle and spark with anticipation, and the wind whispered conspiratorially in the trees. A large, bare mound rose in the midst of the forest, and on it stood a figure as silent and still as the night itself, and bristling with menace-waiting?
There was a long moment of impatient silence. It was broken in an instant, with the swishing of cloaks and the rustle of feet on the dead and rotting leaves. With precision and supreme obedience the death eaters formed a circle around their Dark Lord, and bowed low to him.
"Today," he began, in a voice as cold and high as a winter wind, "Is among our greatest hours."
A whisper went around the encompassed circle and triumphant sounds made.
"All Hallows Eve, when our magic is at it's strongest and most profound. Today all the dark creatures rush to join you in my servitude. Today, the Bones, a thorn in the side of my plans have been dispatched, murdered most effectively by my loyal servants."
Four of the death eaters bowed to a murmur of approval from their fellows.
"And tonight-tonight, we welcome yet more to my service. Step forward!"
Heads were turned behind faceless masks to look at the anonymous figures, Five in total, robed in black like every one else, but somehow more diminutive. A terrible smile spread across Lord Voldemorts' face. With one unnaturally long and impossibly pale finger he beckoned one of them forth. The figure was small and rotund, and trembling like a leaf caught in a sting wind. His breath came in short gasps as he kneeled before the Dark Lord.
"Your left arm."
Voldemort took the plump arm with his own chalk white hand, and with the other drew something shining and silver from his robes. A knife, the moon reflected in the blade. The arm began to shake violently, but Voldemorts' grip strengthened. An anguished squeal of pain cut through the air as the knife cut across soft flesh. The Dark Lord spoke again:
"Before you bleed to death," The man gave a low moan, " - a question. Would you like me to heal you?"
"My lord," He gasped, "Yes, please, yes..."
"What would you give?"
"Anything! Anything, my lord, please..."
"Your soul, Wormtail, your servitude, and if I require it, your life."
"Anything, Lord! Please!"
Voldemorts' vicious smile widened. The knife disappeared into his robe, and out instead came his wand. He pressed the tip to the wounded arm. Wormtail, the man, howled in pain. The hideous sounds and smell of sizzling flesh filled the nostrils of the Death Eaters for a moment. And then, Voldemort removed his wand from the mans' arm- there, instead of a bloody wound, an equally ugly mark was burnt black into his skin. Voldemorts' own Dark Mark, a serpent entwined with a skull.
The Death Eaters roared their approval as Wormtail bent to kiss his masters robes, and scurried off to join the ensemble ranks.

"Promises and vows, words are of limited value to me, for I know them to be treacherous. You, my new servant, are bonded to me by a vow of blood - an unbreakable magical covenant. Be faithful, and you shall have rich rewards. However, betray me, and the consequences will be beyond your worst nightmares."
At these words, a shiver ran down the spine of one of the robed figures. The last in line, the last to be sworn in, she tried hard to steady her breathing. He can sense your fear, she thought, he can read your emotions. She had a desperate, maddening desire to run and get out of here as fast as she could. But she too, had promises and vows to keep.