was circling Harry again, hissing. Voldemort slipped
one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a
wand. He caressed it gently too; and then he raised it, and pointed it at Wormtail,
who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where Harry was
tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying. Voldemort
turned his scarlet eyes upon Harry, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.
Wormtail's robes were shining with blood now; he had wrapped the stump of his
arm in them.
"My Lord . . ." he choked, "my Lord . . . you promised . . . you did promise ..."
"Hold out your arm," said Voldemort lazily.
"Oh Master . . . thank you, Master ..."
He extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again.
"The other arm, Wormtail."
"Master, please . . .please ..."
Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail's left arm; he forced the sleeve of
Wormtail's robes up past his elbow, and Harry saw something upon the skin there,
something like a vivid red tattoo - a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth -
the image that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark
Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable
weeping.
"It is back," he said softly, "they will all have noticed it... and now, we shall see ...
now we shall know ..."
He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail's arm.
The scar on Harry s forehead seared with a sharp pain again, and Wormtail let out
a fresh howl; Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail's mark, and Harry
saw that it had turned jet black.
A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his
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head, and stared around at the dark graveyard.
"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" he whispered, his
gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. "And how many will be foolish enough to
stay away?"
He began to pace up and down before Harry and Wormtail, eyes sweeping the
graveyard all the while. After a minute or so, he looked down at Harry again, a
cruel smile twisting his snakelike face.
"You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father," he hissed softly. "A
Muggle and a fool. . . very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did
they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child . . . and I killed my father, and
see how useful he has proved himself, in death. ..."
Voldemort laughed again. Up and down he paced, looking all around him as he
walked, and the snake continued to circle in the grass.
"You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a
witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her
when she told him what she was. ... He didn't like magic, my father . . .
"He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born. Potter, and
she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage . . . but
I vowed to find him ... I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his
name . . . Tom Riddle. . . ."
Still he paced, his red eyes darting from grave to grave.
"Listen to me, reliving family history . . ." he said quietly, "why, I am growing
quite sentimental. . . . But look, Harry! My true family returns. . . ."
The air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks. Between graves, behind the
yew tree, in every shadowy space, wizards were Apparating. All of them were
hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward . . . slowly, cautiously,
as though they could
hardly believe their eyes Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them. Then one
of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort and kissed the
hem of his black robes.
Master . . . Master " he murmured.
The Death Eaters behind him did the same; each of them approaching Voldemort
on his knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up, forming
a silent circle, which enclosed Tom Riddle s grave, Harry, Voldemort, and the
sobbing and twitching heap that was Wormtail. Yet they left gaps in the circle, as
though waiting for more people. Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect
more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind
rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered.
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"Welcome, Death Eaters," said Voldemort quietly. "Thirteen years. . . thirteen
years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday, we
are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?"
He put back his terrible face and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening.
"I smell guilt," he said. "There is a stench or guilt upon the air.
A second shiver ran around the circle, as though each member of it longed, but did
not dare to step back from him.
"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact - such prompt
appearances! and I ask myself . . . why did this band of wizards never come to the
aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?"
No one spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who was upon the ground, still
sobbing over his bleeding arm.
"And I answer myself," whispered Voldemort, "they must have believed me
broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they
pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment. . . .
"And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again?
They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death?
They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was
mightier than any wizard living?
"And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one
that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort. . . perhaps they now pay allegiance to
another . . . perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles,
Albus Dumbledore?"
At the mention of Dumbledore's name, the members of the circle stirred, and some
muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort ignored them.
"It is a disappointment to me ... I confess myself disappointed. . . ."
One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling
from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet.
"Master!" he shrieked, "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"
Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand.
"Crucio!"
The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked; Harry was sure the sound
must carry to the houses around. . . . Let the police come, he thought desperately . .
. anyone . .. anything. . .
Voldemort raised his wand. The tortured Death Eater lay flat upon the ground,
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gasping.
"Get up, Avery," said Voldemort softly. "Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do
not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years ... I want thirteen years' repayment
before I forgive you. Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you
not, Wormtail?"
He looked down at Wormtail, who continued to sob.
"You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You
deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes, Master," moaned Wormtail, "please. Master . . . please ..."
"Yet you helped return me to my body," said Voldemort coolly, watching
Wormtail sob on the ground. "Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me
... and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers... ."
Voldemort raised his wand again and whirled it through the air. A streak of what
looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake. Momentarily
shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a gleaming replica of a human
hand, bright as moonlight, which soared downward and fixed itself upon
Wormtails bleeding wrist.
Wormtail's sobbing stopped abruptly. His breathing harsh and ragged, he raised
his head and stared in disbelief at the silver hand, now attached seamlessly to his
arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove. He flexed the shining fingers,
then, trembling, picked up a small twig on the ground and crushed it into powder.
"My Lord," he whispered. "Master ... it is beautiful. . . thank you... thank you. ..."
He scrambled forward on his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes.
"May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail," said Voldemort.
"No, my Lord . . . never, my Lord . . ."
Wormtail stood up and took his place in the circle, staring at his powerful new
hand, his face still shining with tears. Voldemort now approached the man on
Wormtail's right.
"Lucius, my slippery friend," he whispered, halting before him. "I am told that you
have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable
face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet
you never tried to find me, Lucius. . . . Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup
were fun, I daresay. . . but might not your energies have been better directed
toward finding and aiding your master?"
"My Lord, I was constantly on the alert," came Lucius Malfoy's voice swiftly from
beneath the hood. "Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your
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whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have
prevented me -"
"And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky
last summer?" said Voldemort lazily, and Mr. Malfoy stopped talking abruptly.
"Yes, I know all about that, Lucius. . . . You have disappointed me. ... I expect
more faithful service in the future."
"Of course, my Lord, of course. . . . You are merciful, thank you. ..."
Voldemort moved on, and stopped, staring at the space - large enough for two
people - that separated Malfoy and the next man.
"The Lestranges should stand here," said Voldemort quietly. "But they are
entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than
renounce me. . . . When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honored
beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us ... they are 