Grey. Grey sky, Grey house, Gray dirt, Gary water. Gray souls. The souls of the lost, the forgotten, the damned and the beaten. They all live here, meet here, stay here, rotting here, as one. Accepted somewhere, for a reason; all the same reason. For once in their pathetic life’s they fit in somewhere, isolated from others and forgiven for their past. The are united and for once they don’t feel useless or frowned upon. They all follow one, the king of the lost, forgotten, rotten, and damned. He is a very handsome man… or at least was. His skin is turning flaky and pale, the green eyes are black now, and his hair is almost gone; like he is suffering from some kind of disease. The king is feared by so many, by his followers and by strangers, there is only so few that actually joined him for his cause, not for his name. He is even loved, by his best lieutenant, she is probably the only one who would ever love him, her name? Bellatrix Black Lestrange. Married to Rodolphus but only for his blood status; She really hates Rodulphus anyway. She is responsible for the dark mark in the sky, the only thing illuminating the grey sky above them. She is calling the members of the king, they are called the death eaters and are the most feared gang in Britain. The king, Lord Voldemort, is busy outside the manor, with his pet snake and awaiting the meeting.
Malfoy Manor, they call it. The wedded Lucious and Narcissa (Black) Malfoy inherited the manor. They had also just had a baby, earlier in the year. After years and years of trying to conceive, they finally had baby Draco, the miracle baby boy. He would be their first and last child, since it would be almost impossible to have another. Lucious was sitting in front of a marble furnace, on a leather coach; Bellatrix had just left the room and his wife entered in her place. “Lucious, they are coming.” She said in an almost whisper; he did nothing. “You can’t tune out Lucious, not like this.” Narcissa sat next to him; again, he did nothing. “Please, please…” Narcissa said one last time before she began to cry. Lucious just sat there, almost ignoring his wife’s sobs “Why is this happening to us?” Lucious said very quietly. Narcissa looked up, then opened her mouth to talk, but her tongue couldn’t dig up the right words to say. “Why is this FUCKING HAPPENING, TO US!?” Lucious yelled, bolting up from the coach and blasting a vase to pieces from the coffee table. “Stop it. I don’t know Lucious.” Narcissa grabbed his shoulders, pulling him towards her. “He threatened to kill us… to kill our son.” He said, face landing on his wife’s shoulders “Lucious, If you can’t stay strong for us, what makes you think we can for our son?” Narcissa whispered “You have to do it.” Lucious said “I will not.” Narcissa replied “get the damn mark Narcissa or we’ll both die.” Lucious yelled; Bellatrix barged in “The fuck is going on here?” she said calmly, “Now, now, Lucious. Don’t you dare force my sister to doing things she doesn’t want to…” Bellatrix stuck her nose in his face “The Dark Lord is being kind, he’s changed his mind…” She began “She doesn’t have to get the mark, and you don’t have to do the task… he’s found better, stronger,” She circled him and came close to his ear “better people to do the task.” she whispered. Bellatrix shrieked with laughter “Such as I…”.
They had all arrived, each one on the side of the long table, at least 30 of them came. Lord Voldemort sat in the very edge. “I have gathered all of you here because we have a special guest… to welcome in to our… group.” He began, his words being pronounced with a slither. “But we shall meet him towards the end, first we need information from our spy, Severus, would you please share with us?” He pointed at the back of the table. “Yes my lord,” Snape began “The Potter girl has still been writing to me…” he said “Expecting an answer I suppose.” Bellatrix said; everyone laughed, except for Voldemort. “Concerning?” Voldemort said slyly “Nothing really, just about her life events, the boy was born yesterday.” Snape said; Voldemort looked slightly surprised “The boy was born on the 31st of July… interesting… I think this could be the one we are looking for.” He said quietly “Any other news?” Voldemort asked “Well… there is another…” said Snape; everyone raised their eyes toward him “His name is Neville. He belongs to the Longbottoms… the Aurors and members of the Order. He was also born… on July 31st…” Snape finished; the whole room gasped “Who do you think it is then, my lord, it could be either on of them…” Bellatrix said “No Bella, we mustn’t guess which one it is… I know for a fact, the prophecy spoke of a boy born on July 31st, but there is a difference, one that I could almost feel inside of me… I know it is the other one, Potter is the chosen one.” Voldemort stated “Who will kill him?” spoke a Death Eater named Crabbe. “I shall be the one to kill the boy.” Voldemort said simply. “But my lord, who will take care of the Longbottoms?” Asked Barty Crouch “I’m leaving it up to you, Barty and my two best Death Eaters, Bella and Rodolphus. I’m sure you can get the truth out of them, but not yet, I’ll assign a date…” Voldemort said shortly.
“Shall we initiate the traitor- I mean… new comer now?” Rodolphus Lestrange said in a mockery tone. Voldemort chuckled darkly “Bring him in.” two big men from the front of the room dragged a plump sack like man through, in to the almost lit room they all were sitting in. “Stick out your left arm!” shouted one of the men “Either get cut or bit by the snake… your choice.” Bellatrix said circling her prey “I choose the knife…” the little man said shortly, very timid. “Who said it would be a knife?” Bellatrix laughed and struck her claw-like nails deep in to the mans skin, breaking the tissue and forcing out blood, she ripped up a straight line. “Blood of the new comer…” she began to chant. “Wand of the new comer.” she took the mans wand and handed it to Voldemort, with a deep curtsey. “Do you solemnly swear that you will always, follow, protect, and if so, die for my name?” the man nodded. “Morsmordre!” Voldemort shouted; The tiny man shrieked with fear, his flesh burning on the ground, silver steam evaporated from his arm and in to the air, filling the room with the scent of burning flesh. After minutes of horrible pain, he stood up and shaked “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” said Peter Pettigrew.
