Chapter 277 - Recompence (2/2)
Turning to stare at the envious filled eyes of those Death Eater's that did not yet bear the inner circle marks. ”All those that have participated in the raid shall also be rewarded,” Voldemort purred. ”Come forth to receive your prize.”
There is a moment of hesitation until a rugged, domineering Death Eater stepped forth. The haughty featured Death Eater's shoulder-length pale blond hair is pulled back into a short ponytail. Nowhere near as tall as his cousin, Corban Yaxley, Darith Yaxley did not have the same imposing, fierce aura that his cousin had, had. ”I would be honored, Dark Lord,” Darith said in awe. ”To take your dark mark upon my most unworthy flesh.”
Voldemort nodded his head in approval to the full statement. ”Very well, come forth,” Voldemort beckoned them. And so, they did as the ritual lasted for some time until at last the last of the Death Eaters are marked. The newly marked Death Eater's swayed on their two feet but held an immense satisfied look in their eyes.
”Now let us go and feast!” Voldemort cried out as the Death Eaters cheered and began to depart especially the Carrow siblings as they would have to hurry and attempt to salvage Amycus's fingers before it was too late.
As they were leaving, Voldemort says, ”Pyrites you and Wilkes may sit at my right and left side tonight at the head of the banquet table. Go forth and escort Wilkes.”
”Yes, Dark Lord,” Pyrites flashed a sparkling grin, before leading Wilkes through the manor.
”A word, Lestrange,” Voldemort said as the tall, broad-shouldered man halted before.
The dark-haired man with somewhat gaunt features turns and bows his head. ”Yes, Milord?” Rodolphus Lestrange passively answered rather unlike himself.
”You mean to mourn the loss of your brother, Lestrange?”
”Indeed, Dark Lord, if that is permitted. Rabastan and I are the last of the Lestrange's.”
Voldemort wasn't able to hide his lips curling into a sneer at seeing the anguish of loss that not even Lestrange couldn't fully hide. A lesser emotion, unneeded by one such as himself. But those weaker always held on to such sentimental, weak emotions.
”Then we shall ensure that your line continues, Lestrange,” Voldemort said as if in passing causing Rodolphus to abruptly stiffen.
”Then it shall be as Dark Lord, desires,” Rodolphus coolly replied, all the while hiding his fists in his robes as his fingers dig hard enough into the soft flesh of his palm to break the skin, and draw blood.
Voldemort casually brushes past him and departs leaving Lestrangebehind alone in the great hall. Rodolphus stands there for some time, before finally unclenching his fist. His nails are covered in his own blood, while his palms fiercely sting and bleed from painful crescent-like wounds. Enough was enough, he had work to do.
Taking a deep breath, Lestrange quickly seals his wounds, before composing his features. Satisfied that nothing would be further revealed to any of the other Death Eater's, he strides out to the ongoing festivities in the banquet hall. He had a role to play to perfection.