Deathly Bonds (Slytherin's Heir Book 2)

Chapter Two

You really threw yourself to the wolves on this one, didn't you Percy? What were you thinking, making an oath on the River Styx like that??

Percy would be the first to admit he had panicked. Just a little. But this was the boy he'd failed to protect before. The boy whose sister he let die. The boy who deserved the world but had hell dragging on his ankles. Funny, how Percy thought he was okay with the past until he unlocked that door. The River Styx was the one method he had at his disposal that would keep Voldemort away from his friends. He was actually a little surprised at how easily his grandfather agreed, it was clearly not a deal in his favour. Unless he thought he was going to get the same results out of Percy alone, in which case he had a big storm coming. Of course, Percy would let him figure that one out for himself. So long as Nico went back to Camp Half-Blood he'd be safe.

Percy frowned, a thought only now surfacing. Actually, what was Nico even doing here in the first place? If he's here does that mean there's others here too?

Two swift knocks at the door pulled him from away before he could dwell on it more. Right. You've got other problems to worry about now. Blackjack would get Nico to safety; as for Percy, he had some dumb initiation ceremony to survive. Despite humanity's natural inclination to talk about things they think they shouldn't, Percy knew next to nothing about Voldemort and his Death Eaters (which was seriously a dumb name, but okay, he's not about to get into that) outside snatches of muffled conversation and rumours that probably held as much weight as a wind spirit. Thus he had absolutely no idea what he was walking into.

Just the normal then.

A robed figure let themselves in before Percy could answer the door, leaving it wide open and telling him to hurry up. It wasn't like Percy had to change much, he didn't have any clothes of his own other than these goddamn school robes. Thank the gods for the cleaning magic spells he'd picked up, saving him from the garishly old fashioned clothing in the wardrobe.

The demigod pulled a face as he was shoved ahead of the robed figure. Voldemort's Death Eaters seemed to find endless amusement from his sorting as a Hufflepuff, the yellow crest proudly adorning his robes. Apparently it made him quite the 'flower picking pansy', among other names - though he hadn't heard that one before. Percy, for one didn't understand what was so bad about being sorted into a house renowned for its loyalty and tolerance. Then again, he supposed those traits couldn't exactly be applied to Voldemort's company and revised his thoughts. It was impossible to miss the sneers from other houses towards Slytherin about them being a bunch of Death Eaters and holders of all the nasty traits, which really, Percy thought, it said more about other people than those in Slytherin itself. Then again, he was mildly curious to know how many people from Slytherin were Death Eaters and why. But he figured that would involve both statistics and talking to the people around him, quickly dissuading him from those thoughts.

Percy was lead down stairs and corridors and into the backyard, feeling his escort's glare burning into his back the whole way, daring him to try something stupid. Briefly, he wondered if this was the guard he'd knocked out the other night. They certainly seemed salty enough.

Night had long since fallen - because of course it was some unwritten law that shady wizard stuff happened in the dark - and the yard was dimly lit by eerie green fire blazing in intricate stone braziers. A ring of dark robed Death Eaters parted to allow Percy through to where Voldemort stood in the middle of it all, donning a robe of his own. He stood out regardless with the sickly pallor of his skin and narrow twist of his limbs. If it weren't for the fact he had a corporeal form, one could almost mistake him for one of the numerous ghosts lingering outside the circle, malicious curiosity glinting in their eyes as they spotted the demigod.

Percy eyed them warily as he entered the circle. He wasn't quite sure what to expect, but as if this wasn't feeling cult-ish enough, being hissed at to bare his forearm for the ritual certainly ticked that box.

The demigod frowned and hesitated, "Why do you-"

Voldemort hissed in annoyance and yanked up Percy's wrist, flicking back his sleeve and ignoring Percy's flinch as he did so. The creature paused, staring at what he'd expected to be unmarked skin. "What is this?"

An uncertain laugh bubbled out of Percy. "A tattoo?"

Voldemort squinted at his wrist, potentially thinking about the significance of it - something Percy very much so didn't want him to do. "What, does that throw a wrench in your weird initiation?"

"No matter," Voldemort shook his head, raising his wand to Percy's skin. "It can be fixed."

"What!?" Light burst from the tip of the wand as a spell was uttered and Percy's arm seized with pain. He clenched his teeth together to bite back any noise as his fingers curled into a fist and he twisted under Voldemort's grip, managing to rip his arm away. Robes rustled as those around them pointed their own wands threateningly in his direction. Grandson or not they clearly weren't taking any bullshit.

Gingerly, Percy inspected his forearm. Aside from the lingering stinging and faint curl of smoke rising from the lines of his SPQR tattoo it hadn't faded any. Inwardly he released a sigh of relief before burying it under anger. "What the hell was that?" Percy yelled, ignoring how the robed figures around him stiffened.

Voldemort didn't dignify him with a response at first, seemingly pondering something. "Interesting isn't it? Perhaps it has something to do with your mild resistance to magic. You agreed to become a Death Eater for the freedom of your friend, so you must receive Dark Mark."

Percy scoffed. "Okay so? I have two arms? Use the other one." A Storm was brewing on Percy's face, not liking the idea of having to leave any affiliation with this group on his body. It was already in his blood apparently and that was enough for him.

"It is not that simple," he hissed. His followers stirred uneasily. "The Dark Mark belongs on the left forearm. We do not make exceptions."

"Yeah well, there's a first time for everything." Percy glowered, daring anybody to try something like that again. Tension hung thick in the air, the silence broken only by the crackling fire, indifferent to the scene.

"I will place the Dark Mark where it should be, regardless of whatever muggle silliness already on your skin." Voldemort proclaimed, already closing in. Murmurs arose from the crowds, punctured by manic giggles and dark agreement. Percy tried his hardest not to be offended by his words and retreated two steps.

"You can put it on my right arm instead. Leave my other arm alone. I'll take your stupid mark but not there," he said. He still wasn't even entirely sure what the Dark Mark was but if it was replacing his SPQR tattoo then it wasn't happening. Panic closed it's jaws around his throat as hands secured around his shoulders and arms, presenting them to the creature advancing on him. Somebody yanked his head back by his hair, forcing him to look up. Noise grew like a tide of white static in his ears, racing in time with his heartbeat. "Let go of me!"

"You are the one who vowed to become a Death Eater. You are the one without a choice." This creature with flashing red eyes engulfed in black spitting words in his face hardly seemed like a threat on such thin limbs but Percy felt chills down his spine. Hands held him from snapping as Voldemort pressed his wand to Percy's skin once more and uttered a different spell. A desperate call to his power came too slow in his disorientation. If he thought what happened before hurt, he was wrong. A flash of light burst from his arm causing everyone to look away as something burnt with pain and slithered up under his skin, coiling into his nerves and latching on to its new home. It felt unsettlingly slimy and intrusive, tucking itself in deep and Percy didn't notice the ground spinning under his feet until the hands let him drop.

Bony hands under his chin forced his head up and his eyes locked on a blurry face bearing a sinister smile full of teeth. "Welcome, my grandson. This is only the beginning."

~~~~

I didn't know if there were any 'official' insults for Hufflepuff so have flower picking pansy.

~ Peace

BTSWD
Borntosingwithdrama