Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

…’
    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 forwards … 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 towards 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, a rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered.
    ‘Welcome, Death Eaters,’ said Voldemort quietly. ‘Thirteen years … thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it was 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 of 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 forwards, 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, 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 downwards and fixed itself upon Wormtail’s bleeding wrist.
    Wormtail’s sobbing stopped abruptly. His