Loyal | Tom Riddle

8: The Knights of Walpurgis

The fire crackled merrily in Gryffindor's common room, creating the opposite mood of the occupants within.

"What could it mean?" Penny Gregors thought aloud, voicing everyone's nagging concern. "Who is it meant for?"

Thomas Blackladder, a brawny sixth-year Beater on the quidditch team, shook his head. "I barely even remember what she said. It was rather hard to concentrate with that hag flying around."

Arabella shot him a glare, forcing him to mumble an apology.

Henry Cahill leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "We should just work our way through it, step by step, shouldn't we? Does anyone have a bit of parchment and ink out?"

A first-year eagerly stopped puzzling over his star chart and handed over the needed supplies to the quidditch captain, who beamed at him appreciatively.

"Alright," Henry said energetically, "does anybody remember the whole prophecy? Word for word?"

Arabella glanced around the room, at the excited and confused faces. Slowly, because no one else had, she raised her hand. "I do."

It had been a while since her fellow Gryffindors had heard her voice. Most days, she had been working on homework in the corner of the tower, alone and away from everyone, or brooding in her dormitory. It felt relieving to finally focus on something other than the Daily Prophet's daily articles lambasting her father.

The rest of the night was spent working out all the possible meanings of the prophecy, with the older students theorising well into the early morning before finally retiring to bed, their heads filled with riddles and unanswered questions.

✧ ✧ ✧

Upon the shores of Black Lake, a group of figures clad in dark cloaks stood in a circle, intently watching their leader pace about the middle.

"Lower your hoods," he instructed harshly.

One by one, their faces were revealed in the pale moonlight: Abraxas Malfoy, Tantum Yaxley, Nikolai Travers, Cadmus Carrow, Antonin Dolohov, Edmund Mulciber, Simon Nott, Roman Rosier, Pollux Avery, Marcus Selwyn, and Ulysses Lestrange.

"Tonight," their leader announced, his voice echoing with power across the still waters, "we are no longer just schoolboys. We are no longer wizards training under Hogwarts' instruction. Tonight, we become legendary. We become powerful and strong, worthy of others' fear, masters of our own destinies. No one tells us who we are to become, because we are the Knights of Walpurgis."

Eleven stone faces stared at him with various expressions in their eyes -- admiration, terror, bemusement, respect. He stared down each and every one of them, hunger flickering deep within his own dark eyes.

"We are named for Walpurgis Night, the day when witches and wizards would gather on a mountain top to exercise their powers," he explained to their confused faces. "Muggles shall fear us just as they feared our ancestors centuries ago."

"And so I ask you," the leader paused for dramatic effect, "if you agree to devote your entire life to our noble cause!"

"Yes, my Lord," each cloaked figure responded.

With a sweep of his hand, a roaring green fire appeared in the centre of the circle, its flames licking upwards. He had developed a taste for the showy displays of power that he'd only ever read about before -- but now he was living power, breathing it. The need for more consumed him like an inferno, but he was willing himself to be burned.