On the outskirts of a little-known muggle town by the name of Sharmourn is the old Gibbon manor that coldly looks down on the village that peacefully lay in the hills down below. The dark manor is surrounded by thorny overgrown bushes that rustle in the brisk night breeze. Tumbling, dried, sickly-looking leaves scurry and creep up the twisting pathway and past the cold, metal gates that are covered by winding vines. More than a few leaves are caught in the gate and struggle futilely, while others manage to escape and tumble up the hill, past old, decaying trees, before arriving in front of the dark and ancient manor.
The night is dark as the dim crescent moonlight casts dimly down below casting very dark shadows in around the manor but especially upon the countless tombstones of the Gibbon family that lay behind the ancient manor. The air is heavily filled with tension and dread as Death Eater's gathered together in the front hall of the ancient Gibbons residence to welcome the return of their Dark Lord. The Dark Lord had sent word beforehand that he would be returning that evening, and they were all to be present to greet him.
On opposite sides of the hall stand two dark-haired men. The tall, slender wizard with icy dark eyes, Rodolphus Lestrange stares out the window overlooking the grounds pensively. While the broad-shouldered, Antonin Dolohov's cold haughty features twist into a sneer. All the Death Eaters, who were present knew that the two wizards were at odds with each other. And frankly, none of the Death Eaters were stupid enough to attempt nor mitigate a reconciliation between either man lest they be slain without cause by either of them.
In the corner of the hall, the mild sniffing of Empusa Snyde can be heard. All of the Death Eaters by default had long ago learned to tune out the constant wails of the widow Snyde. She could drive anyone mad with her perpetual lament over her deceased husband. More than one Death Eater tended to tightly clasp their wand in hand with great irk, whenever she was around.
However, Empusa was still a powerful, malicious witch. She had not yet allowed a curse or hex to be cast on her person, on the contrary, anyone who had attempted such a feat had been the ones bitterly regretting their actions in the end.
A burly Death Eater by the name of Seth grumbles, "They are running late."
"No, they have arrived," the icy voice of Rodolphus Lestrange can be heard matter-of-factly interrupted, and deliberately paused in cold contemplation. "However, the Dark Lord is not with them."
Dismay and relief can clearly be seen on the Death Eater's faces as they stare at the great front doors. The seconds seem impossibly long as the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall sounds far too loudly in their ears. Finally, after what seems like hours the ancient front doors swing open to reveal a group of hooded figures. Among them, the chief leading figure removes his hood to reveal the face that of a salt-peppered wizard with curly hair. His pale attractive features are twisted with viciousness to them. Especially in the depths of his light-colored eyes, there exists an unmistakable fervent madness to them.
Primus Wilkes bore a great resemblance to his deceased nephew, S.R. Wilkes. Primus bares his white teeth in a proud, vile, mad-like fashion. "Master is on an errand and has sent us ahead to announce his glorious return," Primus purred with great satisfaction.
The Death Eater's behind him all said in added chime, "Master requested that we patiently wait for his grand arrival."
Rodolphus and Dolohov's eyes narrow slightly at that word, Master. Pyrites had begun to use that word and it would seem that it would shortly become the new permanent title of the Dark Lord. However, neither man looked forward to using such a title. They had their own pride too.
Primus tilts his head at the Death Eater's behind him as they remove their hoods and move forward to mingle with those that had remained behind. Walking forward with a confident stride, Primus arrogantly comes to a halt before Lestrange, who icily stares down at him. "Lestrange, you best watch yourself," Primus viciously declared with a hungry smile. "Master will no longer tolerate your displays of disobedience. You will be adequately punished for any transgressions."
"Oh?" Rodolphus coldly replied. "How particular, it would seem that I can only hear the mad barking of a rabid, slobbering dog."
Primus grits his teeth in sheer fury at the curt dismissal. "The Dark Lord shan't be so lenient, Lestrange, and your good fortune shall swiftly come to an end," Primus threatened, and reached up to poke Lestrange firmly in the chest with one finger. "And I know it was you, who slew my nephew that night in the swamp. You may fool the others, but I am certain that it was unimaginable at the power and confidence which Master had bestowed upon him!"
"Was I now?" Rodolphus tilted his head back and released a blood-curling bark of laughter. Just as swiftly all traces of that terrifying mirth vanish to reveal a frigid visage. "You know absolutely nothing, Wilkes. But do not mistake my tolerance for anything but what it is. Do not touch me ever again, Wilkes for I will not let such insults abide again. Now remove your hand, before I forcibly remove it."
Primus's lips twitch in fury and whirled away in anger. Robes noisily snap behind him as he storms forward only to catch the sneering, haughty face of Dolohov. "And just what is that you find so very amusing, Dolohov?" Primus reflexively snapped maintaining his conceited demeanor.
The long, pale twisted face of Dolohov twitches with a wolfish smile. Muscular and tall, Dolohov uncrosses his arms and straightens up. Primus subconsciously steps back as the dark-haired, broad-shouldered man steps forward.
The hall halls silent as even a pin could be heard. "Would you be daring enough to repeat your previously uttered statement, Wilkes?" Dolohov taunted the shorter wizard. Plain hunger and bloodthirst is evident from the depths of his eyes. It was the gaze of a predator having spotted prey in the nearby distance.
Primus grits his teeth unable to retract his previous statement nor back down. A rabid dog must be properly shown its place, they would not tolerate such an insult nor obvious challenge to their authority. "I asked just what is that you thought and found so very amusing, Dolohov?" Primus growled with his head arrogantly held high.
Dolohov surprised them all when a low chuckle escaped him as he curls up to laugh. The low chuckle gradually grows louder echoing loudly in the still, and silent hall. Letting out one last chortle of laughter, Dolohov slowly straightens up like some terrifying beast rising to its full height. A hair-raising grin appears on Dolohov's face and even more, bone-chilling is the soft, and patient voice that emerges from his throat. "Wilkes, Wilkes," Dolohov murmured as if innocently chiding a friend.
Taking one single long stride forward, Dolohov easily closes the breach between the two of them. Dolohov firmly pats the much smaller Wilkes on the shoulders with both hands causing Wilkes to flinch at the force. "Now that the Dark Lord has promoted you to errand boy, you've let the power go to your head, Wilkes," Dolohov ruthlessly chided. "You've forgotten your place, but I shall immediately rectify that, and show this ill-mannered errand boy their proper place lest they forget it again."
Primus roughly pulls himself away from Dolohov's hold in full-blown fury. Drawing his wand, Primus sharply points his wand at Dolohov. "I dare you to utter such words before my presence again, Antonin Dolohov!"
Clouded by rage and hurt pride, Primus Wilkes had forgotten exactly, who Antonin Dolohov was. It was someone whom even the Dark Lord never pushed beyond his limits. For Dolohov was far from being weak nor a simple sheep, he was a ravenous wolf.
No, Dolohov was someone who had accompanied the Dark Lord ever since their school days at Hogwarts and the only one of their original group still left among the Death Eaters circle. Such a figure was not simple nor weak by any means.