Harry Potter with Technology System

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When the mark finally disappeared completely, Harry released her arm and straightened. Bellatrix looked down at her bare skin, then up at him, her expression filled with awe and confusion. "It's… gone," she whispered, almost reverently.

"Yes," Harry replied curtly. "The old Mark is useless to me. I'll replace it with something better—when I decide the time is right."

Bellatrix nodded eagerly, her lips parting as if to speak, but Harry held up a hand to silence her. He turned to the rest of the room, his gaze sweeping over the kneeling Death Eaters. "The same goes for the rest of you. Hold out your arms."

The group hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances. Lucius was the first to comply, stepping forward with visible reluctance and rolling up his sleeve to reveal the faded outline of the Dark Mark. Harry didn't waste words. He raised his wand and repeated the process, the Mark flickering and dissolving as his magic worked through it.

One by one, the others followed suit. The Carrows were jittery, flinching every time Harry's wand moved near them. Crabbe and Goyle kept their heads down, muttering nervous thanks when their Marks were removed. Nott, however, lingered at the back of the room, his expression guarded as he finally extended his arm.

Harry paused, meeting Nott's gaze with a pointed look. "Problem?"

Nott hesitated, his fingers twitching near the hem of his sleeve. "No, my Lord," he said carefully, though his tone carried a faint edge of skepticism. "I was just… surprised. The Mark has been a symbol for years. Removing it feels… significant."

Harry smirked, pressing his thumb hard into Nott's arm where the Mark used to be, watching the man flinch under the pain. "You dare to suspect me?" he said coldly. "I can smell your suspicion, Nott." His voice carried an edge that silenced the room.

Nott gritted his teeth, the strain visible on his face, though he didn't pull back. "N-no, my Lord. I wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't dare?" Harry pressed harder, forcing Nott to bite back a pained hiss. "Then why do I feel it? The doubt, the hesitation. You think this is some elaborate trick?" He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "You think anyone else could remove the Mark and inflict pain in the same breath?"

The others in the room watched silently, relief and fear flickering across their faces. Relief that it wasn't them under scrutiny, fear at the reminder of Harry's control. They knew only their Lord could manipulate the Mark this way—or so Voldemort had led them to believe. In truth, it was a clever rune Voldemort had added, a layer of deception designed to secure unwavering loyalty. Harry had merely tapped into its secrets.

Nott's arm trembled under Harry's grip, but he managed to croak, "I… I was mistaken, my Lord. Forgive me."

Harry released him abruptly, and Nott staggered back, clutching his arm as though the Mark were still there. "Mistaken," Harry repeated, his tone laced with derision. "Mistakes are a luxury you cannot afford, Nott. Do not forget your place."

The room was heavy with silence, broken only by Nott's labored breathing. Harry let his gaze sweep across the others, lingering just long enough to make them uncomfortable. "Let this be a reminder to all of you," Harry continued, his voice sharp. "I do not tolerate doubt. Loyalty isn't optional—it's a requirement. If any of you waver again, I will not be so lenient."

Bellatrix was practically glowing, her lips curled into a manic smile as she knelt slightly forward. "They needed to hear it, my Lord," she said reverently. "They grown soft in your absence."

Harry shot her a glance, and she quickly lowered her head, clearly taking the warning. "Get up, all of you," he commanded after removing Nott's mark. The oppressive weight of his spell lifted, and the group scrambled to their feet, their movements awkward as they straightened their robes.

He stepped back, giving them space, but his presence filled the room, keeping the tension taut. "We have work to do. The Ministry is in chaos, and there are opportunities waiting to be seized. But not if you're too busy questioning me."

Lucius stepped forward cautiously, his voice steady despite the slight tremor in his hands. "What are your orders, my Lord?"

Harry looked at them, his gaze sharp. "Information," he said curtly, "and lay low. Let them sort out their crisis."

The Death Eaters exchanged uneasy glances. This passive stance seemed to rattle them, and a few shifted uncomfortably. Bellatrix opened her mouth, likely to question the decision, but Harry silenced her with a wave of his hand.

"It is not the time to seize control," he continued, his tone clipped. "That old fool has taken precautions in my absence, and your leniency allowed them to grow stronger. Meanwhile, you filled their pockets with opportunities to fortify themselves. Now I have to deal with the mess."

The blunt assessment struck the group like a physical blow. Lucius stiffened, but he kept his gaze respectfully lowered. The others dared not even move. Bellatrix, however, had no such restraint.

"My Lord," she began, her voice trembling with the edge of her fervor, "if we were—"

"Silence," Harry interrupted, his voice cutting through her words like a knife. "I don't need excuses, Bella. I need results."

She flinched as if physically struck but quickly nodded, her head bowing in submission. "Yes, my Lord."

Harry's eyes swept over the group again. "I'll be clear. You are not to draw attention to yourselves. No grandstanding, no half-baked schemes. Do not mistake this as a lack of action. It's strategy." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "And strategy requires patience."

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After leaving the hideout, Lucius Malfoy led the group of Death Eaters down the dimly lit, narrow path that wound its way toward the Disapparition point. Each of them mulled over the strange events that had just transpired. No one dared speak immediately, not while Lucius's sharp eyes occasionally flicked over his shoulder, daring anyone to utter something foolish.

The group followed in relative silence, the shuffling of their boots and the occasional snap of twigs the only sounds. As they approached the clearing, the discomfort grew too large to bear. Goyle Snr. was the first to glance meaningfully at the others, his expression clearly questioning whether someone else would risk speaking first.

Finally, Nott Snr. cleared his throat, his voice low enough to suggest he was testing the waters. "Odd, wasn't it? The reason he… removed the Marks." He glanced at Lucius, who did not immediately respond. Emboldened by the lack of immediate reprimand, he continued, his tone conspiratorial. "The Dark Lord said it wasn't safe anymore. It was... unexpected."

"Unexpected?" sneered Lucius, slowing his pace just enough to glance back at him. "Is that the word you wish to use, Nott? You sound like a fool. It was unprecedented. He stripped us of our connection to Him—our Lord. Don't downplay it."

Nott stiffened but said nothing further, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"I don't like it," muttered Alecto Carrow, her voice sharp and jittery. She exchanged a nervous look with her brother, Amycus, who nodded in silent agreement. "Removing the Mark like that—what does it even mean? Are we not his loyal subjects anymore?"

"That's enough," Lucius snapped, his tone cold. "You would do well to keep such thoughts to yourself, Alecto. Unless, of course, you're eager to test his patience." He stopped walking and turned to face the group, his cane clutched tightly in one hand. "Does anyone else wish to voice their doubts? Perhaps you would like to make your suspicions known to him directly next time."

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