Wentworth stood at the forefront of the assembled Dark wizards, feeling the overwhelming surge of voices and devotion washing over him. For a fleeting moment, he found himself lost in the intoxicating power of it all.
At that very instant, the raggedly dressed wizard, who had been lying prostrate on the floor since Wentworth had entered the great hall, suddenly rose and rushed towards him.
"That is Carrow," Abernathy whispered softly into Wentworth's ear. "He was once one of us, a devoted follower of your grandfather, and swore that the Carrow family would forever remain loyal to Grindelwald. But his descendants betrayed us, joining the Death Eaters and turning their backs on the Pureblood Party."
Wentworth nodded slowly as he absorbed Abernathy's words.
By now, Carrow had reached him. Before Wentworth could react, the older wizard abruptly dropped to his knees before him, pressing his forehead to the ground. The unexpected gesture startled Wentworth.
Then, Carrow raised both hands, revealing a single ornate key resting in his palms.
"A Gringotts vault key?" Abernathy's voice carried a rare note of astonishment. "You've carried your family's vault key with you all this time?"
Still bowing, Carrow answered in a low, reverent voice, "Yes. This is the key to the Carrow family vault at Gringotts. Years ago, those two little brats tried to take it from me, but they failed."
Abernathy glanced at Carrow's tattered robes, then let out a small sigh. "You've been steadfast, I'll give you that."
He then turned his attention back to Wentworth.
Watching the scene unfold, Wentworth hesitated. He felt a strange mixture of confusion and unease, particularly at the sight of this elderly wizard kneeling before him. Instinctively, he reached out to help Carrow to his feet.
"Please, stand up! There's no need for this!" he urged.
But Carrow remained unmoving, his forehead still pressed against the stone floor. Instead, he lifted his gaze to meet Wentworth's, his voice solemn as he declared:
"Tribute to you, my master!"
With those words, he lowered his head once more, holding the Gringotts key aloft, unwavering despite Wentworth's attempts to lift him.
"What... what does this mean?" Wentworth finally asked, turning to Abernathy and Rosier for an explanation.
Rosier responded with a knowing smile. "It is an ancient tradition among old wizarding families. When a wizard pledges his absolute loyalty to another, he offers his most treasured possession as tribute. This is both an offering and a declaration of fealty."
"If you accept his gift, you acknowledge his allegiance," Rosier continued. "From that moment on, his life and honor are bound to you."
Wentworth's thoughts drifted to the vast treasures he had once glimpsed in his family's Gringotts vault. He nodded in understanding.
Abernathy added, "According to legend, this ritual was once completed with a binding incantation. If the oath was broken, the Reaper itself would come to claim the traitor's life and end his bloodline. But that incantation has long been lost to time. Now, this is purely symbolic."
Wentworth's curiosity was piqued. "And if I refuse?"
Abernathy faltered, seemingly unprepared for the question. Rosier, however, chuckled. "You can try."
Turning back to Carrow, Wentworth spoke with genuine sincerity. "You don't have to do this. The fact that you are here proves your loyalty."
Carrow did not move.
Wentworth tried again. "This key represents generations of your family's wealth. Handing it over to me—surely that's excessive?"
No response.
Frustrated, Wentworth finally commanded, "I order you to stand!"
Nothing changed. No matter how many times Wentworth insisted, Carrow remained motionless, his hands still presenting the key.
At last, Rosier stepped forward with a smirk. "It seems he will not rise unless you accept his tribute."
Wentworth exhaled in resignation. With a slight chuckle at the absurdity of the situation, he reached out and took the key from Carrow's hands.
"Very well," he said. "I accept."
The moment Wentworth secured the key in his grasp, Carrow slowly lifted himself from the ground. A deep, weary relief washed over his weathered face, as though a great burden had been lifted.
Just as Wentworth prepared to speak, an unexpected movement caught his attention.
One by one, wizards from the crowd stepped forward. Their faces were solemn, their hands bearing various objects—some old and valuable, others seemingly insignificant. They moved with silent purpose, forming an unbroken procession toward Wentworth.
As each wizard reached him, they knelt, placed their offering before him, and intoned the same solemn words:
"Tribute to you, my master!"
Then, without further acknowledgment, they withdrew, making way for the next.
Wentworth watched in stunned silence as the pile of gifts grew before him. Though many were not of great material worth, he understood their true value.
The entire ritual was executed with flawless precision, though no one had given any command. The only sounds in the grand hall were the rhythmic footfalls of the wizards and the repeated, unwavering pledge: "Tribute to you, my master!"
As Wentworth gazed upon the steadily rising mountain of offerings, an eerie sense of déjà vu settled over him. He saw—whether in memory or vision—another wizard standing where he stood now, accepting the loyalty of countless followers. He saw them march behind this leader, their voices raised in fervent cries, their path shrouded in mystery and destiny.
The ritual continued for what felt like an eternity. When at last the final wizard laid his tribute at Wentworth's feet, he found himself at a loss for words.
Looking out at the assembled wizards, who now stood once more before him, Wentworth allowed a long silence to stretch between them.
Then, at last, he spoke.
"Merry Christmas..."
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