Harry's gaze swept over the Death Eater who had spoken. He was a middle-aged wizard whose hood had slipped down, and his eyes gleamed with the shrewd light of an opportunist.
He slowly raised his left hand. The lightning patterns in his palm flickered, and the wind in the graveyard suddenly shifted, sweeping up black ash from the ground and lashing it against the Death Eaters' robes with a rustling sound.
"The Dark Lord?" he sneered. His voice was not loud, yet it pierced the graveyard's dead silence like an ice pick. "You fools only know how to kneel before titles. Voldemort ruled you with fear. The Ministry of Magic placates you with profit. And I—"
He paused. The lightning whip in his palm suddenly became a silver thread, wrapping precisely around the Death Eater's wrist and gradually erasing the Dark Mark upon it. "What I want is to tear down the altar you kneel before."
The bound Death Eater's expression changed drastically. The Dark Mark on his wrist began to burn, as though lightning were about to scorch straight through it. Within seconds, the writhing Dark Mark vanished completely.
Harry paid him no further attention and instead swept his eyes across every Death Eater, from Lucius's trembling silver-blond hair to Bellatrix's twisted tear-streaked face.
"Pure-blood supremacy is a cancer, not an honor. The bureaucrats of the Ministry of Magic hide corruption behind 'law,' while you use 'bloodline' to whitewash your cowardice. What I want is not a new tyrant, but a world where every wizard, regardless of birth or strength, can speak while standing upright."
He released the lightning whip. The Death Eater staggered back, only to be pinned in place by Gravity Magic. Just as before, he still could not move.
"You can choose," Harry said without a