||Now It's Just Us||

Chapter 28 ||Flashback||

Draco stood morosely in front of the doorway.

He looked impeccable. As always. A specimen of beauty of mankind, as he liked to tell himself.

But his looks were the least of his concerns at the moment.

Maybe he could take a few more minutes to appreciate the intricate carvings on the wood of the door. Or he could examine the portraits of his stony faced ancestors. Yes, it would make a likely excuse.

His fingers curled around the sleeves of his suit, before balling into fists. His nails cut into the supple skin of his palms, and he hoped it had been enough to draw some blood, or cause him pain. But he felt nothing.

He started in surprise when someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

"How come you're still here, nephew dearest?" Bellatrix's rancid breath made Draco want to lean as far away from her as possible, but she only leaned closer. He tried his best to keep his disgust from showing.

"I was waiting for mother," he lied swiftly.

"Your mother is already inside," Bellatrix said in her saccharine sweet voice, "are you, maybe, unwilling-"

"I am perfectly willing," Draco lied again. Bellatrix smiled, showing her rotting teeth, and leaned away from Draco.

"That's a good boy," she said, her voice still dangerously sweet. Her dark eyes looked almost devoid of any white in them, and they were aglow with malice. Or perhaps it was glee, one really couldn't be sure about Bellatrix.

Bellatrix blew some hair out of her face and pushed the doors open carelessly. Draco winced when they slammed on the other side.

"Cissy!" Bellatrix crooned, sauntering over to her sister. She bowed deeply on the way.

The room reeked of foreboding and evil. It looked evil as well. The thin veil of dust that covered the chandelier overhead kept swaying dully, the once shiny brass ornaments at the fireplace were now a plain brown, lacking their former lustre. The heavy drapes were drawn across the windows, through which sunlight had once streamed in.

But nothing looked as evil or as foreboding as the man who stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by his black robed, skull masked, Death Eaters. His black robes were billowing even though there was no wind or draught, his snake like face twisted in what Draco assumed was a smile. His red eyes were fixed over Draco.

Unable to hold Voldemort's gaze any longer, Draco looked away. He looked at his mother.

She stood with her shoulders set back forcefully, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Occasionally, her lower lip would tremble, but it would disappear in an instant. She looked on, urging Draco to move forward, silently yet surely sending him luck.

Draco avoided his father.

He would have tried for a smile had it not been for Voldemort's soul-penetrating gaze.

"Draco," he said I'm his cold, wheezy, raspy voice, "kneel before me."

Draco swallowed the lump in his throat. He glanced at Narcissa once. She nodded, just a fraction of movement, unnoticed by anyone except Draco himself. He bowed his head and knelt, his right hand on the floor to maintain balance, the other over his raised leg.

"Do you, Draco Malfoy," Voldemort began circling Draco, giving off the sense of a bird of prey ambushing a field mouse, "swear to fulfill the task set to you without fail?"

Draco swallowed, and tried to ignore the musty smell of blood that hung in the air, "Yes, My Lord."

"I trust you know what you have to do," Voldemort's voice was dangerously low, "and I also trust you know what will be the consequences should you fail to succeed."