Death Eaters Daughter

17

He sat there waiting for my response, arching a single dark eyebrow tauntingly as he waited for a response that wouldn't come. Mattheo merely chuckled lowly as he inclined his head for the death eater that held my arm in a bruising grip, a silent command to bring me towards where he sat. I tensed as the greasy-haired man dragged me closer to his precious 'dark lord's son'. His nails biting into my skin to the point that I was certain that it would draw blood.

With his nails still biting into the skin of my arm, he quickly pulled the chair to the right of Mattheo out. Pushing me down into the seat abruptly before he turned on the heel of his feet and left the room, the soft fabric of Mattheo's suit jacket pressing against my arm as I watched the greasy-haired man flee the room.

Why I felt the constant need to refer to him by his name, and his name alone puzzled me as I remembered how easily I was once referring to him as nothing more than the dark lords son or even Voldermort himself. How foolish I had been to believe that Voldermort himself had returned. Maybe it was because as his dark eyes watched me-studied me. I realised how foolish it truly had been to think that his father had returned. His fathers name hadn't stopped him from killing me, and it certainly hadn't stopped him from committing the multitude of crimes that made up his enigma as the dark lords son.

As I tore my thundery grey eyes away from the doorway that the death eater had vanished through, I met the sable eyes of the dark-haired man. His elbows no longer rested upon the table instead, they sat resting upon the armrests of the black chair. A smirk spread across his face as a smug look filled his eyes, "Now, there's the look I've been waiting for."

I arched an eyebrow in bewilderment, puzzled by how someone much older than me could both act and appear so much younger than they were, "How old are you?" I blurted out, eyes widening in shock as the words registered in my brain.

His eyes filled with amusement as he tilted his head slightly, curiosity evident within his brown eyes, "Feeling curious today are we, love?"

I sighed in annoyance, "You literally killed me and yet you won't humour me by telling me how old you are?"

He eyed me for several moments before he sighed in defeat, "I'm twenty-three."

"What about the dark mark? How'd you make it burn?" I ask, each question slipping past my lips quicker than the last.

"I wasn't entirely sure if it would, but once I found one of my fathers death eaters and placed my wand upon the mark, it flared to life."

I stared at him in shock, my grey eyes studying him from head to toe in utter disbelief, "You're twenty-three and somehow your father's entire band of death eaters are completely loyal to you," I mused, almost to myself as I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. Trying to aimlessly figure out how he obtained their loyalty.

"I've only ever been the bastard-born son to them but with the knowledge of who my father is. It tends to keep them utterly loyal to me," He explained, noting the confusion across my face.

I raked my fingers through my hair in frustration, hoping to ease the annoyance that was slowly beginning to creep in, "How exactly does that keep them loyal?" The mere thought of how normal our conversation was being far eerier than whenever he threatened me.

He leant forward in his chair as he rested his elbows back upon the table, "Fear keeps many loyal and this time is no different. They feared my father and because of that fear, they fear me too," He says.

"What if they don't fear you? What do you do to those that would surely kill you for sharing the Riddle name?" I softly uttered in wonder.

"What needs to be done," He replied, a dark smile spreading across his face.

I could understand the appeal to the Dark Arts in that moment, the power it bought and all the advantages that it held over non-dark magic users. With greatness came power, and with power came the urge to expand that dam; even if it meant dabbling in the Dark Arts. The longer I stared at the dark-haired man, his dark brown eyes locked with my own, the more I felt the urge to wrap myself within the embrace of darkness. The consequences of what that would entail swept to the depth of my mind. Not a single cell in my body protested and it made me wonder if this was simply an effect of the spell that had scarred me, or if it was entirely my own mind trying to convince me to dive headfirst into the Dark Arts.

"Lysia."

I froze, blinking my eyes several times as I shook my head to rid myself of the daze that had swept over me. The fogginess that had once seemed so appealing faded away, a look of displeasure spreading across Mattheo's face as he leant back in the chair, his dark eyes glaring daggers at the man who had spoken. Nervously, I turned my head towards the voice even as I knew who would stand there. My eyes meeting the two platinum blonde-haired men's gazes that stood in the doorway, my father's hair ruffled as a death eater clutched the collar of his shirt tightly.

The simple white fabric of his t-shirt and the plain black tracksuit pants he wore alone telling me that they too had been dragged here by Mattheo's band of death eaters. Scorpius's hair, much like our father's, was ruffled like he'd been fighting to remove himself from the death eaters grasp. The black band t-shirt he wore and the light grey tracksuit pants looking as out of place as my own did, his Quidditch team shirt and my black tracksuit pants appeared too casual.

Too comfortable.

I rose from the chair I had been sitting in, intending to walk towards both of them when a hand wrapped itself around my wrist. My head snapping towards the dark-haired man whose hand held my wrist firmly. His brown eyes turning an even darker shade of brown as he held my wrist, his gaze drifting towards where my father and Scorpius stood in the doorway of the drawing-room.

"Just in time," He drawled, eyes locked on the two blondes.

I turned my head back towards Scorpius and my father, eyes filled with confusion as I watched recognition flash through my father's grey eyes. His face contorting into a look of pain as he began to pull against the hold the death eaters had upon him. I winced as his grey eyes locked on my own, the amount of pain within reminding me of how those same eyes had watched me die.

"Don't," He pleaded hushedly, grey eyes darting towards the dark-haired man beside me.

Scorpius's eyes flicked back and forth between the two men, confusion plastered across his face and within his eyes. His misty grey eyes met my own as he arched an eyebrow questioningly. I could only shake my head in response knowing as much about the current conversation as he did. Scorpius furrowed his eyebrows further as he looked back towards our father and Mattheo, his jaw clenched in annoyance as he observed them.

My muscles tensed as Mattheo's dark eyes met my own, his hand reaching into the dark navy blue dress pants and pulling out the sleek black wand that had conjured the spell that killed me, "Please...don't," Scorpius pleaded, faintly unsure about what he was asking Mattheo not to do but determined to never see me the way he had the last time we were in this house.

A simple wooden object should've never had me so tense, so afraid but I'd learnt the hard way that something so simple, so fragile looking could easily be the thing that killed you. My eyes slowly lifted to meet his own, that same apologetic look crossing his face quickly before it disappeared completely. My breath catching in my throat as Mattheo pointed the wand in my direction. Fear flooding my veins as I fought to release my arm from his grip. His grip only further tightened as I stepped back and tried to free myself from his hold, the only thoughts swirling through my mind screamed at me to keep pulling-keep fighting.

My gaze snapped towards where Scorpius and my father fought against the death eaters that held them firmly, the all too familiar commotion striking a sense of déjà vu within me as I turned back towards Mattheo. My wrist had begun to burn as I continued to pull, his jaw clenching in aggravation as he began to grow annoyed by my constant struggling.

Mattheo sighed as he met my eyes, a fed-up look plastered across his face as he tugged me towards him. My chest pressing up against his toned abdomen as he pressed the cool wood of his wand against my neck, the way he held my wrist making it impossible for me to move without breaking it.

"Crucio," He uttered lowly, his breath fanning against the side of my face as pain tore through me.

A/N: You'll soon notice that I take slowburn very seriously. Thank you so much for 1.3k reads and as always, please don't forget to vote <3