Captured

Chapter Twenty-Three: Time

Draco sat with a practiced air of bored nonchalance as he sat in a leather armchair in one of their many sitting rooms. Not wanting to engage with any of the Death Eaters milling about the room, he was sure not to let his gaze linger too long anywhere, avoiding any unwanted eye contact that might mistakenly suggest to someone that he was interested in hearing the story of how they mowed down a defenseless family for the hundredth time. Mostly, he kept his eyes on the window, watching the snowflakes dance slowly through the air as they made their way to the ground below.

He had more than one reason for this tactic, however. If he looked like he wasn't invested in the myriad of conversations floating around the room, it often led the others to believe it meant that he wasn't paying attention. When the others in the room didn't think he was listening, they tended not to watch their volume and words as often as they typically did around someone in his family.

The Death Eaters were all here for a debriefing meeting with the Dark Lord. He was anxious to hear whether or not the missions were successful, and likely was ready to punish someone should he find out they jeopardized any part of it.

Nott was putting on a good front, anyone just glancing at him would see someone confident and proud of how successfully their plan was executed, but looking closer Draco could see the sweat on his neck and brow, notice the twitching of his fingers against where his wand was tucked into his pocket, see the uneasy shifting of his weight as he waited. Despite the overall success, if anything had gone significantly wrong at any of the other locations, Nott very well may not walk out of today's meeting.

Draco absolutely loathed these meetings, even before he had made the decision not to contribute to the success of the Dark Lord's vision. Nearly every single person in this room hated each other, all just waiting for someone else to slip up or trust them enough to give them damning information they could then turn in to the Dark Lord for leverage and a way up the ranks. They all knew how to play the game, however. There had even been a couple instances in which a Death Eater provided inaccurate information to another to bait them into giving wrong information to the Dark Lord, taking out a rival or enemy along the way.

Everyone knew the Dark Lord didn't suffer misinformation, not when it came from one of his servants.

Although, he was killing less and less of his servants these days. Not out of the goodness of his heart of course, there were simply so few actual marked Death Eaters that he would have none left if he continued killing them at the rate he had. While he had been gaining a disturbing amount of allies and followers, the dark mark itself was only given to few - and those few were the servants who carried out his most important orders. Though he would never admit it, he needed them, their loyalty and obsession meant they were the only witches and wizards he could spare even an inkling of trust for.

That didn't mean that all kinds of cruel and devious hexes, jinxes, and curses were off the table, though. And of course, he had always favored the Cruciatus curse as punishment.

Nott had already been on the receiving end of it before, and Draco had overheard Bellatrix proudly saying the Dark Lord had entrusted her with Nott's punishment should he fail. Most knew that Bellatrix was the only one truly sadistic and cruel enough to rival the pain of even the Dark Lord's cruciatus curse. Especially when it was someone who let down the lord she loved so fervently. It wasn't hard for her to mean it when she felt as though they had slighted her master. Bellatrix's devotion to the Dark Lord was disgusting and unparalleled - he knew that, of course, and took advantage of it often.

As if on cue, Bellatrix swept into the room with her recognizable swagger and crooned at the others, a reminder that she was their Dark Lord's favorite, possibly only matched in trust by Draco's old Professor.