Governor | D.M One Shot 18+

1

Feel free to imagine the story with your name - I just need to use an original name for my peace keeping.

TW: I'm known for dark work. I don't want to see any comments saying its triggering when you have been dutifully warned.

This one-shot contains mature themes such as violence, death, torture, smut. 

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The echoes of Hades.

Silence.

You don't hear it - him. But the energy is there. Vibrant and prickly. Like the feeling of electricity coursing through your veins, spiking up every hair on your body.

His main room was that of purgatory. Walls painted black and silver, with black and white paintings and black and white flowers. Black uniform and a blackened soul.

A living Hell reborn.

He didn't like when things were colourful, only shades and lights. For they reminded him of many things. His chess to the metaphorical relationship between his parents. 

Whatever it was, his actions, his choices, they all had meaning.

As he walked, the wooden floor creaked beneath his weight. Its last note pinching upward when he leaned forward every other turn.

He kept his stare long enough to have everyone in the room feel their stomach drop to the ground, but pulled it right away when his tickled with muse.

They all have the same reaction. Never gets old.

Some called him a mad man, others could barely look his direction let alone speak of his name. In the end, they all settled for something that didn't have a spectre of his name, something that made them know who they were talking about.

Just like when they said the Dark Lord. Or he who shall not be named.

There was the Dark Lord. And then there was his accomplice. 

The Governor.

A line of eight Death Eaters stood before him. Their wands confiscated and robes torn apart. Each one shivered as their slaughtered bodies struggled to keep up their weight. Pools of their own blood drenched the room with oxidised copper and salt. 

If fear had a taste, this one would be quite the accurate one.

But not once did they flail. No- they couldn't.

Not here.

Not in Malfoy Manor.

He wouldn't allow it.

The gatekeeper of said purgatory. A president of all demons. Governor Malfoy.

"So," he said, lighting a cigarette with the tip of his wand. "Anyone going to confess?"

Every Death Eater dropped their head toward their chins. Only their mouths didn't move.

Malfoy inching his neck forward, his free hand cupping against his ear. "Come on," he urged, clicking his fingers. "God is waiting."

"I-" one spoke up, instantly catching his attention.

Malfoy's boots moved so quick he could've glided across. Though it wouldn't surprise anyone, knowing how much power he held.

A man of his power could make pure gold out of pumpkin juice.

Although he was Voldemort's second in command, one could not underestimate the knowledge and power he held. Gossipers whispered he was better - well, technically worse, in this sense.