Bloodlust

Chapter XXI

Eight hours before the election begins. The security was doubled, as expected. Death Eaters were on guard in every possible apparition point and boundary. Despite the evident increase in security, something kept simmering inside Malfoy's mind. As the current general, the way that the Dark Lord demanded the security arrangement for the election was a bit off and not far from questionable. Given the frequent occurrence of explosions, attacks on boundaries, and the sightings of George Weasley and other few suspected members of the Order. The effort in security was light despite it all.

His crippling frustration was evident from his deep glares at his third cup of black roast coffee. His arms spread on the extended armrest of his swivel chair, almost covering the seat with his broad figure.

Malfoy rubbed his forefinger above his lips as he wandered inside his thoughts. He was formulating strategies for keeping his cover safe and how to put sense into George Weasley and Seamus Finnigan's minds. The resistance effort cannot go forth if almost half of the members oppose Malfoy and Severus' involvement with their plans, but the trigger was already pulled. Malfoy and Severus already gave some input with the efforts.

It will cause another wave of bloodbath and chaos if Seamus fails to deliver Malfoy's warning to George Weasley and the rest of the Order. Malfoy cracked his fingers - the mildest thing he could ever do to as of the moment while he still had his anger contained.

As the clock gradually closed the gap of eight hours toward the election, Malfoy's head was a pit of loud thoughts, as though different voices proposed suggestions at the same time inside his preoccupied head.

One thing that took space inside his head was the possibility of Hermione Granger's torturous interrogation over the things she had no idea about. Before Seamus' escape, Malfoy had cleared out that one wrong move and Hermione gets involved whether they like it or not, as the Dark Lord strongly suspects that she knew something.

Malfoy knew Hermione was his best warning to the opposing resistance, but having her involved, would only put one of her limbs in her grave.

As the thought swept his mind, the coffee cup shattered into pieces as it absorbed the concentrated dark magic radiating from Malfoy. In fact, he wasn't even certain if they still care about Hermione.

It felt rather peculiar to him.

The bafflement and the denial of his weakness.

Bewildered with which risk he'd take and overwhelmed by the strange weakness he felt upon realizing that his moves were limited. His jaw rolled as his lips thinned into a line, and flipped his desk, causing cracks on his walls as though fresh wounds from the sore guilt in his fury, surging their way out of his grip.

As the shattered desk landed on the floor, Malfoy found himself pacing back and forth, dragging his fingers through his hair. Not long as he walked around unsettled, he faced the wall and threw several punches at it as he heaved heavily, worn out by his rage. His arteries pulsed with leaking wrath.

Malfoy screamed at the wall as he beat his knuckles against the cold-hard stonewall until they bled.

The crisis inside his office lasted for almost an hour. His office reeked of spilt coffee and dark magic, and he sat on the floor staring blankly at the clock, where one arrow assigned to Hermione Granger pointed at one place only. Her bedroom. The bedroom he locked with heavy enchantments the nights ago. The bedroom where he found her on her window, attempting to end her life.

He sat there as though there wasn't any possible sabotage later that will end everything that the resistance worked hard for. The longer he stayed there, the thicker his guilt grew under his skin. He wondered if Harry felt the same when the Order was on his shoulders. Malfoy laughed at himself, realizing he was comparing himself to the heroic Harry Potter, who died for the world.