Inferno | Draco Malfoy

099 | I | Knight by Night

It is now 8th January 1998, the commencement of a new year that appears to evoke little concern among those around me.

More than a week has passed, and time seems to stretch endlessly, progressing at its customary slow rate. Each day blends into the next, distinguished solely by the relentless ticking of the clock and the mounting anxiety that settles in my chest. The hours drag on, heavy and oppressive, as if the very air around me has thickened. With every fleeting moment, my hope dies, as I have yet to receive any word from my parents, not even the faintest indication of their well-being. The silence is deafening, a void that echoes with unspoken fears and unanswered questions.

I find myself replaying the memories of our last conversations, searching for any clues or insights that might shed light on their unexpected silence that I might have overlooked at the moment. Yet, despite my efforts, my concern deepens, morphing into a gnawing dread that refuses to be silenced.

Narcissa shares my worry; her eyes reflect the same emotion that has taken root in my heart. Despite her diligent attempts, she has been unable to uncover any concealed messages or signs of contact from my parents. And hell, each day that passes without news feels like a weight added to my chest, making it harder to breathe, harder to think; where are they? Are they well?

Compounding my distress, I have been failing to persuade the Dark Lord to let me attend this stupid masquerade ball. The very thought of it seems absurd in the face of my growing anxiety, yet the desire to escape, return home and find my parents, even for a moment, is overwhelming. But the Dark Lord's will is absolute, and my pleas fall on deaf ears.

And as I pace around the dimly lit confines of Malfoy's room, the silence occasionally broken by the creak of the wooden floorboards beneath my feet, the flickering candlelight that casts shadows around the room only heightens my feelings of isolation; the ticking of my pocket watch grows increasingly pronounced, each tick a stark reminder of the relentless passage of time.

Nonetheless, I persist in formulating more compelling arguments and speeches to present to the Dark Lord, refusing to surrender and determined to change his mind, as I weave intricate strategies of persuasion in my mind, to sway him with my words, even though I am unable to voice my thoughts at this moment since he is on a mission alongside Rowle and Malfoy Jr.

This is great for me, considering my aversion to the Dark Lord's serpentine appearance and fractured soul which serves as a haunting reminder of the lives he has taken away, including one of my friends. Not to mention, I am also eager to steer clear of Malfoy, especially after eavesdropping on his argument with his fiancée, which revealed the underlying strains and complexities of their relationship. So, confined to the manor on this sombre night once again, I find myself in the company of Narcissa, Lucius Bellatrix, Rockwood, Selwyn, and Travers.

Narcissa is currently supposed to be overseeing my activities; but, with the Dark Lord currently absent and Lucius present, I made the conscious decision to encourage her to spend some quality time with him, since it is evident to me that she requires the comfort of familial bonds to help alleviate her feelings of unease and uncertainty.

However, earlier, she chose to remain by my side throughout the afternoon, immersing herself in the delicate art of embroidery. With her delicate fingers and well-honed expertise, she skillfully guided me through the intricate designs that adorned the fabric we were working on together. As we collaborated on our stitching, she took the opportunity to share some of the techniques my mother had taught her, recounting fond memories of how my mother had introduced her to the craft of embroidery in the first place.

But, my mind could hardly listen as it became a whirlwind of thoughts, reflecting on my parents and the hidden secret, a thought that frequently occupied my mind, before shifting to the complexities of persuading the Dark Lord, before ultimately shifting to the puzzling mystery of the roses that had inexplicably begun to appear by the window after a prolonged absence.