Promises Kept, Hearts Full of Trust

15

I remained in my place, unable to move, my heart hammering against my ribcage like a captive bird desperate for freedom.

I cast a glance towards Draco, seeking some semblance of comfort in his familiar presence. However, his eyes, those usually expressive windows to his thoughts to me, were not available to me.

They were occupied elsewhere, anchored firmly on the table before us.

Bellatrix Lestrange's demeanour stood in stark contrast. She looked at Voldemort with eyes full of an almost fanatical admiration, you'd think she was under some spell.

Bewitched by his dark charisma.

As Voldemort glided towards his chair, it responded to his silent command, skimming the floor and positioning itself just where he wanted.

He paused at the head of the table, allowing his penetrating, bloodshot eyes to sweep over the assembly of Death Eaters

His gaze, cold and calculating, left no one untouched, ensuring his icy presence was felt by all.

Meanwhile, I heard the snake hissing my name, mockingly.

"Amelia..."

Teasingly.

"A-mel-ia..."

Only after Voldemort had taken a moment to observe his followers in their noticeable anxious silence did he finally lower himself into his seat, the Death Eaters following suit.

"Where's Severus, Lucius?" Voldemort asked.

The mere mention of Snape's name had me feeling as if the weight of the world was suddenly pressing down on my chest.

I took a long, steady breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside me.

"Amelia..."

Mr Malfoy slowly lifted his gaze, having the courage to meet Voldemort's eyes.

"He should be here any moment, my Lord," He answered.

I stared at Mr Malfoy for a long time and wondered how much he regretted joining the Death Eaters because I knew he did. His regret was tangible, like a heavy cloak he wore but could no longer conceal beneath his aristocratic looks.

Out of nowhere, a sensation brushed against my feet, instigating a surge of fear that seized my heart.

I froze in place, my eyes darting downwards to the source of my unease. There, to my growing horror, the snake was weaving its sinuous form beneath my seat.

The sleek, scaly body moved with an unsettling grace, disappearing into the shadowy space underneath me.

Voldemort let out a deep, menacing chuckle at my visible discomfort, the sinister sound echoing through the room.

Slowly, with a cruel glint in his eyes, he extended his hand towards the serpent.

And then, as if the snake possessed the gentle docility of a domestic cat, such as Duchess, rather than the lethal elegance of a snake, it obediently swivelled its body towards him, seeking his offered hand.

"Nagini doesn't like to be ignored," Voldemort said in parseltongue, his eyes narrowing and his fingers gently stroking the snake's scales.

A strange, uncomfortable feeling swept over me as Voldemort, of all people, engaged me in idle chit-chat about his snake, his pet.

His words, casual as they may sound, hung heavy in the air, making the atmosphere around us feel oddly oppressive.

I craved nothing more than for this bizarre interaction to come to an end, to escape the claustrophobic hold his presence had on me.