Inferno | Draco Malfoy

102 | Revelation

Early July
1997.
(Flashback)

"Ah, Draco," The Dark Lord's voice is laced with an undercurrent of menace, yet it runs smoothly, reminiscent of silk, as his robes cascade behind him. "Are you aware of the reason for your presence here today?"

The Dark Lord circles the rigid figure of the boy in the dining room of Malfoy Manor, a place that has become a fortress of shadows and whispered fears.

The boy stands frozen, his gaze fixed on the polished floor as he struggles to suppress the tremors coursing through his body, for he does not have the guts to meet the Dark Lord's eyes, especially when alone with him, knowing that those cold inhumane eyes hold the power to strip away his very existence.

Involuntary, Draco swallows hard, the lump in his throat a bitter reminder of the stakes at play as he tries to fight against the rising tide of panic.

His mind races, contemplating the grim possibility that he has been summoned here alone to face the Dark Lord's wrath, to bear the weight of his failure. The task that had been thrust upon him — killing Dumbledore — had slipped through his fingers, a burden that had ultimately fallen to Severus Snape during that fateful night.

Draco recognises that should this day mark his last breath, he would perish without a purpose.

Die in vain.

As he reflects on this harrowing thought, the formidable walls of the opulent dining room appear to close in on him, turning the magnificence of the manor into a gilded cage that traps him in a tangle of dread and uncertainty, all the while he struggles with the awareness that he has lost himself in a game that is far larger than himself, a game that teeters precariously between life and death.

"No..." Draco manages to utter, his voice barely rising above a whisper in the oppressive silence.

As the Dark Lord continues his slow, deliberate pacing, Draco feels his heart quicken, the rhythm intensifying with every movement. The sound of his footsteps reverberates ominously in the stillness, serving as a stark reminder of the power that surrounds him.

In this critical moment, Draco reflects on his impending death, contemplating the decisions he has made and the friendships he has forged throughout his life. The faces of those dear to him flash through his mind — his mother, his father, and even the ephemeral recollections of his childhood innocence.

Yet, above all, it is the Lady who has stolen his deepest affections that occupy his thoughts.

Draco momentarily closes his eyes, allowing the chaotic situation he is in to fade into oblivion as he thinks of her, Adriana Harlow.

Her smile and laughter are infectious, akin to sunlight breaking through a canopy of clouds, and he can vividly imagine how her eyes light up with joy, casting light even in the darkest corners of his thoughts, for his own happiness is contingent upon hers.

And most significantly, he thinks of her extraordinary ability to see through the defences he has built around himself, reaching into the depths of his soul and resonating with his innermost being.

"Allow me to pose another inquiry," The Dark Lord states, his smile imbued with a sinister quality as his eyes glint with malice, jolting Draco from his reverie within seconds. "What kind of connection do you share with the Lady of Willoughby, Adriana Harlow?"

Draco raises an eyebrow, contemplating whether the Dark Lord has somehow just read his mind, as a tumultuous mix of confusion and fear, for Adria's safety, swirls within him.