The Task - A Draco Malfoy Story

The Manor

The wind rustled through the leaves of the ancient trees surrounding the Manor, their branches swaying ominously in the inky blackness. It was too dark, even for this place. The faint howls of the wind mingled with the sharp scent of firewhiskey that lingered in the air.

Draco's leg trembled as the pungent musk of the Death Eater sitting beside him filled his nostrils. From deep within the Manor, the distant, desperate cries of prisoners locked away in the dungeon beneath echoed faintly, a grim reminder of what his home had become.

He fidgeted with the ring on his finger, his hands resting tensely on his lap. The Manor had grown darker—darker than even he was used to.

"Pay attention, Draco," Narcissa's voice cut through his thoughts, her hand pressing lightly on his knee beneath the table. His gaze shifted from the polished black surface to the horror at the head of the table.

Draco could barely manage to glance at Voldemort, his pale, serpentine face even more ghastly than before. Those bright, grey-green eyes seemed to pierce through him, leaving Draco cold and trembling.

"With Lucius in Azkaban," Voldemort began, his voice a soft hiss that sent shivers down Draco's spine, "I need someone to do my bidding." Voldemort's gaze fixed on Draco, and he felt his heart hammering as the Dark Lord slowly circled the table, each step deliberate and menacing.

A sudden, high-pitched gasp broke the tension, and Draco's attention snapped to Bellatrix, his aunt, and Narcissa's sister. Her wild, dark curls framed a face twisted with manic devotion as she looked up at Voldemort.

"My Lord, I'd be honored to assist you," Bellatrix purred, her voice laced with a sickening eagerness that made Draco's skin crawl. Her obsession with blood, torture, and Voldemort's whims made her terrifying beyond measure.

As Draco's eyes drifted back to the table, his breath caught in his throat. Voldemort's cold, pale hand rested on his shoulder, the touch like ice against his skin.

"You... Draco Malfoy..." Voldemort's voice slithered through the air as he withdrew his hand, resuming his seat at the head of the table.

Draco sat in silence, paralyzed by fear. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to flee, but he remained frozen, his stomach twisting into painful knots as Voldemort's gaze bore into him.

"Without more power," Voldemort continued, his voice a venomous whisper, "I cannot defeat Dumbledore. He possesses the Elder Wand." A thin smile curled his cracked lips, a smile devoid of warmth or mercy.

Draco's mind raced, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He feared what Voldemort might say next, what unspeakable task would be demanded of him.

"You will kill him, Draco," Voldemort commanded, his words striking like a death sentence. "And you will not fail... or I will kill you."

The meeting was over, dismissed with the cold finality of those words.

Draco and Narcissa were left alone in the oppressive darkness of the Manor. A million thoughts swirled in Draco's mind. Kill Dumbledore? Or die?

Narcissa's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at her only son, now branded with the Dark Mark, forever tied to the Death Eaters. Without a word, she fled the room, leaving Draco alone, still seated at the table.

With his father locked away in Azkaban and Voldemort's hunger for power growing more insatiable, Draco knew he had no choice.

He had to kill Dumbledore.