Heirs of darkness

Weakness

The air in the chamber was still, thick with an unspoken tension as Aurora entered the dimly lit room. The walls were draped in dark tapestries, and the only light came from the flickering flames of the torches mounted on the stone walls. At the center of the room, standing by an ornate, high-backed chair, was the Dark Lord himself, his presence a shadow that seemed to consume the very space around him.

Aurora's footsteps echoed softly as she approached, her expression carefully neutral, betraying none of the curiosity or apprehension she felt. She had been summoned by Voldemort alone, an unusual occurrence, and one that immediately set her on edge. Though she was his most trusted advisor, these private meetings were rare, and they were never without purpose.

"Come closer, Aurora," Voldemort's voice was a soft, sibilant hiss, drawing her forward like a snake luring its prey.

She obeyed without hesitation, moving to stand just a few feet from him. Her eyes met his those cold, crimson eyes that had seen so much and cared for so little.

"You know why I have called you?" Voldemort asked, though it was more a statement than a question.

"No, my Lord," Aurora replied, her voice steady and respectful.

Voldemort regarded her for a moment, his gaze searching, as if he could see straight into her soul. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he turned away, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced the room.

"Tell me, Aurora," he began, his tone almost contemplative, "do you know of my parents?"

Aurora's brow furrowed slightly, though she quickly smoothed her expression. "No, my Lord. You have never spoken of them."

Voldemort stopped his pacing, his back still to her, and for a moment, there was only silence. Then, he began to speak, his voice soft, but laced with an underlying bitterness.

"My father was a wealthy mudblood," he said, the word 'mudblood' dripping with disdain. "Tom Riddle Sr. was his name. He was handsome, arrogant, and cared for nothing beyond his own comfort and status. My mother, Merope Gaunt, was a pure-blood witch a descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself. But she was weak. Pathetic. She allowed herself to be consumed by her love for that filthy Muggle."

Aurora listened intently, her expression carefully composed as Voldemort continued.

"They married," Voldemort's voice took on a harsh edge, "but it was not by his choice. She used a love potion to bend him to her will. But in her weakness, she stopped giving it to him, thinking that he might love her for real. Foolish. He abandoned her the moment he was free of her influence, leaving her to die, alone and in disgrace, after giving birth to me."

Aurora's heart beat a little faster, but she kept her voice calm as she asked, "What do you consider weakness, my Lord?"

Voldemort's expression twisted into a sneer. "Love," he spat, as if the very word was poison on his tongue. "It is the greatest weakness of all. It blinds, it destroys. My mother's love for my father led to her death, and my father's lack of love led to his own. I have no use for it, and neither should you."

Aurora nodded slowly, her mind racing even as she maintained her calm exterior. She knew that this was a test a test of her loyalty, of her resolve. She could not afford to show even the slightest hint of hesitation or doubt.

"And what of your parents, Aurora?" Voldemort's voice was softer now, almost coaxing. "How do you feel about them?"

Aurora did not falter. She had anticipated this question, and her answer was ready. "I do not care about my father, Sirius Black," she lied smoothly. "He is dead, and he was nothing to me. As for my mother, Marlene McKinnon—" she paused, allowing a small, calculated sigh to escape her lips. "Every daughter needs her mother to guide her, as much as I hate to admit it."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed slightly, and Aurora could feel the weight of his scrutiny. She met his gaze head-on, her expression steady, betraying nothing of the turmoil beneath the surface. She knew the truth of her feelings feelings she had buried deep within herself, where even the Dark Lord could not reach.

"And how would you feel," Voldemort said, his voice a low, dangerous murmur, "if I told you that it was I who ordered your mother's death?"

For a moment, the room seemed to shrink around her, the air thickening with the suffocating weight of his words. But Aurora did not allow herself to react. Her training, her loyalty, her very survival depended on her ability to remain composed, no matter what.

She tilted her head slightly, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. "It was a long time ago," she said, her voice cool and measured. "I wouldn't feel anything not even anger. My allegiance is to you, my Lord. My past is irrelevant."

Voldemort watched her carefully, his expression unreadable. Aurora could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken challenge between them. This was the moment of truth the moment that would determine whether she remained in his favor, or whether she would join the ranks of those who had crossed him and paid the ultimate price.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Voldemort's lips curled into a small, satisfied smile. "Good," he said softly. "Very good. You are wise to recognize that the past holds no power over us. It is the present, and the future, that matter."

Aurora inclined her head in acknowledgment, though inwardly, she allowed herself a small sigh of relief. She had passed the test, but she knew better than to let her guard down. The Dark Lord was a master of manipulation, and she could never be certain what his true intentions were.

"Continue to serve me well, Aurora," Voldemort continued, his voice taking on a more commanding tone, "and you will be rewarded. But remember this weakness is not tolerated. Not in my ranks, and not in those who would seek to rise to power."

"Of course, my Lord," Aurora replied, her voice firm with conviction.

Voldemort turned away from her then, signaling that the conversation was over. Aurora took this as her cue to leave, and with a respectful bow, she backed out of the room, her mind already racing with thoughts of what had just transpired.

As she walked down the darkened corridors of the manor, her expression remained neutral, but her mind was anything but calm. She had lied to Voldemort, and she knew that if he ever discovered the truth, it would mean her death. But she also knew that in the world she lived in, lies were sometimes necessary lies to protect oneself, to protect those who mattered.

Her mother, Marlene McKinnon, was another matter entirely. The bond between mother and daughter had been strong, even if Aurora had never met Marlene. And now, to learn that it was Voldemort who had ordered her mother's death...

But she could not afford to dwell on such thoughts. She had chosen her path, and there was no turning back. The Dark Lord was her master, and she would do whatever was necessary to maintain her position at his side.

As she exited the manor and stepped into the cold night air, Aurora steeled herself, pushing all thoughts of the past aside. She would continue to serve the Dark Lord, but she would also ensure that she was never caught off guard again.

For in this world of darkness and deception, survival depended on strength, cunning, and the ability to keep one's secrets buried deep.

And Aurora was determined to survive.