I had never seen him this close before.
Not in my nightmares. Not even in the flashes of his name written across headlines and whispered in hushed, terrified voices.
The Dark Lord did not need to raise his voice to command the room.
He sat — no, presided — at the head of the long, blackwood table, cloaked in shadows that seemed to bend toward him, as if even darkness itself sought his favor. His hands were pale, almost translucent, the fingers long and thin, tapping occasionally on the armrest with deliberate calm. His eyes were red slits of restrained fire, glowing with cold intelligence.
No one spoke while he did.
No one moved.
We were gathered like obedient children before a fire too bright to stare into — and too dangerous to turn our backs on.
I stood beside Draco, just behind the line of seated Death Eaters, my chin lowered in respect, my hands clasped tightly in front of me to hide their trembling. My knees ached from how long we had been standing, but I didn't dare shift my weight.
The meeting had begun.
He spoke of the Ministry — its fall not a matter of if, but when. He spoke of spies, of allies rising from the ashes of obscurity to offer their loyalty. He praised Bellatrix for her "steadfast faith" and Severus Snape for his "clever games." Lucius's name was not spoken.
Not once.
I could feel my mother's presence, on the outer edge of the room. I knew she was there only because I could sense her eyes. They did not look away from me.
They were the only part of her not shrouded in silence.
And then—
A pause.
A deliberate, poised, cutting pause.
And Voldemort turned his head.
"Draco," he said, smooth as velvet, his voice slicing through the stillness like a knife across silk. "Celeste."
We both stepped forward in perfect unison.
I bowed again.
"My Lord," I said, voice low and even.
"My Lord," Draco echoed.
Voldemort leaned back in his chair, studying us the way a snake might study a pair of mice—amused, curious, calculating.
"You are here," he began, "because of your name."
A small breath caught in my throat.
"You are here because your father failed me."
His voice did not rise. It didn't need to.
The word failed hung in the air like the scent of blood.
Lucius's absence from the room suddenly seemed like an open wound.
"You are here," he continued, "because I am generous. I believe in usefulness. I believe... in legacy."
He stood, slowly. Everyone bowed lower, including me.
He stepped from behind the table and walked forward, passing between the two lines of seated Death Eaters like a priest in a procession. His robes whispered across the floor, the only sound in the room.
I dared glance up for a fraction of a second—and he was already watching me.
My breath froze in my lungs.
YOU ARE READING
human again / hp.
Fiksi Penggemar"I already forgave you, so why can't you forgive yourself?" She's a Malfoy. He's a Potter. Celeste Malfoy has always walked a fine line between the world she was born into and the one she chose for herself. At Hogwarts, nothing is simple. Not friend...
