𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙥 | DRACO MALFOY

a moment alone

Harper Riddle

The silence in the room is deafening. My pulse pounds in my ears as I stand at the edge of the shadows, watching Draco kneel before the Dark Lord. His shoulders are hunched and his eyes cast down as if he's already expecting the worst. This is no longer a moment of quiet reflection or of Voldemort's cold approval. This is punishment.

Voldemort surveys Draco with disdain as his eyes flicker over him as if inspecting an insect that's failed to perform its duty.

"You were supposed to kill him, Draco," Voldemort's voice slices through the stillness, each word carrying the weight of an executioner's blade. "You were chosen. You had everything you needed. And yet you failed."

Draco flinches, but his gaze doesn't waver from the floor. He remains silent and the tension grows in that silence, wrapping around the room like a suffocating fog.

Harper stands just behind Voldemort, her presence like a shadow, still, waiting for what comes next. She did what Draco couldn't. She's proved her loyalty, and now she watches as Voldemort's anger turns toward Draco, the one who couldn't finish what he started.

Voldemort takes a slow step toward Draco, his cold, hollow voice laced with venom. "Tell me, Draco, why didn't you kill him? Was it the guilt? Or the weakness I've seen creeping into your heart?" He pauses, his lip curling slightly in disgust. "Or was it something more? Something I did not foresee?"

Draco trembles, his voice barely audible as he speaks, "I-I couldn't... I wasn't ready. I didn't—"

"Silence!" Voldemort hisses, cutting him off with a flick of his wand. The force of it sends Draco sprawling forward, his face meeting the cold stone floor. "You had everything you needed to succeed. And yet you failed. Why?"

A sickening silence follows. Draco doesn't answer, his chest heaving as he struggles to regain composure. But Voldemort has no patience for weakness. No mercy for failure.

With a single flick of his wand, Draco is lifted off the ground, suspended by invisible forces, his body jerking in agony. His arms are pulled tightly behind him, and I hear the sickening crack of his bones as they are forced into unnatural positions.

The Dark Lord's voice is now cold and lethal, a snake coiling tighter with each word. "You have let me down, Draco. And I do not tolerate failure. I gave you a simple task—one you were supposed to complete without hesitation."

He flicks his wrist again, sending a bolt of searing pain through Draco's body. Draco gasps, his face contorting with pain, but still he remains silent, unable to speak, unable to plead for mercy.

"Did you think I would tolerate incompetence? Did you think I would allow such a weakling to continue in my service?"

I can hear Draco's breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggles to remain conscious, the pain overwhelming him. His body shakes under the force of Voldemort's magic. But the Dark Lord isn't finished. His voice is low, filled with icy venom.

"You should have known better. But now, you will understand the cost of your failure."

Voldemort raises his wand again. This time, the spell is no longer just painful—it's personal. A curse meant to break the spirit, to strip away the pride that Draco once held so tightly.

"Crucio!"

The loud scream that erupts from Draco's throat echoes throught . His body convulses, writhing in the air as if trying to escape the pain, but there's nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide from the Dark Lord's wrath.

Draco's eyes squeeze shut, his mouth open in a silent scream, his body twisting as the curse takes hold. I watch as his strength fades, his resistance crumbling under the force of the Unforgivable.