𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙥 | DRACO MALFOY

secrets in the dark

Harper Malfoy

I used to think the worst part of serving the Dark Lord would be the pain. The Cruciatus curse. The blood. The silence that always followed the screams.

But I was wrong.

The worst part is standing in front of people who would rather see you fail, who smile as they wait for you to trip on your own power. Every mission I led since the wedding, every command I gave, felt like stepping deeper into a pit full of wolves.

They didn't say it, not directly. But I could hear it in the shuffle of cloaks, the muttered spells under their breath, the sneers just loud enough to notice.

Tonight was no different.

The room at the safehouse smelled of damp stone and dark magic. Candles hovered low, barely lighting the old war maps spread across the table. I traced my finger along the marked route we'd take to intercept a shipment of stolen wands—Auror-issued, charmed, dangerous. Voldemort wanted them recovered. Or destroyed. He didn't care which.

Our trail on Harry Potter had gone dry meaning the Dark Lord wanted his resources and little followers to be put to any work of sort.

"I'll lead the northern flank," I said, keeping my voice cold and clear. "Marek, you and Travers will circle around the back alley. Rabastan takes the rooftops. If any Aurors show, don't engage. Just signal me."

Marek Avery snorted. "And what if you're the one who gets caught, princess? Do we all drop dead waiting for you to wave your pretty wand?"

I looked up. Slowly. Let my eyes settle on his.

"You disobey me," I said, "and I'll show you exactly how little I need a wand."

The room went quiet. You could hear the flames crackling.

But Marek—he didn't flinch. He stepped forward, broad shoulders tense beneath his heavy cloak. His lips curled.

"Why don't you prove it?"

Behind him, someone whispered, "This again..."

I dropped my glove on the table.

"Let's settle it," I said. "Now."

He drew first. Arrogant. Fast. Predictable.

I didn't need a spell. I raised my hand and let the energy rush up from my chest—cold and hot, violent and perfect. It struck him in the stomach and sent him flying into the stone wall. He crumpled to the floor, groaning, wand spinning out of his hand.

I walked to him, slowly, and crouched at his side. "That pretty enough for you?"

He looked up at me, eyes wide with something between respect and hatred. I didn't care which.

"I am your leader," I said softly. "Not because he said so. Because I earned it. Challenge me again, and I'll peel the bones from your hands myself."

When I turned back to the others, no one met my eyes.

That should've felt like a win. But all I felt was the ache in my ribs where the power had surged too fast—too recklessly. My body wasn't made to carry this much of it. Not for long.

Later, back at the manor, I washed the blood off my hands in the sink. The water ran red for too long. I gripped the porcelain until it cracked.

Behind me, the door creaked open.

"I heard," Draco said.

I didn't turn around. "Everyone always does."

There was a pause. Then the soft rustle of his cloak as he crossed the room.