From the bottom, one could still see the remnants of slime from Nagini, from the countless times its slithered up and down the steps leading to the dais of the altar, where her master lay perched on the cathedra. The beginnings of dawn is fast approaching, though the entire room still feels like how it always feels – detached from all other elements, like not even light itself could ever fully encompass it.
The only tell-tale sign is the pure polished black granite that makes up the structure of his throne, now winking underneath the mellow sunlight starting to peer through the high, glass-stained windows of the Malfoy Manor oratory. Not exactly how it was originally, what with the history of the Manor through the Middle Ages, but Lord Voldemort has such a penchant for the elegantly obscure that even Draco's own mother couldn't deny him of refurbishing their entire household, including their own little church.
With the help of a slight persuasion from her husband in ways only he knew how, of course.
"Fifty-five of my children, of your brothers and sisters, are now dead. Would anyone care to explain to me how this happened?" His voice is eerily light. Too light. Mocking.
Silence greets him. Even Bellatrix is rendered mute, her psychotic eyes downcast.
They have all failed the Dark Lord.
"Parkinson, hmm?" From the corner of Draco's eye, he zeroes in on the lone bead of sweat that has formed on the crease of Adaelric Parkinson's forehead. "Nothing to say about your incompetence at guarding your own home?"
Adaelric says nothing.
"Pity." Voldemort lifts his wand and swiftly shoots a Crucio at him. Somewhere in the crowd, Posy Parkinson's shrill scream is heard, mingling with those of the portly man reduced to his knees underneath the third wave of the same spell, as she pushes to the front where she can get the full view of her husband writhing on the floor after the fifth.
Voldemort laughs as he scans around the room for another victim, his eyes falling to another, and another, and then another, until the entire room is drowning under the collective orchestra of tortured souls at the mercy of one wizard's wand.
He then turns to no other than Draco and a figure beside him.
"Young Malfoy and young Nott, bring me our rat."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N:
Hello, hello, my lovelies! I'm back with another (long overdue) update!
This one is dedicated to no other than @booksnooksandcoffee because I owe her for the loveliest comments and pls pls go check out her work!!! Just click on over to her profile (I specially loved Harry Potter Instagram and if you're in the mood for a little break amidst the chaos and destruction of this book, what are you waiting for?? Go forth and read it!)
Until next update! <3
YOU ARE READING
Once More Unto The Breach // DHr
FanfictionHarry Potter July 31, 1980 - May 2, 1998 Until the very end. It's been two years since the death of Harry Potter that rocked the entire Wizarding Society to its core, paving the way for Voldemort's reign of terror. But Hermione Granger would have no...
