𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟 (Draco Malfoy x OC)

𝓣𝔀𝓸

Olive

I can feel my pulse quicken as I look into the cold eyes of Lord Voldemort. Everything about him is so unnatural - from his ghostly pale complexion, to his snake-slit eyes. I must've met him at least ten times previously, but somehow he never gets less horrifying to encounter.

Maybe it's because I knew if he wanted to kill me, it could be done in a matter of seconds without him even batting an eye.

I remind myself to keep my facial expressions neutral, and not to let on that I'm terrified out of my mind. It's quite easy to see why once you join Voldemort's Deatheaters you never leave - you'll be long dead before you can even try to escape. I think of last year, when the Dark Lord rose again; my mother and father were right by Voldemort's side, begging him for forgiveness. My parents know better than anyone that when the Dark Lord rises to power again, it is safest to be on his side.

My thoughts wander to a couple of years ago, when Voldemort was supposedly gone for good. Back then, my life certainly wan't perfect, and my parents were just as cold-hearted as they are now, but I'd still give anything to go back to the way everything used to be. You never really know how good you have something until it's gone.

I shake myself slightly, snapping myself out of my daydream. I curse myself, reminding myself that it's dangerous to be thinking thoughts like these - especially around Voldemort, where he can easily use his legilimency and read my thoughts.

"You may sit, we have much to discuss." The Dark Lord says, his sharp voice cutting through me.

"Yes my lord." I say, taking a seat in a polished redwood chair in front of Voldemort. At the corner of my eye I see Nagini, Voldemort's snake, slither across the carpet.

"As you, my loyal Deatheaters already know, we are commencing our plan tomorrow." Voldemort says, his eyes gleaming with pure madness. My heartbeat speeds up.

The plan. It's been bothering and worrying me for weeks, and I can't believe that tomorrow everything will be set into motion. My grip tightens slightly around my chair.

"It is essential that you succeed," Voldemort tells me, "Our entire plans relies on you. I know I don't have to remind you what will happen if you fail this." The Dark Lord looks at me, his gaze paralyzing me with fear.

"Of course my Lord." I saw, bowing my head to him.

"Olive," My father says, looking at me with his stone-cold glare, "It is the Dark Lord's will that you complete this; you will be doing a great service to us. If you fail to succeed, there will be consequences," My father pauses for a moment. Consequences. I doubt Voldemort will keep me alive if I fail this task, and I know my parents know that too, but somehow they don't seem the least bit remorseful. I wonder if I died, would they cry?

"However, if this plan is completed successfully your mother and I will be proud." I look between my mother and father, their faces showing no sign of affection or love. My father's words ring in my ears. Proud. A surge of longing and loneliness pangs through my body. For my entire life, I've wanted nothing more than for my parents to notice me, and to be proud of me; for them to finally look at me like I matter. Maybe, just maybe if I manage to succeed this task, they'll finally be proud of their daughter.

I look to my father, my body stiff, "There is no need to worry. I will complete this. It is what all my training was for, after all."

My mother gives me a stern nod. I hear a creak at the door, and all heads turn toward the noise.

"Ah, I believe he is here." The Dark Lord says, gesturing to the door frame, "Come in."

I don't have to turn my head to know who he is talking about. "Severus." My father nods, greeting the man. The others give Severus their greetings.