She was the last of her line, according to her father. A natural parseltongue, and a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin.
Gaunt. The long lost Slytherin heir. The long lost phantom queen.
She was bred by her father to be determined, cunning, ru...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Draco Malfoy. He was drowning under so much pressure and guilt. He had to kill Albus Dumbledore. It was his task. He couldn't let anyone else do it, or else, Voldemort would question his loyalty. He wouldn't put his parents at risk, for saint's sake, he would not put Morrigan at risk.
It was an everyday endeavor. Going to the room of requirements, avoiding the poignant stares of Potter and his friends, and coming back to his lover's arm. That was the best part of the day. Burying his nose on the crook of Morrigan's neck. He was home then. And he would do anything to protect it, even kill Albus Dumbledore.
He wasn't daft, he knew Potter was out for him. That is why he was clean, executing his plans, not himself but through others like Katie Bell, and soon, Horace Slughorn.
He had spent his whole day finally perfecting the poison. He knew somehow Slughorn would coax Dumbledore into drinking with him. A nice bottle of mead would suffice in order to execute his plan.
He was waiting for the poison to sit for twenty minutes. After that, his hand roamed on his sketchbook, tracing the beautiful features of his fiancee.
Fiance. Soon to be wife.
He could not believe it yet. He never thought he would be worthy of such love until Mor came into his life. He would do anything for her, even defying the dark lord. He traced her lips to the crevice of her neck.
He loved her so much that he would not let her risk her life again. Not for him.
They were both like that. They felt everything too much, and they had only each other. They protected those they loved fiercely, just like a Slytherin would. Morrigan is his present and future. He could almost close his eyes and imagine her running through the Malfoy gardens before they were tarnished, clasping his hand and crinkling her eyes in a burst of unearthly angelic laughter.
He then smiled and retrieved the funnel. He would do this. For Morrigan.
Morrigan was exhausted. It was the writing of bills at night, the constant worry for Draco. It was everything thus far. She wanted to construct a future for them, but the chances got slimmer as Tom grew. She knew she needed to turn the tables, even if it meant risking her cover.
She had felt it that night. A digging feeling on her mind, as if someone wanted to desperately pry inside. Rest assured, she had not let Potter even get a glimpse of her mind. She had felt him gnawing at it a couple of days ago. This was different.
It was like someone trying to barrel through the door, with such brute force, yet tantalizing with her grey spaces. It was him. It was Voldemort.
She gritted her teeth at the force. Once she let him inside, he could see anything. She stood up, walked into the dark forest, and apparated into the Malfoy Manor, walking into the study where he was perched, holding his head in his hands.
