September
September 2nd, 1997
Bile rose up his throat, and his nostrils flared as he tried to breathe out the nausea.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
"They were slippery little fuckers, but we got 'em, M'Lord!" Yaxley exclaimed, his poxmarked face grinning broadly.
Draco began clawing desperately at his mental walls as he tried to occlude. He knew what was coming, and he was finding it incredibly difficult to do so with Harry Potter's wild, pleading eyes staring directly at him.
"Are you sure there were only the two of them? Where's the other one? The mudblood?" Bellatrix asked, her eyes squinting as she began to circle Potter and Weasley.
Yaxley paled slightly and began to nod emphatically. "Yes! I swear it! These two fools broke into the Ministry of Magic without even so much as an exit strategy! We cornered them and stunned them right before they tried to apparate-”
Voldemort slammed his fist against the arm of his high-backed chair, causing a deafening silence to fall over the room.
"And what, exactly, was Harry Potter doing at the Ministry of Magic?" Voldemort hissed.
The anger rolling off Voldemort was enough to make Draco want to bolt. His palms grew sweaty as he let the idea linger for a second too long. He really didn't want to be here right now. His father seemed to sense this as his grip around the back of Draco's neck tightened, making Draco flinch. Usually, his father's hand felt like a comfort, anchoring him when his fear threatened to overtake him. But right now it felt like a leash. A punishment for his cowardly ways.
Draco forced himself to look on as his aunt continued her leisurely pace around the kneeling, bound duo, painting an eerie picture of predator and prey. The two looked the worse for wear, each sporting black eyes and their hair matted down with sweat and clumps of debris. Draco wondered if they had put up a good fight.
Potter was still staring at Draco, his eyes filled with what he could only decipher as a cry for help, and Draco finally gave a subtle shake of his head. What did Potter expect from him? Even if he wanted to help him, there was simply no possible way for him to do so. The crowded drawing room of his manor was filled to the brim with Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself, and Draco doubted he could even fully lift his wand before someone would Avada him. Hell, he suspected his own father wouldn't hesitate to do so if it meant staying in Voldemort's good graces.
He really wanted Potter to stop looking at him. Someone might notice soon, and Draco really didn't want any attention drawn to himself. Looking away, he shifted all of his focus inward and concentrated on pulling his mental walls firmly into place.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
"Well, we aren't sure, M'Lord. We brought them straight here. We haven't had a chance to interrogate them yet," Yaxley's voice shook slightly. It was always difficult to gauge what would be acceptable to the Dark Lord in situations like this. Most times, it didn't matter what you chose to do. Yaxley could have interrogated Potter prior to presenting him to the Dark Lord, and it still would have been the wrong choice. Draco was sure of this. Voldemort thrived off the fear he instilled in others, and it seemed one of his favorite ways to do this was by being completely unpredictable.
Voldemort's red eyes seemed to glow as he stared at Yaxley, who began to quickly mumble words of apology and excuses.
Closing his eyes as his occlusion slipped into place, Draco's shoulders dropped a notch and he felt himself relax. When he opened them, he saw the room through a hazy lens. Letting the numbness wash over him, he finally felt like he could process the events unfolding before him.
Potter's been caught… Harry fucking Potter has been captured, and there is no way he's walking away from this. Fuck. What were Potter and Weasel THINKING, breaking into one of Voldemort's most heavily guarded buildings? And where the fuck is Granger? I swear to Merlin, if these idiots left her behind while trying to run from their failed plan, I'll Avada them myself.
Draco tried to recall the last time he had seen her. A sharp pang ran through his chest when he realized it must have been some time right before Dumbledore's death at the Astronomy Tower.
Gods… does she know I was involved in that? I can only imagine what she thinks of me now…
A scuffle broke out, drawing back his attention and watched as Potter and Weasley made a pathetic attempt at escaping their magical binds. Potter must have accepted that Draco would be of no help to him and grew desperate. Bellatrix squealed with delight as she kicked Harry in the jaw with her heeled boot so hard that he fell over and the side of his head bounced off the floor with a loud crunch.
"CRUCIO!" she cried, pointing her curved wand at the boy.
Harry's body began to bow off the floor, his screams filling the air. It wasn't until blood began leaking from his nose and ears that Voldemort gave a silent command to stop with the wave of his hand. Harry lay there on the cusp of consciousness, eyes rolled back and his body twitching. Next to him, Ron shook violently, his eyes squeezed tightly shut with silent tears streaming down his face.
Voldemort said something to Bellatrix, but Draco could barely hear as he felt his occlusion start to falter. His emotions were threatening to break through, and he knew he would face similar torture if they did. Showing weakness was not an option here. It's not as though he cared for Potter or the Weasel; they had been enemies from the beginning. But they grew up together. There was just something innately wrong about watching people you'd seen every day for years face down their impending doom and doing nothing about it. Draco's stomach clenched.
Suddenly, the doors to the drawing room burst open and the room fell into a hushed silence as a very disheveled-looking Umbridge flew in. Draco inwardly grimaced.
Could this shit get any worse?
But then Voldemort took one look at Umbridge and went deathly still. Umbridge noticed and froze in her approach, and Draco just knew. Whatever went down today has officially altered the course of this war.
A flash of green light blinded the room, and Umbridge dropped to the ground. Voldemort turned, hand raised, poised like a snake ready to strike, and within a split second—
“Avada Kedavra,” Voldemort whispered.
And the boy who lived, lived no more.