Chapter 22 Draco
Chapter 22 Draco
Draco stepped out of the fireplace and into a cavernous and barren room. The floorboards were bare and covered in a thick layer of dust. It was completely silent, the only sound was a breeze lightly rustling through some trees outside. The windows were open, or they had been smashed at some point and the glass never replaced, it was hard to tell. Ivy was invading from the outside winding its way into the room and crawling all up the ceiling. It had once been grand, that much was clear the room was enormous, intricate swirling coving decorated the walls and ceilings but it was now crumbling and flaking off in large pieces. Large cloths covered odd bits of furniture that haunted the room like ghosts. It was gloomy but shafts of moonlight lit the room casting odd shadows on the ground. Draco stood awkwardly behind Dolohov as he took in his surroundings, he focussed all of his energy on appearing calm and forcing back the tears that were attempting to escape his eyes.
Lucius arrived shortly after, stepping out of the fireplace brushing floo powder from his cloak.
‘Welcome to my family home’ Voldemort said eerily floating around the room.
‘Such an honour!’ Bellatrix squealed like a child on Christmas morning.
They were in the large reception hall of Riddle Manor, Draco could see the elaborate front door and the grand staircase that led to the second floor, both of which looked like they might be rotten.
There was a thud from above them, it shook dust from the ceiling, followed by a piercing scream, a woman’s voice crystal clear and desperate. Draco physically jumped at the sound.
‘HELP!’ A man’s voice joined in, cutting through her scream.
‘HELP US!’
‘PLEASE IS SOMEONE THERE?’
Draco felt ill. He dug his nails into his arm and tried to go somewhere else in his head. He just needed to get through this.
The agony and frustration in their voices gnawed at his soul.
‘We’ll get to them later.’ Voldemort said dismissively, as though they were little more than a mild inconvenience and not two real people with thoughts and feelings.
They continued to scream and shout from above as Voldemort spoke.
‘We will be performing a complex ritual tonight, it will require sacrifice, but I assure you it is worth what will be sacrificed. Come.’
Voldemort led them to the centre of the entrance hall where there was a large circular shape covered in cloth. With a flick of his wand he revealed a large cauldron, bigger than a bathtub, cast iron and completely solid. Underneath it was a pyre of some sort, Draco assumed it was made of wood but as he looked closer he could see that there were several dead magical creatures woven into the branches and twigs. A knealze, its dense brindle fur still looked soft, a Diricawl and a niffler both limp and lifeless, the smooth tentacles of a grindylow poked out from under a large log. Draco felt acid in his throat.
‘As you can see I have been preparing for this night for a while, but there are some finishing touches that require your assistance.’
He gestured to the five people in front of him.
‘For this magic to be strong It will require souls, the more souls the stronger the magic.’
Voldemort spoke of souls as though there were a simple ingredient that one might pick up in an apothecary. Draco would be forced to kill tonight. The thought terrified him, he had, until this point managed to avoid directly killing anyone. He thought again of simply killing himself there and then. The simplest form of escape, he could make it painless and quick for himself but… Dudley, who would look after Dudley? Who would keep him safe? Dudley would think Draco had abandoned him. He just couldn’t do that. If his choices were murder or never see Dudley again Draco knew what he would be choosing. He was ashamed and weak and he hated himself for it but he would murder if it meant he could hug Dudley again, feel the sturdy weight of his hands pulling Draco’s neck down to his mouth.
‘Little Hangleton, is just down that hill it is filled with ignorant and hateful muggles. Bellatrix, Yaxley, Lucius and I are going to take several and bring them here, Draco and Dolohov you will obliviate their remainder so no muggle can inform the authorities that we were here understood?’
There was a chorus of ‘yes my lords’
Bellatrix was stepping from one foot to the other barely able to contain herself, excited to begin the slaughter. Yaxley and Lucius began discussing the plan in hushed voices, and Draco just stood, like a puppet on a string. He wasn’t expected to hurt anyone, maybe he might be able to live with himself if he didn’t physically hurt anyone. But even as the thought came to him he knew it was probably a lie, there was a good chance that the guilt he felt from what transpired in Little Hangleton would haunt him forever.
In something of a daze Draco followed the group out of the front door and down a dark winding lane into the heart of Little Hangleton. It must have been the early hours of the morning by now. Dudley would be worried, he’d think Draco had abandoned him. Draco turned in the darkness and looked up at the manor. Huge and rectangular its face covered in a wash of green vines, neglected and unloved. It could have been so beautiful but it was rotting and abandoned.
They continued down the hill and into the village, turning off the path and onto the road that split the village down the middle. The houses were quaint and small, some of them had painted window boxes and shutters, the kind of village you might find on a postcard. Draco imagined the muggles tucked up in their beds unaware of the immanent danger they were in. Ignorant of the lions outside their doors. Draco could see inside the window of the first house on his right, there was a toaster on the side, muggle post on the table, fresh flowers in a vase, maybe bought for an anniversary or birthday. Simple and beautiful normal life. Draco felt a wave of envy for them, no one was ever going to force them to hurt someone. They would go to school and work, go on holiday, parties and Christmas.
‘Alohamora’ Voldemort whispered. They were going in.
No. Not this one Draco thought, they’re nice, they bought flowers, they love each other. Yaxley, Bellatrix and Dolohov followed Voldemort inside.
Lucius remained on the doorstep, he turned to Draco.
‘You will do it. You will do as Voldemort asks or I will kill Dudley, and I will make you watch. Do you understand?’
Draco wanted to fold himself up, make himself small. He could barely breathe, his breaths were coming shallow and fast. Lucius swept inside.
They were so silent, they must have used a silencing charm because their feet made no sound on the floor.
Voldemort, Yaxley, Bellatrix and Lucius went upstairs leaving Draco and Dolohov in the kitchen.
Draco found himself staring at the fridge door, a child’s drawing was held up with a magnet, a drawing of a park, a mum and a dad and two children on a roundabout, coloured in with wax crayon. ‘By Billy’ it read at the bottom.
Before Draco could acknowledge the fresh stab of pain that shot through him the others were descending the stairs again. Two bodies levitated in front of them, a man, slightly chubby wearing only a pair of elasticated boxer shorts, eyes shut as though he were still asleep. The woman was in a white night dress, maybe in her 30’s she had blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Draco could almost recognise them from Billy’s drawing.
‘No need for you two, the kids didn’t wake up.’ Yaxley whispered.
Draco sighed a breath of relief before reminding himself that tomorrow Billy would wake up, his parents would be gone, he would panic, and then he would grow up parentless, would he be sent to an orphanage or would a relative take him in. Will he ever get over his parents deaths? Maybe he’d die young. How many lives would be permanently ruined by their actions tonight? Hundreds? The ripple effect of this would reverberate for years, decades, generations even.
The muggles were taken outside, still in a magically induced state of unconsciousness, they were laid unceremoniously on the cobbles.
Draco gazed at their sleeping faces. Shortly he would watch their souls ripped from their bodies. In that moment something in Draco snapped and he went somewhere else.
If you were to ask Draco what happened in Little Hangleton that night he wouldn’t really be able to tell you, flashes of memories, obviating small children as tears ran down their faces, watching Yaxley pile body on top of body on the cold cobbled street. Voldemort leaning on a doorframe. His fathers warning stare, Bellatrix’s glee, but the truth is that most of that night is lost to him. He was somewhere else, he was in his orangery with his best friend reading out loud and running his fingers through Dudley’s thick hair, keeping him safe. Always keeping Dudley safe.