Chapter 23 Draco
Chapter 23 Draco
Somewhere on the journey back to Riddle Manor Draco came back to himself, it might have been the pain in his calves from walking uphill that finally brought him back into his body. Ahead of him Voldemort was levitating several limp bodies, Bellatrix and Yaxley doing the same, in total there must have been at least twenty of them. Not real. Draco thought, they’re not real.
Inside the manor they were laid out on the floor. At least they were unconscious Draco thought. No. They’re not real.
They can’t be real. This would be too horrible to be real. No one could ever be this evil.
The group congregated around the cauldron after dropping the bodies. Voldemort gave instructions to Dolohov and he disappeared up the stairs, but Draco wasn’t listening. Voldemort was doing something, saying something else, his arms were moving wildly and something was happening to the bodies. They were all still there laid on the wooden floor, but now there was a small but bright blueish light glowing inside each of their chests. Voldemort continued to speak, and the lights travelled up their throats and out of their mouths. Glowing, almost blinding and completely beautiful, the lights moved in unison creating a wave of iridescent brightness towards Voldemort. As they passed Draco could see them close up, like floating droplets of the purest water, delicate and precious. Voldemort guided them gently into the cauldron. The cauldron was now glowing so brightly Draco could barely look, their combined light was blinding. Draco had believed only dementors could rip a soul from a body but Voldemort had proven him wrong, always new depths to his depravity. The souls of twenty muggles. Their life force, their dreams and hopes and talents and loves and futures, all of it now sat on cold iron to be defiled with dark magic.
Draco glanced back at the muggles, sure enough they were gone, whatever spark had been there, whatever made them them had been stolen. All that life and love snuffed out in an instant. They now lay limp and empty. At that moment Dolohov returned, his rough hands around the neck of a woman. She was wide eyed and shivering, wearing what had once been a smart grey skirt suit but which was now a filthy torn mess that barely hung to her bony frame. She had slightly greying hair that was escaping from a ruined bun at the back of her head. Her face was gaunt and dripping in terror.
‘Blood of the enemy, my lord?’
‘Thank you Dolohov’ Voldemort replied.
‘Come here Melissa. Melissa here used to work for the ministry. Head of their ‘muggle culture preservation task force’ a joke of a department.’
Voldemort took Melissa by the wrist, she struggled desperately but his long fingers were like a vice. She sobbed and screamed and scratched but nothing made a difference. Voldemort bent her over the cauldron. He put his hand out towards Lucius who placed a large knife into it. Voldemort then leant over with her and sliced her throat in a perfectly straight line. The blood poured from her neck in a tidal wave, it gushed and gushed dribbling into the silvery glowing light that Darin the bottom of the cauldron. When most of the gushing abated Voldemort threw her body aside, she landed at Bellatrix’s feet, Bellatrix swept Melissa’s body aside with a flick of her wand, as though she were rubbish.
The light from the cauldron was now dimming and Draco was able to look into it. The colour was no longer a blue silver glow but a soft pink.
Voldemort turned to Yaxley,
‘The venom?’
Yaxley quickly grabbed his bag and produced a vial of jet black liquid. It was viscous, like tar or treacle. Voldemort took it and added it to the cauldron. Alarm bells were ringing in Draco’s head, this was bad, it was really really bad. The souls, the venom, it reminded him of something, he just couldn’t quite remember what it was.
His mind was racing and turning and pulling and spinning, he could barely feel the ground beneath his feet anymore. It was a while before he realised Voldemort had said his name.
‘Draco?’
‘My lord?’ Draco managed to stutter.
‘I said come here Draco.’ Voldemort replied impatiently.
Draco wasn’t sure his feet would work, the world seemed to suddenly be turning at one hundred miles an hour, he felt like he might fall over if he tried to walk.
‘Draco.’ his father’s voice came from behind him and a hand nudged him forwards. Draco found himself looking directly at Voldemort. He was actually a similar height to Voldemort, something about Voldemort had always just seemed so much bigger, but he wasn’t. He was so serpentine, flat nose and dead eyes. He always seemed to move slowly but with great purpose.
‘I am sorry Draco, but it is necessary.’
‘What’s necessary?’ He asked, confused.
‘Flesh of the servant.’ Voldemort replied and in a flash Draco’s arm was held above the cauldron, those bony fingers clasping it unwavering above the now grey mixture.
Draco didn’t even have time digest what was happening before the knife was raised high and then swiftly lowered down onto Dracos flesh, just above his wrist. Draco watched in disbelief as his own hand fell into the mixture below. It made a splash and a soft thunk as it hit. The pain followed a few seconds later. Heat, lancing, pulling and dragging and clawing in his brain. His head was on fire, his arm was on fire, everything wobbled, the whole world changed in an instant, his life was now a before and after. Earth shattering shock. he was broken and cut to pieces. A sound was escaped his chest, somewhere between a scream and a sigh. And then Draco passed out. Hitting the wooden boards with a dull thud.