Chapter 3 : He Didn't Want To
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 3|
Change Background: Change Font color:
Draco had been having a fine day. It was sunny, and warm, and Draco was in the Malfoy Manor, lounging luxuriously on a leather sofa embedded with diamonds. Life was good, he thought.
At least, it was if you ignored the talk of murder, torture, and abduction from the visitors that were so often in the house.
In other words, Draco's house was head of Voldemort Crap, as Draco called it in his mind. His father and mother were servants of You-Know-Who. Draco liked to pretend that they weren't.
Ignorance is so easy to fake. Draco smirked.
“Draco!” his mother called from the sitting room, sounding shaken and shocked.
“Draco, Aunt Bellatrix would like a word with you.”
Draco sat up abruptly. “Why's Aunt Bellatrix here?” he asked aloud, running his hands over his slick, blond, head.
“I don't know, but she wants something that you will have to do,”
Draco whipped around. No one was there. Well, the lowly servant Casey was scrubbing the floor intently, but Casey had a low, rocky voice whenever he talked.
It sounded to Draco as if Ginny Weasley was talking to her.
When Draco crossed the threshold of the sitting room, he saw Mum, looking very tense, and Aunt Bellatrix, lounging on yet another diamond-embedded sofa. Bellatrix gestured at a recliner, and Draco sat down.
“Draco,” Bellatrix smiled.
“Aunt Bella,” he addressed the wall behind her.
“Draco, Draco. My master has a mission for you,”
“And what is that?” Draco's mother, Narcissa exclaimed sharply. She pointed an emerald-clad hand at Bellatrix. “Sister, I have heard nothing of this from the Dark Lord!”
Bellatrix merely smiled. Ignoring Narcissa, she turned to Draco, knitting her fingers together thoughtfully. “Now, you won't need to do very much. Just smash a girl's broom in half and run away....”
In bed, hours later, sopping wet and seething, Draco stared at the ceiling, thinking over what'd just happened, and feeling thoroughly unnerved.
* * *
It was dusk, and Draco was crouching in a cornfield. He'd been there for hours. Draco grimaced, and thought, I'm like a freakin' Death Eater now! Is that what I really wanna be?
A swish of air told him that the target was nearing. Ignoring the big guilt lump that seemed glued to his stomach, he pointed his wand straight at the target.
With a clatter, the girl fell to the ground. Draco was about to turn away, but couldn't bring himself to leave the girl. He ran over to help her, to bandage her up.
Then she'd woken. And they'd sat by the pond together. He had asked her for her name, and the girl was actually Ginevra Weasley. She had pushed him into the pond.
* * *
Grimacing, Draco remembered how beautiful the girl was, how sweet (for the most part), and how much he had a strange desire to feel her lips on his –
And then, his door was flung open. A man was silhouetted in the doorway. He had a pale, smooth face, slits for nostrils, and red eyes.
Lord Voldemort was in Draco's bedroom.
Draco's mouth had gone dry. “Uh,” he squeaked.
Voldemort smiled. “Malfoy,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, and as cold as ice. “I have a mission that you will complete by the end of the year. Or die.”
Previous Chapter Next Chapter