The room was as silent as a graveyard. Only the few of their inner circle occupied otherwise long ornate table, leaving empty seats among them. The drawing room, where the meeting took place, was handsome and rather spacious, now that all the usual furniture was pushed up against the high, stone walls. The crystal chandelier that hung right above them was drenched in darkness, as the only source of light was a feeble fire, stirring beneath a antic marble fireplace.
Draco Malfoy sat as silently as the rest of them, his face illuminated from one site, with his cold, grey eyes focused on the table in front of him. He could feel his mother shifting uneasy on his left… his father's seat on his right was deserted.
The dead silence was broken, at last, by the tall, black-cloaked figure, sitting at the far end of the table.
"So," he said with a soft, dangerous voice that carved into silence like a dagger. Draco slowly turned his gaze toward the man who spoke, taking in his grotesque appearance once more, then quickly lowering his eyes as though too much of it could impair his sight.
"The damage is done, as it seems." Nobody answered. Nobody even dared to look up.
"My faithful death eaters were, once more, outsmarted by a fifteen year old." His words, although spoken with a calm, composed voice, were not any less sinister than when he had screamed them a few weeks ago. Draco still felt deep pain in his bones, from when one of his cruciatus curses hit him in the chest.
"It seems only fitting, therefore, that I shall intrust my next task… on a fifteen year old." All heads shifted rapidly toward Draco and he could feel their gazes burning into his skin.
"My- my lord?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"The time has come for you to prove yourself, Draco," Voldemort said, his almost opaque, skeletally thin face contracting into a malicious smile. "To undo your father's wrongs." Draco could hear his mother's muffled moan, but she did not dare to speak.
"Harry Potter needs to be dealt with, once and for all. This process has been dragging for far too long due to the complete incompetence of my followers." At this point he paused for a moment, as though trying to control his temper.
It was Bellatrix Lestrange that spoke now. She was sitting closest to Voldemort, her body leaning slightly to him, as though he was a magnet, pulling her to him. She wore a tight, black gown, covering every inch of her skin, from her wrists, to her throat. Black hood, which was perched above head, casting a dark shadow on her face, was strapped together with a silver brooch in a shape of a snake. Draco remembered his aunt from old family photos. Her once rather beautiful features were now faded underneath the waxy skin and heavy lidded eyes. She usually sat straight, with her chin held high as if she was sitting on a throne, her unhinged gaze always on the Dark lord. But now, thought Draco, as he contemplated her, she looked rather disheveled as if she too had not forgotten the events from a couple of weeks ago.
"My lord…" she spoke quietly and softly as if to a lover. "My lord if I could…" But Lord Voldemort held up his hand and she fell silent in an instance.
"Harry Potter is untouchable under the watchful eye of Albus Dumbledore," he said and at the last two words, his voice vibrated with hatred. "I cannot harm him as long as he hides beneath the walls of Hogwarts. But we all know of his greatest weakness. It's what drove him to the ministry at the end of last year. It's what almost," he closed his reddened eyes momentarily to calm himself, "got him killed."
Draco remained silent as his insides began to turn. He knew the Dark Lord was close to his explanation on what part he, Draco, was to play in his plan.
"Love," said Lord Voldemort with contempt as if it was a curse word. "Love and sacrifice. It's what had saved him when I killed off his worthless mother and it will be what buries him at the end." His voice trailed away, his red, snake like eyes, lost somewhere in the distance. "The main question therefore is," he continued after a while, "Who does the Potter boy love and who will he be willing to sacrifice for." He turned to Draco, expectantly.
Draco thought for a moment, then spoke.
"He spends his time with Weasley and Granger. They were among the others who came to the ministry, for Black."
"Granger?" said Lord Voldemort, a slight crease between his eyebrows. "I've never heard of any Grangers."
"She's a mudblood… my lord."
"Ahhh…" said Lord Voldemort softly and smiling. "How fitting…. how poetic."
He stood up and the eyes of the death eaters followed him as he stalked to the fire. The light of the flames merely enhanced his grotesque features and his gleaming eyes.
"A mudblood saved him," he said, turning, his spider like fingers wrapped around his wand, "And a mudblood will ruin him."
This pronouncement was followed by one of the longest silences yet. Then the Dark Lord continued, his tone almost bussines-like.
"You, Draco, will find a way to get her across the protection line, circling the school. Since you are not of age and still have the trace on you, you won't be able to disapparate, even if you knew how. You will therefore have to find another way to bring her to an agreed place where we," he pointed at the death eaters, "will await you. There will be no need for us to seek out Potter… when he learns of the mudblood's fate, he will come and find us on his own." At last, thought Draco, the plan was revealed.
"You will speak of this to noone," continued Lord Voldemort. "As won't the rest of you."
There was a sudden, muffled sound, coming from the entrance of the room. Draco looked down and saw a gigantic snake, slithering on the cold, marble floor, it's head orientated towards her master.
"Ah, Nagini," he said softly. The death eaters flinched slightly when the snake past them, egging away from it's menacing fangs.
"You are on your last chance," said Lord Voldemort, caressing his pet's head lovingly, looking at both the Malfoys, who sat, frozen in their seats, with their pale skin, gray eyes and silky, silver hair. "I have been forgiving enough," he continued. "Patient enough. You will get the mudblood across the line by the end of January. Fail this," he said, still softly, though his voice sook a little with suppressed fury." And Nagini will have two more meals this year."
