A/N: Hi everyone - thanks for taking the time to check out my story! Hope you like it. J.K. Rowling owns everything you recognize; I just write for fun. Please consider leaving a review to let me know what you think, & enjoy! :)
The fire crackles merrily in the hearth, each snap and pop of the embers a mocking reminder that the room it warms is in fact far from merry. The long table looks out of place in the manor's normally just-so drawing room, the room's usual furniture shoved carelessly up against the far wall, and though nearly two dozen people sit at said table, the room is deathly quiet. Two empty chairs imply that they are expecting company; in the meantime, no one says a word, or even moves. Draco Malfoy, seated next to his father about halfway down the table, is terrified he'll be noticed for even daring to redirect his gaze, but he can't help it – suspended almost directly over his head is an unconscious body, which casts eerie shadows along the table's polished surface as it revolves slowly in the firelight, and his eyes are drawn to it like moths to a flame.
After what feels like an eternity, the drawing room door opens to admit the latecomers: Yaxley, and Severus Snape. The Dark Lord greets each of them in turn and gestures to the empty seats, then wastes no time in questioning the dark-haired Potions master.
"My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at nightfall," Snape says.
"Saturday…at nightfall," Voldemort repeats softly. Draco risks a sideways glance down the table at the Dark Lord. His abnormally long fingers are steepled together as if deep in thought, his snakelike countenance thrown into fierce relief by the fire. After a moment, the ghost of a smile flickers across the gruesome features, and Draco suppresses a shudder – the sight is truly terrifying.
"My Lord, I have heard differently." All eyes turn to Yaxley, awaiting an explanation for his counter. A debate ensues over false trails and the location of the next safe house, but Draco's hardly listening. These men speak of cold-blooded murder so flippantly, so easily, as if it were merely a discussion of what to serve for tea, and the teenager wants nothing to do with it. Even if it is Harry Potter they're talking about…Draco fights another shiver. He can't deny he used to hate Potter – still hates him, in fact. The stupid Gryffindor was always besting him at Quidditch, earning bucket loads of undeserved praise from the teachers, or running off to save the Wizarding world every other damn day, but Draco knows that these are schoolyard-rooted grievances, not acts that merit death warrants. In fact – and he's loathe to even think it, knowing how skill a Legilimens the Dark Lord is – he secretly hopes the Boy-Who-Got-Lucky can do so just once more. The all-consuming darkness that has been enveloping the Wizarding world since the Dark Lord's open rise to power is nothing short of horrifying, and Draco'd be a fool to think that darkness would vanish if the Dark Lord were to achieve his goals. No, there's only one way out at this point – the Light must win.
His attention returns to the present when the Dark Lord addresses his father.
"I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late…What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?"
Nothing – nothing, my Lord!" The Malfoy patriarch cannot hide the fear in his voice.
"Such lies, Lucius…" Voldemort elongates the 'S' sound and continues hissing, and Draco starts as something huge slides across the floor by his feet. The gigantic snake slides up the Dark Lord's chair and drapes itself across its master's shoulders like some sickening version of a stole, the man's long fingers stroking its head almost lovingly. Draco almost can't decide whose presence he fears more. He clears his head with a swift shake and refocuses on the conversation – his Aunt Bella is speaking, her tone laced with unadulterated adoration.
"No higher pleasure…even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your family this week?" the Dark Lord asks in response to her praise.
This remark confuses Draco – his entire family is in this very room, and unless he's very much mistaken, nothing even close to "happy" has happened all summer, never mind in the last week. Apparently, Bellatrix doesn't understand either.
"I'm talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud," the Dark Lord says sardonically.
The table's other occupants explode into fits of laughter. Lucius, Narcissa, and Bellatrix flush crimson, obviously humiliated, but Draco is more surprised than anything else. He'd barely even known he had a cousin, much less anything about her – his mother and Bellatrix had blasted their sister off the family tree before Draco was even born. And were they talking about his ex-professor Lupin? They must be – how many werewolves called Lupin could there be?
"What say you, Draco?" Voldemort calls through the Death Eaters' jeers. "Will you babysit the cubs?" It's the first time in a long time the Dark Lord has addressed him directly, and he has no idea what to say. Terrified, he risks a glance at his mother, who shakes her head almost imperceptibly. Don't answer, her look says quite clearly. Don't let him get to you. Too late for that, Mum…
"Do you recognize our guest, Severus?" the Dark Lord asks quietly. Draco jerks his head upwards again – he'd almost forgotten about the grotesque figure above him, but now he can't look away. Snape answers in the affirmative, but Draco shakes his head quickly when the Dark Lord directs the same question his way.
"For those of you who do not know," Voldemort continues, "We are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He goes on to tell them about Professor Burbage's crusades, both in and out of her Muggle Studies classroom, and reaffirms that they must not stop their own work until only those who rightfully belong in the Wizarding world remain. The woman's cries turn to whimpers, her tears dripping into her hair, her eyes pleading for help.
"Avada Kedavra."
The Killing Curse's green glow lights up the room like a flashbulb as Charity's body crashes to the table right in front of Draco, who jumps so badly that he falls right out of his chair onto the floor. Several other Death Eaters push away instinctively, uncomfortable at the sight of the dead woman right under their noses.
"Dinner, Nagini," Voldemort says softly.
Oh, Merlin, no…
Draco quickly shuts his eyes, but the sickening crunch of breaking bones will surely haunt his dreams for years to come.