nne: Hello! It's finally time to get 'Cellar Door' up and running. It's been a bit of a while since I concluded 'Basket Case' and I am definitely ready to start up an entirely new fiction again. I am so excited to see how many people have already added this to their list of favorites or have put this on alert. Please do not hesitate to leave me a review, it motivates and inspires me every time.
Tabbyreynolds: Thank you! I'm glad you are liking the pace of this so far. My worry is that this chapter may be a bit of a filler chapter, but the end is definitely an important starting off point. I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as you've enjoyed the first too so far. Definitely let me know what you think!
Ali-Lou: The thing about 'Basket Case' being over is that now I have to start new and hope that this new story takes off as well as 'Basket Case' and 'Radio' already have. I have a pretty fair plan for this fanfiction so far and I really hope that it is liked. Thanks so much for coming back to check out the other stories I am working on. It means so much.
CoreyFitzwilliam: Hello again! I'm excited that you're excited for this fanfiction to continue. This is definitely going to be one of my more darker fanfictions, but I have some plans for it that are also romantic and humorous, as well. Especially romantic. Hermione and Draco will definitely share another sort of deep bond and their escape from the Death Eaters is going to be a big point. Thank you so much for your returning interest!
Pearlrose33: Thank you very much! Unfortunately, 'Cellar Door' is going to be one of my more darker fanfictions. I have another new story in the works that is going to focus on a bit of a more lighter and more humorous side, which I actually started based off of your review. I would like to focus my topics on things that aren't dark, as well, I just do love writing angst. Hopefully you can find something about 'Everything Must Go' that is lighter for you! And if you do decided to stick will 'Cellar Door', I promise that it is not all dark. Hermione and Draco will definitely bond in a romanic way that could overcast a bit of the darkness that this story has to offer.
Mioniexx: Hello! I'm sorry that it took a while for me to update, but I promise that I will definitely be on top of my game from now on. This chapter feels a bit like a filler, but I can assure you that the end is the premise for a bit of a shift in the story. Hopefully you'll see what I mean after you finish! Thank you so much for your review, and I hope you enjoy this chapter, as well.
TragicSlytherin: Wow, I reread what I had wrote and you're absolutely right. I did mean the Imperious Curse. Thank you for pointing out my mistakes. I tend to type these chapters as fast as possible and I also do not have a Beta reader, so everything that I submit to you is my first draft. I really appreciate all the close attention you've paid to the last chapter and I definitely will try to be more careful in the future! Anyway, I'm glad that you're enjoying this so far! Glad to hear from you again, as well.
Isabella120: Thank you! I'm so glad that you're enjoying this so far. I'm so glad that you think I've captured the maliciousness of the Death Eaters; I've certainly been practicing. I hope you like this chapter as well! Thank you so much for your review.
Voixia669: Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you're enjoy this so far! I work really hard on trying to write these perfectly and I'm really happy that it is liked. You have no idea how much I vale compliments like that. So, really, thank you again. I hope you enjoy this next chapter- its going to pick up greatly after this chapter is done.
Miss Lyra: Definitely! I've been trying to extend my chapters a bit, but I'm glad that it was considered a long one- HAH. That was the goal, actually. I'm so glad that you're enjoying this so far. I have so much planned for it and I'm excited to develop it further. After this chapter, things are going to move at a fast pace, and I'm so thrilled to get started. Thank you so much for your review, and I'm happy that you're content with the addition of Crabbe and Goyle. I totally agree with you- not many fanfictions bother to show them at all. However, I definitely love to include them. They were a big part of Draco's life, huh? Anyway, thanks a lot!
Also, a big thank you to those that I could not get back to today. I am so sorry! Thank you so much to: McLanna, LivelyMcBrighten, CARL, and Psychic City.
"You'd look nice, in a grave. I smile at the moon; death is on my face."
Chapter Three:
Werewolf Heart
Hermione Jean Granger didn't remember much about the night that she was taken away from Harry and Ron, but what she did remember was killing her. In a haze, she'd opened her eyes to complete darkness, and if the throbbing in her head wasn't enough, she was fairly horrified to find that the front of her shirt had been violently torn open. Still, the memories swept back into her buzzing mind and flashed through her head, back before her eyes as if she were only a spectator on the scene. Then, she remembered how she'd been walking and the way her heart pounded when she'd seen the first shadow form in the place ahead of her near the bushes. It had stepped forward then, came towards her in a way that was almost slippery; he'd shouted the hex, and she'd felt an impossible pressure on her shoulders. Then, she had been lifted. The hands that had stunned her then curled around her thin body and hoisted her off the ground so that her head bobbed backwards and her arms lulled downwards. She could hear her own strained breaths, could feel herself being shifted, and then she lost consciousness.
But that had been days ago, from what Hermione had guessed, and since then she had been in and out of her own awareness to find that she now resided in a place that was unfamiliar. Her back had been on the stone, pressed against the ground so hard that it had begun to dig through the fabric of her shirt and cut against her flesh. She'd been on the floor in that manner for hours, body twisted, bleeding, and aching, alone and unmoving. Attempting to pick herself up had been useless and her voice was far too dry to cry out. However, she had not been left in solitude for too long; a door had opened and an ample amount of hooded figures had made themselves shown. She was not alone, she was very far from it.
The Death Eaters had made quite certain that she was aware of her company, of course. They'd made it perfectly undeniable; over the course of her stay in what she'd soon found to be was the cellar in the Malfoy Manor, she'd been hexed, cursed, and tortured. They'd snipped at her skin and tugged at her hair to the point of exhaustion and Hermione was barely even sure much of it she had been conscious for. Yet the burning sensation in her chest kept her certain. They'd taken her wand and her ability to move at all. Every breath was a chore, every wince a task. She could only sit and stare at the arches on the ceiling and the bars at the end of the hall. And she was scared- so, so, so scared, perhaps even more scared than she had ever been in her whole life.
On this particular evening, however, Hermione had woken up to a hole in her shirt and a pile of previously unseen bile in the corner that she was certain was not hers. Her curly brunette hair was matted, dried in blood that was crusted and maroon. She tasted iron in her mouth, felt dirt beneath her back. Her eyes were swollen shut; she could tell by the way small tears dripped from her cheeks and onto her sullen collarbone. But with the only strength she could muster, Hermione reached her arm forward. Her fingers found the stone in front of her and, clawing for the wall, she tried to draw herself upwards. The effort was useless; she couldn't move, she could barely even breathe. And with her last ditch effort, Hermione Granger thought of Ron and of Harry. Out there somewhere, she knew that they'd come looking for her. She prayed that they were safe.
Only, the whirling swell that flooded through her head made her feel weak and she shut her eyes as she let herself sink back into the stone. This was it, she'd assumed, there and then; she was going to die here. However, her strength was not strong enough in order for her to wish the world around her a fond farewell. Instead, she lie by herself, keeping her head on the ground and her arms at her side. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed the blood that ran down the back of her open throat. Then, blinking up at the ceiling, Hermione's head fell back and her chest slipped downwards. Sooner or later she suspected that she was going to die there, yet she only wished that she were ready for it.
Something, however, cut off her thoughts. In the middle of her perpetual wonderment, Hermione heard the swing of the cellar door pull itself open again. Footsteps infiltrated her silence, sounding out around her as an echo and nothing more. Her eyes swiveled around, glistening in the darkness to find the owner of the newfound intruder. In the lack of light she saw a shadow in black, a fitted suit, and a head of blond hair that was almost white in color. Her vision blocked by the daze of tears, Hermione only gawked, gasping up at the tall and lanky man with a bit of a struggle. He was at the end of the hall, but he seemed to have frozen at the sound of her hoarse yelp. Something about his posture was far from poised. He lacked the excitement that she had noted about the other Death Eaters, lacked the confidence. And the sound of his own breaths were almost just as audible as her own. In the corner, he stood with his hand around his own wand, his head ducked in cautious apprehension of Hermione's arousal. Hermione couldn't identify him, but he was not moving and she wondered why.
Yet, while the footstep's falter was long lasting, they sounded back out in the room in a manner that was forceful and full of anxiety. There came a quick scuffle and then a shift in the air around her. Hermione Granger saw the figure before her eyes bend down and then crouch down. He looked at her in a manner that was horrified and perplexed. His wand looked loose and limp in his spidery fingers. He was Draco Malfoy and Hermione now knew- she'd recognize that face anywhere from school as a girl. But there was no look of anticipation on his features. Rather, he looked down at her in a way that terrified her to her very core. She waited for him to hex her, waited for him to act, yet nothing came. Something about him was lost and broken. He was only a boy and she was only the victim. He didn't move a muscle, he barely even breathed.
But perhaps Hermione had underestimated how awful she must have looked. Malfoy's face was pale and stricken- he looked as if he had seen a ghost, had prematurely witnessed her death. Though still he wasn't moving. Only his cold, gray eyes held onto her large and hazy brown ones. Every so often she managed to loose her focus, blur his features together in a wonky way that was twisted and blurred. His sharp visage transformed into one that was far from distinct. His blond hair looked frantic, his breath cold and laced with whiskey in front of her nostrils.
And she was certain she had never smelt so much alcohol in her life. Every exhale he'd poured out in front of her made her want to cringe, if only she could manage to move as much. He looked absolutely intoxicated, each line on his face clear even without any light whatsoever. And the circles underneath his eyes were black and intense. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days, weeks even. He couldn't hold himself still. Every passing second sent a vibrancy of shakes up his torso that she knew to be uncontrollable. He looked desolate, as if in an out of a dream, only sleepwalking to take a simple check on her.
She saw the wand in his hand; he wasn't paying it any attention. The way he say kneeling in front of her was as if he hadn't even remembered he'd had it. She wanted to move for it, yet her ability to do so was limited. Instead, she only breathed back in, her ripped shirt rising with her chest in a way that made it appear as if her breath were truly her last. The moment, however, was long as they stared back and forth at one another, gray eyes interlocking within her brown ones. And she then lifted her shaky hand, writhing her fingers out in front of her chest in one last ditch effort to make a break for his weapon. It was all the more true that she just couldn't help herself; she knew that the effort was useless, yet she tried to make a pass at it anyways. Her spine ached and her shoulders felt as if they were bond to fall uselessly. But there was nothing to loose, nothing more anyway.
Nonetheless, as she'd predicted, the slight flinch from her body had snapped Malfoy out of his own delirium. He spotted her moving hand, jolted backwards and scuttled away from her like a crab. His feet scuffed the stone and he breathed out in a restrained manner that made her suspect that he was trying to hide his fear from the Death Eaters that may have possibly heard him from the hallways of the Manor itself. Still, she flopped back downwards in her failure, not completely surprised by her lack of success. It was her absent strength, however, that had washed out of her and her head fell against the floor for the third time in the night. But Malfoy only watched her breathing, panic etched on his face as if someone had carved it there greedily. He was breathing, his hands clenched so tightly around the circumference of his wand that his knuckles had turned a bright shade of translucent white. And his visage was pouring sweat, running heavily down his face in a hint of desperation. He had called out, scampered like a child back away from her and she was certain he'd scraped his palms in the process- blood trailed from the end of his hands on the ground and, despite the possibility that it had been her own, Hermione could not rid herself of the suspicion that some of it had been his.
She did not, however, get much of a chance to get much of a better look at him. What she saw was the raising of his wand and the heave of his chest. He had backed himself against the wall of the pillar behind him, and his feet were out in front of him in a strange way that made him look crippled and a bit broken. Yet she could not mistake the way his mouth moved. Silent yet fast, as if he were more than anxious to get the spell over with, Draco Malfoy's eyes looked a little moist, but Hermione was certain that it was the faulty condition of her own eyesight that made her think them to be so.
However, she could not help but think how much he sounded just like a child when he stammered, "stupefy!"
"How was she?"
The question had started Draco, who whirled around with his eyes wide and his mouth agape to find himself face to face with Fenrir Greyback. The sickly looking man had only stood stilly, his eyebrow raised in a considerable manner that made him appear hostile, and perhaps even more so. Yet his posture kept him rooted. The smile on his face was undeniable and he seemed to only relish in the fact that he had already truly known the answer about the condition that Hermione Granger had found herself in.
Yet, despite the grin and the jagged complexion of the man's teeth, Draco knew that Fenrir was deadly serious; these were Death Eaters that he was dealing with, of course, and there was no denying it. But it was more than the presence of the man that made Draco's blood run cold. The question, despite how obvious, sent a jagged chill run up his spine. How was she? Draco tried not to think about it. She'd looked far worse that she had the last time he had seen her. Of course, he definitely had not expected her to have been awake...
"Oi, boy..." Fenir's voice was snake-like, hissing in his ear in a way that was harsh like wind. His yellow eyes one-upped Draco and his submissive stance in the middle of the living room where he had been crossing to make it back to his bed. "Are you bloody deaf?" Draco could feel his heart beating faster in his chest and he felt the childish urge to rush off to his father, though he wasn't exactly certain where Lucius had gone off to during most of his days. He guessed the Ministry and felt a sudden ping of loss at the realization of his solitude. And then he snapped back to reality- to the Manor and his spot in the middle of the room, to Fenrir Greyback practically breathing down the flesh of his exposed neck, and to Hermione Granger.
"Sleeping," Draco choked, yet it had been quite hard for him to spit out the rest. All in all, he wasn't exactly sure why he'd spat out the lie, but he told himself that it was not for Hermione's sake, but instead his own. If Fenrir knew he had seen Granger awake, he would have asked why he also had not heard her scream. Draco was smart, strategic. He told himself this over and over again so that he would not get his intellect confused with true concern for that Hermione Granger. Her situation was her fault. She shouldn't have gone and gotten herself caught. And since it was not his job to protect her, only to protect himself. So he'd told Fenrir that she had been sleepng; but he'd done it out of stragety, not for her. Right.
Fenrir's breath rattled at the posterior of Draco's stature. It made his knees weak and his heat pound faster in his chest. "Sleeping?" growled the beast-like man, his hands clawing out so that they garnered themselves a massive grip on Draco's sinking shoulder. "The Mudblood is sleeping, is she?"
"... At least... when I s-saw her last," Malfoy insisted, and the pressure on his body became almost unbearable. He was whirled around, pinned to the wall of the staircase so that he was looking into Fenrir's beady yellow eyes. And something harsh flashed behind them, igniting his pupils. He could almost smell the scent of Draco's fib, but his expression only remained tinted with suspicion. Thus, the man's lips curled and he pressed his gigantic body up against Malfoy's wiry one.
The werewolf's face gave a slight twitch, yet he remained aggressive. Though for a split moment he appeared to have thought Malfoy to have been lying, yet his doubt had apparently subsided. Instead, he decided to press forward with the subject, running his meaty hands up Draco's shoulder and wrapping his fingers forcefully around the bulk of his slender neck. Malfoy's heart skipped a beat; the look in Fenrir's eyes had almost devoured him. The man looked hungry, eager to maim him as he had done Remus Lupin and Bill Weasley. The risk of being bitten by Fenrir had always haunted Draco, always kept him up late at night. And now something about the man had taunted him, made him appear eager and all the more ready.
However, fear kept Draco rooted; he allowed the man to run his hands through his hair before digging his fingernails into his skull and making him whimper. Then he huffed, exhaling a scent of breath that had smelt as if it had sat in his mouth rotting for years. "Has she been sleeping... peacefully, boy?"
Malfoy shook his head as much as he was allowed to. "Nightmares," he reported, feeling himself grow perhaps even more frantic.
"What?" Fenrir pressed his face closer, tilting it to one side as if he had not quite understood. "Nightmares?"
"L-Loads of them, s-sir. She's b-been m-muttering..."
"Muttering? Muttering what?"
Draco sputtered, for he could only get his words out in the form of a choked struggle. "About Potter... a-and W-Weasley." It was the first thing he could think of and, all things considered, perhaps the most convincing. Why wouldn't Hermione be muttering about Harry Potter and his ginger friend, Ron Weasley? Her expectancy to be saved by the two of them had been suspected. And, to Draco's satisfaction, the fabricated bit of information seemed only to spark something positive in Fenrir's stature. He stood stilly for a moment, considering Hermione Granger's desperation and subconscious pleas, and then stepped back, pushing Malfoy's head away from him lightly in the process so that it hit the wall and Draco almost lost his posture.
Yet he stood only at a slight distance, his arms at his side and his wand in his fingers. "Good," was all he said at first, before staring back at the cellar door in somewhat of a trace. It had never been argued about the Fenrir had a bit of an aggressive spot towards Hermione Granger. Her status as a Mudblood, of course, did not quite help her situation either. Yet Fenrir had been forced to wait his turn- biting her had perhaps not been included in the final plan for the girl, and Malfoy could truly see the obvious frustration behind his stoney gaze. "You are contributing to these nightmares, aren't you, boy?"
Contributing? Malfoy's head rushed; after having been slammed against the wall, he could not help but feel a bit tainted with haze and nausea, yet he struggled to remain quick with a lie at the ready. But Draco could only nod, stepping back against the staircase so that he had a spot as far away from Fenrir as possible. "As it should be," growled the man, and he turned back to press the end of his thin wand back underneath Malfoy's shaky chin. "You're supposed to come with me, you know..." he murmured, as if it were a secret. "You've been called for, boy."
Fenrir's hands reached out and he took a hefty handful of the collar of Malfoy's black tuxedo. He smirked at the flicker of fear that passed through the blond, who winced as if he were about to be punched. However, the werewolf let him go, releasing him aggressively before striding back away from him before muttering, "dining room. I suggest you go when you are called for." And Draco did not need to be told twice. He had not time to collect himself, but he stumbled away from the steps anyways, stammering across the marble floor of his own home to follow the man at a rather impressive pace. And his head throbbed with the rush of having been summoned, yet his better senses told him that following orders was truly the only choice that he'd had.
He was this far in; he'd been given the task by the Dark Lord himself to deal with Hermione as a way to redeem his family name. And he knew that the Death Eaters were not happy about this. He, Draco, had already lost his chance... wasn't truly fit to have earned a second one. Thus, he knew that all he could do was choose his moves wisely. The Death Eaters were watching him, making sure that he did not screw everything up for the second time in a row. And Malfoy couldn't help but feel that his life was on the line... knew that any wrong move would be his absolute last. So he could not help himself- he had to follow Fenrir, had to keep himself silent. Dark times these were, and Draco Malfoy... he had chosen his side.
Nonetheless, he broke through the kissing doors to find the lot of them seated. Around the extensive dinning room table, the Death Eaters look up at him as if they had been waiting for him for quite some time now. He could see his mother and father, their eyes on the floor, and Gregory Goyle, who had sat in the same position of timid reluctancy. Only Crabbe had bothered to try and assume the same standard look as the others had; eyes forward, he watched Draco as if he had shown up late for the scheduled appointment. Yet there was something about the air in his chest that had given away his tenseness. Red, his shoulders were bent slightly towards the table's surface, and his fingers fiddled around one another. When Bellatrix Lestrange slipped forward in her seat out of the shadows, his mouth gave a fearful little jolt.
"Ah," she mused, looking both exhausted and angry, "Draco..." The way her hand curled out made him freeze, and he looked towards his father with a sense of longing that he did not dare show in his face. Rather, he remained unintentionally upright, his hand still on the doorknob of the doors. Inwardly he felt as if his knees could have gone weak. Sick with the suggestion of another meeting, Draco swallowed the large lump at the back of his throat. Their stares made him ill with worry, nauseated with the sway of having been trapped. "How kind of you to finally join us."
"... I-I w-was..."
"All is forgiven," Bellatrix promised lightly, but her breath almost visible in the chilly room. The freezing cold atmosphere made Draco want to leave the Manor all over again; before the Death Eaters, before the idea of another War, his parents had always kept the house warm with a fire. Everything had felt so comforting then, simple even... now, nothing was the same. "Come along, Draco... sit."
Obedient, Draco took his place. Near his father and mother, he settled himself down into his chair and averted his eyes to Goyle, hoping to see a hint of what he had been called for in his eyes. Yet the gaze in Goyle's face told him nothing; Goyle had not known either, and Crabbe appeared just as clueless. Yet only the youngest three appeared unaware. Under strict scrutiny, Draco, Goyle, and Crabbe could sense that the focus of the conversation was about to be pushed upon them, yet they sat in silence as if too horrified to inquire.
"As you know," Bellatrix continued, "the War is drawing close upon us." Narcissa moved her foot from the floor to nudge her lovely heel against Draco's polished shoe. "This mens, that there must be some... adjustments." The Lestrange woman appeared unstable as she'd said it, almost bitter about the hidden arrangements. Yet she leaned her entire body across the tabletop, her eyes scanning Draco's front as if she were trying to figure something out about him. Her curly black hair fell lazily across her pale visage, covering half of her eyes in a manner that made her all the more daunting to the others. But her lips moved slyly with every spoken syllable. Her jaw was stiff with the intensity of the silent moment. "The Dark Lord," she whispered, "requires our assistance."
"Our assistance?"
Bellatrix Lestrange shifted in her speech. Her eyes moved slowly like glaciers across the table and she finally found the face of the boy who had cut her off- Vincent Crabbe. He sat by himself in his seat, his shoulders draped and his eyes glazed over. He looked stiff, tense with the realization that he had spoken out of turn. But Draco instantly caught on to the look of intoxication on his face. He looked green, tired with having been woken from a hungover sleep. Still, nonetheless, he tried to compose himself. As Bellatrix found his shivering torso, Crabbe resisted the urge to chew vicariously on his bottom lip.
"What?" Bellatrix snapped, her eyes growing excessively smaller. "Our assistance?"
Vincent Crabbe shrunk away, regretting having spoken out at all. Yet he strove to defend himself, though his desire to do so was only truly for his own advancement into the Death Eaters' inner circle. "I... just m-meant to a-ask... if the Dark Lord also required mine, Goyle's, and Draco's, as w-well..." he was frantic, Malfoy could see it in his eyes. Yet he gave it away in his slanted composure, uncertain and crooked in his seat before the other Death Eaters. But Draco knew how much Crabbe desired to gain their approval, how much he wanted it more than anything. His inquiry was more a hope than it truly was anything else- if the Dark Lord needed his assistance, he would have accomplished half his dream entirely.
However, Bellatrix appeared all the more amused by the boy's obvious question. Her posture curled; twisting, she redirected herself so that she was face to face with Crabbe. "The three of you?" she asked, looking innocent and murderous at the same time. "Now why would the Dark Lord require the useless assistance of someone like the three of you?" She was strict, adamant, yet she waited patiently for an answer with one arched eyebrow lifted in vain. However, no instant answer came to her and, amused with Crabbe's blatant horror, she turned back to Draco in a matter that was defiant and justified. "What the Dark Lord does need, however, is something of a... hmm, what would you call it, Amycus?"
The Death Eater at her far right grimaced, yet his frown was fabricated. He looked far too amused in what he was about to say and, at the moment he finally spat it out, he made certain to shoot Draco a warning glance of superiority. "What he needs is three house sitters."
"Ah," Bellatrix huffed gently, lifting a finger so that it grazed the side of Draco's cheek in a gentle way that was almost too loving for an aunt. She curled her nail into Draco's messy blond hair and sent Amycus a smile that was both beautiful and horrible at the same time. "That's it." Gently, she let her pointer fall down, remaining only close to Draco in a way that made him want to turn and run. However, he could not deny his father and the overwhelming need to make him proud. The look in his iris made Draco's heart sink- he had disappointed him once, and he only wished he could take it all back.
Thus, Malfoy cleared his throat. Neither Goyle or Crabbe opted upon speaking again, so he took his chance as he saw it. "A house sitter?" he asked, appearing both weak and daunted. Lucius' head fell down even further, and he looked as if he were about to fall apart. The terrified expression in his light eyes made Malfoy feel insecure and aware of every hostile gaze.
"Three house sitters, for that matter," giggled Alecto, and her plump body bounced around her seat as she laughed vibrantly.
"Ah..." breathed the others. It was agreed upon whole-heartedly, and select chuckles could be heard around the room as further clarification. Yet Draco, Goyle, and Crabbe sat stilly, unable to move without feeling comfortable on their own. And Draco couldn't help but look at his father, who sent him a sympathetic glance of worry before falling back into himself once again. Narcissa rest her hand on her son's knee, her thumb moving back and forth by means of simple support. Yet neither of his parents opted to move any further; Draco could sense their overwhelming terror from every angle of his very being.
"We will be taking leave," Bellatrix explained, "the lot of us... however, we need the three of you to remain put. Should Potter and his slippery friend come around, of course." Then she flashed them the set of her rotten teeth, looking exuberant. "I am, of course, under the impression that the three of you are aware of how exactly to summon us if such an event occurs?"
Draco gulped; of course they knew. They had made certain of that, without a doubt. Having been branded with the Dark Mark, Draco was positive he would never forget such tactics. All he'd had to do was touch it... simply touch it and they'd come. It was so simple, and yet the thought chilled him to the very bone. "Yes," he said a loud, feeling a bit more comfortable at the look in his father's eyes once he had spoken without a stammer.
Bellatrix's smile just about tripled. "And I trust, should I and the other Death Eaters be called, you three will use it?"
"Yes." This time, Crabbe took his turn to speak, and he looked fully intent on calling anyone who required his assistance. Something about him, however, seemed let down, as if being notified that he would be among the three left behind had truly crushed him. Nonetheless, he appeared ready to do the job, if forced to. The condition of him seemed all the more prepared, as if he couldn't imagine anything else that could permit him to gaining speed into the world of a Death Eater.
And Draco could tell, Vincent Crabbe was ready.
In the middle of the house, Draco Malfoy let out a long and overdue breath. They had gone, the Death Eaters, and everything seemed that much more silent. Thus, he remained still, standing in the middle of his very own house with a bottle of his father's finest wine in his hand, and his wand in the other. He'd said goodbye to his parents- the two of them looked sick and ill, but they'd kissed him graciously on the forehead and departed as they had been ordered to do. This was their time, not his. He had been given an order: watch over the house, do what he please with the girl, and call if assistance was needed. However, Draco couldn't help but feel safe, relieved even. Everything was silent; the ghosts in the house had gone.
Thus, only he Crabbe and Goyle remained. They stood in the center of the house as if taking it in, barely aware of the loud moans coming from the cellar below them. They'd been given a task, though neither of them had been quite sure on how to begin it. Only Goyle, who seemed the most relieved of the three, had suggested the alcohol, and so Draco had gone to fetch it. Of course, he'd wasted no time on popping off the cork, pouring the lot of them their nightly glasses with an expression that was grim and undeniably tainted.
He couldn't help the panic that arose in his chest, it was a feeling of unease and uncertainty. And he couldn't explain it, the feeling, the way his heart beat faster and faster at the sounds of the other's breaths, or the feeling of another's eyes at his back. It was the feeling of being watched without truly knowing it, the feeling that, despite everything, they were far from alone.
Vonne: I will have the next chapter as soon as possible! Please don't hesitate to review and let me know what you think- the more reviews the faster I update and I am definitely ready to jump start this fanfiction! Thank you so much, everyone!
