Chapter Fourteen

James Potter and Lily Evans had been Lord Voldemort's greatest threat. The combination of Potter's influence and Evans' intelligence mixed with their determination to bring down his empire of crime not only made them the first people outside the Dark Lord's inner circle to know his identity, but also enabled them to gather an immense compilation of evidence and witnesses, ready to bring him to justice. With his empire at risk and identity on the brink of exposure, the young couple had to be eliminated. And they were.

James and Lily weren't foolish. They knew of the risk that came with their line of work, and were fully prepared to bring down Lord Voldemort even if they died in the process. Plenty of trusted friends were ready to carry on their work in bringing the empire of crime to the light, but despite their meticulous planning and numerous backup operations, they underestimated the Dark Lord's power and brutality.

The next morning after James and Lily's deaths, brothers Fabian and Gideon Prewett hurried to the MI6 with the evidence, but met a car accident so devastating on the way a total of sixteen people died in the crash. One week later, the McKinnons, who tried to secretly mail the intel to the government, were found shot in their homes, and the information they sent was never received. And of course, Frank and Alice Longbottom, James and Lily's dearest friends, vanished from the face of the earth for a month before being found, but it was too late. Both had been tortured to insanity and had to be institutionalized, leaving their only son essentially parentless.

The Potters' closest friends fled, or were captured and locked away in Azkaban. Their witnesses ready to testify against the Dark Lord remained silent. And anyone brave enough to speak up was dead. Every threat was fully nullified, and Lord Voldemort continued his reign.

However, there was something Voldemort missed.

James and Lily had created seven backup data drives scattered and hidden across the United Kingdom, which they named 'Horcruxes.' Every drive contained portions of evidence, connections to witnesses, and a myriad of resources, and put together, would be enough to expose and bring down Voldemort. The Horcruxes were kept a secret, unknown to even their most trusted allies, and thus remained undiscovered, but safe.

It was during Harry Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts when Headmaster Dumbledore gave him a sealed letter from his parents, where he learned of the existence of these pieces of evidence. Immediately, with the help of Weasley and Granger, Potter began his hunt across the nation, continuing his parents' work in bringing down Lord Voldemort. Needless to say, that summer was certainly unforgettable, marking not only the start of the Dark Lord's downfall, but also the beginning of a hero's journey.

However, that summer wasn't significant only to Harry Potter. It was also during his sixth year when Draco met the Dark Lord for the first time.

It was a seemingly ordinary day when he returned to the Manor for the holidays. He stepped from the car, earbuds still tucked in and scrolling through his phone, ready to lock himself in his room to continue messaging his friends about their plans for the summer.

"Draco!"

He looked up to see Mother hurrying towards him, and startled, he took a step back. Mother was always poised and elegant, maintaining an air of leisure even if her day was busy or stressful, but this time, it was different. Draco knew her well enough to see that her voice was a bit too shrill, her smile a bit too fake, and a flicker of fear glittered in her eyes.

"Mother?" Draco was confused.

"What took you so long?" She asked lightly as she tugged off his earbuds and looped her arm around his, hurrying him to the door. Draco's frown deepened. She was wearing a sleek dark green dress she had bought at an auction that had cost so much it made it into the news, her throat glittering with diamonds that were usually locked in the vaults, and was that Caron Poivre he smelled?

"I'm afraid I can't answer that." Draco said shortly. "It's not as if I can control the train."

Mother laughed, and the nervousness in her voice was unmistakable. They entered the Manor. The mansion was always cold, with an atmosphere of emptiness hovering in its rooms, but this time, the lack of warmth seemed even more pronounced despite the sunlight shining through the windows. There was a strange tension that lingered in the halls that sent his arms covered in goosebumps, but he didn't have time to think. Mother led him into the basement, and when they stepped in, it took every inch of Draco's self-control to stop himself from recoiling in shock.

The basement was simply a dark hall meant for storing wine and other supplies, but a large portion of the room had been cleared for a man to be hung limply in the center of the empty space, his arms strung up by chains attached to the ceiling. Under dim yellow lighting, Draco saw that he was dressed in a pair of battered trousers and a grimy shirt with a black sack covering his head, blubbering, but his pleas were weak, as if he knew deep down that his life was already forfeit. Couches and chairs had been arranged to form a loose circle around him, and the seats were filled with a dozen men and women, lounging and seeming at ease as they dined on the refreshments on the low tables before them. Draco recognized a few faces, Dolohov and Carrow, and a few others he recognized as guests that came occasionally to the Manor. Father was sitting among them, watching the proceedings coldly, but Draco's attention was captured by the gentleman sitting at the head of the room…

He seemed to be about fifty, but good-looking, slender and fit, with his black hair streaked elegantly with grey. However, it would be impossible to say that he was attractive. The cruelty on his features were undeniable, in the way the lips were curved into an icy smile or the way his dark eyes gleamed with amusement.

It was Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Secretary of State. Draco had seen his face often enough on the news to recognize him even from a glance, but at this moment, he wasn't simply a member of the Parliament.

"Draco Malfoy."

The room silenced when he spoke. He had a beautiful voice, low but sophisticated and radiating with power. Draco stiffened when he heard his name, surprise rendering himself temporarily speechless, but he snapped back into reality quickly. He did not want to know the consequences of a longer hesitation.

"Yes." Draco said quietly.

Riddle regarded him critically for a moment. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes." Draco whispered. He averted his eyes, not daring to meet his eyes. It was impossible not to know that the man before him was none other than Lord Voldemort himself.

Hearing this, Voldemort smiled. His gaze shifted towards the prisoner hung in the center of the room. "Good. Now that we are all here, let's proceed."

Mother was trembling beside him, her face pale with fright, but seeing that the Dark Lord's attention was elsewhere, exhaled softly in relief. The two of them hurried silently over to where Father was, and took a seat next to him. The shock of seeing the strung-up man and Lord Voldemort had receded slightly, and carefully, Draco glanced around. Though it wasn't as powerful as that of Lord Voldemort's, every man and woman in the room also emitted a feeling of command and authority, their postures straight, chins tilted upwards, and cold gazes never missing a detail. Draco's eyes flickered to their wrists, and felt a chill snake down his spine. Sure enough, everyone bore the Dark Mark.

He was among the Death Eaters, leaders of the world's most dangerous crime rings, people capable of inflicting pain and violence without a trace of mercy and to be evaded at all costs. Suddenly, Draco was terrified. He felt horribly like a wounded fish surrounded by a swarm of sharks circling him, sniffing the water for blood, and he instinctively turned to Mother and Father… only to remember that Father was one of them…

Now, in addition to fear, Draco was sick with anxiety. He knew that he would someday take over Father's company and end up not only working with these people by funding their criminal activities but also become one of them, a Death Eater… all he could feel about it was conflict. A righteous part of him knew that it just simply wasn't right to profit off of human trafficking and illegal trade. His self-preservation warned him that working under the Dark Lord meant pressure and responsibility, and that any failure might result in disastrous consequences. Yet, there was no denying the fact that there was something intoxicating about the idea of holding power in the underworld, and about how proud Father would be at his success…

Ever since the day Father opened his eyes to the darkness and introduced him to what was really going on, Draco could never go back to the days of blissful ignorance. These thoughts initially plagued him for far too may sleepless nights, his morality and fear battling with pride and power, until he decided to stop. It wasn't as if he was going to inherit the company the next day. He still had plenty of time. So, whenever those thoughts appeared, he slammed them into a closet in the back of his mind and refused to dwell on them.

But now… the Dark Lord was right in front of him, and the future he had evaded for so long suddenly loomed terrifyingly close…

Draco was almost relieved when Lord Voldemort rose to his feet, and the situation at hand pulled him from his thoughts. The room was silent as the Dark Lord strode to the center of the hall, his footsteps ringing through the hall. Hearing the sound of approach, the strung-up man began to plead again, but the Dark Lord's features were cold and cruel, without a trace of sympathy as he tore off the black sack covering his head.

The man gasped, blinking in the light. He wasn't very good-looking, with watery blue eyes, greasy brown hair, and a limp goatee failing to hide a weak chin. Once his vision adjusted and saw that it was the Dark Lord standing before him, he recoiled violently in terror.

"My Lord! I understand, I deserve to be punished, but please, have mercy, I swear…"

"Mercy?" A harsh, mocking voice cut through the room. It was from a woman with a mane of wild black curls, her dark eyes flashing with contempt. Draco recognized her as Aunt Bellatrix, his mother's sister. He knew that she was also involved in the underworld, and had overheard enough conversations about her notoriety that her being here proudly bearing the Dark Mark did not surprise him in the slightest. Bellatrix's bloodred lips curled into a sneer as she said, "How dare you plea for mercy after what you did, you filthy traitor!"

"I know, I've made a mistake, but I-"

"Silence." The word was spoken slowly, softly, but it was colder than ice.

The man stopped speaking, but was still panting heavily, the sound of his breathing ragged. There was a glint in the darkness of the room as Lord Voldemort pulled out a knife. The man's eyes widened in terror, but before he could begin blubbering again, Voldemort lifted it not to his face or throat but rather to his left wrist hanging from chains. The tip of the knife pulled back the sleeve almost delicately to reveal the Dark Mark, vivid in contrast to the sickly pallor of his skin.

"I gave you power. I gave you protection. All for the simple price of loyalty. Yet, Karkaroff… you chose to turn it all down." Lord Voldemort's voice hardened, and he smiled cruelly. "Like how you betrayed me, I'd like to thank the head of the MI6 for turning on you. You might have escaped your reckoning once, but you will not a second time."

Draco wasn't entirely sure of what had happened, but looking at the tattoo, he knew enough. Karkaroff must have tried to sell Voldemort out to the authorities, but Karkaroff bore the Dark Mark, which tied him irreversibly to the Dark Lord, and nothing else mattered. The moment he had finished sharing the intel, the authorities had tried to detain him, forcing him to flee, but with Voldemort knowing of his betrayal, could not get very far.

Lord Voldemort pulled out a syringe from his pocket. Seeing it, Karkaroff's eyes widened in panic, naked terror on his face.

"Please, my Lord! I was wrong! Give me a second chance! I swear that it's a mistake I will never make again in my life!"

"You already know that your life is forfeit." Lord Voldemort still regarded Karkaroff coldly, but the disgust in his voice was undeniable. "Have the decency to show some dignity in your last moments."

With that, he thrust the syringe into Karkaroff's chest, the needle piercing through his shirt and digging deep into his flesh. Immediately, the man began to howl – but not just from the pain of being stabbed. The chamber rang with the screams of someone whose insides were being torn apart, whose organs were being dissolved by the poison, but the cries cut off suddenly by a wet burble. Karkaroff, who had been convulsing stilled abruptly, the fear on his face replaced by confusion. A trickle of red leaked from the corner of his mouth. Then, he vomited his blood and organs onto the floor and collapsed, dead.

Draco couldn't stop his hands from flying to his mouth as he felt bile rise violently in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to swallow, hard. His insides were twisting and turning, more from terror or revulsion, he had no clue, but it took him at least a few more deep breaths before he managed to fully control himself again.

The scent of blood and internal fluids hung heavily in the air, a thick choking stink enough to make even those with stomachs of steel retch. Karkaroff hung limply from his chains, his front covered in crimson, and a puddle of gore pooled at his feet. Fragments of flesh and pieces of organs lay scattered in the pool… and god, Draco had to look away as he tasted another wave of bile.

"Aconite." Lord Voldemort had stepped aside before the vomiting began, looking pristine compared to the bloodstained Karkaroff. "Excruciatingly painful, and a fitting punishment, though a little messy. Apologies for the mess, Malfoy."

"Not a problem." Father replied coolly.

Draco glanced Father. He remained as calm and stoic as ever, but he had evidently paled, not a trace of color on his cheeks. Draco stole a quick glimpse at the other people filling the chamber. All of them seemed to be regarding the proceedings unemotionally, their faces impassive, and unruffled by the gore before them. However, despite their careful neutrality, Draco knew that they weren't as unfazed as they seemed. He saw Dolohov look away uneasily, and a few others averted their gaze as well. One woman looked slightly green, and another man's throat was bobbing furiously as he struggled to keep in his nausea.

But some others… Draco caught a glimpse of Aunt Bellatrix. She was smiling, her eyes glittering with a sort of wicked delight, looking as if she thoroughly enjoyed the show. Draco looked away immediately. He did not want to know what was going on in her mind.

"Now that justice is served, let's begin with our meeting." Lord Voldemort made his way back to his seat, making himself comfortable as he settled down.

"My Lord." Father spoke. "Would you like to move upstairs? I will have servants dispose of the body-"

"No need." Lord Voldemort cut him off. His cold gaze cut across the room, sweeping past the faces, but when it fell upon Draco, it lingered. Draco froze in fear, and when the Dark Lord spoke again, it was with a smile. "Let this be a reminder for anyone who is even considering turning against me."