Chapter 9: Sin razon para declinar

When Draco opened his eyes again, it was because a dull pain in his head had awoken him. He was sitting in a chair, with his head hanging forward. Looking down, all he could see were his feet and a bit of the surrounding area. A large spider was slowly making its way across the floor, and Draco could see each of its eight legs move in a steady rhythm, the joints bending and unbending.

The spider was crawling towards his feet.

Draco hated spiders. He hated almost everything with more than four legs, for sure.

And a thing with eight of them was crawling closer to him with each second.

The spider touched Draco's shoe, and slight panic seized him. He kicked out his foot to rid it of the arachnid. Or rather, he tried to and realized that his feet were temporarily immobilized by rope. He tried to bend down and felt the rope tied around his torso for the first time, and then the rope tying down his wrists.

The knot of slight panic that had grown in his chest at the sight of the spider dissipated, leaving room for the sudden seizure of sheer panic to rise. Draco thrashed for a moment before realizing that it was quite futile to try to break his bonds. 'Breathe,' Draco commanded of himself. 'Panic is a weakness. Think straight.'

In an effort to calm himself and try to think of a plan of action, Draco surveyed his surroundings. He was in a chair, and it was dark. "As if that weren't obvious," he spoke aloud in a frustrated voice. He squinted his eyes as if it would help him peer through the darkness.

A cellar. It seemed he was in a cellar. Panic seized him again when he recalled his experience of 'plane jumping', or whatever Granger had called it; hadn't Zabini been trapped in a cellar? Wasn't there a chance that maybe he had been tied to a chair and forced to go through whatever he'd gone through?

The hair on the back of Draco's neck stood on end and he craned his head around, trying to find the shadows of people in the dark. "If anybody's there"- 'If anybody's there, what?' He wasn't exactly in a position that could be seen as a threat. Draco tried looking around once more, but he was alone; he was alone, at least, in his small radius of visibility.

He sighed and leaned his head back, trying to stretch out the stiff muscles. "If anybody's there…" Draco's voice was no more than a whisper. He closed his eyes. He wished somebody were there, he wished he heard somebody else's breathing to block out the pressing sound of surrounding silence.

Draco felt a tickling sensation on the fingers of his right hand. He was startled, and tried to think of what it may have been. An image of the spider came unwillingly to his mind, making its slow path up his shoe, his trousers, his torso, the joints of its eight legs bending and unbending…

He violently clenched and unclenched his hand, trying desperately to move his fingers fast enough to fling of the horridly disgusting…eight legged…

"I- hate"- His hand was still tickling and he was still flailing it about as wildly as one whose movement is constricted can when a small sliver of light appeared and started growing. When the door was completely open, Draco tried to move his face away from the almost blinding light, while still squinting at the open space to see who'd entered.

"Good evening, young Malfoy," came a frigid greeting. Draco's hand stopped its twitching at the sound of that voice. That voice which belonged to a man who had killed countless numbers of people, and had yet to stop.

Draco froze, and the silhouette framed in the doorway started moving closer. You just got your life back, Draco thought to himself. Don't lose it again quite yet, for this time it will most definitely be for good.

Voldemort walked closer to Draco and the door behind him closed. Draco's mouth opened in what might have been protest if he'd not suddenly lost his voice, but he quickly snapped it shut. Doubtful that the Dark Lord would graciously keep the light coming in for his sake.

"Ah, did you want the door open, young Malfoy? Or perhaps you were just in need of some light after your time in the dark?" There was a chuckle before Voldemort muttered a spell under his breath. A torch flared to life in a corner of what Draco now saw wasn't a cellar at all, but a neglected room. An old bed lay not too far from where Draco was sitting, with a mattress nobody would sit on of their own will. An even older-looking wardrobe was looming over Draco to one side, and Voldemort stood on the other.

The Dark Lord was staring down at Draco appraisingly as he made his way to the boy's front, twirling his wand between his spidery fingers all the while. "I hear that you have become quite the phenomena, boy. It is being said that you were dead," Voldemort languidly pointed his wand at Draco's heart, which decided to stop beating at that moment as if shy from the attention, "but were then brought back to life." Voldemort lifted his wand up to point at Draco's face. "Is this true?"

Draco stared up at the man speechlessly. He hadn't really been dead…

"You will find, young Malfoy, that I am not slow to anger." Draco quickly nodded. "Did Dumbledore… aid you in your journey back to life," he asked, spitting the name out with venom. Draco shook his head, no. "Hm. Malfoy, I am about to bring you to face with a proposition. But first, you have by now heard that your father is- most unfortunately- dead?" Draco could see the smirk on the man's face. He nodded his head, yes.

Voldemort stepped closer to the bonded boy. "And do you know why he is now dead, and why your mother will be as well if she is not already, Malfoy?" Draco did know the answer to this, but he wasn't sure if he was supposed to. He shook his head, no. "Ah, well, it seems that your mother and father were not as loyal to their ideals as they posed themselves to be." Draco stared. "Your mother and father were sentenced to death on charges of treason, Malfoy. It is up to you to restore the family name."

"My proposition to you, boy, is that you follow the path your father strayed from. Your choice," he pointed his wand at Draco's heart once again, "is to join me and betray what might have been your parents' wish, or to join them in death. It has been said that father and son are much alike, but…I've reason to believe that's not always true."

Draco stared up at the man blankly, not knowing what to say. Join him or die. His feeling of self-preservation was bubbling up, as was his feeling of loyalty to his parents. Join him or die.

"So what is your choice, Malfoy? And do speak for once; you are not mute." Draco opened his mouth and snapped it shut again. "If you do not give me an answer then I will expect the worst of you, boy," Voldemort threatened, pressing the tip of his wand into Draco's chest.

'I just gained my life again,' Draco thought. Join him or die. "I- I"- the wand tip jabbed harder into his chest. "I will join you," he whispered, barely audible above the pounding of his heart and the sound of his heavy breathing. He let his head hang forward again, like it had been when he woke up.

Voldemort chuckled again, and pointed his wand at the ropes binding Draco's left arm. Two, cloaked Death Eaters came in to the room as if summoned, and stood on either side of their master. Draco kept his head down and his face turned away from what he knew was about to happen to his left forearm. His body tensed up, and when he felt the searing pain he closed his eyes and felt tears leak out, but he refused to let out a cry.