The Second Turn of the Wheel of the World's End – In the Devil's Lair
Disclaimer: JK own them. And Dungeouns and Dragons owns Nightmares.
Author's Note: Ok, we've got no War, but I had some ideas that changed the course of things. This is just for you to have an idea about the Death Eaters side. More is to come.
DRACO
When the Death Eaters had gathered on Riddle's Graveyard…
He had been slightly worried.
Draco wasn't one to worry over nothing. In truth, he almost never worried. It was some kind of British/Aristocratic phlegm he must have inherited from his blue-blooded ancestors, he wondered. But when he saw the horde of Death Eaters and their war gear…
He had worried.
All of them had dig the worst of the each pureblood family heirloom. Cursed hands, armors, helmets that increased power, tamed magical beasts of every kind… There were lots of mountain trolls, there were Grayback's werewolves under the effect of some potion that made them transform without the moon, vampires, there was even a banshee under a giant glass bell jar. There were catapults and flyers on broomsticks. There were invading towers and bottles of potions Draco wasn't sure he wanted to know the effects of. It all looked terrifying. Though, Voldemort was still the most terrifying of them all. His armor seemed to be made of human bones (if it was not) and heavy to protect his magically made body. He wore a mail of black iron and his helmet looked like a crowned skull that hid his face but not and his eyes that glowed red. For mounting, he had even conjured a Nightmare. The bloody thing had given Draco shivers. A black horse from hell, the elders used to say, with fire for mane and tail. Fire you saw in its eyes and fire flared from its nostrils and hooves as he rode. That was what Draco used to hear from his grandparents about Nightmares as a child. When he met the real thing let's just say he hasn't been disappointed.
And he had worried even more.
He worried that Harry would be too soft, or that Dumbledore would, or that Granger would have silly ideas, or that the Weasel would make Harry take the wrong strategy.
Truth be told, he was worried sick.
There was something else… Something that justified his worrying. Something he could quit put a finger on but it was dark. And extremely dangerous.