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Chapter Five
A thin, cold breeze drifted the dead leaves across like a merry-go-round. The musty, damp smell that inhabited the senses suggested rain has fallen not too long ago. Though morning had just begun, the ambience of the castle told other wise. This region had sacrificed itself completely to dark magic and therefore would never in turn see the light of day again. Not that the owner wanted to in the first place.
Draco placed his wand back in his cloak. After using the Floo Powder to transport himself to the Bridgington Manor, he had to apparate several times before coming across this ancient house of hell. It was a safety procedure used only among the select few who knew the whereabouts of it.
A castle. Not just any, but one that was once inhabited by Mary Tudor, the only surviving daughter of Henry the Eighth and his first wife. Muggle history texts books tell the story of Mary as a devout Catholic Queen who ordered nearly three hundred people to a burning death for treason and heresy. As time went on, children used her tale to inspire the ghost story of Bloody Mary. It is said among the muggles that if one were to say her name three times in a dark bathroom while rotating in a circle, she would appear in the mirror and bring death to him or her. Of course most were too scared to try it.
Draco knew better than to think of Bloody Mary as a mere mirror trick. What was not told in those texts books was the other side of Mary Tudors' story. The side that included the magical community and a pact with a powerful wizard.
After her mother's death, Mary was tricked into signing a formal submission letter made by the Bishop Cromwell as an attempt to keep her own life and not be sent to the gallows. She never knew of Cromwell's magical world, nor that she had signed her soul to him. A curse was placed on her, forcing her to wander throughout the invisible plane of damned spirits and unmentionable demons. Her castle was wiped off the maps and radars of both wizards and muggles alike and had not been seen since.
That is, until now.
Draco's arm still tingled slightly from the Dark Mark that had been on fire an hour before. As if bored of the ghastly view outside, he trudged his way in through the giant steel doors. The rusty creeks and moans of the hinges scraped at his ears. It was worse than nails on a chalkboard.
The bare, stone walls and chipped, marble floor could easily put Hogwarts' dungeons to shame. What was once elegance and sophistication was now rot and filth. The scent of blood lust and vengeance always lingered in the air. Every footstep echoed in the empty corridor, bouncing off the stone like musical acoustics. The song of his lonely stride was comforting.
Then there was a scream.
Draco paused, unsure if he was to continue his direction or come back at another time. Before he had much chance to decide, a crippled figure slid from behind one of the many doors aligning the hall. With a loud thud the door was closed and the thing that had exited spotted him.
"Mr. Malfoy," Wormtail stammered, "you are late. The Dark Lord will be very displeased with you."
Draco ceased to make any movement of discomfort or weariness. "No," he stated with not a hint of amusement. "The only person he will be displeased with is you for wasting more of his precious seconds with babble and uncertain threats."
Wormtail gave an ever so slight squeak and shrunk away. Without another glance, Draco made his way through the door. He heard the same scream again upon entering the connected lounge. The screams of women were always the worst, so it made no surprise that they were the most common here. It was the Dark Lord's preferred soundtrack; women and children begging for their lives.
As Draco made his journey up the never ending staircase, the screams grew louder and more horrid. No doubt the Dark Lord was having his morning entertainment of watching the torture session of a young innocent woman, maybe even a girl. Draco dreaded the image he knew he was sure to walk in on. He had been by Voldemort's side on several occasions to witness this sick and twisted love of pain. Though the sight never made him cringe, he still would rather the girl to just be dead than enduring curse after curse.
At the top of the stairs and the end of the corridor was a single door leading to a single room. Without hesitation or consideration of interruption Draco opened it and led his way in. He made no acknowledgment of any other presence in the room and swiftly stood by Lord Voldemort's throne.
One of the Death Eaters threw another dark curse at the girl chained upside down from the ceiling in the middle of the room. The Dark Lord chuckled as she twitched and screamed bloody murder.
"You're late," he rasped without looking at the visitor to his left.
"I thought we had a deal," Draco huffed. "You wouldn't call for me while I'm at Hogwarts and I'd always be on time."
"You should be on time no matter when and where I call for you."
Draco resisted the urge to rolls his eyes. There was only so much he could get away with before receiving punishment for his behavior. Lord Voldemort would never tolerate such an act of disrespect.
"Being on time is easier said than done when placed in such a high secured place as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, my liege. Forgive me for circumstances beyond my control," he stated sarcastically.
Another scream was emitted from the girl as Draco's patience began running thin.
"I assume there is something important you would like to discuss with me, my lord. As much as I would love to stay for the—" Draco pointed behind him "—festivities, I must be on my way. I wish not to arouse any suspicions among the staff at school."
Lord Voldemort waived his wand, silencing the young girl's shrieks. With another flick of the wrist a chair appeared out of thin air.
"Take a seat, young Malfoy," he hissed.
"And if I preferred to stand?"
"Then you would prefer to switch places with her," Voldemort said as he pointed a bony finger to the girl dangling from the ceiling.
"As you wish, my lord," Draco said with a long bow before seating himself in the chair.
"Now," Voldemort continued with a grin of satisfaction, "I have indeed called you here on special and significant terms. It is my deepest regret to have to inform you that your father—"
"Lucius Malfoy was no father to me," Draco interjected hotly.
"Then it will be of no concern to you of what I have to say about him, will it? Perhaps I shall stay silent and consider my words to be of no consequence and therefore useless? Is that how you view me, young Malfoy? Useless and unworthy of achieving anything? Is that the lord you find me to be?" Voldemort hissed while rising from his throne and leveling his wand.
Draco immediately sought refuge to the ground, kneeling and apologizing.
"My lord," he said, feeling like a rubbish sycophant. "I meant nothing by what I said. Your spoken words hold more value than life itself. I would gladly exchange mine for death just to hear them over and over. Please, lord, forgive me and tell what news you bring to me from my father."
Another satisfied grin swept across Voldemort's distorted face and he lowered his wand and sat back down.
"Rise, young Malfoy," he demanded, "and sit again before me."
Draco did as he was told, cursing himself for his cowardly acts. He should bow to no man, but instead finds himself doing so with humiliation and disgrace.
"You're interruptions and constant need to bicker is starting to wear my patience," Voldemort murmured. "As I said before, it is my deepest regret to inform you that your father will no longer be part of any future activities we have planned."
"Why?"
"He is most unfortunately deceased."
The news brought a mixture of feelings hurdling towards Draco. He didn't quite understand. Flummoxed, he asked, "What do you mean he's deceased?"
"He's dead," the Dark Lord stated with no emotion. He spoke of the situation as if Lucius was a toy that sadly broke, but could be replaced in a jiffy. "I realize this comes as quite a shock to you, but we must move on! No time to dawdle in the past!" With that he stood up, motioning for Draco to do the same and follow close behind.
"Because of your father's unexpected departure," he said while pacing his way to the center of the room, "You have been left with whatever responsibilities you don't currently have that he did."
Draco snorted at the humorless joke. As far as he knew, there were no responsibilities that his late father had that he didn't share or control. Draco did practically everything for the Dark Lord that mattered. Lucius hadn't conducted a single raid or interrogation since he became a Death Eater. That was the beauty of it; a son controlling the father that had once locked him in pitch black dungeons for days at a time with no food or drink. A son who commanded the father that once tortured him for trivial things. Glorious.
"And what, precisely, did he leave behind?" Draco asked, feeling hilarity for the first time that day.
"There was a family," Voldemort said as he stood in front of the hanging girl. "A family of three that he was to take care of. I left the job to him for it seemed petty and contemptible for my favorite follower." He gave a side glance to Draco before turning back to the girl. Reaching out a mangled hand, he gently trickled his fingers through her matted, blood soaked hair. "Apparently I underestimated his capabilities. It was a task to arduous for him. One person survived, and I expect you to change that."
Draco nodded. "I will, my lord," he said before turning to leave. Half way through the door he paused. "And the name of this escapee?"
"Hermione Granger," Voldemort replied. "I believe you are acquainted with her?"
"I am," Draco stated, nearly frozen in his place.
"Then it will be of no trouble, will it?"
Draco hesitated and closed his eyes.
"It will be of no trouble, will it, young Malfoy?" Voldemort hissed again.
"No, my lord," Draco replied. "It won't."