Azaeil waited patiently in the Underground. He watched the skinned body of Joe Menns being dragged by the others. They didn't have to ask why he wasn't coming, he still had business to attend to. Once the Gate was closed Azaeil heard another one open from above. His son was coming. Quickly he put on his clock and his mask, he didn't want his son to see him like this…..at least not yet.
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Draco was welcomed by a burst of cold air when he opened the door. He shivered as he looked into the pitch darkness. It hadn't changed, he thought. With a moment of hesitation he slowly made his descent into what looked like nothingness. Going down the stairs he thought he walked into madness because he kept going down and down and down until finally he met solid ground. "Father," he called out. There wasn't a response, only more blackness. Draco called out again to be greeted with the same answer: Nothing.
Just when Draco was to turn around and go back up to sanity he froze as a familiar voice called his name, 'Draco'. The voice sounded like his father's but there was something else to it. Something more….unearthly. "Don't leave, Draco," said the voice. Draco turned to the speaker were blue light was shining about three feet away behind other debris of junk. With effort he fought his way through the jungle of nik-naks and worthless treasures to finally find his father or what he could guess was his father.
The man in question wore a black cloak with a silver death mask on his face. He was sitting in a chair with his hands covered in his sleeves making him look like a monk in prayer. Draco was suspicious of this man, maybe this was a trick. "Who are you?" It was silent for a moment then there was a response.
"You know who I am," he answered simply.
"You're not my father," Draco responded spitefully, this man couldn't be his father his own flesh and blood wouldn't hide his face from him. This had to be one of Voldemort's Deatheaters. The way the man was dressed like the reaper himself he must be one of them. This also could be an interrogation of some kind. Yes, that was it an interrogation. "Do you know where my father is, sir?"
"Yes, I do," he said, "He's sitting in this chair right in front of you."
"You lie, my father would not hide himself from me!" The man sighed as if this whole situation was a heavy burden. "Have you ever wondered how your father disappeared, Draco?"
"How?" The man took his hands out of his sleeves. Draco stood there amazed by those hands. The hands were pale white with what looked like ancient tattoo designs on his front and palm. His fingers and thumbs had ivory carved armor rings that looked like they could rip though bone. He offered out his hand, "I want to show you what happened." Draco hesitated, that hands looked it took the lives of many.
"Don't be afraid, I'm not here to hurt you," he said, he sounded truthful. Slowly Draco walked over to take the man's hand. Once he touched the cold flesh a flood of images came to him. He saw his father looking at the mirror, making a deal with it, stealing the box from his house, descending into the darkness then ultimately sealing his fate by solving the puzzle. Draco broke out in cold sweat as the image of his father being skinned alive by these 'beings' played over and over again. "Do you believe me now?" asked his father.
Draco was on the floor speechless by the man before him. "Yes…..is this Voldemort's doing?" His father laughed at the mention of Voldemort's name.
"No, I don't serve the Son. I now serve the Father."
"What do you mean 'serve the Father'?" It was quiet for a moment then a chair appeared out of no where. "Sit son, I want to explain to you what happened then you'll understand my purpose." Draco wanted to ask what kind off purpose but he held his tongue. He'll eventually know what it'll be soon. Draco sat in the leather chair listening intently to what his father was about to say.