mahogany ; d.m

53 - demise

"You—" she gaped. "It was you."

"Indeed," he stated, a certain pride in his tone.

"He was your friend. Your longest friend. You betrayed him. How could you—?"

"He betrayed me!" he seethed, a sudden rage bursting from him. "The moment he abandoned everything for your muggle mother. He betrayed me."

Her throat was so thick, she couldn't even produce a sound.

"I gave him a choice. Either I killed your mother, and spared his life—or, he died, and she lived. He chose wrong."

"You tortured him," she suddenly remembered.

"He deserved to suffer."

An awful nausea overwhelmed her.

He continued. "Alas, when my son provided the information that the daughter of Atticus Rivière lived—"

"What?"

"Oh, that's right," he snorted. "Poor girl. Did you actually believe that my son— the Malfoy heir, could desire a traitorous-blooded disgrace like you?"

It was as if all of the oxygen that surrounded her had disappeared. Her heart clenched, twisted inside itself, an abhorrent burning sensation scorching through her chest.

The nausea increased. Sick to her core.

"So naive," Lucius frowned, before a satisfied smirk crept upon his face. "My son has done well in my absence. A few slip ups of course, but he's redeeming himself this very moment actually. He makes a fine Death Eater, don't you think? Subservient to his master as he should be."

"No—" she choked, inaudibly.

"What was that, dear?" he shrivelled his thin upper lip.

It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.

"No—he wouldn't—"

"Oh! but he did," another grin marked his face. "He was happy to do so. Oh you poor girl. Did you think he'd protect your little secret? My son knows where his loyalties lie, as do I. And now there is only one more task that needs to be completed."

He promised. He promised. He promised.

It replayed in her head. Every promise he made, suddenly meaningless.

She felt cold, so cold. As bitter as the ring that hung around her neck. The ring that was stinging cold, now burned into her flesh.

"I find it only fitting I be the one to do the honours—providing I also took your father's life. It's almost tradition," he snorted, sounding like a mad-man.

She didn't even care. Couldn't bring herself to care.

Here she was, being told she was arriving on the doorstep of death, about to stumble through its entry, meanwhile doing nothing about it. Not even feeling scared.

"But I may as well have my fun with it first."

She wondered what he meant, her mind shutting down. She noticed him drawing his wand, seeing the 'Crucio' escape his mouth, but not hearing the words. Hearing nothing—and observing the red light explode from the tip of the wand.

The blast connected with her body, before she could do anything to prevent it. And the pain was excruciating—overly excruciating, even that was an understatement for the feeling. As if she was being stabbed again and again with scorching knives. Slicing every inch of her body.