𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 || 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲

3. Umbridge

"To Draco, my right hand!"

"To Draco!" Many voices toasted.

Voldemort holds his hand up in the air in front of a crowd of silvery masked death eaters, to each in their own set of robes and champagne. They were in the ballroom of Malfoy Manor. Draco breaks out in a cold sweat, unable to move or break free from Voldemort's strong grip. His heart is racing. He doesn't know what's going on. He is disgusted by this twisted form of pride swelling in his chest, seeing death eaters, old and young, weak and powerful, toast in his name. Him. The Dark Lord's right hand.

The dark mark burned like an uncontrollable flame on his skin. He itched to scratch at his skin so hard it would disappear. The pain of it all would top the pain of the mark.

"To Draco, one of my elite, and my cruelest Death Eater. Today, my friends, we stand rejoiced at the punishment of traitors." Draco doesn't know why an unexplainable panic and grief breaks out through his body in such an extensive way he almost loses his standing and stumbles down the stage. He watched as the Dark Lord gestured and two masked members escorted two prisoners into the ballroom. Every death eater made way. The room was dead silent and Draco was frozen in place, completely unable to move.

The prisoners wore rags- rags too ravaged to even be called so. They were cuffed by the hands and chained by the feet. Their skin pale and dry.

A woman and man.

The man looked up, and the woman followed.

Draco screamed. But no one seems to have heard him.

It was his father, and his mother. Broken, humiliated, chained and kneeling to him and the Lord. In his father's eyes carried the gaze of a broken arrogance, desperation, grief and hatred. In his mother's, there was nothing. It was empty, dull, exhausted and deprived of any emotion. When she looked into Draco's own eyes, meaningless tears slipped out. It was as if she was already gone, but her physical vessel not yet.

"Now, we are to be reborn by the deaths of traitors. Into a new era, and you, my friends, on the winning side of it." Voldemort bellows.

"To a new era," He tells to the ballroom of people. They repeated what he said with endless admiration and glorified adoration in their pupils.

"To me." He ends with a dramatic wave of his hand.

"To the Lord." The crowd repeated. Suddenly everyone's gazes turn to Draco. Red eyes gleamed at Draco, although there was no specific emotion, Draco felt an immeasurable amount of pressure.

"Well, Draco, go on."

Draco watched in pure horror as Voldemort pointed his finger at his parents who were kneeling on the floor.

"Go on. Kill the traitors."

Draco could not scream. He could not move. Not a single tear slipped out of his eyes. He could no longer control his body and the extreme panic and fear fought inside his mind against the swelling pride and anticipation.

He raises his arm and he finds his wand effortlessly pointed towards his parents. He wants to point the wand at himself. He wants to scream, sob and run away from this place. But he does not. He cannot.

Everything happened so fast.

Green lights flashed. He heard over the noises two soft thuds onto the floor, the chains clinging onto the hard cold floor.

Dead.

They were dead. Dead because he killed them.

Voldemort laughed. The death eaters laughed. The bodies were dragged out and vanished. There was not trace of murder in the ballroom as festivities continues. He was patted on the back, hugged, kissed on the cheek and in all ways congratulated.