Undisclosed Desires 1/? (Sept 1.0)
Title: Undisclosed Desires (Reflections)
Summary: Draco never thought he would regret someone killing Bellatrix Lestrange until the Dark Lord saddled him with punishing the murderer.
Characters/Pairings: Draco/Hermione
Genre: Voldemort-Wins dystopia
Rating/Warnings: hard PG-13 for language/violence
Medium: fic
Word Count: 1227
Can the Order post to Tumblr?: sure
A terrible summons seared his left arm as soon as Draco drifted off. He had no time to reflect on the where, when, whys. Questions were for fools. The burn continued unabated as he flung himself upright in the dark, groping for his wand. A quick swipe lit the wand’s tip. He made a beeline for the midnight black robes crumpled at the foot of his bed. His mask bright as the sun lay hastily discarded on his dresser.
Ninety seconds later he Apparated into a chilly courtyard, all warmth sapped in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. In another life this had been a place of lessons and reenacted famous Quidditch matches, a place which carried on solely in his mind now. Hogwarts was dead. Taking his place among the widening circle of dark figures, he felt relief at arriving neither first nor last. The steel in his spine unbent a little; tonight he would be safe in mediocrity. The Dark Lord praised the devoted, tolerated the satisfactory and singled out with acid glee the reluctant in his ranks. He suffered no more of Snape or Father’s kind in the new world order.
More Death Eater comrades appeared by the second, each glancing sharply around them before trundling to their places. They were all gathered when a streak of black descended from the sky, cratering the ground with meteoric force. When the smoke cleared they saw the kneeling figure of the Dark Lord, his face whiter than bone, floating a clothed bundle beside him. As he stood a huddled girl was revealed squatting in the dirt, suddenly illuminated when the crater became a torch of liquid fire. An imperious flick of his wand and the bundle no longer hovered, crashing into the center of the circle, its weight unrolling the blankets to reveal the gaping mouth of Bellatrix Lestrange.
Her eyes reflected the light like the shell of a beetle. A dead beetle.
Sharp breaths echoed around Draco. Shock knitted his ribs together and red dotted his eyes until he wrenched harshly for air. His aunt dead; was the rest of his family next?
“My lord!” cried Rodolphus Lestrange, breaking ranks to fall to his knees at the body.
The Dark Lord’s pale hand clawed around the girl’s wrist. He flung her atop Bellatrix. “My most faithful servant, murdered,” he hissed, his voice so quiet they all leant closer, “by this Mudblood. Who turned on her rightful master!”
Draco stared at the girl struggling to lift her head. Releasing a shout of fury Rodolphus backhanded her, the force of the blow smashing her back into the dirt. She scrambled for a foothold but tripped, the steep incline rolling her downward until she collided with the points of Draco’s shoes. The impact flipped her over; she coughed and wiped at the blood streaking from her torn lip. The only source of light was from the Dark Lord but even in the fulsome dark Draco made out the smallest hint of a smile. She peered up at him, scrutinizing brown eyes framed by gnarly brown hair. A slave mark branded her neck, the same tattooed snake that collared the flesh of every Muggle-born witch and wizard.
“Who among you will step forward and claim responsibility for Potter’s Mudblood?” roared the Dark Lord. “Who will prove their loyalty by punishing this piece of filth for daring to raise a hand against her betters?”
Contemplative murmurs sounded around Draco, falling silent when Rodolphus hurtled to his feet, a tight madness contorting his face. “I will, my lord! Give me the honor of disposing of her to your every satisfaction!”
The Dark Lord regarded the manic glint in Rodolphus’s eyes with amusement. “I know you too well for that. At the first flash of your temper she will be dead. Death,” he spat, “is too good for her. I require a lighter and infinitely more fulfilling touch.”
“My lord, allow me!” thundered Fenrir Greyback, elbowing aside his fellows. “With your most faithful snatched from us, there is none left more loyal than I!”
“Oh?” sneered the Dark Lord, his thin lips a red gash. “I am to believe you will refrain from devouring her at the next full moon? When no other has survived you so long? I am not such a fool as that, werewolf.”
A raspy cough drew Draco’s terror-clenched attention to the warmth wrapped around his feet. Granger stared up at him, her eyes scraping the contours of his mask. Slow recognition softened the sharpness of her bleeding mouth. “Malfoy,” she whispered.
His heart crashed against his ribcage. How did she know him? As if he’d vocalized his thoughts she tapped her cheek. She knew his mask. Bellatrix must have trained her pet to recognize the visage of her beloved nephew, her protégé. It was too much. This was all too damned much. Draco kicked her in the side, desperate to remove the weight of her body. It only lasted a second before she rolled back with a grunt. Fear singed his veins at the thought that the Dark Lord might single him out because of her. She needed to get off of him. He kicked her again as hard as he could, aiming under her shoulder-blade. Her body flipped back toward the center.
The movement caught the Dark Lord’s attention, his colorless eyes sweeping from his prisoner to Draco’s masked face. “Young Malfoy,” he breathed. “Something to say?”
His pulse pounded the insides of his wrists. He stepped forward, bowing as lowly as he could without toppling over. “No, my lord. Only flicking rubbish off my shoe.”
A deep chuckle emerged from the Dark Lord’s throat as he glided closer. “Young, young Malfoy,” he said again. “No older than the Mudblood, yes?”
“No, my lord.”
He cocked his head, a predator uncoiling. “You know her?”
“Only of her, my lord.” Draco stifled his shiver. “From school.”
“Such modesty. Both your aunt and father have told me you considered her your academic rival,” said the Dark Lord, the corners of his mouth lifting sadistically. “A pureblood outsmarted by a piece of filth.”
It was not a question. He nodded, unable to unlatch the air from his lungs, compressed by the sensation of both too much and too little.
“You knew her as a child. You know her weaknesses, what she fears most,” said his Lord and Master. “You are Young Malfoy no longer, I think. Pureblood and last of your line, Draco, you are loyal to me, are you not?”
“Yes, my lord!” Draco bent down on one knee, clutching his kneecap. “I have always served you. I take not after my traitor father but my aunt. Her passing fills me with rage.”
The Dark Lord paced around him with striking grace. “I wonder. Bellatrix despaired of making a man of you, Draco.”
“I want nothing more than to honor her memory and your glory!”
“Good,” he stated. “You will make this Mudblood’s life a never-ending misery, and you will do so for my pleasure. Prove to me that your father’s cowardice and incompetence ended with him!”
“M-my lord! Yes, my lord,” choked out Draco, bile rising in his throat.
Lord Voldemort smiled, anticipation curving his flat and serpentine lips.
46 points
Summary: Draco never thought he would regret someone killing Bellatrix Lestrange until the Dark Lord saddled him with punishing the murderer.
Characters/Pairings: Draco/Hermione
Genre: Voldemort-Wins dystopia
Rating/Warnings: hard PG-13 for language/violence
Medium: fic
Word Count: 1227
Can the Order post to Tumblr?: sure
A terrible summons seared his left arm as soon as Draco drifted off. He had no time to reflect on the where, when, whys. Questions were for fools. The burn continued unabated as he flung himself upright in the dark, groping for his wand. A quick swipe lit the wand’s tip. He made a beeline for the midnight black robes crumpled at the foot of his bed. His mask bright as the sun lay hastily discarded on his dresser.
Ninety seconds later he Apparated into a chilly courtyard, all warmth sapped in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. In another life this had been a place of lessons and reenacted famous Quidditch matches, a place which carried on solely in his mind now. Hogwarts was dead. Taking his place among the widening circle of dark figures, he felt relief at arriving neither first nor last. The steel in his spine unbent a little; tonight he would be safe in mediocrity. The Dark Lord praised the devoted, tolerated the satisfactory and singled out with acid glee the reluctant in his ranks. He suffered no more of Snape or Father’s kind in the new world order.
More Death Eater comrades appeared by the second, each glancing sharply around them before trundling to their places. They were all gathered when a streak of black descended from the sky, cratering the ground with meteoric force. When the smoke cleared they saw the kneeling figure of the Dark Lord, his face whiter than bone, floating a clothed bundle beside him. As he stood a huddled girl was revealed squatting in the dirt, suddenly illuminated when the crater became a torch of liquid fire. An imperious flick of his wand and the bundle no longer hovered, crashing into the center of the circle, its weight unrolling the blankets to reveal the gaping mouth of Bellatrix Lestrange.
Her eyes reflected the light like the shell of a beetle. A dead beetle.
Sharp breaths echoed around Draco. Shock knitted his ribs together and red dotted his eyes until he wrenched harshly for air. His aunt dead; was the rest of his family next?
“My lord!” cried Rodolphus Lestrange, breaking ranks to fall to his knees at the body.
The Dark Lord’s pale hand clawed around the girl’s wrist. He flung her atop Bellatrix. “My most faithful servant, murdered,” he hissed, his voice so quiet they all leant closer, “by this Mudblood. Who turned on her rightful master!”
Draco stared at the girl struggling to lift her head. Releasing a shout of fury Rodolphus backhanded her, the force of the blow smashing her back into the dirt. She scrambled for a foothold but tripped, the steep incline rolling her downward until she collided with the points of Draco’s shoes. The impact flipped her over; she coughed and wiped at the blood streaking from her torn lip. The only source of light was from the Dark Lord but even in the fulsome dark Draco made out the smallest hint of a smile. She peered up at him, scrutinizing brown eyes framed by gnarly brown hair. A slave mark branded her neck, the same tattooed snake that collared the flesh of every Muggle-born witch and wizard.
“Who among you will step forward and claim responsibility for Potter’s Mudblood?” roared the Dark Lord. “Who will prove their loyalty by punishing this piece of filth for daring to raise a hand against her betters?”
Contemplative murmurs sounded around Draco, falling silent when Rodolphus hurtled to his feet, a tight madness contorting his face. “I will, my lord! Give me the honor of disposing of her to your every satisfaction!”
The Dark Lord regarded the manic glint in Rodolphus’s eyes with amusement. “I know you too well for that. At the first flash of your temper she will be dead. Death,” he spat, “is too good for her. I require a lighter and infinitely more fulfilling touch.”
“My lord, allow me!” thundered Fenrir Greyback, elbowing aside his fellows. “With your most faithful snatched from us, there is none left more loyal than I!”
“Oh?” sneered the Dark Lord, his thin lips a red gash. “I am to believe you will refrain from devouring her at the next full moon? When no other has survived you so long? I am not such a fool as that, werewolf.”
A raspy cough drew Draco’s terror-clenched attention to the warmth wrapped around his feet. Granger stared up at him, her eyes scraping the contours of his mask. Slow recognition softened the sharpness of her bleeding mouth. “Malfoy,” she whispered.
His heart crashed against his ribcage. How did she know him? As if he’d vocalized his thoughts she tapped her cheek. She knew his mask. Bellatrix must have trained her pet to recognize the visage of her beloved nephew, her protégé. It was too much. This was all too damned much. Draco kicked her in the side, desperate to remove the weight of her body. It only lasted a second before she rolled back with a grunt. Fear singed his veins at the thought that the Dark Lord might single him out because of her. She needed to get off of him. He kicked her again as hard as he could, aiming under her shoulder-blade. Her body flipped back toward the center.
The movement caught the Dark Lord’s attention, his colorless eyes sweeping from his prisoner to Draco’s masked face. “Young Malfoy,” he breathed. “Something to say?”
His pulse pounded the insides of his wrists. He stepped forward, bowing as lowly as he could without toppling over. “No, my lord. Only flicking rubbish off my shoe.”
A deep chuckle emerged from the Dark Lord’s throat as he glided closer. “Young, young Malfoy,” he said again. “No older than the Mudblood, yes?”
“No, my lord.”
He cocked his head, a predator uncoiling. “You know her?”
“Only of her, my lord.” Draco stifled his shiver. “From school.”
“Such modesty. Both your aunt and father have told me you considered her your academic rival,” said the Dark Lord, the corners of his mouth lifting sadistically. “A pureblood outsmarted by a piece of filth.”
It was not a question. He nodded, unable to unlatch the air from his lungs, compressed by the sensation of both too much and too little.
“You knew her as a child. You know her weaknesses, what she fears most,” said his Lord and Master. “You are Young Malfoy no longer, I think. Pureblood and last of your line, Draco, you are loyal to me, are you not?”
“Yes, my lord!” Draco bent down on one knee, clutching his kneecap. “I have always served you. I take not after my traitor father but my aunt. Her passing fills me with rage.”
The Dark Lord paced around him with striking grace. “I wonder. Bellatrix despaired of making a man of you, Draco.”
“I want nothing more than to honor her memory and your glory!”
“Good,” he stated. “You will make this Mudblood’s life a never-ending misery, and you will do so for my pleasure. Prove to me that your father’s cowardice and incompetence ended with him!”
“M-my lord! Yes, my lord,” choked out Draco, bile rising in his throat.
Lord Voldemort smiled, anticipation curving his flat and serpentine lips.
46 points