❝ 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘔𝘢𝘭𝘧𝘰𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦, 𝘬 -𝘪 -𝘴 -𝘴 -𝘪 -𝘯 -𝘨! ❞
In which a filthy Mudblood is sorted into the House of Slytherin - with, of course, Draco Malfoy.
draco malfoy x reader
golden era
VERY SLOW-BURN ROM...
LITTLE MISS MUDBLOOD – ACT 2 : SCENE 1 : CHAPTER 80
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Voldemort looked away from the two training champions and began examining his own body. His hands were like large, pale spiders; his long white fingers caressed his own chest, his arms, his face; the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cat's, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness. He held up his hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant.
Ignoring Pettigrew, who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground, and the great snake, which had slithered back into sight and was circling harry and Y/N again, hissing, Voldemort slipped on of his unnaturally lanky fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too; and then he raised it, and pointed it at Pettigrew, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where Y/N and Harry were tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying.
Y/N thought he deserved it.
Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon her and Harry, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh. Y/N's previously hot blood turned cold and a shiver longed to pass through her, but it was like something had stopped her from making even the slightest of moves. She could only move her eyes, which flicked up to the clouded sky before sinking back to Voldemort, and then to Pettigrew.
His robes were shining with blood now; he had wrapped the stump of his arm in them.
"My Lord . . ." he choked, "my Lord . . . you promised . . . you did promise . . ."
"Hold out your arm," said Voldemort lazily.
"Oh Master . . . thank you, Master . . ."
He extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again.
"The other arm, Wormtail."
"Master, please . . . please . . ."
Voldemort bent down and pulled out Pettigrew's left arm; he forced the sleeve of his robes up past his elbow, and Y/N saw something upon the skin there, something like a vivid red tattoo — a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth — the image that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Pettigrew's uncontrollable weeping.
"It is back," he said softly, "they will all have noticed it . . . and now, we shall see . . . now we shall know . . ."
He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Pettigrew's arm.
The veins in Y/N's body erupted with heat again, and Pettigrew let out a fresh howl; Voldemort removed his fingers from Pettigrew's mark, and Y/N saw that it had turned jet black.
A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard.
"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" he whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"
