MEMENTO MORI | DRACO MALFOY

THIRTY-FOUR

TRIGGER WARNING:
self harm and mentions of abuse.

Please skip this chapter if these topics are triggering to you🤍

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Draco Malfoy was no longer envious of Ophelia Rosier. No, not after he'd watched her limp, unconscious body be carried carelessly from the ballroom. He'd only heard tales over the years of the excruciating pain that receiving the Dark Mark caused. There hadn't yet been one person to endure it without falling unconscious, and Ophelia Rosier was clearly no exception.

     'An honour' his parents had always quoted when speaking about when it would come to be Draco's turn, as if nothing else in the world mattered to them other than proving himself to the Dark Lord. They had been grooming him since he was just a boy, being conditioned to believe anyone with anything other than pure blood was dirty, and those of pure blood who stood behind them were even dirtier. They had taught him nothing about Muggles other than that they were the scum of the earth, and magical children born of Muggles or Mudbloods were abominations.

He'd endured seemingly endless punishments for placing a single toe out of line. 'A boy should be able to endure punishment if he is to serve the Dark Lord dutifully, Draco.' His father would say after a sharp rap across his knuckles with his cane. This was one of the milder punishments. Lucius believed it would make Draco stronger, make him more valuable in the Dark Lord's eyes, but then along came Ophelia Rosier and took his place.

Lucius had been angry when he discovered Draco wouldn't be the first teenaged Death Eater, taking out his frustration on his son as if it had been his fault. It was his fault he wasn't good enough in the Dark Lord's eyes. As if Draco could have somehow summoned the power to become a Seer and just couldn't. Always a failure in Lucius' eyes, and Draco had accepted it. He knew he'd never be worthy of Lucius' respect or love, Merlin forbid his father could ever love him.

     The only thing keeping Draco from running away was his doting mother. Narcissa would do anything for him, well, except leave Lucius. She'd turn a blind eye when Lucius would take Draco to his study for his punishments, but she was always there to nurture him afterward; to stroke his hair as he cried into the fabric of her dress all the while her own silent tears made trails down her pale cheeks. Draco only wished she was strong enough to stand up to her husband, but he didn't blame her for not being able to. He couldn't either.

     Narcissa had instructed Draco firmly to remain in his room for the duration of Ophelia's ceremony. He was plainly not invited, and to risk being seen lurking around by the Dark Lord would have severe consequences. However, Draco didn't often abide by his mother's rules, so he perched himself on the top step of the grand staircase, which gave him a distant, yet clear view of the ballroom doors.

     Draco's heart lurched at the sight of Greyback's large frame carrying such a lithe girl. He stomped out of the ballroom, looking around the foyer for something, or someone. Draco watched as Greyback twisted his body quickly to the right, causing Ophelia's limp arm to fall from the confines of his grasp, but the Werewolf paid no mind. He truly was a ruthless creature. Draco almost got up to take Ophelia from Greyback himself before he would just dump her somewhere and go back to his little celebration, but before he could, Narcissa darted out from the den while ushering Greyback towards her.

     Narcissa was never welcome in the meetings either. Having never taken the mark herself, she was excluded and often kept in the dark. Draco was glad his mother hadn't sold her soul to the Devil like his father had. He'd often hear Narcissa muttering to herself about the 'old boys' club' with such distaste he'd thought venom would be dripping from her lips. Even though her own sister was practically welcomed into the Dark Lord's club with welcome banners and confetti many years ago, Narcissa hadn't shown the Dark Lord as much promise as Bellatrix did, either that or Lucius had made her out to just be some dafty trophy wife.