𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 | 𝐃.𝐌

₄₄ ᴄʀᴜᴄɪᴏ

Sρσƚιϝყ ρʅαყʅιʂƚ ϝσɾ αʂʂαʂʂιɳʂ
ʅιɳƙҽԃ ιɳ ɱყ Ⴆισ
┈˃̶༒˂̶┈

Draco didn't get scared. Not anymore, not since his father died. Not since he had no choice but to sacrifice his life to Voldemort and become one of his deadliest assassins. He only was able to become such a lethal weapon because he was numb and emotionless to this world.

He had to be. He had lost Ava and everything else.

He became a death eater first, because of his father's stupid decisions. And then was made to do some horrible things, some things he couldn't do, like kill Dumbledore. Then the war happened and he watched the monstrous battle, watched Voldermort kill Harry Potter and his classmates. Then he watched Ava be dragged out of the great hall and sent to the dungeons.

Where she spent a year in cold darkness with nothing but a few drops of water and a roll each day to keep her breathing.

To keep his mind off his guilt, he trained and trained and trained.  He could not sleep unless his body was physically exhausted. All he could think about was where she was and what was happening to her. Blaise had to physically stop him from going down there each day.

And eventually, after a few months, he had completely numbed himself and was able to forget where she was. He was sent out on missions and saw the world around him be destroyed and some of it by his hands. Everything he saw and everything he did, it ruined him. Slowly shattering his sanity, until eventually, he was the cruel, ruthless assassin Voldemort wanted.

And then he became the High General of the assassins and Voldemorts' most loyal and vicious soldier.

A year passed and Draco saw Ava again. At first, he felt nothing but then, the feelings came back and it became harder to be so robotically loyal to his Lord. His emotions returned and he decided he wanted to change the war, he wanted it to end.

He had hope.

He always had hope and it was always taken away from him.

Every. Single. Time.

Which is why he wasn't surprised when Voldemort grabbed him and pressed his wand to his head, stopping him from escaping. Stopping him from seeing Ava again. If she was alive.

Hope had consumed him and he allowed it, just like he always had and then it set him alight into agonizing flames and all hope was lost. He would never see her again and this time he wasn't surprised.

All that was left for Draco was the cold solace of the dungeons and the hope he is starved to death or infection will be the thing to take him out and end his miserable life. There is no point in having hope anymore, all that is left is the waiting game of death.

Soon, he told himself, soon.

┈˃̶༒˂̶┈

Draco had been dragged down to the dungeons in chains and thrown into the dark dungeon enclosed by caves. It was silent other than a tap of a drip somewhere deep in the caves.

Victor and Kingsley had brought him down, escorted by about a dozen other soldiers because they were afraid of the lethal assassin they had in chains. But when they unclasped his hands, freeing his hand's wrist, Draco didn't make any effort to escape and put up no fight. What was the point? He had nothing to fight for anymore, not even freedom. Not even Ava.