magnolia ~ h. potter

I N T E R L U D E

– interlude –

THE DRAWING ROOM AT MALFOY MANOR WAS PRACTICALLY EMPTY.

The room's usual furniture had been pushed carelessly up against the walls, leaving a large ornate table in the middle, although only a single figure was sitting at the head of the table, directly in front of the fireplace. Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror. The man's face shone through the gloom, hairless, snakelike, with slits for nostrils and gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical. He was so pale that he seemed to emit a pearly glow.

"It is done?" asked Voldemort, regarding the small group that had just entered the room.

"Yes, my lord," spoke Severus Snape, and Voldemort's eyes regarded the cowering figure of Draco Malfoy, who stood hunched behind Dolohov and Snape.

"Good," he hummed quietly, "And you were met with no resistance?"

Snape's face remained impassive, but Dolohov seemed to grimace.

"Some, my Lord," Snape said, "Members of the Order of the Pheonix, and a few students,"

Voldemort's features flashed with momentary, white-hot rage, before they settled back into cold and calculating. "Students?"

"An old group, my lord, the same we fought in the Department of Mysteries," Bellatrix spoke up, limping forward.

Voldemort's snake-like slits slid over to her. "Harry Potter is their ring leader, how is it that they managed to assemble while he was away?"

There was a silence amongst the group. Snape's face was a stony mask of indifference and his lips stayed clamped firmly shut.

"It appears he left his girlfriend in charge," said Bellatrix, and Voldemort looked at the cut on her shoulder, which appeared to still be bleeding profusely.

"Girlfriend?" he said quietly, his eyes still focused on the disgusting gash, "She is the one who gave you that?"

"Yes, my lord," Bellatrix said, bowing her head in shame.

"And her name?" he asked calmly, yet his voice held a cold undertone of fury.

The room was silent and no one spoke as Voldemort's eyes went back and forth between his followers. He was sure Snape knew, but he was not saying a word, his mouth firmly shut, and Snape had always been an accomplished Occlumens. . .

"Draco," Voldemort said softly, almost a whisper, "Step forward please,"

Draco could feel his heart beating in his chest with such force he was surprised nobody else heard it thumping in the silence. He took a shaky step from behind Dolohov, his pale hair shining in the dim light of the fire.

"Y-Yes, my lord?" he stammered, and Voldemort looked him straight in the eyes, and his snakelike slits felt like they were boring through Draco's soul.

"Her name," he said calmly, and Draco could feel his body start to shake with fear.

He couldn't give her up, not after everything she had done for him. "I don't know,"

He tried to keep the fear out of his voice to stop it from trembling, but Voldemort's gaze was so intense Draco was beginning to crack.

"Hm," Voldemort said, before lazily flicking his finger through the air. Draco has to stop himself from gasping as he felt his cheek open up and hot blood begin to drip down his face, "Let's try that again,"

"I- I don't know," Draco repeated, his voice shaking more badly than it did before.

Voldemort let out a heavy sigh, before looking straight back into draco's eyes, "Very well,"

Somehow, Draco knew what was coming before it hit him. 

He tried desperately to make his mind go blank, to forgo all imagery of her as the drawing room swam in front of his eyes and vanished, and image after image was racing through his mind like a flickering film so vivid it blinded him to his surroundings. . . . He was five, cowering in the corner as his father yelled at him for dropping a family ornament. . . . He was ten, and Harry Potter refused his handshake and friendship at the top of the stairs in the Entrance Hall. . . .and then she appeared. She was everywhere. . . .laughing with her friends as she passed him by in the hall, offering to help him in the Quidditch changing room, taking his hand on top of the Astronomy tower, talking to him and smiling at him and her eyes filling with tears as he screamed for her to stay away. Her name swam to the forefront his mind, like bold, black letter stamped into his brain as Draco tried desperately to shut Voldemort out.

He felt a sharp pain in his knees as he fell forwards and the drawing room came back into view. Tears were streaming down Draco's face as his mind drowned in anguish and shame and an overwhelming feeling of powerlessness that consumed him almost entirely.

I'm sorry, Emily. I'm so sorry.

He looked up at the Dark Lord, and after a moment or two, Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.

"Emily Poole,"

He said her name quietly, yet his voice echoed inside Draco's brain ominously, like a pounding headache that reminded him of the betrayal he had just committed.

"She will do nicely,"