Minutes later, down in some drafty cavernous “secret ceremony room”, Draco found himself in an increasingly uncomfortable situation. It had been bad enough watching his Master touch and speak to Ginny Weasley in such an awkward and intimate way, and his insides squirmed at the memory.
But now, NOW, he felt as though the current situation was about to prove every ridiculous, far-fetched stereotype that any Hogwarts student every whispered about Death eaters true.
In the middle of the room stood an ancient stone altar. Upon the altar lie a subdued, but very much awake, frightened redhead, still bound and lying flat on her back. Her breathing was rapid, and she seemed unable to move from her position. Whether this was from the potion or fear he was not sure. Draco and his father stood to the side, dressed in full death eater attire. At the altar next to Ginny stood Voldemort, one hand holding a large vial with a small amount of liquid in it, and the other, a small dagger, its handle smattered with runes. He had his eyes closed and seemed to be muttering to himself.
At that moment, Draco felt he would have given just about anything to avoid watching what was about to happen, to escape the room, to wipe his own memory, to go back to the way things were…
Ginny was silent on the altar. And as she lay there, Draco vaguely wondered how many lives had been ended right where she lay…
He suddenly imagined her blood spilling over the side of the altar, and he couldn’t help the wave of nausea that suddenly took hold of him.
Lucius eyes briefly darted to him, and then back to the pair at the altar.
“He’s not going to kill her, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Draco looked to his father. He tried to hide the instant relief that washed over him.
“Oh.” Was all he could manage.
Then why the theatrics?
At least he hadn’t delivered an innocent girl to her death…
Voldemort had finished his incoherent mutter and looked down at the girl. He grasped one of her wrists tightly as she whimpered. He looked towards Draco and Lucius, his voice echoing.
“This form I have… grows old. I cannot continue as I am without acquiring weakness. There is so much to do, so much I require of myself… My powers must have an adequate vessel. And now, thanks to my dear Ginevra here,” He looked down at her wide eyes, still holding her wrist, “I shall have my new form. Stronger. Healthy. Able to contain all my powers. Better yet, I will have- shall we say, access- to enhance my power. Further My glory. I will obtain power that even a wand cannot yield. And the best part is,” A truly wicked smile distorted his features. He locked that smile on Draco and Lucius.
“I will still be myself.”
The rest happened quickly. Voldemort reached Ginny’s bound wrists above her head and muttered something. The bonds glowed and then seemed to adhere to the stone. With a quick movement of his hands there was a tearing of fabric, and the top part of Ginny’s shirt was torn open, exposing the top of her breasts and the fabric of the white bra she wore. Draco visibly flinched as a “No!” escaped from the girl.
He hadn’t delivered an innocent girl to her death. He had delivered her for something much worse…
For the first time since he arrived at the manor, hot acidic guilt burst through him.
There would be a special place in hell for people like me, he thought.
But thank Merlin, Voldemort stilled his hands, no longer tearing clothes and leaned down over the girl. Now it was his Master’s breaths that came quickly.
“The mark,” he breathed, “its still there.” He appeared to trace something with his finger, before laying his white hand on the girl where Draco was sure her heart was pounding.
It was then that Ginny let out an agonized moan.
“Hush, Ginevra.” He removed his hand but returned it above her, holding the dagger.
“This will only take a moment princess. And yes, I am going to hurt you.”
Even standing across the room, Draco could see the dagger’s edge gently pierce and drag across the milky white flesh of her exposed chest. Ginny let out a scream of pain, her back arching away from the altar. Her blood immediately began dripping to saturate the white of her shirt. Voldemort grabbed the large vial, and with another wave of his hand, drops of blood began rising from the girl, arching into the air. After a few moments, the blood leaving her body was no longer red, but black.
Another wave and the black drops left the air and began depositing themselves into the vial, one drop at a time.
For a moment, the only sound in the cavernous room was the sobbing of Ginny, and the steady drip, drip, drip of the strange black drops filling the vial. Soon the vial glowed and turned black. Voldemort eyed the now black potion with intensity. He turned away from Ginny, ignoring her cries.
Without explanation, without a word, Voldemort tipped the vial to his lips and downed its contents.
An invisible wind began to swirl around the Dark Lord. A deafening roar filled the room. There was a flash of light, and Draco raised his arms to shield his eyes. And then it was quiet.
Draco lowed his arms. Ginny lay completely still, eyes now closed, unmoving. She was still bleeding though it had slowed. The barely perceptible flutter of her eyelids told him she was alive.
Voldemort was gone. GONE. But there was someone standing where he had stood.
A teenager. Tall. Dark hair. Pale skin. An eerily familiar smile spread across his wicked face.
Draco had to stifle a gasp.
Tom fucking Riddle.
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