Chapter Text
He watched her devour a fully grown, burly man – from head to toe – in less than a minute. Even in the complete darkness of the dungeons beneath the Manor, he could still make out the silhouette of the dead man slowly getting engulfed by her. From somewhere in the outside world, thunder roared so loudly, it shook the very walls and furniture around them as the rain itself managed to invade through cracks on the walls, dripping down onto his head in a pattern that drove him insane.
And yet, he couldn't move away from his spot, as he was petrified by raw fear – watching the death of an innocent man.
She hissed when she was done and her mouth still clung open as she snapped her jaw back in place with a menacing stare right at him in a way that told him that she wanted more food. She was always so bloody hungry – She was always demanding more and more prey, with her hunger forever unquenched.
From the other side of the room, he heard a wry laugh, followed by someone praising the snake for finishing up her dinner so quickly – and that she deserved a bit of dessert. He gulped in fear when she kept on staring at him, with her tongue darting in and out as if tasting the air. Her master gave her a sharp command, his crimson red eyes meeting the other's silvery greys. And then he knew for sure.
Draco Malfoy was going to die.
It was his turn to be eaten by that stupid, god-awful giant snake that kept on preying on everything and anything that moved.
He bolted away with a sudden willpower to escape. Nagini pursued, with an agility far being what one could expect of such a large opportunistic predator, quickly gaining on him. It was as if his legs felt boneless and heavy even as he ran for his bloody life.
Merlin! Was this going to be his end?
He ascended the endless spiral staircases and crossed all the hidden passageways and shortcuts he knew by heart, hoping beyond hope that he could somehow escape from Nagini. But as he made a sharp turn around the corner, he saw his mother standing there crying and pleading to be saved by him –
Bloody hell, what was she doing at the Manor? She shouldn't be there at all! She shouldn’t ever be anywhere near those monsters!
Nagini caught up to him with a powerful bellow, with her eyes now dangerously trained on the sobbing woman at the centre of the room. Narcissa screamed in fear as the snake turned to lunge at her. Draco shouted in anger, cursing Tom Riddle for making his life so fucking miserable.
— — —
And then he woke up.
Breathless, drenched in cold sweat and absolutely terrified. He looked around his room, sitting up from his four-poster bed and silken sheets with a startled jump, crouching down and casting a wandless Lumos just to certify himself that the blasted snake wasn't prowling underneath his bed, but ultimately he sighed a breath of relief when he noticed that nothing inside his room was amiss. It had all been yet another dream (as much as the snake and her horrid little Master were still very much real).
An awful, sickening dream that left him trembling on his feet – but a dream all the same. Well… More like a nightmare. But it was all a matter of semantics at this point.
He wiped the cold sweat from his brow, glassy eyes slowly focusing on the sky visible from his window – still dark and cloudy, as a storm poured relentlessly outside. A flash of lightning illuminated the empty fields and Malfoy was thankful for all the magical charms the Manor had in its walls to keep all the rooms comfortably warm and dry (unlike in his dream).
With a grunt, he cast a Tempus Charm to see if he could afford to try to fall back asleep, only to find out he was terribly late for breakfast already.
“Bloody Hell!” He ran off to his clothes chest and picked up the first pieces he could get his hands on. There was barely any time for him to make his ablutions and put on a more elaborate outfit – breeches and a loose shirt would have to do.
Draco made his way to the dining call at a quickened pace, with thousands of curses under his breath about how the Malfoy Estate was too buggering vast – If only there weren't so many stupid charms set all over the place that stopped him from simply Apparating to where he needed to be! Surely he would try to change the wards as soon as he was done with breakfast – if he survived the whole ordeal, that is. Despite his bitter curses, he did manage to reach his in less than ten minutes (a personal record, if he ever were to take notice).
Unsurprisingly, he saw that all of the other habitants of the Manor were already there, enjoying their meal in a stilted silence and pretending that everything was just as it should be.
His mother watched him from the corner of her eye, sitting perfectly still and straight as if she were a marble statue, while her sister flaunted herself over the table, clutching at the porcelain bowl of honeyed strawberries the elves had picked earlier. Severus was sitting opposite to Bellatrix, trying his hardest not to stare at the demented woman’s cleavage, as he drained his tea from the teacup.
His father was absent – just like he had been for the last few weeks – claiming to be too sickly to join them at the meals, according to his mother. It was hard to tell what was really happening to him, since Draco had been barred from visiting his room ever since he became ‘ill’.
But deep down, he knew that Lucius was just making an excuse to avoid making his way down to the dining room because he was too bloody scared to partake in any meals.
Scared of the man sitting right at the end of the table.
“Draco! So good to see you finally decided to join us,” Tom Riddle – or better yet, Lord Riddle, as he so desired to be called – drawled, stabbing his poached eggs with a fork without as much grace as a boar as he tilted his head to the side. "What took you so long?"
His sunken cheeks pulled to a toothy smirk as he adjusted the ridiculous silver coronet that dangled to the side of his head, on top of his oily black hair. His hands now had two rings for each spindly finger and it didn't take Draco long to figure out the git probably had another trip to the local vaults to steal more of the local nobles' jewellery just for the sake of feeling more like a Baron and less like the peasant that he truly was.
Pathetic.
Tom Riddle was a nobody – a lowly, no-name, half-blood, orphaned peasant kid that thought he could just dress up as a man of higher status and demand the world to bend before him. His hands balled into fists and his jaw clenched tightly, trying not to snap at the smug man at the end of the table.
To think that Draco would have to bow and explain himself to someone like him was beyond infuriating.
Infuriating... But necessary.
The other wizard kept staring at him with a look that almost resembled a hungry wolf eyeing up a defenceless lamb. His hand moved to hover over the yew wood of his wand – a wretched thing that had taken so many lives already.
Riddle had enough magical power and no ethical restraint or sanity at all to kill Draco (and more importantly, his mother. And the rest of his family and friends as well) without a second thought.
Everyone from the magical community knew what had happened to the Potters, the Longbottoms and so many other smaller, but once respected families. Nobody wished to see something similar happening to one more Pureblood line – least of all with a family as old and pure as the Malfoys.
The need for survival was the only reason Lucius Malfoy had allowed this peasant to occupy the Manor – letting him pretend to be a Lord, dressing up in fine silk and heavy jewellery, flexing his power over the real occupants of the Estate with talks of control over the lands and the desire to build an army to obey his every wish.
"Forgive me, my Lord,” it pained Draco to address him that way. As if his throat threatened to collapse with each letter he pronounced. "But it seems like I've slept in... Had a late night, that was all."
"I see," Riddle's red eyes were aimed right at his, as he pried his mind with an intrusive spell that often resulted in a terrible headache afterwards – The bloody fool didn't trust him, and was probably trying to look for any signs of betrayal for simply having slept a little too late.
But what the faux Lord didn't know was that Draco was a skilled Occlumens, and he easily implanted an older memory for him to witness – a rather crude imagery of him stark naked and shagging the Parkinson heiress senseless against a bookshelf in the Manor’s library. To add to the dramatics, he made sure to heighten the screams and moans she used to make every time they fooled around together.
There. Maybe now Riddle ought to be embarrassed enough not to try and read his mind ever again.
"Interesting." He merely grinned, looking completely unbothered by the graphic imagery. It was almost as if he was happy to see such a thing.
Bloody hell, nothing ever got into his nerves, did it?
Without a word, he settled at the table, putting fresh jam into his bread and adding milk and honey to his tea. He would have enjoyed some bacon, if that hideous snake-monster hadn't eaten all the pork left in the pantry already.
"Can I be of your service today, my Lord?" He asked just because he knew that if he didn't he would be Crucio'ed almost to the point of insanity, just like his father had been. Still, the words burned on his tongue.
“Yes, my child.”
A feeling of anger threatened to spill out from him, and he was sure a vein was popping out of his neck from all the pent-up stress he had been through. The git didn’t even look a day older than him and he was there calling him a child as if he was some sort of wise old man – Granted, with magic, he could be over a hundred and Draco would be none the wiser.
That didn’t stop it from sounding so fucking pretentious though.
“I want to talk to you after breakfast. Meet me in the dungeons when you are done,” Riddle continued with a hissing tone similar to a snake. His plate had been barely touched as it still brimmed with eggs, ham, pork and probably peacock meat to boot. But that didn’t stop him from getting up from his seat with a loud screech of the chair. “This is a private matter. I have a very important task for you. So make sure to be alone when you do.”
Gods, he hated going down to the dungeons.
Ever since this monster had encroached upon his home, the undergrounds had become his favourite place to murder and torture several people – muggles, witches, wizards, half-beasts and everything in between.
“I understand, my Lord,” he nodded anyway, shooting a subtle look to Severus, who shared a concerned frown with his mother. Suddenly, he heard the loud hiss of Nagini echoing around the dining room as Riddle’s pet slithered from underneath the table (drat, had she always been there?) with blood dripping from her snout as she went on to follow her master down to the dungeons.
Bellatrix also removed herself from her seat with a giggle, in a blatant show that she wished to be as close to the black-haired man as possible (a laughable effort, if Draco had ever seen one).
He returned to his breakfast, munching on his jammed bread and he could almost forget that his life was so miserable now except – Something caught his eye.
Lord Riddle, though he tried to hide it with his black, heavy brocade robes, was limping. And his pale, bony hands were giving him support as he held himself against the walls, walking slowly out of the dining room with his fruitless efforts of trying to keep himself straight.
An interesting thing to see, especially considering that the arrogant wizard often bragged about being immortal and invulnerable.
“I should be going. I need to check on your father,” Narcissa sighed, with her blue eyes filled with worry. She dabbed a napkin to her lips in the aristocratic way she was accustomed to act, but she soon approached him to squeeze a hand on his shoulder, as she whispered to his ear. “Promise me you’ll be careful, Draco. Whatever he asks of you, do it.”
Right. Easier said than done.
“I’ll try,” he answered with a mutter, watching his mother turn away, back to her private quarters. And only after he was sure the others were all gone, did he turn to his godfather, in an uneasy whisper. "Do you have any idea what Riddle wants of me?"
"Not at all," he pursed his lips. "All I know is that he was furious this morning. The House Elves were gossiping about him being sick – and well, you’ve seen him, haven’t you? He seems weaker this morning, somehow."
"Sick? Does he have the plague?"
"A man like him wouldn't be able to catch a simple muggle ailment just like that. It must be something else."
“And you think this sickness is connected with whatever task he wants me to do?”
He paused to glare at the younger wizard, in a way that reminded him of the old days of the potions lessons he used to teach him as his tutor. “Speculation is dangerous these days, Draco. If you want to know what he wants, you should ask him directly.”
“I don’t want to end up like my father, Severus.”
“Then you better do what he asks you to do.”
— — —
As he descended the cold steps down to the dungeons, Draco felt more like a pig going to slaughter rather than a man going to meet his... Master.
The air grew colder around him as darkness took over, and the smell of metal almost made him gag. There were sounds of hissing, grunting and crying that he could only assume were from Nagini, Riddle and – someone else.
Now, why did this bloody psychopath insist on tormenting the people he killed, when there were so many simple, quick and painless killing spells out there?
Keep questioning his methods and you’ll be the next one to find out.
He was finally at the bottom of the steps, now standing right in front of the heavy oak door that separated the dungeons from the rest of the Manor, and though it was so dark he couldn't barely see anything, he refrained from casting a Lumos. Not only would the other wizard punish him for disrupting the darkness, Draco himself didn't wish to see what in hell was happening down there anyway
He heard him laugh as the other man – a muggle, most likely – cried out for help and mercy one last time before everything settled into an eerie and deafening silence.
“You wanted to see me, my Lord?” Draco greeted after he was sure that no more cries could be heard. He was unlucky to have waited long enough for his eyes to adjust to the dark, and he could see a rather plump man sprawled on the floor, lifeless and yet with his glassy eyes wide open.
He laid on a pool of blood, with that blasted snake now wrapping around him to finish what her Master had started (just like in his nightmare, he noticed).
Gods – he felt sick.
“Don’t look at him like that, my child,” Riddle sighed in a dangerous display of disappointment, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “This man was a muggle. He and his kind would have hung you the very second they suspected you to be a wizard.”
Draco knew that. Just like he knew that if they were in the mainland, he would have been burned alive in a pyre. Still, this man killed villagers almost on a daily basis since he had arrived a little over six months ago and Draco – and his mother – was growing weary of finding bloodstains all around the Estate.
“Of course, sir,” he pursed his lips. “I care little about what you do to the muggles… It’s just that with so many deaths, the muggles might suspect us, don’t you agree?”
“And are you afraid of a couple of angry mud-bloods?” His eyes looked as if they were glowing. Riddle flashed him a crooked smile, yellow teeth clearly visible even in the darkness.
“No, my Lord. But I do appreciate my peace and quiet.”
He seemed to enjoy his poor attempt at a joke, as he heard him huff out a breathy laugh, with his hands patting his back as if they were long-lost friends. “You’ll have your peace soon, my child. But first, you must do what I ask of you.”
“And what do you require of me, sir?” He asked as he saw him moving, taking some dark clothing out of a basket laid right beside the dead man and handing it to Draco. He felt the thick texture of the linen, trying to figure out what he was holding, to no avail.
“Have you ever thought about becoming a Catholic priest?”
A very strange question to ask a pureblood wizard, given the circumstances.
“Not at all.”
“What a shame, considering you’re about to become one.”
What the fuck was that supposed to e mean?
A storm of curses and angry rebuttals flashed on his mind, as he stared silently at the shorter man that kept on grinning like a god-damn kid on Yule. Gods, Draco was so much more thankful for his Occlumency.
“May I ask why, my Lord?”
His expression grew sombre now, and even Nagini herself hissed a little louder as the air around the room felt even more stifling. “Can you keep a secret, Draco? Can you swear on your mother’s life?”
As if he had any other option. “Yes, sir.”
“Someone is trying to kill me,” he started after a dramatic pause. “And though I am immortal – whoever wants my demise has definitely discovered a secret of mine that could lead to my death, should I do nothing about it.”
That sounded like heaven.
“And I want you to find out who’s trying to kill me, my child.”
“By becoming a priest?” He unfolded the clothes he had been given, a faint memory of his muggle-studies tutor once telling him about cassocks, pellegrina and other robes that the muggle religious figures favoured to wear.
“I have reasons to believe that the people plotting my murder are currently spying on me. There must be at least one of them down the village and you are going to discover them. A priest, my child, will listen to plenty of secrets in his life through confessions of guilty souls. Use that to your advantage.”
That was a very flawed plan, and it made very little sense if he thought about it for more than five seconds. But then again, what else could he possibly expect from someone that wasn’t even a real noble, acting as a wannabe Dark lord?
He rummaged through the basket some more, producing several glass vials with silvery wisps flowing inside them – memories to be viewed on a Pensieve. Of the deceased muggle, most likely.
“He was the old priest,” Riddle explained, pointing to the corpse with a disdainful grin on his lips. “Tomorrow morning you’ll be down at the church as the new arrival, while Father Wilson here has ‘retired’. Use his memories to learn how you should act, but don’t let yourself get distracted – I will not accept failure or a shoddy job on your part. Do you understand, Draco?”
“Perfectly, my Lord,” he muttered in between clenched teeth. No promises or rewards of any kind, just a lowkey threat to harm him and/or his mother – that he knew he could carry out within a heartbeat. He grabbed the vials, making note to review them the following morning on the family’s Pensieve.
However, more interesting than the barmy plan of sniffing out possible murderers was the fact that someone was out there to get the man himself. Maybe he shouldn’t get his hopes up. If he were to join forces with whatever person or group that tried to bring Riddle down, he might end up being enslaved by an even more dangerous wizard or witch.
With a final nod, Draco turned back to the steps so he could rejoin his mother – and maybe try to sleep some more. But just as he began to climb back up, he heard a hiss from Nagini and a demand from Riddle for him to turn around.
"Oh and Draco. One more thing," he stepped forward with his wand out. "Give me your left arm."
It sounded ominous. But he didn’t have a choice.
He didn't dare to ask why, as he simply felt his wrist being grabbed and pulled towards the other man, followed by the sensation of his wand digging into his flesh – so deeply, he could’ve sworn it broke the skin. Then there was a horrible burning sensation as the other wizard muttered out an unfamiliar incantation so powerful even his voice sounded strained as if in pain.
And though it was completely dark down at the dungeons, he could see the shape of a black snake wrapped around a skull contrasting his pale skin, crawling upwards and hissing as it spanned its way from his wrist to his elbow.
Merlin, he fucking hated snakes.
"There. Now you are truly my servant," Riddle smirked, wiping the sweat off his brow as if he had done a grand effort. Maybe he did – it was impossible to say for sure when it came to him.
"Always, my Lord." Draco Malfoy lied.