Chapter 7

                                    

                                          
TW: Suicide
Draco
The holidays meant little to me beyond a temporary escape from the monotonous routine of school. My parents had insisted I come home, as usual, but this year there was something different—a tension that crackled in the air, unspoken but palpable. They told me we were attending a Christmas ball, but they were frustratingly vague about the details. All they would say was that it was being hosted by an "old friend," and that we were expected to attend. That should have been enough to spark my curiosity, but the truth was, I didn't care. Balls were nothing more than tedious obligations, filled with people pretending to be something they weren't. But this one felt different, like something was being kept from me.
When the day of the ball finally arrived, the chill in the air matched the feeling in my gut. We Apparated to the location, and the moment we arrived, I felt the weight of the place. The manor was cold, not just in temperature, but in its very essence. There was a sinister quality to it, an evil that seemed to seep from the walls and wrap around you like a suffocating fog. I took in the towering, dark walls and the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows, and I couldn't shake the feeling that we were walking into something dangerous.
My mother, always composed, showed no sign of discomfort, but my father's face was harder to read. He gave nothing away, his expression as cold and indifferent as the manor itself. We entered the grand hall, and I immediately noticed the familiar faces—Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott—all of them looking just as uneasy as I felt. The room buzzed with low murmurs as everyone tried to figure out where we were and why we were here, but no one seemed to have any answers.
I spotted Blaise standing near the refreshments, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a tight frown. I made my way over to him, needing to voice the questions that were gnawing at me.
"Do you know whose party this is?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even, though the unease was clear.
Blaise shook his head, irritation flashing in his eyes. "No idea. My parents are being annoyingly tight-lipped about it."
Theo joined us, his expression grim. "Same here. It's like they're deliberately keeping us in the dark."
We exchanged uneasy glances, the usual banter between us replaced by a shared sense of foreboding. The grand hall, with its towering ceilings and oppressive decor, seemed to close in on us, the air growing thicker with each passing moment.
Then, as if on cue, a loud bell rang through the hall, cutting through the murmurs and bringing everything to a sudden halt. The sound echoed off the walls, sending a shiver down my spine. The crowd turned as one, eyes drawn to the grand staircase at the far end of the room. The heavy brass doors at the top began to creak open, and the silence that followed was almost suffocating.
That's when I saw him—Voldemort. He stood at the top of the stairs, his presence commanding and terrifying. The room seemed to grow darker, the very air growing colder in his presence. My breath caught in my throat as the realization hit me like a ton of bricks. This wasn't just any Christmas ball. This was a gathering of Death Eaters, and we were in the presence of the Dark Lord himself.
Voldemort began to speak, his voice cold and smooth, filled with a terrifying authority that made my blood run cold. "Today is a very special day," he said, his red eyes sweeping over the crowd. "It marks two years since my return, two years since I reclaimed my power. And today, I welcome you all to celebrate this momentous occasion."
His voice was like a serpent's hiss, each word dripping with malice. I forced myself to remain still, to keep my expression neutral, though every instinct screamed at me to run, to get as far away from this place as possible.