Harmonia Nectere Passus
Malfoy's Mission
It was after hours in Hogwarts, leaving the hallways unoccupied and silent, with the exception of the seventh floor corridor.
The breeze caught his platinum blonde hair as he marched forward – making the ends against his forehead drift upward. His icy irises set on the end of the passageway. Upon his lips lay a smug smirk, as he thought of the helpful duties he was performing for the Dark Lord – Draco Malfoy.
The vacant, murky corridor seemed to only stretch longer as he hurried onward – his polished, black school shoes gleamed in the pallid moonlight as they clacked against stone floor. The thumping of his heart grew identical to tempo of his rapid paced walking as he grew nearer to his planned destination. He knew not whether his heart raced for the thrill of breaking Hogwarts’ rules or the thought of pleasing the demands of his Dark Lord.
Meters seemed to change to kilometers as he finally arrived at his intended goal – the Room of Hidden Things. However, his heart only started to speed up when he faced the wall. Despite his nerves, he inhaled deeply and calmly brought his eyelids together. Deep within the contents of his mind, he desperately pleaded the wall to transform into exactly what the Dark Lord had told him. Adrenaline and anxiety coursed through the plasma of his blood when he opened his eyes to be greeted by a large, wooden door, which he pushed though and entered.
Moonlight bounced off a variety of the scattered objects – casting eerie shadows upon the stone wall. However, Draco was far from concerned with the shadows lurking upon the wall. He hastily made his way directly to a large, covered object, in which he ripped a dusty cloth from to reveal a bulky, odd-shaped cabinet. He eyed it up with a satisfied grin; alas, he finally found Borgin and Burkes Vanishing Cabinet’s twin. His slender fingers grazed the handle to the door and twisted it. The door opened slowly to expose only an empty space. Promptly, he examined the objects cluttered around him and placed his grasp upon a necklace. Then, he positioned it on the bottom surface of the cabinet and gently closed the door.
“Harmonia Nectere Passus,” he whispered in his soft, tenor voice as he tapped the wand upon the aged door.
Draco waited a few moments before opening the door, hopeful… nothing. The necklace still lay untouched. Again, he shut the door – hoping it was a fluke.
“Harmonia Nectere Passus,” he whispered a bit more forcefully this time.
Nothing.
“Harmonia Nectere Passus.” A hint of desperation mixed in his voice.
Once more, nothing.
His lips began to tremble as he shut the door again. He placed his forehead and fists against the door, the wand no longer in correct position to preform his demand,
“Harmonia Nectere Passus.”
However, it did not work. He turned around and rested his back against the closed cabinet. Draco’s face warped in the struggle to prevent a sob from erupting through his throat and to keep his welling eyes from draining. His back slide down the cabinet until he was sitting upon the stone floor – his legs sprawled out in front of himself.
“It’s up to you Draco,” the Dark Lord spat through his rotting teeth. “Your parents’ lives are cradled within your hands. If you fail, you will be wearing their blood upon these very hands.”
A sob hiccupped in his throat as the tears finally rolled down his pale, bony cheeks – the wet trails down his cheeks glistened in the gloomy lighting. Gradually, his sobs became more uncontrollable and his tears dripping more frequently.
Suddenly, his sobs were replaced with screams as he grasped at his left wrist. The inside forearm was on fire – burning and ripping upon his tender skin. He mustered the energy, as he lie on the cold, stone floor, to push up his uniform sleeve. His skin inflamed and raw revealed a faint etching of an image on the underside of forearm. It was a figure vaguely familiar to him – the Dark Mark.
“Control, Draco,” a certain monotone voice approached from the abyss beyond him – Snape.
“Rolling around on the floor like a child was not the Dark Lord’s intent for you.” His voice was growing closer.
“I don’t need your help,” Draco gasped from pain. “I don’t need anyone’s help.”
“Naïve like a child, as well,” Snape spoke aloud.
Draco progressively rose to his feet – favoring his left arm the whole way up.
“The Dark Lord wants me to do it,” Draco declared through gritted teeth. “Not you, not my father, just me.”
Snape swiftly moved towards Draco, making sure to grasp the collar of his shirt. He eyed the young boy’s fearful expression before speaking,
“Dry your eyes before you do it, then. You look rather pathetic.”
He then pushed away from him, but before disappearing into the depths of the endless room, Draco barked,
"How did you know I was here?"
However, Snape carried onward, his cape swaying with each step, leaving Draco trembling – pressured, frightened, and forlorn.
The breeze caught his platinum blonde hair as he marched forward – making the ends against his forehead drift upward. His icy irises set on the end of the passageway. Upon his lips lay a smug smirk, as he thought of the helpful duties he was performing for the Dark Lord – Draco Malfoy.
The vacant, murky corridor seemed to only stretch longer as he hurried onward – his polished, black school shoes gleamed in the pallid moonlight as they clacked against stone floor. The thumping of his heart grew identical to tempo of his rapid paced walking as he grew nearer to his planned destination. He knew not whether his heart raced for the thrill of breaking Hogwarts’ rules or the thought of pleasing the demands of his Dark Lord.
Meters seemed to change to kilometers as he finally arrived at his intended goal – the Room of Hidden Things. However, his heart only started to speed up when he faced the wall. Despite his nerves, he inhaled deeply and calmly brought his eyelids together. Deep within the contents of his mind, he desperately pleaded the wall to transform into exactly what the Dark Lord had told him. Adrenaline and anxiety coursed through the plasma of his blood when he opened his eyes to be greeted by a large, wooden door, which he pushed though and entered.
Moonlight bounced off a variety of the scattered objects – casting eerie shadows upon the stone wall. However, Draco was far from concerned with the shadows lurking upon the wall. He hastily made his way directly to a large, covered object, in which he ripped a dusty cloth from to reveal a bulky, odd-shaped cabinet. He eyed it up with a satisfied grin; alas, he finally found Borgin and Burkes Vanishing Cabinet’s twin. His slender fingers grazed the handle to the door and twisted it. The door opened slowly to expose only an empty space. Promptly, he examined the objects cluttered around him and placed his grasp upon a necklace. Then, he positioned it on the bottom surface of the cabinet and gently closed the door.
“Harmonia Nectere Passus,” he whispered in his soft, tenor voice as he tapped the wand upon the aged door.
Draco waited a few moments before opening the door, hopeful… nothing. The necklace still lay untouched. Again, he shut the door – hoping it was a fluke.
“Harmonia Nectere Passus,” he whispered a bit more forcefully this time.
Nothing.
“Harmonia Nectere Passus.” A hint of desperation mixed in his voice.
Once more, nothing.
His lips began to tremble as he shut the door again. He placed his forehead and fists against the door, the wand no longer in correct position to preform his demand,
“Harmonia Nectere Passus.”
However, it did not work. He turned around and rested his back against the closed cabinet. Draco’s face warped in the struggle to prevent a sob from erupting through his throat and to keep his welling eyes from draining. His back slide down the cabinet until he was sitting upon the stone floor – his legs sprawled out in front of himself.
“It’s up to you Draco,” the Dark Lord spat through his rotting teeth. “Your parents’ lives are cradled within your hands. If you fail, you will be wearing their blood upon these very hands.”
A sob hiccupped in his throat as the tears finally rolled down his pale, bony cheeks – the wet trails down his cheeks glistened in the gloomy lighting. Gradually, his sobs became more uncontrollable and his tears dripping more frequently.
Suddenly, his sobs were replaced with screams as he grasped at his left wrist. The inside forearm was on fire – burning and ripping upon his tender skin. He mustered the energy, as he lie on the cold, stone floor, to push up his uniform sleeve. His skin inflamed and raw revealed a faint etching of an image on the underside of forearm. It was a figure vaguely familiar to him – the Dark Mark.
“Control, Draco,” a certain monotone voice approached from the abyss beyond him – Snape.
“Rolling around on the floor like a child was not the Dark Lord’s intent for you.” His voice was growing closer.
“I don’t need your help,” Draco gasped from pain. “I don’t need anyone’s help.”
“Naïve like a child, as well,” Snape spoke aloud.
Draco progressively rose to his feet – favoring his left arm the whole way up.
“The Dark Lord wants me to do it,” Draco declared through gritted teeth. “Not you, not my father, just me.”
Snape swiftly moved towards Draco, making sure to grasp the collar of his shirt. He eyed the young boy’s fearful expression before speaking,
“Dry your eyes before you do it, then. You look rather pathetic.”
He then pushed away from him, but before disappearing into the depths of the endless room, Draco barked,
"How did you know I was here?"
However, Snape carried onward, his cape swaying with each step, leaving Draco trembling – pressured, frightened, and forlorn.