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Malfoy whimpers as he begs his audacity forgiven, kneeling on the dirty floor and kissing black boots, shiny absolution taunting.
They break his nose in cruel laughter, echoing and spiralling down on him, dooming him.
A smirk, His teeth flashing sharp and dangerous, His eyes searing green, the colour of his fate.
People had high hopes in Harry Potter. They prophesied Great Things, Miracles, a Saviour to protect them. He was to bring eternal light.
He did, at first. His name was praised and worshipped, His scar imitated, His words revered gospel.
Nowadays, no one dares speak His name. There is no light, no laughter or hope for the people who followed Harry Potter.
Great Things, they said; they forgot that dark things can be great, too. They remember now, as they pay for their Miracle.
“Six months he wanted you! Trying to steal you from me, that desperate fool.” Harry doesn’t suffer fools, not anymore. The world is His to do with as He pleases.
“You did promise those when you kidnapped me, love.” Draco smiles, mocking over his crumpled father, his plea denied.
“I lied, I’m never letting you go.”