Milk_Is_My_Drug
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Chapter 50: Shadow Of The Dark Lord
🕑 Added 2025-04-03 22:52:24 +0000 UTCThe Malfoy family stood on the lush grounds of the Quidditch World Cup stadium, the air buzzing with excitement and the roar of the crowd echoing in the distance. Draco, dressed in his finest clothes, looked at Dante with a tired expression. "This is the 442nd Quidditch World Cup," he said, gesturing toward the towering stadium. "Why not enjoy it for once?"
Dante, his silver eyes dull and unfocused, turned his head slightly toward his brother. "If you have time to enjoy this silly game, maybe you should put that effort into your studies. That Granger girl took your place last year as the top student of your year. Pathetic, really."
Draco rolled his eyes, his cheeks flushing with irritation. "She's just a bookworm. I’m much better at charms and dueling than her."
Dante shook his head, his tone calm but cutting. "You’re better because you can practice in the summer without the Ministry coming to your home, unlike her. Don’t mistake privilege for skill."
Draco’s annoyance flared, but then a thought struck him. He narrowed his eyes and asked, "How do you avoid Ministry detection for years? I’ve always wondered."
Dante raised a brow, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Now you ask this? Don’t you think it’s a bit late? I use an advanced Obscuration spell to hide my magical activity. But it’s far too advanced for you to learn right now."
Draco sighed, his shoulders slumping. Sometimes, the gap between him and his brother felt insurmountable. Dante, even as a first-year, could perform seventh-year magic flawlessly. Meanwhile, Draco, about to enter his fourth year, could barely manage sixth-year spells. The difference was frustrating.
Lucius, who had been quietly listening to the conversation, allowed himself a small smile. Draco was a talented wizard, skilled for his age, and for that, Lucius was proud. But Dante? Lucius couldn’t help but find it amusing. If their ancient and powerful ancestor were to compete with children, it would be a joke—an amusing one.
Lucius glanced at his pocket watch and cleared his throat. "It’s about time for the finals. Let’s go."
Draco perked up immediately, his excitement returning as he strode toward the stadium. Dante followed, his expression indifferent. In truth, he was only tagging along to pass the time while a potion he was brewing completed its process. The potion would need to sit in the cauldron for days, so he had little else to do in the meantime.
The trio entered the stadium through the VIP entrance, which happened to be near where the commoners entered. By sheer coincidence, they ran into the Weasley family, along with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.
The moment Lucius saw Arthur, he couldn’t resist a jab. In a loud, carrying voice, he said, "Let’s put it this way, Arthur—the moment it rains, you’ll be the first to know." The insult was clear: the commoners had no ceiling over their seats, while the VIPs enjoyed luxury. It was a pointed reminder of the Weasleys’ poverty.
Draco smirked mockingly at the group, clearly enjoying his father’s dig. Dante, however, barely glanced at them before continuing to walk, uninterested in the petty exchange. Arthur, red-faced but dignified, turned away without a word, leading his family and friends in the opposite direction.
Inside the stadium, the Malfoys settled into their private viewing room. Draco stood by the window, eagerly watching the players warm up on the field. Dante and Lucius sat calmly in their seats, their expressions unreadable.
Midway through the match, Lucius’s face suddenly changed. He placed a hand on his forearm, his brow furrowing. Dante noticed the movement immediately. "What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice low.
Lucius leaned closer and whispered, "The Dark Lord’s mark... it’s active."
Draco turned around, sensing the shift in the room. "What’s going on?" he asked, his excitement fading.
Dante looked at his brother, his tone matter-of-fact. "It seems Voldemort is up to something. Perhaps he’s planning his return."
Draco’s jaw clenched at the mention of the Dark Lord’s name, while Lucius frowned. "Why did you tell him?" Lucius asked.
Dante shrugged. "He knows Voldemort is alive. There’s no harm in being honest."
Lucius sighed but didn’t argue further. Dante turned to his father. "Is he summoning you?"
Lucius shook his head. "No. It’s more of a reminder that he’s still out there."
Dante nodded. "When he does call you, let me know. I have a bone to pick with that fool."
Draco gasped, his eyes widening. Lucius raised a brow but said nothing. Dante looked at Draco, his expression serious. "This stays between us. Understood?"
Draco nodded quickly, though his mind was racing.
Later that night, after the match had ended and the Malfoys were preparing to leave, the Dark Mark appeared in the sky, casting an eerie green glow over the campgrounds. Chaos erupted as screams filled the air.
Dante glanced at his father. "Still no summon?"
Lucius shook his head. "No."
"Then it has nothing to do with us," Dante said simply, turning away from the commotion.
The trio returned to Malfoy Manor the next morning, where Draco announced his intention to visit Diagon Alley tomorrow for school supplies. Dante, meanwhile, headed straight to his workshop to check on his potion. He stood before the cauldron, waving his wand to assess its progress by reflecting magic on the surface. Though blind, he could sense the potion’s state with precision.
A small smile crossed his face. "A few more hours," he murmured to himself.
As he left the workshop, he ran into Lucius, who had been waiting for him. "I have some news," Lucius waved a letter before continuing "They’re resuming the Triwizard Tournament this year. I was wondering if you’d consider participating."
Dante raised a brow. "Why?"
Lucius smirked. "It would add to our family’s reputation. And let’s be honest—it’s not like it would be difficult or time-consuming for you. Enter, play a few rounds, win, and leave. Simple."
Dante considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Fine."
Their family didn’t need more reputation, Lucius probably wanted something to brag about but Dante didn’t mind that, doing small favors for his father from time to time isn’t a bad thing and the last time Lucius asked for something was to enter Slytherin a few years ago.
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A few months earlier, in the cozy yet cluttered Burrow, the Weasley family’s pet rat, Scabbers, sat quietly in his cage. The house was alive with celebration after a year of depression, the little girl Ginny is now back and healthy. Scabbers, however, was undisturbed by their happiness, he was nibbling on the scraps of food the family tossed his way. He had grown accustomed to this life, as monotonous and degrading as it was. It was better than the alternative, he supposed.
But then, one evening, everything changed.
Arthur Weasley was quietly talking with his wife if they should let their children know about Sirius Black death and it was better than letting the Malfoy do it, his wife was hesitant and said they might stay silent.
Scabbers, sitting in his cage, froze. His tiny heart raced, and his beady eyes widened in shock. Sirius... dead? The name brought a flood of memories—some fond, most bitter. Sirius had been his friend once, long ago. But that friendship had ended in betrayal, blood, and a lifetime of regret. Scabbers—no, Peter Pettigrew—felt a pang of sadness for the man he had once called a brother. But that sadness was quickly overshadowed by something else: relief.
Sirius had been the last loose thread, the one person who could expose him for who he truly was. With Sirius gone, Peter’s secret was safe. But if he appeared now, who would believe him? After 13 years, it will be suspicious.
Days passed, and Peter’s mind churned with anxiety. He had been stuck as a rat for thirteen years now, living off scraps and hiding in the shadows. Just the other day, he had overheard the Weasleys wondering aloud how long their pet rat would live. The question had sent a chill down his spine. How much longer could he keep this up? But where could he go? The Death Eaters wanted him dead for betraying Voldemort. The Ministry and the rest of the wizarding world would kill him if they discovered he was alive, let alone that he had framed Sirius for his own crimes. Running away seemed like the only option, but the thought terrified him. What if someone recognized him? What if he was caught? The risk was too great.
Yet, staying with the Weasleys indefinitely is not viable. He couldn’t keep living like this. After days of deliberation, Peter finally made a decision. There was only one person who might spare him, only one person who could give him a chance to live as a human again. It was a dangerous gamble, but he had no other choice. He would seek out his master—the Dark Lord.
The thought filled him with dread, but also a flicker of hope. If he could prove his loyalty, if he could offer something of value, perhaps Voldemort would forgive him. Perhaps he would be allowed to live, not as a rat, but as a man.
That night, as the Weasleys slept, Peter Pettigrew transformed back into his human form for the first time in years. His body was weak, his hair thin and greasy.
He crept out of the Burrow, his heart pounding with every step. Peter hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the house that had been his prison—and his refuge—for so long. Then, with a deep breath, he apparated.
