Forget

Lucius was buried in the Malfoy family cemetery, along with all his ancestors.The funeral was simple, Draco didn't invite many people.Now they all went back, and Narcissa went back too.She was so sad, as if she would pass out at any moment.The lord cast a small but useful spell on Narcissa, so that she could be sure forever that her husband had died in Azkaban simply because he couldn't bear the attack of the dementors.But it was enough to break her heart.

Draco was soon alone in the cemetery.The sky was slowly getting dark, but he still didn't want to leave.

The Dark Lord fulfilled his promise and bestowed Draco with supreme status and power.When the young Malfoy appeared in front of everyone again, he had already become the closest servant of the Dark Lord.No one knew what happened during this period, only some plausible rumors spread quietly but quickly in the dark corners.Almost everyone has more or less heard of those mysterious, ambiguous, and even somewhat dirty rumors, although they dare not express their speculations.

The young Malfoy quickly became a presence that was hard to ignore.All the Death Eaters were in awe of him, and all the Death Eaters knew clearly that every word this young man said represented the Lord Dark Lord's meaning.Even though they may have dissatisfaction and jealousy, they must be in awe and look up to the youngest heir of Malfoy who was once looked down upon by them.

But everything comes at a price.

Draco stood quietly, his straight back and pale face made him look more like a sculpture.He was wearing the most luxurious cloak, but he still couldn't resist the unforgettable chill.

Like the fire at the Ministry of Magic he'd seen, like the gory deaths he'd seen one after another.Muggles, half-bloods, mudbloods, or Squibs, watching the lives wither before their eyes, twisted and destroyed in the agony of fire or spells.He didn't dare to guess what those people were thinking at the end, but he could see those begging, unwilling or unbelievable eyes looking at him.He knew he should be cheering for it like the other Death Eaters, but he couldn't, he was so sick he wanted to retch.

"It's ridiculous." Draco gently stroked Lucius' tombstone, as if he was talking to the people in the tomb, or talking to himself.Cruel disgust is described in harsh terms. "This artificial mercy is really cheap, isn't it? Standing on the sidelines and watching those damned Mudbloods die, and then pretending to be unacceptable, it seems that the memory is not deep enough, who is the unforgivable person."

Draco let out a long breath.He was almost suffocated by himself.

"I can't always make the right choice. Now I don't even have a choice," Draco said softly.The tombstone stood quietly, without giving any answer.

The Malfoy family's cemetery was built in a remote mountain forest, and there were few people here at ordinary times, and it was even more deserted in the chaotic situation of the war.

Draco felt sorry.Until the end he couldn't say a word to his father.He couldn't quite remember the last time he spoke to Lucius.He couldn't even remember the last time he saw Lucius.In the dark basement of Little Hangleton, he was so panic-stricken that he couldn't see Lucius clearly at all. It was not until the burial that he finally saw clearly what his father looked like now.

Draco had no idea what it was like in Azkaban.But he had seen dementors, and he knew how terrible dementors were.He guessed that if he stayed in Azkaban, he might go crazy immediately.So when he saw the emaciated Lucius clearly, he even imagined all the terrible things his father might encounter, and those imaginations made him feel like a knife was piercing his heart.

But he also felt lucky.Fortunately, the last thing he saw was Lucius in a coma.He didn't dare to imagine what it would have been like if...if Lucius had been sober.He didn't dare to imagine, didn't dare to imagine that if he stood in front of a sober Lucius with a wand, saw Lucius' shock and despair with his own eyes, and then put those gray-blue eyes exactly like his own The light inside was strangled little by little, watching that tall body that had been protecting and protecting him collapse in front of him, what would happen to him.

"I don't know. I don't know." Draco shook his head slightly. "Can you tell me, Father? How am I going to go on living?"

Draco knew the answer.But he just didn't want to admit it.He didn't want to live like this, but he didn't even have the right to die.Everything about him no longer belongs to him.

Draco thought of the Dark Lord's withered fingers scratching his neck again, making the bright red blood seep out slowly, and he thought of the Dark Lord's red pupils because of excitement, all intertwined into an indelible pain.

Draco put his hands on his neck, recalling the location of the wound.He finally understood why he couldn't escape.His bloodline, the most precious gift left to him by his parents, the oldest and noble bloodline envied by all pure-blood families, the bloodline he was once proud of, has become the source of all his suffering.

"Maybe... until the end of the war." Draco raised his eyes, looked at the gray sky, and muttered to himself.He has seen the power of Voldemort, he clearly knows how small his own power is, and now he is not even allowed to have the thought of hatred.All he can do is wait, wait for the end of the war. Draco gave a wry smile.He thought it was downright ridiculous.What could the end of the war he was looking forward to bring him?How could a heinous Death Eater live a good life after the war...

"The end of waiting is death." Draco read the words carefully, shaking his head. "It's ironic."

Draco's eyes narrowed.He heard some unusual sounds.Those small voices seemed to come from afar, but Draco could hear them clearly.He gripped his wand tightly, but didn't move.

No one should come here.But Draco really heard someone's voice, and it wasn't just one person.

who can that be?

Draco thought slowly.

Not Death Eaters.The Dark Lord ordered everyone not to interfere in his affairs, so no one would dare to follow him here secretly.Is it a refugee?But why do refugees come to such a deserted and deserted place?

or……

Draco held his wand, covered almost his entire head and face with the hood, and changed into a more combat-friendly posture.

Or, it was the enemies of the Death Eaters - people from that side.

Draco's guess was quickly confirmed.There were about a dozen or twenty people who came, and they didn't seem to expect that there would be anyone here. They were a little flustered, but quickly calmed down.

A man in a felt hat who looked like a leader pointed his wand at him: "Who are you? Why are you here?"

Draco squinted at them, but there wasn't a single familiar face.He couldn't be sure who these people were, so instead of taking out his wand, he didn't answer what they were saying, but asked, "Who are you?"

"We're from the Ministry of Magic," said the felt hat. "If you're a Death Eater, you'd better surrender. There are so many of us, it's really not good for you."

The corners of Draco's mouth raised slightly, he didn't expect the other party to be so considerate of him.But he still seemed a little confused, and whispered to himself: "Ministry of Magic?"

The felt hat waited for a long time but did not hear an answer, so he gestured slightly to the left and right, and several people understood, picked up their wands and slowly surrounded Draco.

Draco felt those cautious footsteps, and he pursed his lips, but his hand on the wand still paused.

——Can it be done?

Draco adjusted his breathing.

——What can't be done.Now that he has already been stained with blood, what is there to continue to resist?

Draco drew his wand out.

——What's more, how can I live up to such painstaking teachings.

It's just killing.