Intense Amount of Pain and Love

Draco Malfoy strolled through the corridors of Riddle Manor- the manor Lord Voldemort had created after he won the war.

Draco was deep in thought as he walked and soon found himself at the doors to the dungeons, where Voldemort had kept some prisoners. The war, as Draco remembered it had been terrible and very gruesome. Draco remembered watching as his father killed some of Draco's fellow classmates or teachers. He watched as his Lord killed Albus Dumbledore. He watched as the great Harry Potter forced his best friends- Ronald Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger- to run from the war and leave him. He remembered seeing the girls cry and refuse to leave Harry, but the redheaded Weasley pulled them away, following Potter's orders. He remembered thinking that he should have taken off after them and killed them but had found his legs to be frozen in place.

Then, Potter had turned to face Voldemort, and the Lord had said the two words Draco had been hearing all night. There was a flash of green and then Potter fell to the ground, stiff as a board. That night had traumatized him forever.

Draco opened the doors to the dungeons almost absent-mindedly and walked past the hundreds of cells. He saw some of his classmates from school- mostly Gryffindors, of course the two Weasleys and Granger had gotten away from the deatheaters and were currently in hiding much to the Lord's dismay.

Lavender Brown, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas stared at him as he walked by. They normally would have glared at him, but were too weak to do so. He stood looking at them. Brown's ribs were sticking out clearly through her tattered blouse. Thomas and Finnigan had scraggly beards and were as skinny as Brown.

Draco looked in at them for a few more minutes, and then continued walking. The wizarding world was in ruins. Ever since Voldemort won, everything had gone up in flames. And Draco wasn't scared to admit that it was all because of Voldemort.

Sometimes, Draco wondered where the three missing parts of the famous trio went off to. He felt it was his fault they got away, but that didn't really faze him. He was sort of glad they got away. It was weird that he didn't hate them like he should, but he knew things would have been much better if they had of won the war instead of Voldemort. Now, with the Lord in charge, wizards and witches were starving, they couldn't use their magic for anything or there would be deatheaters attacking them. Voldemort had magic traces everywhere. He had taken over the Ministry and Hogwarts. He had control of everything. Just like he'd always wanted.

Draco thought things would be good when Voldemort won, but things were just out of control. Things really were horrible. But Draco didn't know what to do about it; he was after all only a 19 year old teenager. And it wasn't like he could talk to anyone about what he thought or felt like, because if he voiced his thoughts, then he'd be immediately killed.

"Young Malfoy, dinner is about to start. You might want to head up, don't want to keep the Lord waiting now do you?" A deatheater said from behind Draco.

"Yes, of course not, Master Avery." Draco replied. He had to address all of the older deatheaters like that. His father had ordered him too. He hated it, but followed the rule, silently cursing as he walked up the stairs to the dining room. Avery nodded and smiled cruelly at the prisoners before following Draco.