The Weight of a Name
Draco Malfoy felt the icy grip of expectation tighten around his throat.
E.g. ：I saw my fiancé fall from the balcony just as our wedding vows began.
- 1、The Weight of a Name
- 2、The Forbidden Incantation
- 3、The Unveiling of Nightmare
- 4、Chaos and Confrontation
- 5、The Echoes of Betrayal
The ancient stones of Hogwarts’ rarely used lower dungeons seemed to press in on him.
His classmates, a hushed circle of Slytherins and a few bewildered, coerced onlookers, dared not utter a sound.
Each face reflected a morbid cocktail of fear and anticipation.
His father’s words, sharp as daggers, echoed in his mind: "Reclaim our legacy, Draco. Restore what was lost."
The Malfoy name, once synonymous with unyielding power, now carried a faint, bitter whisper of past disgrace.
This was his chance to silence those whispers.
This was his desperate gamble for redemption, or so he believed.
Before him, nestled on a makeshift altar of overturned crates, lay the egg.
It was not the warm, leathery orb of a creature awaiting birth.
This was an enigma: a jagged, obsidian sphere, cold to the touch, pulsing with a faint, malevolent light that seemed to devour the surrounding shadows.
A shadowy figure, cloaked and masked, had delivered it to him weeks ago.
"A gift from forgotten times," the figure had hissed, "a key to unlocking true power, Malfoy."
He had been promised influence, protection, an untouchable future for his family.
He had been told this ancient relic contained a dragon unlike any known, one bound to the will of a true pure-blood heir.
But as he looked at it now, a cold dread began to worm its way into his stomach.
The Forbidden Incantation
His pale fingers traced the intricate, almost painful runes etched into the egg’s surface.
This was no simple hatching spell.
The incantation, whispered to him in the dead of night, was a serpentine coil of ancient Dark Magic, tasting of blood and forgotten pacts.
He had practiced in secret, his wand arm aching, his mind reeling from the sheer force required.
Now, with the eyes of his peers upon him, each breath was a struggle.
He raised his wand, the cypress wood feeling heavy and alien in his grip.
A deep, guttural hum vibrated from the obsidian egg, resonating through the dungeon floor.
Sweat beaded on his brow, mingling with the fear that threatened to paralyze him.
"Per tenebras antiquas, abyssi surge!" he intoned, his voice cracking slightly.
The words felt like living things, tearing at his throat.
A sickly green light flared from his wand tip, illuminating the terrified faces of the students.
Gregory Goyle, usually stoic, whimpered softly.
Pansy Parkinson, ever disdainful, looked genuinely pale.
Even Blaise Zabini, always composed, had a flicker of unease in his eyes.
Another student, a Ravenclaw girl named Lyra who had been 'persuaded' to attend, began to tremble uncontrollably.
He ignored them, focusing every ounce of his will, his inherent Slytherin ambition, into the spell.
The air grew thick and heavy, laden with the scent of ozone and something indescribably ancient and foul.
The obsidian egg began to shake violently, not with a gentle tremor, but a convulsive shudder.
Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface, not radiating outwards from a single point, but appearing simultaneously, as if the darkness within was tearing its way out from everywhere at once.
The Unveiling of Nightmare
A piercing shriek, devoid of any natural sound, ripped through the air.
It was a sound that seemed to scrape against the very fabric of existence, shattering the oppressive silence.
Several students cried out, clutching their ears, some collapsing to the cold stone floor.
Malfoy staggered backwards, his wand hand dropping slightly.
His initial fear transformed into a horrifying, sickening realization.
This was not a dragon.
From the violently rupturing eggshell, not scales or claws, but tendrils of swirling, amorphous shadow erupted.
It was a vortex of pure darkness, radiating an palpable aura of despair and cold.
It expanded rapidly, consuming the faint torchlight, growing taller, wider, feeding on the terror it instantly generated.
The whispers of "admiration" died on lips, replaced by guttural screams.
This creature was a living shadow, a nightmare made manifest, its form constantly shifting, coalescing into a terrifying, skeletal parody of a dragon.
Its 'eyes' were twin points of crimson malice, burning holes through the gloom.
It let out another shriek, a sound that stole the very breath from their lungs, chilling their souls to the bone.
Malfoy watched in frozen horror as it turned its abyssal gaze upon the nearest student.
It wasn't Goyle, nor Parkinson, but Lyra, the Ravenclaw girl.
She stood paralyzed, her face etched with a silent, primal scream.
The shadow tendrils lashed out, not to strike, but to engulf her.
As they touched her, a profound scream finally tore from her throat, a sound of utter anguish, and she began to wither.
Her vibrant youth seemed to drain from her, her skin paling, her eyes sinking.
Malfoy felt a different kind of horror now, not just for others, but for himself.
He had been fooled.
