Draco's Dilemma

The Wizarding World was already in turmoil. Britain's Wizarding World had become the center of every vortex, and wizards from other countries were watching the Dark Lord who had emerged from Great Britain.

Yet even darker than the center of that vortex was Malfoy Manor, because Voldemort himself was living there.

The cuckoo had taken over the nest. The Malfoy Family, like servants in their own home, waited upon the resurrected Dark Lord.

But in truth, in Voldemort's eyes, they had always been servants. All Death Eaters were.

More than ever before, Draco Malfoy wanted to escape this magnificent manor. He had once looked upon the grand, ancient fountain in the estate with pride in the prosperity of the Malfoy Family.

But now, every blade of grass and every tree here seemed tainted with a dark, terrifying aura. Even the light reflected in the glass appeared to have sharpened.

The Dark Lord did not move about much. Most of the time, he received senior Death Eaters or certain prominent figures who appeared highly respectable in public in the great hall.

Before the Dark Lord, the heads of those lofty great families were like little dogs with their tails tucked between their legs, treading on thin ice.

Furthermore, the dungeons, which had stood empty for a very long time, had nearly been filled since the Dark Lord's arrival.

Draco had even seen that white-haired old wandmaker from Diagon Alley—Ollivander.

Ollivander had been personally interrogated by Voldemort. Even Draco's father had been driven out that time.

Draco did not know what had happened inside. Ollivander, who looked extremely old, had somehow not died, though his spirits had become utterly listless.

The Dark Lord, meanwhile, had seemed exceedingly excited—and just as frightening.

Every day, Draco tried his best not to leave his room.