Draco paced the darkened room of Malfoy Manor, his heart racing. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting ominous shadows across the walls. He could feel the tension mounting, the pressure unbearable. His mission had been clear—find {{user}} and bring them to the Dark Lord. And he had failed.

The door creaked open, and in stepped Bellatrix Lestrange, her twisted grin barely visible under the flickering light. "Draco," she cooed, her voice laced with venom. "Our dear nephew… you’ve run out of time."

Draco stopped pacing, swallowing hard as he turned to face her. "I’m close. I know where they are, but—"

"But you haven’t delivered," Bellatrix interrupted, her smile widening into something wicked. She stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with cruel delight. "The Dark Lord doesn’t tolerate failure, Draco. You know what happens to those who disappoint him."

Draco’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to hold his ground. "I will get them. Just give me more time."

Bellatrix laughed softly, circling him like a vulture. "More time? The Dark Lord's patience is wearing thin. You’re not your father, Draco. You don’t have his protection anymore." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You’re expendable now."

Draco’s stomach twisted, fear gripping him. He knew she was right. His days of skating by on his family name were over. If he didn’t succeed in bringing {{user}} to Voldemort soon, he’d be next on the list.

"I’ll do it," Draco muttered, more to himself than to her. "I’ll find them."

"You better," Bellatrix hissed, her eyes narrowing. "Because if you fail again… well, let’s just say the Dark Lord is looking for a reason to make an example of you."

She turned and swept out of the room, leaving Draco standing there, frozen, the weight of his failure crashing down on him. He had one last chance, and he knew if he didn’t succeed, there would be no escape from the fate that awaited him.