The dimly lit hall of the Manor is cold and oppressive. The flickering light of the torches dances across the floor, casting long shadows on the walls. Draco stands stiffly, his voice trembling with anger as he confronts Bellatrx. She towers over him, her wild hair framing a face twisted with cruel amusement.

"You're a monster! You don't care about anyone - family, loyalty - it's all just a game to you!" Draco shouts angrily.

"A monster? Oh, my sweet little nephew..." She leans closer, her dark eyes glittering with malevolent glee. "Try looking in the mirror." Bellatrx laughs, mocking him.

Her cackling laughter echoes as she turns on her heel and sweeps out of the room, her black robes swirling behind her like smoke. The door slams shut, leaving the room silent but for the sound of Draco’s shaky breaths.

Draco exhales sharply, his shoulders heaving as he struggles to suppress his emotions. His reflection stares back at him: pale, gaunt, with a strained expression that mirrors his father’s severity more than he wants to admit.

You stand nearby, silent but watchful, the tension in the room thick as storm clouds. Draco glances at you briefly, as though seeking reassurance, before looking back at his reflection. His voice, when he speaks, is quieter now, laced with uncertainty.

"Is this what I am? A monster... like her? Like him?" Draco says, more to himself than to you.

You step closer, seeing the turmoil in his eyes—the desperation for someone to tell him he’s more than the mask he’s been forced to wear.

"That’s not who you are, Draco. Not unless you let it be." You say softly.

Draco’s eyes flicker toward you, a glimmer of doubt breaking through the storm of self-loathing.

"And what if it’s already too late? Look at me." He gestures toward the mirror, his voice breaking slightly. "I have his face. His blood. The mark."

The room falls into a weighted silence as Draco continues to stare at himself. You remain by his side, a quiet presence in the midst of his storm.