My Weasel

Chapter 43 - The Dark Mark -

Cigarettes and shared smiles were long forgotten as the summer months continued in the Malfoy manor. I had been hoping that my return home would be joyful, yet I was instead met with the grim truth. As soon as I stepped through the entryway, Lucius had practically dragged me into his office. From that moment on, my life had been made into an internal hell that seemed to have no escape.

Constantly preparing for the Dark Lord's arrival and pouring over the readings Lucius had assigned, I felt myself growing weak. The dark circles under my eyes had grown as my nights were spent staring up at the ceiling, wishing for sleep. When I closed my eyes for just a moment of tranquility, all I could see was the dark lord edging his mark onto my skin.

For this reason, I kept myself awake at all times, not being able to withstand those callous eyes staring straight through me. However, it seemed that today I would be staring at those familiar eyes in person, for I was finally receiving the dark mark. My allegiance would be decided for me today, engraved upon my skin no less. Pacing back and forth in my room, I strained my ears so that I could hear the dark lord's arrival.

Across the hall, Draco was asleep in his room, oblivious of what was to come of me in the next hour. The faint sound of the record player was barely audible, drowned out by the panic swarming in the air. Taking deep breaths in and out, I attempted to calm myself to some extent. Glancing down at my forearm I felt a shiver go down my spine at the bare skin, soon to be ruined.

Suddenly, the sound of a new voice from downstairs made me snap my gaze upwards. With trembling legs, I neared my door, carefully turning the knob. Poking my head out of the small gap I had created, I heard the distinct sound of hissing, accompanied with a cold laugh. My heart practically beat out of my chest when I soon heard the sound of footsteps traveling up the stairs. Quickly closing the door, I sprinted over to my bed and grabbed an assigned book. Opening it to a random page, I masked my features with a look of intrigue and calmed my shaking limbs. The next moment, the door was quietly pushed open, Narcissa surveying me with a somber expression.

"It is time my love." She whispers, reaching out a hand for me to take.

I silently close my book and grab her outstretched hand, willing myself to stand. Her fingers are cold but comforting as we step out of my room, starting to descend the stairs. Neither of us speak a word during the entire time, immense fear working its way into our throat, constricting our voices. My insides were churning and my head felt like it was going to burst from dread as we walked. Slowing our stride, we neared the living room, stopping before the tall oak doors.

Sharing a sideways glance, Narcissa softly untwined her fingers from mine. Staring at the door, my body felt as though it were acting purely off the fear flooding my senses. Taking a deep inhale, I tried to rid myself of my terror and instead replace it with a small amount of courage.

The shake in my legs seized, and my heart rate slowed slightly while I breathed back out. Seeing that my nerves were slightly diminished, I carefully pushed open the door, ready for my fate.

Draco Malfoy's Pov :

I woke up with a start, hearing footsteps just outside of my room, going down the staircase. Stretching, I let out a large yawn and flipped the covers off of my body, the cold air hitting my skin. I quietly stand up, tip toe my way towards the door and turn the knob cautiously. Peeking my head out into the hallway, I see the outline of two people turning the corner at the bottom of the stairs. Immediately my interest is peaked and I find myself creeping out of my room, following the mysterious figures.

Trying not to apply too much pressure on the floorboards, I make absolutely no noise, having sneaked around numerous times. I reach the bottom and walk in the direction of the living room, hearing the door open. Coming to a halt around the corner, I see my mother outside the doors, anxiously twisting her hands together. From inside the room, I hear a number of voices, not loud enough to identify. However, seeing as though my mother was a nervous wreck, it must involve our family.

Staying hidden behind the corner, I wait with bated breath for someone to exit the room. A few moments pass, hushed tones still coming from within, when finally the scraping of chairs can be heard. There are some muffled noises, a small grunt being barely audible, until a figure exits the doors.

Immediately, I recognize the person as Delilah, quivering as she walks towards our mother. She is clutching her arm tightly, almost as if she was in immense pain. Looking more closely at her expression, I notice her usual smirk is gone and instead her mouth is screwed up in agony. My instincts urge me to step out from my hiding place, but I remain still, watching my mother place a comforting hand on Delilah's shoulder.

The living room door opens once more and this time my father emerges alongside a cloaked man. Delilah immediately straightens up her posture, morphing her pained features into a stoic gaze. The cloaked figure slowly walks over to her and places a hand on her forearm.

Delilah's expression flickers, her previous pain coming to the surface for a split second. The person chuckles dryly and releases his hold, instead placing his bony hand on her shoulder. Although I can't hear what the person says, I see Delilah nod in response, obviously agreeing to something. The figure finally removes his hand, sliding it back underneath his cloak and walks away. My father and mother follow him towards the front of the house, leaving Delilah alone in the hallway.

I watch with sorrow as a choked sob escapes Delilah's lips and she begins to fold up her sleeve. Squinting, I look closely in the dim morning light at my sister forearm, and my eyes widen. There, on her skin was a mark I was all to familiar with, seeing as though it was the same mark edged on our fathers arm. It was the symbol that many in the wizarding world feared, and loathed entirely. There, on my sisters forearm was the most terrifying thing of all, the dark mark.