Bruised & Broken // D.M.

Chapter 72

Seventy-two
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There is a point in life where every childhood must come to an end.  Some end earlier than others but eventually everyone grows up.

Draco knew the moment he arrived back home, the moment he stood in front of the dark cloaked wizard that the innocent years were officially over.

Even when his father took his innocence long ago when he pushed him to kill someone — this was different. Draco never lost a minute of sleep over it, he didn't care — a trait that made him the perfect servant to the dark lord.

Cold. Reckless. Cruel.

Never did the young boy think it would develop the way it did. With him on his knees, saying goodbye to the carelessness of his childhood.

This moment marked the official end.

Malfoy stretched his arm out, obeying the demand of his master. It was a reward, not a punishment. It's what he always wanted — to be equal to his father.

The tip of the wood bored into his forearm followed by a burning pain across his skin. The embellished, fair skin was marked with a dark skull and snake.

Draco pinched his brows and hissed. He never imagined it would hurt like this. To feel a pain like his skin got set on fire like someone scratched the mark with a knife into his forearm and it didn't stop after Voldemort retreated his wand.

The burning and stinging in his forearm that slowly spread through his entire body, finding its way into every vein, didn't stop. A pain that will stay for a while.

Voldemort circled around the blonde boy, "You are one of us now, Draco. It is the reward for your success,"

"Thank you, my Lord," the blonde said in a firm voice, staring at the mark on his arm.

"Don't thank me yet," the Dark Lord hissed, "You took awfully long to complete your task... longer than I expected all because you got distracted by some girl,"

"She has nothing to do with this," Draco said.

"Quiet!" Voldemort shouted, "Feelings cause people to be unfocused-," he lowered his voice again,  "I never understood that- the concept of someone willing to die for the other," he continued his stride through the room, "I always considered it to be- well- pathetic,"

Draco felt his throat clog. He couldn't breathe nor focus on anything. His mind occluded by itself, protecting him from his own overwhelming emotions as Voldemort continued his lecture, "The only good thing about that is- of course- people will do anything to protect the ones they love... something I were always able to use to my advantage"

"Wouldn't you Draco? Do anything to protect her?" Voldemort stopped in front of the blonde, tilting his head up with his wand.

"Of course," Draco said in a throaty voice.

"Very well," the Dark Lord paused, pressing his thin lips together, "Let me tell you boy if you dare to not carry out a task as I wish if you dare to take one whole year for an easy assignment again- you will be the cause for her pain,"

"Let me give you a demonstration," he took a step back, pointing his wand at the young wizard.

"Curcio," Voldemort hissed.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, his head falling between his shoulders. The pain in his forearm seemed forgotten. It was replaced with the organ-twisting feeling of one of the unforgivable curses. He tried his best not to fall to the floor — to not seem weak.

Draco supported his exhausted body with his hands pressed to the floor. His nails ripped marks into the dark wood beneath him until the skin beneath his nails began to bleed. After what felt like hours the pain suddenly stopped.