Prologue
The pain was unbearable. You would think that after being under the cruciatus curse multiple times would make the pain more bearable each time, but that wasn’t the case. You can’t get used to the pain. It’s so powerful that as soon as you aren’t inflicted by it anymore, you’re so relieved of the pain you just forget it was even there. Everything was ice cold. His ears were ringing and his heart was pounding. He knew someone was screaming at him but he couldn’t hear a damn thing. Not that he wanted to anyway. Becoming a death eater wasn’t exactly on his life bucket list. As soon as that mark was on his arm his life would be ruined.
It didn’t matter how long Voldemort would put the rest of the world in danger, he was inevitably going to get defeated. The world didn’t know yet, but Draco did. He could just feel it. Sure, he wasn’t the best person, but he wasn’t death eater material either. Once the war was over, his reputation and his life would be destroyed. He was going to do anything to make sure that mark wouldn’t even come close to touching his skin. Even if that meant death.
Suddenly the ringing in his ears stopped, the pain subsided and everything came back to him. The coldness of the manors floor, yet the warmth of his own blood was sickening. The yelling coming from twenty different people didn’t help his pounding headache either. As Draco opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as the light hit his pupils, he was only able to see one thing. His father was standing over him.
Draco never knew how to tell people's emotions. To be honest he was utterly horrible at the matter. This, along with other factors coming into play made it hard for Draco to make friends. He could never tell what they were feeling. Not happiness. Not sadness. Not anger. Nothing. But in this moment as his consciousness was fading in and out, he knew what the look on his fathers face meant, disappointment. Something Draco knew all too well. The last words he heard before passing out were barely audible, but looking his father in the eyes, laying in a pool of his own blood, He could hear his fathers words.
“Get him out of my sight.”
The last thing Draco Malfoy ever heard was a pop. Blood then trickled down from each ear concerning no one in the room. It wouldn’t be till later that day after his mother came in from the garden that he would be discovered.