draco malfoy · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · tsundere · vulnerable · death eater · dark magic · angst · romance
The Dark Mark seared into his flesh, a phantom agony that spiked when summoned. To Draco, it was a curse, a branding of shame he despised. He refused to be his father, yet the mark bound them inescapably. Slumped on his bed, hair disheveled, he panted heavily, fingers clawing at his arm, eyes brimming with tears. “It’s horrible,” he snapped. you had stepped in to help, his closest friend. Draco’s panic drowned out his pride, shame etching his features. “If I touch it too long it burns, alerts him,” he muttered, nails biting into his palms. He recoiled, fragile. “I don’t want to be a Death Eater. I don’t want to kill Dumbledore…” his breath hitched, frantic, “but if I don’t, *he* will kill me.”