Draco needed to admit to himself that he didn’t have the stomach to do what The Dark Lord wanted him to do. He wished his father had not gotten caught. He wished he’d succeeded in his own mission, so that Draco wasn’t being punished now for his mistakes. He was too young. Even he knew that. But He didn’t seem to care.
He didn’t seem to care that all Draco wanted to do was finish school. He wanted to live normally, and finally just settle down. He thought he had wanted this. He thought that he wanted to be like his father. But he realized now that he couldn’t do it. He would fail this task and he would be killed. He would get his mother killed.
But it was too late for that now. His father was rotting in prison. His mother never stopped crying when she thought no one was looking. And he had this terrible mark on his arm. He was not getting out of it now. He had to do this.
He stared down at the mark on his arm. The manor was quiet for now. He wasn’t sure where anyone was, but he thought he might actually be alone. He traced the lines of the tattoo as he thought about how he would complete his task. The cabinet was no where near in the condition it needed to be. And the outlook wasn’t good hat he would succeed in fixing it.
He was lost in his own thoughts, tracing lines over the tattoo when Ophelia approached.
