The rain is pattering down against the window. I turn my head away from the sight, not wanting to recall the memories I just left out on the street. This is who I am now.
My chest hurt; I closed my eyes, trying to keep my breathing steady. Malfoy Manner, in the dark of the night was not the most pleasant sight. I mustn’t think these thoughts. This is who I am now.
I imagine my father, safe at home, drinking away the lies, celebrating his own son being charted off to be a servant to our Dark Lord.
I imagine my mother, smiling down at me from above, celebrating her only son following in her father’s footsteps.
I imagine my own heart, about to burst from the anxiety of it all. This is who I am now.
"ALL HAIL OUR DARK LORD. BOW DOWN TO HIM. PRESENT YOUR ARM!" They cried. Bellatrix Lestrange among them, eyeing me with recognition.
Luscious Malfoy, a friend of my father looks down at me.
“Are you denying your Master, young servant?” He grabbed my chin and forcing my face up at him.
“No sir.” I met his eyes, calm and certain. He pushed away my face, leaving a mark, I wouldn’t soon forget.
We got into a line, ready to bear the scar of our parents’ pasts; the pasts that will soon become our futures. I look down the line of solemn faced soldiers lining up to fight the war. The Dark Lord comes among us looking us all up and down and he walks past our line, silent. I keep my eyes ahead, not wanting to attract attention to myself.
The Dark Lord walks back and stops in front of me. I rolled the sleeve of my robes up to my elbow and turned away, my eyes averting those of my snake-like master.
“Young boy,” The Dark Lord snarls down at me, the stench of his yellow teeth invading me. “Are you afraid?” A snake approaches and slithers in and out of my feet making a sound similar to the one the Dark Lord had just produced.
“No, Dark Lord. You are great, you are all mighty.” I keep my breathing even. Suddenly, I am invaded. Images, memories of my childhood flash before me. Under the birch tree, where I shared my first kiss, my mother’s dying bones. I scrunch my eyes close and fight back the pain, regaining the control of my own thoughts; the one thing no one can take away from me.
“Very well, Young Servant.” The Dark Lord grabs my arm touching his hot wand to my cool pale skin. He utters many words I cannot fathom for I am over come with the seething pain of fire and ice, joining together in one spot. I cry out wanting to yank back my limp arm, but his cool grasp is too hard.
Suddenly he releases my arm. I look down at the scar enveloping my once clean and innocent arm, in which The Dark Lord has branded. He has branded my future and my past. He has robbed me of life.
It is then I am forced to realize, that I cannot run from the truth any longer.
The Dark Lord has become mine. We have become one.
All Hail my Dark Lord.
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