Broken Promises

6- Forgiveness

Narrator's pov

August 16

The grandfather clock in the corner of the drawing chimed, marking the three hour mark. He checked his wrist watch to be sure because surely they'd been in here for the whole day. As he slumped down further in his chair he realized that it had in fact been three hours since their marks started burning.

An unfamiliar sensation that neither of them were accustomed to. Draco gave Clara one look and the two came to a silent understanding that it was the Dark Lord who was calling them.

He had led the way, trying hard to ignore the lump in his throat as this was the exact emotion he felt when the Dark Lord had called upon him the first time. When that son of a bitch turned his life to hell.

The ring on his right index finger had become a toy to fiddle with in these types of situations. It was being transferred from finger to finger much too fast to appear normal.

Severus taught him the arts of Occlumency in fifth year. Draco wouldn't be alive if his thoughts weren't occluded everywhere he went at all times. He can't trust anyone. Not in this wicked world they live in.

Clara walked a few paces behind him. Afraid that if she got too close Malfoy's dark aura would rub off on her and she would be as doomed as him. The mark hurts. Her arm is raw and it stings. It stings so much. Her breath shuddered when her thoughts reminded her that this is nothing. It was simply the beginning.

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Draco Malfoy's pov:

My fingernails dug deep into my palms. I wonder how much blood they'll draw this time. I know why he's here- The Dark Lord. I know my task. But Bletchley doesn't. Along with a hell of a lot of other things she doesn't have a clue about.

Sometimes I wonder if she knows what's going on outside of the walls of her manor. If only she knew what her parents had been up to.
We reach my father's study, where the Dark Lord usually sets himself up for his beloved meetings. Now, where is the secretary so I can sign in? Should I bring a complimentary butterbeer or would that be too much?
I knocked.

My hand barely had the chance to return back by my side before the doors swung open. Revealing the Dark Lord sitting with his arms crossed at my father's desk. Two armchairs rested on the other side of the desk where associates normally sat.

This time the associates being Bletchley and I. I miss when I was just a small child running around with a broom happily because I wasn't the one in this study. How the times change. But there's no time for sentimentals. Not when the darkest wizard in the wizarding world is sitting ten feet in front of you.

Bletchley stands behind me, refusing to come forward as if afraid that the Dark Lord will hurt her. She has good reasons I'm sure. If I liked her I might tell her what the punishments were. That he won't do anything if you just do what you're asked.

But I don't. I hate her. I hate her and the pity she gives me even when she claims she isn't. I hate how she has a brother she cares for so much that she'd give up her freedom for him. I hate how no one feels that way about me.
She's going to drag me down. I can feel it. If I die at the end of this term it's going to be because of her. Mark my words, Clara Bletchley will be the quite literal death of me. And I'm determined to make sure that stays clear in her mind.

"Draco Malfoy," the Dark Lord hisses. He motions to the arm chairs. "Why don't you and Miss Bletchley have a seat?"

I nodded courteously. Actions were the way to go in these types of encounters. You let your mouth slip and an Avada might also slip out of the Dark Lord's wand. That's how it works around here.