𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘬

Draco: III

It was so late that it was early by the time I got home. I saw a light flickering through one of the windows. One of them must have left the fire burning, I thought dismissively. I opened the door, the lock clicking open with a wave of my wand, and hung my coat. As I walked towards the living room, I saw a figure sitting by the fireplace.

"You're still up," I said, realizing that it was my niece. She stretched for a moment before replying.

"Yeah. I, uh... I needed to talk to you about something."

"Go on," I said, dropping my briefcase on the dining table. The remains of dinner were in the sink, sloppily cleaned. She followed me like a ghost, hovering by the doorway.

"God," she said, voice rough. "Why is this so hard?" I glanced over at her, the anguish in her dark eyes clear as day even in the half-light.

I sat at the table. "Sit down."

She sat down, tapping her leg with a nervous, candle-flame energy. She wasn't wearing the elbow-length gloves she'd had on earlier, and I could see rows of white scars, various sizes and stages of healing, lining her arms. Some weren't even scars, just raw scabs. She noticed me looking and shifted her position to cover most of them. "So, you know my parents were huge supporters of the Dark Lord," she started, then stopped abruptly. "Fuck it. That- I- Just look." She pulled up the loose sleeve of her pajama shirt, the deep green fabric covering something even darker.

I knew the moment she saw my face that my emotions had been betrayed, the pain in her eyes stabbing into my heart. "Please," she whispered. "Please believe me. I didn't want this."

"I believe you," I managed. I felt numb. It had been so long since I'd seen any Dark Mark look the way hers did, fresh and black and angry. I pulled up my sleeve, and she looked over.

"Yours is dull," she said softly, her voice like butterfly wings. She reached towards it, then drew away. "Do you mind?"

"Go ahead," I said. It was strange but nice to have someone looking at the mark without looking disgusted. There was no anger or resentment on her face, only a heavy sort of sadness. The only other person who looked at it that way had been my wife. Very few people understood the burden it was to have been forced into the Dark Lord's service, whether by your own mistakes or by others'.

As soon as her fingers touched the Dark Mark, agony shot through my body. She gasped and drew away, a shock of magic running from her activated brand to my own long-sleeping one. I gritted my teeth, trying not to cry out from the splitting pain in my skull. As it subsided, I looked at the dark brand on my forearm, no longer faded reddish-grey but deep ink-black.

Artemis shivered, curling her fingers into her sweater sleeves as she pulled it back on. "What the hell was that?" she whispered, eyes wide with shock.

"How did you do that?" I demanded at the same time. She looked at my Dark Mark.

"I don't bloody know!" Her hands were shaking. "I mean, the Augurey is the one who marked me, but I don't know how that would make a difference. Maybe I'm some sort of homing beacon? I don't know!" She let out a panicked, frantic breath. "God. Do you think other Death Eaters felt that?"

"I can't know yet," I said. "I'll try to find out."

"Oh, wait," she said sheepishly as we both got up to leave. "Albus sent an owl. He wanted to know if Scorpius could stay with Albus and his family over winter break."

"That's fine," I said, surprised. "I'll likely be busy with work anyways."

She fidgeted with her hands. "Should I go with Scorpius or stay here?"

"It's probably best that you go," I said. "It'll be difficult to explain that my niece awakened the Mark if any of Lord Voldemort's old followers come knocking."

"Fair," she said with a tired laugh. "Goodnight."

"Night," I replied as she retrieved a book from the chair by the fire and stumbled up the stairs.

I slumped back into my seat, rubbing my temples. I glanced at the Dark Mark again. The skull glared back up at me. I could still feel that pain resonating through me, an echo of far worse suffering. Before, when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named activated the mark, it had burned a little, but nothing like this. This felt like the Cruciatus Curse.

It was far too late at night to do anything about the Mark. Scorpius and Artemis would leave tomorrow. They would be safe with the Potters. Despite the bad blood between our families, they wouldn't risk the lives of two children for their own selfish desires.

Sighing, I headed off to bed myself, already dreading the next day.