INTENTIONS
This is what you get when you find me, sitting on the floor of my shower, reading angsty fics. I apologize if this is offensive, but I think y'all can handle it.
"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."
They have all said it at one time or another, the people he has killed. And now see what he has become; his classmates and teachers- friends and foes- mercilessly slaughtered as he looks on. Prostrate on the floor, lying in broken circles around his cloaked form. Their blood stains the tiled floor and seeps into the engraved crest of a once great school, broken by his hand.
His father steps up to him and pats him on the back. He knows who it is because of the cold, emotionless eyes behind the mask's silvery sheen. He wonders if his father's actions bleached away the feeling in him, until all that was left was a brittle shell.
The cold- blooded man next to him speaks, tone devoid of inflection, "Well done, my son. I'm very proud of you and what you did today."
'No, you're not,' the teen sees through his father's lies effortlessly. 'You're proud of my service to the Dark Lord. Will you use my actions to climb His ranks?'
A single hand, drenched in the lifeblood of innocents, pulls the mask from his sharp and aristocratic face. And as the Dark Mark burns his left forearm, Draco Malfoy laughs emptily at the twisted hand Fate has dealt him.