I wanted you to know I love the way you laugh
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain
'Cause I'm broken when I'm open
And I don't feel like I am strong enough
'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right when you're gone away
[Broken by Seether and Amy Lee]
Malfoy and Miller: Half Blood Prince
From here, the clouds moved in sync. They moved ever so slowly, only enough if you stayed still and narrowed your eyes. Brooke filled her lungs with the summer air and breathed it back out. Her fingers wrapped around her left wrist, firmly. She lay on top of the metal monkey bars at a park within sight of her house. From the front window, her mother, washing the dinner dishes, caught the silhouette of her daughter, who used to swing across those monkey bars back and forth until she came back with such pink hands.
Finally the clouds moved, unsheathing the pearl colored moon to brush its soft light upon the grass blades. Then, in another instant, the grey clouds draped themselves back over and the street lights seemed to intensify. Brooke let her eyes close for a few moments and she pulled the ends of her sleeves over her fists. A warm tear fell sideways from the outside edge of her eye and in one clean motion, it was gone. She thought she would have been all dried up already.
On the monkey bars, she lay above, succumb to her thoughts. It had been three weeks since she came home from the Hogwarts train. Eventually, Caleb came back with Hermione's response after sending her a letter explaining exactly what happened in the courtyard and a little bit from the Hospital Wing and the lake toward the end of term.
Her response was quite Hermione-ish, telling her possible reasons and conclusions. Brooke must have answered the question as to why Draco broke up with her ten times a day, each the same words from his mouth and each a different spin on it. Still, they reverberated around her head no matter how much Brooke begged them to go away.
She opened her eyes to the slowly churning sky, unable to restrain herself from wondering where he was and what he was thinking. Perhaps he was staring at the same sky too or maybe he wasn't. Brooke wouldn't know. Not anymore, anyway.
Back at the window, her mother turned off the sink as she saw her daughter's silhouette sit up and in a tangle of limbs, land on her feet onto the woodchips.
"She still outside?" asked her husband from behind, grabbing a towel and a dish.
"Yes, I think she's about to come in, though," she replied.
"To think, that she battled right up against those Death Eaters," he grinned, holding his towel like a wand and swishing it around.
"I still think you should tell her," Brooke's mother said, turning around to face him.
He lowered his towel and grabbed another dish. "Eventually. But, look at her. Now's just not the right time."
"And what if you never get to tell her. You leave in a couple days. Last time I checked, getting over a boyfriend takes much longer than that."
"I will get to tell her. I don't want her to get worried. I'll tell her after a while, alright? Like maybe around Christmas break," he kissed his wife on the cheek and put the last dish away.
The silhouette of the girl stuffed her hands in her pockets, took another glance at the sky and walked toward the house.
He could feel every part of himself shaking, but hoped it was glanced over in sight. They would call him coward or worse if they saw. Surely, the Dark Lord noticed how his arm shook and surely he would say something about it to the shadows crowded around them.
Reluctantly, but swiftly, he pulled back the sleeve and held his arm, palm facing up, stretched in front of him. The tall, swooping figure took a step closer and Draco Malfoy stiffened up his knees to keep them from giving way. The hooded man shook his ghostly white and unusually long fingers from the sleeve of his robes. Lord Voldemort held delicately onto his wand and pressed the tip onto his skin. Draco turned his head and shot his eyes downward as to not let him see the excruciating pain reveal itself on his face.
The ligaments and veins protruded from his skin as Draco dug his fingers into his palm holding in the reflex to scream. The burning and the sensation of small scalpels dancing on the thin skin on his forearm finally ceased.
His eyes looked up at Lord Voldemort, the cold gleam in his eyes flashing through the shadows of his hood. A smile enveloped onto the less than human face. It was a gentle smile, an almost caring smile, reassuring Draco's own choice, but there lay an underlying thought that lifted the goosebumps across his arms.
The shadowy figures dispersed along with their master. Lord Voldemort was his master now as well. Draco turned his back to them and lowered his head. He despised the evidence of weakness streaming down his face. His fingers wrapped around his left wrist, firmly, wishing to rip the Dark Mark off his own skin.