A/N: I was feeling like writing something kinda depressing, and this is what came out. In an odd sort of way, it goes along with Giving In, my Hermione fic.
He sat on the end of this bed, gasping for air. His pale cheeks were tear stained, making them glisten in the low candle light. His chest was heaving with deep breaths. Cold sweat made his sheets stick to his thin body. He had another dream.
He could feel the Dark Mark burning into his skin, piercing his innocence as if it never existed. He wouldn't scream, or beg for mercy. He would just take the pain as if he wanted it, as if he welcomed it. The eyes of each Death Eater were glued on his form, praising him. Some winked, some nodded, others would just stare, testing him for weakness.
And each time he dreamed this horrific scene, it would become more and more realistic. His arm would ache more each time he awoke. His eyes would burn with unshed tears. His mind would be fogged, except for images from his dream.
And every morning, he would pull a sheet of paper out from under his pillow. He would grab a quill from his bed side table, and draw a line through that day marked on the calendar.
Four days left.
Three days until his dream would become reality.
Two days until he would take on something he didn't want.
One day until he belonged to the Dark Lord.
Today, Draco Malfoy became a Death Eater.