Sprawled helplessly across his own hardwood floors, left arm on fire from wrist to elbow, his pain-fractured mind searches scatteredly for distraction, flitting back over what she'd mentioned, once – in happy times so long ago they feel now like a half-forgotten dream – of the ennui of muggle graduation.
Black caps, she'd said, and long, antiquated gowns; hard seats, and duller speeches…
The Dark incantation complete, his seared skin at last stops bubbling sluggishly like so much molten lead.
"Rise, young Malfoy…and join your Death Eater brethren."
Climbing shakily to his feet on jellied legs, Draco stares in mute, blank-eyed horror at the freshly-inked snake-and-skull brand…thinking, desperately, that he'd trade in a heartbeat.