Forged in fire,
And then pierced with it,
Quenched in water turned steam.
Beaten sound,
Made broken.
What do you do with a flawed sword?
Meant to break, meant to be broken,
To turn on the hand that wields it.
A weapon is a tool, foremost and first.
But when it's a man, well that's the worst.
Draco smiled a sad smile at the page. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, wasn't sure what exactly was going to happen. But, but, but, he was a Malfoy, and for that alone, he knew where he stood. Dark times ahead, indeed. It was like he was standing on the tip of the North Tower, looking down. Not contemplating falling, but sure that he was about to take the next step. And that it was a loooong way down. There were many reasons why Slytherins liked the shadows and the fading embers. At least he'd be taking the step with eyes wide open.
[a/n: Just a little thinking from Draco. Leave a review?]