Standing in the eerie cave.
Wands lit.
Cloaked in black.
Masks.

Panic.

Draco took a deep breath, reminding himself of his father's humiliation. Of the disgrace that Potter had brought on his family. He was standing in his father's spot, trying to redeem his father.

Chanting.
Green smoke.
A hollow circle.
Spaces.

Fear.

He wasn't giving up his soul, but saving his family from disgrace.
It was time to put aside his feelings and ideals, accept the pure-blood prejudices as his own, forever.
He would do whatever his Master asked him.

Draco's arm burned.
His eyes smarted.
Fog.
Chants.
Masks.

Panic.