"Perfect, you said" Harry scoffed "This is how perfect I am"
"You know who my mate is" "Yes"
"Scoot" "What?" "I said: move over. If you are not going to sleep at least let me do it"
"I want to join"
"I know I'm good looking but if you keep starin...
Previously on Scars of the Past - "So, Mr Potter, what is your decision? Will you join me?"
This time, in fact, Draco was looking at him. The expectations and hope in Draco's eyes. How could he ever say no to anything when Draco was looking at him like that? He couldn't disappoint Draco. He wouldn't disappoint Draco.
"Yes. I will"
Draco let out a breath he didn't know that he was holding.
"Roll up your sleeve," said Voldemort.
And so, Harry did; exposing his bare forearm.
"Mosmorde," said Voldemort as the mark slowly materialized on Harry's arm.
The room grew eerily silent as Voldemort invoked ancient incantations, infusing dark magic into the mark. Harry felt a surge of power coursing through his veins, intermingled with a chilling sensation that seemed to penetrate his very being. The
The Dark Lord had a sinister smile curling upon his lips. "Welcome, Harry Potter, to the ranks of the Death Eaters. You are now bound by loyalty to the cause."
Draco watched the proceedings with a mixture of relief and concern.
Harry looked up at Voldemort, feeling confused. Wasn't getting the dark mark supposed to hurt? Wasn't the dark mark burnt into the skin of the death eaters?
Again, as if reading his thoughts, Voldemort's voice pierced the air, his words dripping with disdain. "Ah, Dumbledore, that esteemed individual, has spread an abundance of false rumours regarding my actions, and my methods of work," he proclaimed, a tinge of anger underlying his voice. "This particular notion you speak of is but one of his malicious lies. After all, why would intelligent individuals willingly align themselves with me if I were to inflict such pain upon them? It defies logic. Allow me to clarify, receiving the Dark Mark is not intended to cause discomfort, for that would be counterproductive to my cause."
Harry, his gaze fixed upon the mark of the serpent etched on his arm, felt an indescribable mix of emotions welling up within him. The sight of the symbol he had grown up hating, contrasting against the skin he had known his entire life, left him utterly speechless. Waves of confusion, fear, and uncertainty crashed upon him, leaving him adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Sensing the need for solitude and contemplation, Harry gratefully seized the opportunity when Voldemort requested a private conversation with Draco, choosing to step outside and immerse himself in his own thoughts.
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"Have you disclosed the truth to him? Does he possess any inkling of what is truly at stake?" Voldemort inquired; his piercing gaze fixed upon Draco's kneeling figure.
