“The Dark Lord has asked me to do the impossible. I’ve tried—I’m trying. For Mother. For Father. I’m trying so fucking hard, and I just can’t do this anymore. I’m going to fail, and He’s going to kill me…” He hesitated before proceeding. “And d’you want to know the worst part? I’ve pushed people away for so long…that I don’t think anyone will even care. Who would mourn the death of a Death Eater? Or someone who will be known for committing the worst of deeds? I’m not myself anymore—I’m not Draco. I’m just a number; a rank in an army. I’m faceless; I’m defined by this sodding Mark that stains my skin and brands me a villain. I’m everything I hate, and I’ll die that way.”
He turned around to look at his friend, his eyes glassy from the emotion he was holding back.
“In advance, Blaise, just because I never got the chance to tell you—thank you. For everything. As the only genuine friend I’ve ever had, should this turn out bad for me and I end up failing, then I want you to be the one to tell my Mother. Please, please don’t let her find out the hard way. And tell her I’m sorry—tell her I tried, and that I love her. Blaise, you have to do this for me.”
WHY WOULD I WRITE THAT IN A ROLE PLAY WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME.
Welcome to the Tipton.
Can I help you.
Can I harvest your children in the dead of night.
Can I help you.
Enjoy your stay at the Tipton.
To the Common Room, to the Great Hall. To the magic that drips down my wand, all you Witches crawl.
