You noticed the distance almost immediately when it came. Of course you did. It wasn't anything particularly new, at first— You've been dating for over a year now, and he often had days or, occasionally, weeks where he was off. Maybe it was because of a minor loss to Harry Potter, or sometimes (more often as time goes on), because of a comment or expectation his father had set.

When his letters started coming fewer and farther in between around the middle of the summertime before sixth year, you were concerned, of course, but you weren't surprised. You assumed maybe he just had a bad conversation with his parents that left him drained. And that's what he told you in response to you inquiring about it in a letter— before promptly changing the conversation back to you. As if he didn't want to dawdle too long on why he was acting distant.

Maybe it was just the holiday, you told yourself, and he'd be better when school was in session again and he could see you any day he'd like, while simultaneously being away from his family life. But on the first day of sixth year, he was still acting strange. His smile more worn. His hug momentary. His conversations brief.

Give it time, you reminded yourself. Let him know you're there and let him adjust in his own time. You just... didn't know his own time would take so bloody long.

You began to wonder if it was something wrong with you— if he was growing bored of you and was waiting for the right opportunity to break up. After all, he'd only rarely let you stay past curfew anymore in his dorm room, and he hardly ever talked to you. But then he'd kiss you like it was his only escape, and pull you closer if you ever strayed too far in crowds. He'd show you love in so many of his actions, which only served to confuse you more— what's going on with him, and why wouldn't he tell you?

It's gloomy today. The ceiling of the Great Hall reflected the stormy day outside, dark clouds and the soft sound of rain giving the atmosphere a particularly moody touch— or in Draco's case, a depressing one. He's been acting especially off today. Insisting he needed to be alone, and when he's with you, getting lost in thought, dazed, staring at nothing. As he sits beside you, picking lazily at his food, a furrow between his brows, you can't help but think he looks so.... miserable. So dejected, like nothing would be put right again.

"I need to talk to you," he suddenly says, the furrow between his brows deepening, as if not even he was expecting the words to leave his mouth. "Show you. Something." His eyes finally meet yours, just as dark as the weather above.

Before long, you're getting pulled out of the Great Hall, his hand tight around your wrist, desperate in a sense that you can't understand. You follow him, having to sprint just slightly to keep up with his fast pace as he pushes through the door to the Prefect's bathroom, pulling you in before firmly shutting the door, locking it to ensure privacy. You watch him, anxious just from his own energy, as he paces in front of you, shaking his head like he's regretting bringing this up at all in the first place.

"Um," he says, before shaking his head again, letting out a scoff that sounds almost like he's about to break down. That's not normal. He glances at you before averting his eyes seconds later, like he can't stand to look at you as he speaks. "I need you to understand. That I didn't—" his sentence cuts off prematurely, each syllable coming as a challenge. "I didn't want this," he finally manages to choke out, his fingers fidgeting with the end of his sleeve nervously. "I just need you to understand that. Before I show you."

"What is it?" You ask, your own nerves shooting through the roof with every step he takes. He slows to a stop in front of you, his eyes still stuck on the ground, on the ends of your shoes.

"I didn't want it," he repeats, and you're about to speak, beg him to stop stalling and tell you what's happening, when he pulls his sleeve up— revealing his Dark Mark to you. Your voice catches in your throat.