"Hold out your arm," the Dark Lord commanded. Draco did so at once, he rolled his sleeve up ready for the Dark Lord's brand. He whispered the incantation and motioned the drawing of the mark with his wand onto Draco's skin. Draco bit the inside of his mouth so hard that it started to bleed. He could not scream, he would not reveal to the Dark Lord that he was a frail little thing that could not handle even slight pain. Though the feeling was not slight, it was excruciating. The ink bored into his skin like a razor, the ink stung him as if it were poison. By the time the Dark Lord had finished branding his mark, Draco's arm flopped to his side, ink and blood brewing together like a potion of evilness. The Dark Lord stepped back. He walked over to Narcissa and whispered something in her ear. At that moment, Draco feared for his mother's life. The Dark Lord turned his attention back to Draco.