"Father." Draco says it with despairing, urgent pleading; he tucked Draco in at night. He bought Draco his first broom. He sat by Draco's bedside when he was sick. He is his father. But there is nothing in his father's eyes but the light of a strange, horrible madness, and Draco looks away, looks out into the strange, inky black as the knifepoint pierces his skin. It goes deep and firm, steady in his father's hand, and the pain is terrible but Draco refuses to make a sound, teeth grinding together as the pain begins.