He slid the blade across the tender flesh on the underside of his right arm, watching as the thin line of red blood appeared in it's wake. The blood slowly slid down his arm, obscuring, for the moment, the other cuts and scars that decorated his arm.
Drawing in a shaky breath, he slid his tongue across the thick red luquid, savouring the tangy flavour that assaulted his taste buds.
Fred Weasley shivered in the cool night air, allowing the knife to slip from his fingers and fall to the ground with a loud clatter. His hand now vacant, he brought it over to his forearm, nails digging deep as he tore at the flesh. Flesh forever sullied with the mark of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Fred didn't even try to bite back the sob that tore from his throat, nails digging deeper and harder as he attempted in vain to claw away that offending piece of artistry forever engraved onto his forearm.
They'd grabbed him in the bookstore, when George was busy talking to their father about the Joke Shop. He'd been skimming through some books, waiting for George to finish so they could check the proper ones out. Just because they didn't attend Hogwarts anymore didn't mean that they weren't going to continue their magical education anymore, after all.
That was when they'd captured him -- when the Death Eater's had come. Nobody else had ever even realised that they were there, and in a matter of seconds he'd been whisked away, straight into the presense of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
They'd forced this ........ abomination onto his arm, and then apparated him into Knockturn Alley. Somehow, he'd made it out of there and into the Leaky Couldron, and from there straight into Muggle London.
He'd found the knife in a trashcan down a little side alley, and instantly latched onto the idea. Ife he could carve out the Dark Mark, then perhaps he could go home, claim he had simply gotten lost.
With the first cut, though, he'd known it was hopeless. The magic infused intot he mark caused all damage to it and the skin which it was engraved upon to heal instantly. So now, he simply cut away at that arm, relishing in the pain he inflicted upon himself.
If he could feel pain, thent hath meant that he was still human, that he wasn't like that deranged psychopath, Voldermort.
Didn't it?
As another sob was torn from his throat, Fred reached out blindly, grabbing onto the knife yet again as he brought it down on the Dark Mark. He didn't care that he couldn't actually do harm to the abomination engraved here -- he ha to feel. He had to know that he was still HIM, was still the same boy that he had been only this morning.
sobbing non-stop now, Fred allowed the knife to fall from nerveless fingers as he rose unsteadily to his feet, stumbling down the alley toward the street. He was still too close to Diagon Alley, too close to people who knew him. He had to get away ........ nobody could know. Nobody could ever see it, ever know that he bore the mark of Lord Voldermort. They'd think that he had taken it willingly, that he was a Death Eater.
He couldn't handle that. He knew that with a certainty that was almost frightening. To see a look of disgust and hatred on George's face ........ he couldn't. He wouldn't.
------------------------
i'm re-writing it! hopefully it turns out better this time ........ enjoy :D
Drawing in a shaky breath, he slid his tongue across the thick red luquid, savouring the tangy flavour that assaulted his taste buds.
Fred Weasley shivered in the cool night air, allowing the knife to slip from his fingers and fall to the ground with a loud clatter. His hand now vacant, he brought it over to his forearm, nails digging deep as he tore at the flesh. Flesh forever sullied with the mark of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Fred didn't even try to bite back the sob that tore from his throat, nails digging deeper and harder as he attempted in vain to claw away that offending piece of artistry forever engraved onto his forearm.
They'd grabbed him in the bookstore, when George was busy talking to their father about the Joke Shop. He'd been skimming through some books, waiting for George to finish so they could check the proper ones out. Just because they didn't attend Hogwarts anymore didn't mean that they weren't going to continue their magical education anymore, after all.
That was when they'd captured him -- when the Death Eater's had come. Nobody else had ever even realised that they were there, and in a matter of seconds he'd been whisked away, straight into the presense of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
They'd forced this ........ abomination onto his arm, and then apparated him into Knockturn Alley. Somehow, he'd made it out of there and into the Leaky Couldron, and from there straight into Muggle London.
He'd found the knife in a trashcan down a little side alley, and instantly latched onto the idea. Ife he could carve out the Dark Mark, then perhaps he could go home, claim he had simply gotten lost.
With the first cut, though, he'd known it was hopeless. The magic infused intot he mark caused all damage to it and the skin which it was engraved upon to heal instantly. So now, he simply cut away at that arm, relishing in the pain he inflicted upon himself.
If he could feel pain, thent hath meant that he was still human, that he wasn't like that deranged psychopath, Voldermort.
Didn't it?
As another sob was torn from his throat, Fred reached out blindly, grabbing onto the knife yet again as he brought it down on the Dark Mark. He didn't care that he couldn't actually do harm to the abomination engraved here -- he ha to feel. He had to know that he was still HIM, was still the same boy that he had been only this morning.
sobbing non-stop now, Fred allowed the knife to fall from nerveless fingers as he rose unsteadily to his feet, stumbling down the alley toward the street. He was still too close to Diagon Alley, too close to people who knew him. He had to get away ........ nobody could know. Nobody could ever see it, ever know that he bore the mark of Lord Voldermort. They'd think that he had taken it willingly, that he was a Death Eater.
He couldn't handle that. He knew that with a certainty that was almost frightening. To see a look of disgust and hatred on George's face ........ he couldn't. He wouldn't.
------------------------
i'm re-writing it! hopefully it turns out better this time ........ enjoy :D