I tumbled into my room, spitting blood on the sleek carpet. Shaking, I pushed myself to a sitting position, leaning against my bed. I looked around for my wand, struggling to remain conscious. My vision blurred slightly; I couldn't find it. I tried to stand but dizziness caused me to slump back on the floor, missing my bed and falling on my back. The high ceiling went in and out of focus.

No, I thought, I won't do it. I won't use it. A wave of sudden pain sliced through my left arm. Using almost my last reserves of strength, I took several deep breaths and managed to sit up again. My glassy eyes looked at the blood soaking through my robes.

A mirror hung in the wall in front of me. The corners of my mouth turned up slight at the contrast of colors in the reflection. A trail of blood went down my chin; more congealed on my forehead. My hands were both covered in blood; even my black robes fashioned an undertone of red. Yet my skin was paler than it ever had been, paler even than when I saw the Dark Lord murder my mother in front of my eyes.

I knew I had to do something. Anything. My eyelids seemed to suddenly possess the weight of a thousand owls. The world began to blur again. If I just closed my eyes, if I just let sleep overcome me, it would all be over, I would just drift peacefully away, ending this nightm- NO. I would not give up just yet.

But I could only think of one solution, only one spell to heal my wounds. If I had the energy, my hand would have balled into a fist, tight enough for my fingernails to pierce the flesh. I fought the tears that now stung my eyes.

I was too fatigued to think of anything else. Defeated, I let my uninjured arm make its way to my other. The wound caused my left arm to shudder violently. Closing my eyes and my right hand over the injury, I clenched my teeth to bear the pain of the new pressure and to focus on something other than the fact that I had lost, that I had let the Dark Lord beat me.

My lips barely moved, sound barely came out, but it was enough. I murmured an ancient, dark spell that the Dark Lord had taught me himself – an incantation that would send my wounds to another, sparing my own life. I could almost see his thin lips forming an evil smile, knowing that now I could never turn back from what I had just done. His eyes would grow wide in cruel pleasure. I might even be worth a soft, cold laugh of perverse victory.

The world became clear again as my wounds faded. In the doorway stood the Dark Lord, looking down upon me with a knowing smile that made me shiver. He didn't flinch as my injuries transferred to him. He only smiled wider, reveling in the power he now had over me.

I didn't need to roll up the sleeve of my robe to know my left arm now bore a skull and snake intertwined.

"Congratulations, Draco," the Dark Lord hissed softly, his voice filled with malice. He raised his wand at me. "Rest now," he whispered. "You'll need it."

I tried to resist but darkness faded in. I closed my eyes, slipping into unconsciousness.