A/N
Hello dear readers. I like to write out some ideas that come to my mind. I decided to put them into a collection.
If you have characters you want to see from another perspective or see what they could be like, just PM me/ write in your review and I will see what I make of it! I'll let my fantasy run wild…
Enjoy reading and please review!
"There I encounter a serious problem. Potter's wand and mine. They share the same core and are – in some way - twins." He stands up and begins wandering around the long table. His long-fingered hands gaze the chair backs almost lovingly, gentle. "We can wound but not fatally harm each other." The Dark Lord says as he wanders on. His red eyes linger on everyone of us. I feel his gaze on the back of my head as he passes my chair. Quickly I drop my head in respect. So I like telling myself. The truth is I am terrified. Every time I'm around him, I'm scared.
"Therefore, I need another's wand." The silence in the dark room becomes heavier with this sentence. Those who wanted to please him seconds ago, those naive enough to believe he just rambled on about the twin wands, recognize his speech for what it is. Some sick twisted command to hand over a wand. My hand wanders to the right of my chair and caresses the cool handle of my most valued possession. Yes, I have the money to buy everything I want. Since I was eleven and full of excitement of going to school, I valued my wand. Every time my fingers touch the soft, cool wood. I feel a rush of energy running through my body. It fills me with pride to call the Elmwood filled with dragon heartstring my own. It isn't the prettiest of wands. In fact, it is a plain, straight wood without carvings or a handle. Only since I let Gregorowich work his wonders with the silver and emerald snake handle, my wand is something special among others. It was always special to me. But the shiny silver of the snakehead sticking out of my cane shows all who set their eyes on it, how special it really is.
I breathe a sigh of relief when the Dark Lord finally moves farther down the line of my fellow Death Eaters. I feel hot then cold as the man stops behind my son. There are few things I really value. My family and my wand are my most precious items. I love my wife and son, and I am willing to sacrifice anything for them.
The Dark Lord moves on as I shoot a quick glance towards my son. He is paler than usual, and I know he is frozen with fear. Ever since I made him join the Death Eaters, he is scared. Scared of what awaits him. I know that, but I couldn't risk him. If he is on the Dark Lord's side, he will experience pain, yes. But I would lose him if the Potter boy doesn't succeed. Which he will certainly not. They are children after all. I can't lose my son. Never. So that is the only chance to keep him alive throughout this war.
The silence stretches on and threatens to suffocate those waiting for the Dark Lord to speak again.
"Surely one of you would like the honor…" The Dark Lord says while he takes position behind Avery. All of us tense, some more visibly than others but all of us do. I carefully look up and see Severus' stony face. He sits across from me. He was late today and surely; he will suffer for it once we are all gone. His face doesn't betray his fear, never. But I know the small scared boy behind that mask. I envy him for his perfect strict nature, mask whatever it is. My wife is similar. She can overlook her fear, too. I cannot. Another glance around the table shows me Bellatrix is trembling in her seat. If from fear or excitement, I don't know.
When the Dark Lord speaks again, I hold my breath. "What about you…" He says with a tiny smirk in his voice. I close my eyes and pray to all the gods existing the certain 'you' he speaks of being Draco or Cissy… or me. But all my prayers stay unheard when I hear him hiss my name. At the same time, I flinch from his words and the meaning of them, the others sag in relief. I know I can't refuse. But I can't… I …
He is standing behind me, and I feel the power radiating from him. A shiver runs down my spine. I take a deep breath and raise my head to look at him.
"My Lord?" I ask. My voice seems to be gone. The sound that leaves my mouth is a humiliating, high mix between a whisper and a squeak. Malfoys do not squeak I rebuke myself.
"My Lord?" he mocks and stretches out his hand in front of my face. "I require your wand." That is a command. His tone is hard and unyielding. Not allowing any kind of reluctance or backtalk. I lower my head again and slowly I reach out for my cane. My hand grabs the beautiful silver snake handle and I concentrate on the soft 'click' I hear when drawing my wand out of the cane. One last time I feel the soft wood, the power surging through my whole being, to my soul and back. I remember the pride and energy I felt so many years ago in the wand shop when I was a boy. My hands tremble as I gently prop my wand up in both my hands and raise it up to the Dark Lord's waiting hand.
He rips the wand from my hands without care. He touches it all over and contaminates it with his filthy dark magic. My trembling hands fall back into my lap, and I feel Cissy grab my shaking fingers.
"Do I detect elm?" He asks while he runs his fingers over my wand. My breath hitches and once more my voice gives out.
"Yes, My Lord." I whisper and close my eyes. In sorrow and some absurd feeling, I can't name.
"And the core?" comes the next question. I hate it. I need two attempts for the answer.
"Dragon heartstring…my Lord." I rasp and Cissy squeezes my hand. Then the Dark Lord does something I will remember for the rest of my days. A resounding crack floods the entire room and echoes in my ears. I can't suppress the flinch as my sliver, green snake handle is dropped in front of me. Carelessly thrown away like some piece of dirt. I stare at it and struggle to hold back the tears welling up in my eyes. The Dark Lord moves on and now I feel Draco grab my other hand. His is cold as ice and trembling like mine. But despite his fear my son tries to comfort me. I close my eyes tightly and squeeze the hands of my loved ones while I fall into my grief.
For the rest of the meeting, our hands stay that way and when the Dark Lord finally disappears with my wand, I snatch the snakehead from the table as quickly as I can and hold it tight.
There are more wands. Others change theirs every year. I tell myself, but it doesn't lessen the pain of loss in my heart.
What do you think?