Poison
By Dreamer
Red.
Red as blood. Scarlet, crimson, carmine, cerise,
sanguine or ruby, none of them quite describe the
color of this. The most potent poisonous potion I
could brew. It took all my skill at Potions and I
needed help from Professor Snape but I did it. A
months worth of moonshine, the light gray thread that
moonbeams are spun into went into its depths and made
it sparkle like the stars were resting in it. The
captured sound of a baby's first cry makes it tinkle
with an eerie sound, as if church-bells are being rung
far, far away.
Shredded saffron, sliced with a silver knife, holds it
together, stopping it from escaping. It needs only two
more ingredients. A kiss, suddenly taken from an
innocent I desire makes it vibrate gently, and a
single hair from an enemy will finish it. Then and
only then can I drink it. I have to drink it, touching
both water and earth by the light of a crescent moon.
I unstopper the fragile glass vial that holds the lock
of Harry's hair and pull out one silk-like strand of
hair. I drop it into the glass. It trembles of its own
volition and then the glass burns with a crimson
flame, transforming the liquid into a form of molten
light. The glass glows brightly, an incandescent light
radiating from the center of the now pure red liquid.
No longer is it a jumble of impossible-to-attain
ingredients but a sweet red liquid that will solve all
my problems forever.
The glass begins to glow brightly, an incandescent
light radiating from the center of the now pure red
liquid.
It is finished. I can drink the poison and then my
troubles will be over. I dangle one foot into the
ice-cold water of the lake and press my left hand into
the soil. I look up at the crescent moon and salute it
with my glass. I take a deep breath, savoring the very
taste of the cold night air. I shut my eyes, letting
the cool night breeze fan my hair around my face.
I lift the glass to my lips, the cold hard crystal of
the wine-glass pressing against my soft lips and tilt
my head back. I open my lips and the liquid flows down
my throat, staining my lips with red, as if they're
bleeding. It tastes faintly sweet but also slightly
sour and it works almost immediately, my senses
shutting down.
I have time for one coherent thought before I die:
Forgive me Harry,
but.........................................................
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Death is the only escape that I have left.
Authors note: I seem to be in the habit of writing
angst stories these days. *sigh* Oh well, at least
they have romance in them. I wrote this one for the
picture that I have in my profile, of Draco drinking
from a wine—glass with his eyes shut. A friend of mine
complained about the ending so I also wrote a fairy
tale ending version which is longer and has a
description of what exactly happened with Harry.
Reviews will be treasured and I, like most other
authors will answer any of your questions if you leave
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