Glass Roses

Circles within circles. Three rings, cut into the icy soil. Three chances to back out. I seal the last circle without any remorse. From now on, there is no going back. This is old magic, ritual magic. No one uses it anymore. No one has ever used this spell twice. No one has used this spell and lived to use it again.

I curse again as the wound on my shoulder re-opens. It is the least of the damage. The real wounds are the ones you can't see. Thedamage I didn't even know I had, until I had been staring down a wand at Albus Dumbledore, with every reason to kill him, and no will to do so. Wounds thatare now echoed by physical damage—every muscle in my body still burns from the Cruciatus curse. Even if I chose to back down, I would be dead by dawn from the damage they already did. It doesn't matter anymore. I can feel them, waiting. I failed. If you fail, you die. Malfoys do not fail. I shove that thought away. I am not a Malfoy anymore. I hate them for it, for stealing my choice, hiding my options untill it was too late to choose. I hate them for blinding me to what I could have been. Remorse is useless now. I do not allow myself to feel it.

I begin to walk around the circle. They used me like a pawn, and then tried to discard me. But even a pawn can capturea king, with the right position and a little bit of luck. I reach full circle, so the waning moon is directly behind me, and pull something from a pocket in my robes. It glitters in the moonlight. A rose, made out of flawlessly clear crystal. I had filched it from transfiguration; it was Potter's work. No one had been able to figure out why, instead of becoming a daffodill, the rose had become a perfect crystal, too hard to break. I had taken it thinking only that it was beautiful; now it would be the vessel of my final curse. Even if the words are a blessing, it is tone of voice and the pain it causes that make it a curse.

I move forward, to stand in the center of the circle, and trace a glyph in the air with my wand. Noctem, representing the darkness, and the blade in the night. Something falls to the earth with a thunk, and I pick it up, carefully. It is a knife, made entirely of frosted black glass. Odd that a protection spell should need such a thing, but this was no ordinary protection spell. This was my blow, against my father, against the evil he serves. With this spell, he will never lay hand or wand on his target. This was my double-edged sucide knife.

I place the tip of the blade in the hollow of my throat, and drive it home, quickly. I collapse as the pain tears through me. God, make it stop! My blood is staining the snow. I have to stay conscious. He has to know. The spell seizes me, and for a moment I see a flash of the Griffendore common room, superimposed on the blood soaked ice. I feel his shock, then his fear as my pain rolls down the temporary link. Anger, sorrow, regret, and a terrible joy. I can't tell which are his and which are mine anymore. Then the link fades as the spell starts to set, and I smirk, despite the agony. He will always know what I paid for this spell. It will always hurt him, to have someone die for him, no matter who or why. It will burn him more deeply, that it was his enemy that did so. My final curse, that he always know that I died to protect him. Black streaks across my vision. The last thing I see, as the spell is completed, is a rich golden glow rising in the clear crystal rose—and the gem shattering into soft petals the color of my blood. My last thought, is that in the end, I have won. I have paid them both back. Now, they cannot hurt me. Now, I am free….

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EDIT: just tightened things up a bit.

Another little one-shot with no real inspiration. I don't know why, but whenever I try to write for NaNoWriMo, this is what comes out instead. Yes, this is Draco's point of view. Yes, he is nuttier than a pecan orchard. They is reffering to Lucies Malfoy and the death eaters. Him is voldemort. Who knows, if I get a positive response, I may start writing these on purpose… Either way, please review and thank you for reading.

Dyslexic Angel