Round 5 - Gladiolus
2nd Place
Draco Malfoy could tell you the moment Tom Riddle was fated to die. It was the moment the monster dared touch Hermione Granger.
She had been laid out on the Malfoys' cold floor, wounds from his aunt's blade still weeping, and Riddle had crucio'd her in anger, punishing the witch for Potter's escape. Draco had stood by, face shrouded with feigned indifference, while inside he boiled and raged. How dare he touch her. Hurt her.
Draco had exchanged a look with his mother, and she had nodded. It was time for this to end, and the Malfoys would, as always, take back the power they are due.
After that, Draco had watched Hermione suffer and starve in his family home, barely able to sneak bread and water, sharing only a meaningful glance as his fingers grazed hers through the bars. Their time would come, he knew. Only a little longer.
Three torturous days pass, Draco railing at his mother in their private rooms as Lucius looks on, haggard and hollow, eyes hardly seeing. But when the Dark Lord takes a meeting with Karkaroff, Draco makes his move.
Luring the snake is easy enough. She is a violent and vain thing, like an ancient dragon of legend. They lead her with rats, filling her with meat and blood, until they reach the part of the estate not written of in any records. The path through the gardens shown on no maps, the purpose only passed down through the patriarchs of the line. Here, the snake meets her end, and Draco watches the blood seep into the dirt, the last, lucky rat scurrying away.
By morning, Riddle is beside himself. "Where is Nagini," he hisses at his followers. Humbly, Narcissa answers.
"My Lord, she hunts often in my gardens. Shall I look for her?"
"I will go myself," he bites back. "Show me!"
And so, mother and son lead, arm in arm as if making a turn about a garden party. The Dark Lord stalks just behind, growling for haste; begging for Nagini to make herself known.
"Here, My Lord. She finds rats in the gladiolus. Perhaps she is there?"
He tears into the tall stalks, breaking stems and sweeping his cloak through the foliage. Draco watches, stoic, his mother standing equally strong.
"I do not see her," the wizard says, spinning in place and looking toward the ground.
"Perhaps if you look beneath the blooms," Draco offers. "It's so dense to see through…"
And so he does, the desperate Lord, until his head and shoulders slip beneath the swaying stems. His cry comes next, howling his snake's name, deteriorating quickly into a strangled, gurgling sound.
They stand, waiting, until the earth absorbs the man that had threatened the Malfoy home. Runes rend flesh and spirit, all hidden by vibrant flowers, shaped as swords and born of spilled blood.
Draco spits in the dirt before turning to run back to the house, to his witch he has kept waiting too long.