Vicious Cycles Make You Laugh
(a change in the winds)

I never really asked for my life to be over.

…Then again, I never really asked for it to begin.

Days crept by and I felt as though they were desperately trying to leave me behind. My only window was the window to the past within me, and every single non-existent God knew that was the last thing I wanted to see.

At what point does habit become routine? At what point does routine become obsession? At what point does obsession become insanity?

My thoughts ran through my head: on and on and on and on and in circles. All the while I could hear their voices – calling, calling; beckoning me always.

Oh, how I wanted to go to them more than anything, more now than ever. I would have given anything I had – which, nowadays of course was next to nothing – for just one last taste of that darkness cultivating within me.

I had been raised to be evil, born and bred in hatred. My father had once been the Dark Lord's closest Death-Eater; in fact, he was his favorite little pet. My father had sold his soul for protection and power and his insatiable lust for all things terrible.

That was the path I was to be led down as well.

There had been nothing to distract me from it, either. I lived and breathed the Dark Arts. And – with every spell I uttered and curse I cast, I could feel my soul and my heart and my very essence of life withering away.

Nothing to distract me – except –

– except her.

She was perfect in every way, or almost every, except perhaps her short temper or her tendencies to fall into vicious cycles of self-loathing. She loved me and hated me and wanted me all the same as everyone else, and I wanted her back with every ounce of my being. Could you call it love? If so, it was the closest to the damn thing I ever came.

It was an obsession.

Yes, I wanted her… but I couldn't – wouldn't – couldn't – have her. It was not a part of the carefully constructed plan that was my life. Too many things were woven into our lives; too many things were ripping us apart.

When I closed my eyes now, I could almost still feel her presence, her oh-so-sensual touch; I could still almost feel myself moving through her –

– I shivered. Some memories should most definitely be left alone.

Pansy. I dared to whisper her name. It had become foreign to my lips. I couldn't help but wonder: Where was she now? What was she doing? And did I ever, ever cross her mind?

. … .

"Got your pills, Mr. Malfoy." The nurse's familiarly peppy voice sounded from the doorway behind me.

"Oh, thank you," I muttered sarcastically. "Leave it where you always do."

A slight sigh escaped her lips. "Draco, the doctor is concerned that you aren't, uh, making enough progress. He's asked me to monitor your pill intake."

I turned my head a little to look at her with narrowed eyes, letting any and absolutely all venom within me seep into that one solitary gaze. I was quite certain that had I looked into a mirror I would have seen my father staring back. There was a power rushing through me – now, more than ever. After all, I was still a Malfoy.

"Someday, I'll have magic again, and you will be the first person I use the Killing Curse on."

The nurse dropped her tray to the floor with a deafening clatter, made even louder by the typical silence that reverberated throughout my prison-hospital. While her eyes had gone wide, my own expression was grim. In a frenzy of shock she darted out of the room – probably to report me. Tomorrow I would surely be strapped in a straightjacket.

Or just maybe… I wouldn't be here.

For in all her haste, the nurse had left the door wide open.