Finished

The rain is coming down almost too hard. The Hogwarts grounds have become a virtual bog.

I find myself surrounded. This is my last chance. If I don't complete the curse as it's meant to be done, not only will I fail the year, but I will fail all of wizard-kind.

One eye completely bloody and destroyed, I spin around blindly, trying to look onto my ever-moving targets.

"Crucio!" I hear one of them scream. The pain wracks my body like that of fire burning through nerves. Crying, I fall to the ground, not willing to fight--not willing to live.

I must get out of here. With my one blurry eyes, I scan my surroundings for an opening through which I can slip between the Death Eaters. There, between Lucius and Bellatrix Lestrange--there I see a man-sized gap. Why they would leave such a large space is beyond me, until I realise who these people are: they are making way for the Dark Lord.

Voldemort. A name and a man that I could never love. The one word will always echo through my mind with the mixed memories of family and death. His filth's blood stans my hands, which ache with the curse. When it finally releases me, I am barely able to stand, and when I do, Malfoy comes forth.

"So," he says, "it seems you have finally failed!"

I move to protest, to strike him, but collapse back onto the grass. My hand is gripping my wand so tightly, I am surprised that it doesn't break. With bloody fingers, my other hand digs into the dirt, vainly feeling for some help or weapon. My efforts are fruitless, but I don't let myself die. Not yet: not until I have properly cast at Bellatrix.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" she demands from me. "What is the mighty's admittance of defeat?"

"I am not defeated, Lestrange," I growl, trying to sound menacing, but failing badly.

"No? Well, then, perhaps you would like to fight--a duel for your lover's honour, perhaps?"

My mind turns to the subject: the gentle kisses, the warm smiles, all brought crashing down by a witch with fingers itching to cause trouble.

As I lie there in the muddy grass, bloody seeping into the ground, I realise the truth of that statement. The lust for power drives many of the most wonderful people to madness.

Somehow, touching the earth brings me strength, as if nature is trying to tell me that there is hope.

"Help me," I whisper to the ground, "help me, please!"

It is not likely, I think at first, that anyone will hear me, but when the ground begins to soften further, I notice the change. The spark of hope within me grows to a small light.

"I will duel you," I say in response to Bellatrix's challenge, then a little louder, "I will duel you!"

Bellatrix laughs and uses her wand to make me stand.

"You are brave," she laughs, "but bravery, I think you will find, is rarely to your advantage!"

I am at a loss. Her words are so confident, they make me doubt the good in my heart. Grabbing a handful of mud, I throw it at her face, where it splays.

"Heartless bitch!" I growl. "You don't know when to quit! You have never known!"

Her eyes grow even colder and her face sets in a snarl. "You little milk-coddle! If your mother had listened to me when I told her, she would have drowned you like I did Michael! I knew you would amount to nothing but a turncoat! For shame!"

"You talk to me of shame?" I watch as she takes aim with her wand, but this time, I am not suffering from shock. As she hurls the killing curse at me, I find myself a step ahead, wand at the ready. The green light jets at me and before it can reach its mark, it is deflected by a spell of my own.

I hear a defeaning scream and Bellatrix begins to dance a jig, as another Death Eater out on the battle field meets a sour end.

The Tarantallegra: who would think that it could come in handy during a war? I forget this, however, as I am prepared to win. This opportunity to strike cannot be missed.

"Avada Kedavra!" I yell, concentrating all my energy into the curse. Bellatrix falls flat on the ground, eyes wide open and staring at the sky in the most frightening way.

I can see the others move out of the corner of my eye, and I watch them fall randomly to the ground, finding the same death as their colleague. All that is left of them within mere seconds is Lucius, who has his cruel gaze fixed on something behind me on the battle field.

"Lucius," I growl loudly, "Imperio!" His gaze turns to me in a ghastly manner and I smirk. "For Blaise."

I can imagine the pain of the next few minutes is horrendous for Lucius, and I love every minute of it. As I cast the Cruciatus repeatedly, all I think of is Blaise's sweet breath on my face and the way he loved to fly his broomstick randomly around for hours, just because of the thrill.

When I release Lucius from my grip, he is far from being in good health. Blood is spat onto the ground and he begins his speech that I know is coming.

"I did all that I could for you, and you've turned your back on me! You don't deserve to live through this; you don't deserve to kiss the hem of our Lord! How you could be a Death Eater is beyond me. If you were wounded by the fall of that Zabini boy, then I am glad. You were too alike: you will end up like him, mark my words..."

"Shut up!" I scream, cutting him off. "Blaise was twice the man that you are! Crucio!" I screw my eyes tightly shut and when I open them, there is nothing but a misshapen dead man at my feet.

"Draco Malfoy knows no mercy for his enemies," I whisper, turning on my heel, telling myself never to look back.

"Potter!" I call into the fray. "Potter, I'm finished!" With that, I collapse to the ground, watching the world spin until that blissful moment when rest comes to claim me. My work is done and my suffering only beginning. But that is a tale I will leave for another day.