As I Lay Me Down To Sleep

Chapter 7: In The Palm Of Her Hand

I’ve become so numb

I can’t feel you there

I’ve become so tired

So much more aware

I am tired suddenly.

I sink to my knees, watching my fingers sweep ghostly trails over the floor.

Footsteps approach. I look up at him.

He scowls at me.

"Don’t even think of pulling another trick like yesterday," he says.

What trick?

"What are you on about?" I ask, rising to my feet.

His silver eyes narrow. "Don’t toy with me, Weasley."

"Malfoy, could you stop being yourself for a moment and listen ? I have no idea what you’re talking about."

He continues to glare at me. After a moment, however, his eyes widen.

Before I know it, he is inside with me.

My head is spinning. What is he doing?

I open my mouth to ask him and his lips meet mine.

His kiss is rough, and I want to scream.

I pound my fists against his chest, but my traitorous lips are accepting of the contact. They open to allow his tongue passage.

Angry tears sting my eyes. What does he want with me?

After what seems like an eternity, he pulls away, shoving me backward.

I fall to the floor.

A flash of red.

I feel my blood pounding in my veins.

Raw power, cupped in my hands. White hot fire.

I glare at him, and the condescending smirk falls from his face.

I can tell from his expression that he is in great pain.

And I enjoy it.

Let him suffer, let him burn.

He sinks to his knees, staggering under the weight of my power.

Still, stubborn git that he is, he refuses to scream.

I grow bored. It is no fun when they do not fight.

I lift the magic from him, slowly. Alleviating the pain bit by bit.

I shall not kill him. Yet.

He stumbles to his feet, still considerably weak.

He looks at me with open hatred in his eyes. It is a rare occasion, indeed, to see a Malfoy unguarded.

Suddenly I feel my energy draining.

Another flash of red.

And then all fades to black.

*

I wake.

He is still here.

"Merlin, Weasley. What the hell is wrong with you?"

I bring a hand to my throbbing head.

"I– I do not know."

He looks down at his hands. "They want you, you know."

"Wh-who?" It seems all I can manage is stuttering.

Harsh, bitter laughter. "You’ll know soon enough."

Silence.

"Weasley, as fun as this has been, I must be going now," Malfoy says bitterly. He stands and in an instant he is on the other side of the door. He begins to walk away.

I snap my head up, ignoring the sharp pain the action brings. "Wait!"

He stops but does not look back.

"Where is Harry?" For some reason, I do not ask about my family. The ghastly image of blank green eyes will not fade from my mind.

"Potter is dead," he says casually. "Good night."

Chapter 8: Femme Fatale

I can’t feel

The way I did before

Don’t turn your back on me

I won’t be ignored

I watch as she begins to fall.

I find myself jumping forward to catch her before her skull cracks against the concrete. I lay her gently on the floor, as she seems to like being there.

What the hell just happened?

I wipe blood from my face with the back of my hand and stare at her unconscious figure.

I knew Weasleys had quite a temper, but that . . .

Even Voldemort couldn’t have done something like that.

 She doesn’t even have her wand. It was pure magic, and very powerful magic at that.

Damn, I sound like that Mud-Blood Granger. I snicker to myself. Hers was a fun death to watch. Especially with her pathetic little boyfriend looking on, totally powerless.

I look back at Ginny.

Where did I learn her name?

She would have done something. She would have tried to kill all of us. And, from what I have just seen, she would have succeeded.

She really is rather beautiful. Her face makes her look rather like an elf. It fits her.

Elves, by legend, are all incredibly, inhumanly beautiful. And amazingly powerful.

There had been many attempts to convince the elves to ally themselves with Voldemort, but all failed.

I watch her, trying to decipher the reasoning behind my incessant yearning.

Is it because of her beauty?

Is it because of her power?

She is certainly unique. If I can convince her to join Voldemort when he asks, things would be perfect. He would have one of the most powerful witches to ever exist, and I would have one of the most beautiful.

I am shaken out of my reverie when she awakens.

She looks up at me, as if she is amazed that I am still here. I sneer at her.

"Merlin, Weasley. What the hell is wrong with you?"

She begins to sit up, placing a hand on her head. "I– I do not know," she answers weakly.

 "They want you, you know," I say, suddenly finding myself greatly interested in my nails. I want to scare her, but I feel as though she knows of my earlier thoughts and cannot bring my eyes to meet hers.

"Wh-who?"

She honestly does not know. Who does she think is keeping her prisoner?

I laugh, a hollow sound. Not something I do often. Snickering, yes. Laughing, no.

"You’ll know soon enough."

My answer is cryptic, something I myself hate. But though I want it to, the truth will not escape my lips.

There is silence for a few moments. I look over at her to find her staring at the floor.

"Weasley, as fun as this has been, I must be going now," I say, rising to my feet. I walk out of the door, locking it behind me.

I take a few steps down the corridor before her voice stops me.

"Wait!"

Her voice is desperate. I am angry at her for letting herself sound this pathetic. I pause.

"Where is Harry?" The question is more of a whimper.

Of course she would ask about Potter. This should be fun.

Without looking back at her, I reply," Potter is dead. Good night."

I walk away, still somewhat dizzy from the force of her magic. The pain filled screams of the other prisoners increase the dull throbbing in my head.

Good night, indeed.