Stone Cold

I look into your eyes. Gray eyes, once cold and impassive, now wide and dancing with terror. Gods, it is beautiful. To watch you twist and struggle with your bonds. But they are Magical, and they won’t give. You should know that. Silly boy.

Your mouth is moving, but no sound is escaping. Quite useful, that silencing charm is. At first, your screams were satisfying. To see your defenses break, your family pride spill to the floor with your blood as strangled cries fell from your lips. But soon, the noise became bothersome. It was giving me a terrible headache and taking away from my concentration. I had to do something about it.

I move the knife slowly, slowly across your skin. Pressing hard and making small, torturous cuts. Your skin is so white. The blood looks magnificent against it. Like red paint on a blank canvas. You keep twitching. Really, that will not do. I cast a body binding spell. You glare at me and I run a finger down your cheek.

You want to hit me, don’t you? You don’t like the way this relationship has turned around. Innocent little Ginny, finally growing a backbone. I can only take so much, Draco. I am so tired of being walked all over, of being abused. Now you know what it feels like.

But unlike me, you won’t have to wake up to another miserable day ever again.

Your skin is covered in open wounds. Blood is staining your skin and your expensive clothes and pooling on the floor. So much blood from such a small boy.

I remove your bonds and you look astonished for a moment. Triumph flickers into your eyes. I have given up, you think. I know I can’t win.

But the triumphant gleam flickers and dies as I point my wand at you and mutter "Cruciatus."

You are too weak to fight it even for a moment. You fall to your knees, your eyes clenching shut and your mouth wide open. I remove the silencing spell and I hear you coughing and groaning in pain. I smile.

After a few minutes, you are begging me to remove it. You writhe on the floor, choking out pleas. You never meant to hurt me, you say. You love me and if I will just let you live, you will show me.

You really are an idiot, Draco, if you think I am going to let you out of this alive. No no. You would run back and tell everyone what I have done, and that simply will not do. You see, I have it all planned out. They find your dead, mangled body. You are Marked, both you and I know it. They blame the death on Voldemort. I find out about the horrible tragedy at breakfast, and tears fill my eyes. You are, after all, my boyfriend.

I can make out the word "bitch" between your harsh coughs.

I laugh. Bitch? Yes, I suppose I am a bitch. But don’t worry, my dear, you won’t have to deal with me anymore.

You only last a few more minutes before your coughing turns into shallow, slow breaths. Your movements are slowing down, your skin a pale gray like your eyes.

When it happens, the room is suddenly dead quiet. You lay, still, on the floor, covered in blood.

I kneel by your body and close your eyes. But before I do, I notice that they are cold once again.