Rosewood

She was losing her mind in there. His father was under strict orders, keeping her locked away in the dark, empty room. He had been made to prepare that room, trying not to think about its use. There was no light in it. The walls, ceiling and floor joined seamlessly, made out of stone that would not scratch or crumble. It was neither hot nor cold, and completely empty, save for the blanket she used for sleeping, charmed so she couldn't rip it or make any sort of mark on it. She had no way of marking how long she had been there, no way of doing any kind of magic, any sort of activity except moving or thinking. And there was no door. Not from the inside. He could get in and out by way of magic, but there was no physical door. He would place the food soundlessly and leave. Sometimes she wouldn't even notice he'd been there until hours later. He knew. He could see in - he had to, in order to fulfil his duty as guard. He could see in, but she was trapped in the darkness. He felt pity, but all his emotions had been squashed down since he was a small child, and anger was the only one that still prevailed.

At the start she had screamed, tried to hurt him when he brought her the food, tried to force escape... but gradually she had accepted that this was the way it was. She had even stopped eating for a while, but that had stopped quite quickly, as if she had decided that it wasn't the right choice. It made him glad, in some way - it meant he wouldn't have to force her to eat. Perhaps she'd guessed this, but he somehow saw that she refused to die, as if she thought there was some better way. How she could still cling to any hope, he didn't know. He couldn't think of anywhere to find it.

Even so, she was going mad. After all of the fighting had died down, she had started talking to herself, reciting off endless lists and incantations, potion ingredients... it seemed as though she was trying to keep her memories intact. He marvelled at the fact that she wouldn't repeat herself, and would sometimes listen in during his guard duty, trying first of all to work out what today's topic was, then listening out for any mistakes. If there were any, he either didn't catch them or she corrected herself.

After a certain amount of time, however, she moved on to things he didn't know - sometimes it sounded like poetry, or song lyrics, at other times lines from a book or perhaps a play. She would never recite them flatly, but the way they were intended to be spoken, sometimes singing quietly, or reciting with the right emotion and inflection. But her heart wasn't in it. She had started this, no doubt, as a way to retain her sanity, but it seemed to him that her mouth was working on its own, the words coming out straight from her memories, with no thinking done in between. As time had passed, he had noticed a distinct pattern to what she said. She had started off reciting what was new and fresh in her mind - the NEWT paper questions, her answers to them - and slowly worked backwards, towards things when her life had not been taken over by school or study, when books had been her main pastime. More recently he had been hearing long excerpts from children's books, some recognisable, things such as the fairy-tales taught to every child, wizarding or muggle, many more were not.

She had been quite quiet today, almost whispering the recipes some female relative had taught her as a girl - flapjacks today, darling, now what do we need? You go and weigh the sugar pet, while I go and fetch the syrup... he thought now that she was taking refuge in her sweet childhood memories, in a way he never could.

He shifted a little in his chair, and turned to look at her, having caught some movement in the corner of his eye. She had not moved unless to get food since the fighting had stopped. She had stood up, and was facing the blank wall he was watching from. She closed her eyes, and began to recite. He watched, unable to look away from her.

"Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish and unkind. But then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. The prince tried to apologise but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart, and as punishment she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle, and all who lived there. Ashamed of his monstrous form, the beast concealed himself inside his castle, with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his twenty-first year. If he could learn to love another, and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope - for who could ever learn to love a beast?"

He stared at her, unnamed, unknown emotions flooding through him. At her words, she had begun to glow, with a strange golden light that seemed to light her, and not her surroundings. And out of the light had formed a rose, delicate and perfect, it too shining with the same, strange light. She opened her eyes and looked at it, and smiled, carefully plucking it out of the air.

"My first piece of accidental magic. I was so sure, so convinced that I could do it. It was real, the enchantress had made a rose and so would I."

He didn't know whether she was speaking to him or just to herself. She seemed utterly caught up in the moment, but then she looked right at him. But how could she look right at him? It couldn't be possible. He met her gaze and held it, unable to move or do anything.

"And I did it. I'd almost forgotten. I ran into the kitchen and showed mum my rose. But she wouldn't take me seriously, said I'd brought it in from the garden. But that rose bloomed and bloomed. Mum put it in some water with the other roses she'd picked from the garden, but when they had all withered it was still there. I was only little, adamant about keeping it, so she put away in a shoebox in my wardrobe. I think it scared her a little, but it's still there, unless my house has burned like the others."

He couldn't look away, entranced by both her words and the light.

"And when I got my wand, well, I knew it before Mr Ollivander gave it to me."

She made a clever little swishing movement with the rose, and suddenly it wasn't a rose, but a wand, trailing blue and gold sparks with every movement.

"Nine and a half inches, rosewood. Flexible, a hardworking wand if there ever was one - perfect for tranfiguration, charms, or practically any other task you put it to."

She studied it for a second, then continued, looking back up at him, "No core to this one, of course, but then I always was a little... different. Sorry, but I've got to go now. Don't live your life in hatred, Malfoy. Learn to love."

And she was gone.

He shook himself, then carefully checked the cell, first by eye, then with magic. Completely empty. He hurried up the many stairs to his room, picking up the bag he'd kept away for just such an occasion. He would go now. They would never know until it was too late. His father wouldn't know until it was too late. He would leave here - maybe even the country if he had to.

Learn to love.

He had loved his mother. Another reason to leave. Father, it had turned out, loved no one, and answered only to his master. Narcissa had been obstructing him.

He ran to get his broom. Travelling by any other means would be too easily traced. He made it to the window before the curse hit him, bringing him to his knees, whole body writhing in pain.

"So, my son, the traitor finally reveals his true colours."

The pain intensified with every step closer Lucius came.

"I suppose you freed the Mudblood? How very stupid of you. You must have realised we had placed more surveillance on her than just you. It only proves that you are no son of mine."

His father did not waste any more words on him, merely spitting out the curse. His last conscious thoughts, aimed at someone far off, flickered across before the light swooped down on him.

"I learned. It's you."

His mother waited for him.