Part Two
“I can’t do it,” Poppy flings the needle and thread away. “I give up.”
Draco rolls his eyes. He had been attempting, over the past hour, to teach his wife how to sew so that she could fix her stupid sheets herself when her stupid dog tears them up – unfortunately, Poppy doesn’t see the point in doing something boring when it can be done by magic. Much to her disgust, Draco has banned her from using magic to sew up material since the little incident when he accidentally turned into a pincushion. Poppy has proven to be as useful at sewing as she is at magic – that is to say, entirely useless. What’s the point of a girl who can’t sew, Draco wants to know? He can sew, and he’s a manly man. Shaking his head, he traipses off to pick up the needle and thread which Poppy has carelessly tossed over her shoulder for about the tenth time that day.
All of a sudden, his body stiffens. There’s only the two of them in the room and Poppy has her back to him, otherwise she might notice the black smoke which shimmers in the air a few moments before he inhales it completely. Draco’s fingers twitch and he shakes his blond head dazedly, blinking his stormy blue eyes and attempting to re-acquaint himself with the feeling of solidness quickly before Poppy turns round and notices that something is wrong. Swiftly, Draco lifts his slightly effeminate hands to the light and examines them, smirking in a way which doesn’t quite fit the young man’s pretty face.
On the stove in front of him is a cast iron pan. The master uses Draco’s arms to lift it up, his lip curling with distaste as the boy sags under the weight. This body is weak – he’ll trade it in for a new one soon. Balancing the pan in his hands, he swivels around.
Oblivious, Poppy still has her back to him; from the bent angle of her neck he presumes she’s probably biting her nails or scraping the dirt out from under them with her teeth (a revolting habit – it’s a wonder she’s married). He makes Draco inch closer and lift the pan as high as he can. There’s a slight whistle as he brings his arms down, and a resounding clang as the heavy pan strikes the ignorant girl across the back of the head. Poppy pitches forward and lies motionless on the floor.
Mallos takes a moment to allow a surge of pleasure to flow through his (Draco’s) body, and another to firmly install the memories of the event into the boy’s mind. He doesn’t need to examine the body; Poppy’s head is already encased in a halo of blood, and the severe wound to her skull can leave no doubt as to her condition. Mallos closes Draco’s stormy blue eyes and exhales slowly, releasing himself in smoke form once again; as the last part of him worms free, the boy drops to his knees and collapses, unconscious, on the floor. Possession usually has this effect, as it displaces a good deal of the possessed creature’s energy in the transfer. When Draco wakes up in ten or fifteen minutes’ time, he will find his wife dead by his own hand. Perhaps the torment will drive him to suicide, but Mallos hopes not; he prefers his enemies living in pain rather than resting in peace.
The first phase of revenge is complete. One down, two to go. The black cloud seems to glow gently as it fades away once more into the wind.
|