Title: Hand of Glory, Hand of Power, Guide Me In My Darkest Hour
Word Count:450
Rating:PG
Warnings:
After Snape killed Dumbledore, I thought my family’s ordeal was over. I should have known the nightmare had just begun. Father returned from Azkaban a broken man. We were royalty in exile.
A month after the funeral, Aunt Bella took me to Hogwarts. “You owe the Dark Lord your very existence!” she hissed, shoving a burlap sack into my hands. “If you wish to reclaim our honour, you’ll take it tonight.” She cackled. “Don’t come home empty handed!”
So this was my redemption; petty thievery. I opened the sack in the darkness, and stifled a moan of horror. Within, lay a Hand of Glory. I couldn’t look at it without gagging. It smelt and felt like a rancid Cadbury Flake. To think – as a young man, I’d coveted one.
Blimey, they don’t half work! I entered the Headmaster’s study without so much as alerting a passing portrait, ghost, or Mr. Filch. I saw my target immediately. Shining in the sickly, insinuating glow of the Hand was the Sword of Gryffindor; my offering to restore the family honour.
“Greetings, Draco.” I jumped with an embarrassing yelp and almost dropped my grisly torch. Dumbledore’s portrait smiled benevolently.
“Bugger off,” I muttered. He chuckled.
“Draco, I know why you’re here. You don’t have to do this. Bravery is often defined not by what we do, but rather by what we don’t do.”
“Shut up!” I screamed. “My family needs – “ I sobbed. “My family is everything!”
“Is that why Bella sent you to do her dirty work?” He countered, gently. “And enlisted me to give you a helping hand?”
I froze. With a pounding heart, I looked at the Hand of Glory. There it was; the tell-tale curse-rot that had blackened Dumbledore’s fingers right down to the wrist. I must have seen it a hundred times last year in school.
I flung his hand away, weeping; my disgrace was complete.
As I cried, Dumbledore comforted me. “It’s alright, Draco. Listen to me.”
I turned to him. He smiled. “Of course you must help your family. Therefore, I will help you.”
Later, I tossed the ornate sword to Aunt Bella. She held it aloft, bellowing triumphantly, “Behold the gift I have obtained for the Dark Lord’s pleasure!” Merlin, she’s mad as a spoon.
Father looked at my hand, particularly the finger that had worn the Malfoy Sigil. He loved that ring. He gave it to me the day he was sent to Azkaban. No one but him had noticed its absence.
His gaze shifted to the transfigured sword. Instantly, he spotted the Malfoy emerald, embedded into the hilt. He smiled, and I knew I had made him proud.
“Well done, Draco,” he whispered.
Teddy Raye 