Title: Traveling Soldier
Author: Rad
Summary: A novel-length song-fic based off of the song Traveling Soldier by the Dixie Chicks.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Suicide/character death and Violence
Author's Note: I realize that this is the first FanFiction that I am posting on The sad thing is, it isn't really a very good example of my writing, so please be patient with me. If you aren't one for Romance and Cliche's, and you're categorizing me as one of those authors who writes Romance/Clishe's, you are mistaken. '-

This story is a good example of one of those plot bunnies that just kind of hits you in the middle of having Writer's Block on another story. The first part of Hopes, Wishes, and Dreams will be up shortly after the fourth or fifth chapter of this. Depending on what happens, I may or may not use this story as a Prequal to Hopes, Wishes, and Dreams.

I would add a disclaimer, but, as my rebellios act against such nonsence, I am not. Simply because nobody is seriosly going to sue me. The number of fanfics I come across with no disclaimers is quite astounding. You all know I don't own this. Anyway, reviews are welcome (and rather worshipped) at the end.

-Rad

Chapter One: Meetings

Two days past eighteen,
He was waitin' for the bus in his army greens…

Draco sighed, running a hand through his platinum blond hair as he looked out over the sea of chaos and destruction reigning before him. Could there never be peace? Why did this cycle of evil continue to run, even when the cycle of light always seemed to triumph? Why did life continue on as it did in such a monotonous way? He simply could not understand why Tom Riddle Jr. would have ever wanted to start this…couldn't the man live how he wanted? Why force upon others something which will never be real? There is no perfection in the world, least of all Voldemort, and yet he so strived to gain the upper hand of reality and create it. Saying that it simply did not make any sense is an understatement.

And people called this man intelligent!

Turning away from the scene his father had gestured to, Draco looked at his father with emotionless grey eyes, tearing him apart even as he smiled mockingly. "Is this what you call destruction, father?" he asked, feeling sick at his words, "This is only the beginning. And once the beginning has finished, we shall have the reality which our master so strives for. But this-" he snorted derisively-"This is not anything compared to what will be." Draco Malfoy looked almost exactly like his father, now especially that he had grown his hair out. The elegant mass of silky hair fell to his shoulders and was tied in a black bow between his shoulder blades. He was taller than his father-by an inch at least, but had the same light, agile build. His silver eyes were deep with determination-with cruelty and coldness. With despair. A despair that not even Lord Voldemort himself could catch with his scrutinizing glares at his servants.

Draco Malfoy was the master of cruelty.

Draco Malfoy was the master of inscrutability.

Draco Malfoy was the master of deception.

Lucius stared at his son, a hint of pride in his gaze. He believed that there was no finer boy…not one in the world who could outdo Draco Malfoy who wasn't either Lucius himself or his Lord-Voldemort. "It is not what I call destruction," he said quietly, "But it is what many would call destruction. It is what will gain us the upper hand in this war." They had attacked Hogwarts. They had Hogwarts now…and that meant that Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Severus Snape were dead. All three were people who had been high up on the list of people to kill, and with one fell swoop, Voldemort and his deatheaters had eliminated the threat of the most powerful wizard in the world, his right-hand woman, and a very nasty man who had sought to spy for the Order…and gotten away with I for nearly four years! Yes, this was a victory-the end of the war. But it was only the beginning of the Grand Plan.

'Have you ever heard of Adolf Hitler, father?' he thought, dryly, 'He was trying to do the same thing you are. And he ended up killing himself…even after it seemed he would so likely win…' Luckily, Lucius could not read people's minds as his master could, and so Draco's thoughts went undisturbed by what his father's reaction surely would be. But they were disturbed by something else.

"Draco," came a voice-a long suffering wail from Pansy Parkinson, "Oh, Draco! Isn't this perfect, love? Isn't this wonderful? We're soooo close!" She threw her arms around him, her bony little arms with those ungraceful little hands that were so much like the spiders Draco crushed with his hands sometimes. He looked to his father for help, but the man only chuckled softly and looked back out over the chaos that had once been Hogwarts. Still, people were fighting. Still, people were trying so desperately to gain the upper-hand. But the number of those people was becoming quite sadly few. Draco, Lucius, and Pansy stood at the edge of the forest, as they had been ordered to by Lord Voldemort. Why he had wanted them there, not even Lucius could say for sure.

Pansy, who looked so much like a pug it was way more disgusting than any human had a right to be, whimpered to get Draco's attention, and she buried her head in his neck in what she obviously thought to be a loving way. The blond-haired teen nearly shouted in disgust and pushed her off of him…but he wasn't Master of Secrecy for nothing. He wasn't a Malfoy for nothing. Draco simply could not see how his father could stand it-for Narcissa was the same type of woman Pansy would soon become. It was a shuddering thought.

"It isn't perfect until we're there," he said in response, not even flinching at her 'loving' tactics. His father shot him another proud look, and he felt like he was about to throw up. He really didn't need this. But he suffered, and suffered alone. Pansy gave him an awe-filled look-one that said she admired his words and his stance even as she was trying to get him to become as 'lovey-dovey' as a lovebird. Finally the girl realized that she couldn't, and backed off. She seemed satisfied enough just to lean her head on Draco's shoulder and look out, and truly, he didn't mind that as much as he had her previous tactics.

"You're right," she sighed dreamily, "Nothing can be perfect until we rid the world of those God-awful muggles and those muggle-loving blood traitors. But we can do it together." 'Does she think she sounds wise, saying this?' Draco thought in disgust. 'What am I doing here? Why can't I be off…alone, where nobody can bother me? Why must I deal with those fools in the Order of the Phoenix…is there no other choice for me? Is there no other way I could survive this war?

Running off to America or Australia seemed like a good idea. Running off to South America or even Antarctica seemed like a good idea. But somehow, Draco doubted he would be safe for very long if he did that. The only choice he had was to join the Deatheaters, or join the Order of the Phoenix. Since Deatheaters were definitely not a choice (in Draco's mind), it had to be that confounded Order. Which would fall apart, surely, now that its precious leader was gone. 'Why choose the loosing side, Draco?' He asked himself wryly.

After long hours, Deatheaters finally began to appear at the edge of the Forest. Voldemort appeared, and everybody bowed to him, begging him to reward this job-well-done. The creature, with red slitted eyes and a thin, almost nonexistent mouth, ordered them to stand up. He walked up, dressed in long, black robes which seemed to fold and curve in eternal ways, forever into darkness, to Draco, Lucius, and Pansy. Suddenly, Draco felt fear. Voldemort knew, but he kept his face blank. Lucius and Pansy bowed. Draco didn't. He didn't need to.

"So," Voldemort hissed, his voice so high pitched, and yet obviously male, "You have decided the losing side, Draco. You have one chance. You may repay your debt, or you can die a very long torturous death." Lucius and Pansy both stood in shock. Draco…choosing the losing side? He was a Deatheater…pure! But according to Voldemort…

"I think, no matter what I choose, I'm in for a long torturous death," said Draco weakly, wishing that he hadn't been so…affected by the Order, who said death before dishonour was a code to follow like the bible, "I'd either have to endure your torture for a few hours…perhaps even days or weeks, or I'd endure the torture of being a Deatheater until I died in the war. I think I'd rather save myself from that." That, of course, really had not been the correct thing to say. Voldemort didn't seem to notice.

"You disappoint me, Lucius," he hissed, turning to his father with a sneer. Lucius stood, frozen with fear and yet not allowing himself to show it. Draco suddenly realized what Voldemort was going to do. 'It's not going to do any good,' he thought to himself, and thankfully Voldemort was too busy telling Lucius and Pansy what failures they were to notice Draco's thoughts, 'I'm not like most of them in the Order. I could care less if you killed my father or Pansy. In fact, you'd only be doing the Order a great favour, and I could then die with that thought.'

Draco was not at all noble, and he desperately wanted to get away. Somehow he had to figure out how to save his own life…if that meant taking a few innocent victims of Voldemort's wrath to Hell in his place, then so be it. He watched as Voldemort tortured and killed Pansy…he was sickened by her screams, but almost relieved at the fact that he would never have to hear her disgusting voice again. Lucius stood, rooted to the spot, sending a look at Draco that-if looks could kill-would have had him twitching on the ground in a very painful, agonizing death.

When Pansy had stopped twitching and screaming, Voldemort cast the Killing Curse upon her, and she was dead. He chest stopped moving…she was no longer breathing. Suddenly, Draco had an idea. He waited patiently as Voldemort tortured his father, and, just before the man died, Draco tackled Voldemort. Spells were shot from every direction. Voldemort laughed, firing the Killing Curse in Draco's direction.

But the teen had used one of the raging Deatheaters as a shield. The man (who was most likely very valuable to Voldemort) fell with an agonizing scream of death. Draco shot into the Forest. Voldemort stopped short, laughing his cruel, high-pitched laugh. The Deatheaters stopped as well. Nobody could survive the Forbidden Forest…not with Deatheaters surrounding it on all sides. "Very brave, Draco Malfoy!" he heard being called after him. His heart was pounding at a million miles a second…he was trapped. But at least he was away from Voldemort's wrath. Maybe he could figure something…

>POP

Draco's jaw dropped. He was no longer in the Forbidden Forest…instead, he was in a very old, very dark feeling house, being stared at by several people, some of who he knew, and others he didn't. He knew where he was…he just didn't know why-or how.

He was at Number 12 Grimauld Place, the Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix.

'-

Ginny Weasley walked into his room, her fiery red hair hanging in waves around her shoulders. Her eyes were downcast, as if she were afraid to look up at her brother's archenemy. In her hands was a plate, piled with food that had obviously been homemade, and made Draco feel very guilty for refusing to come downstairs. If Mrs. Weasley had gone through making that for him…Or perhaps it was just the leftovers and he was merely being pitied.

When she spoke, her voice was soft and resigned. He realized then that of course it would be. She had to either pity him or feel horrible about losing Hogwarts. Several students had been killed. All those who had decided to stay over Winter Break. There had to be a friend or two in their for this girl. "You may want to eat," she said quietly, laying the plate down on his table, "Mother says it should help with the shock of what's happened."

She turned away, walking quickly towards the door of the ancient room, but when she tried to open it, it remained shut. She looked up desperately at the door, as if she wanted nothing more than to be out of the room. "Fred! George!" she screamed, "This is not the time for tricks, you imbeciles! You just wait until I-Ow!" she screamed, as if the door had shocked her, and jumped back. "Stupid House of Blacks," she muttered under her breath, turning around to face Draco.

Needless to say, the look on his face was rather priceless. Ever since she had entered, he had frozen in shock. The only movement he could take credit for was the slight raising of his eyebrows and the dropping of his mouth. He quickly composed himself, arching his eyebrows in a more delicate fashion. "Does this often, does it?" he asked her in that all-knowing voice he knew that she and her brothers hated. She narrowed her eyes.

"The Black family house is a strange one," she said quickly and without emotion. She sat down on the floor, suddenly, leaning her back against the door. "Somebody will let me out soon enough. The door can't keep people from coming inside." She looked down then, at her hands, at the floor…at anything that wouldn't give her the stare that Draco was giving her.

This was too cliché.

For the better half of the evening, Draco just ignored the red-haired girl sitting on the floor, staring off into space as if she were bored and in History class. That was why when she spoke, Draco nearly jumped out of his skin and fell right off the four-poster green and silver bread. "Does it matter at all to you?" she asked softly…accusingly, "That Hogwarts has fallen? Does it matter to you that dozens of innocents have lost there lives?"

These words hit Draco, after he had managed to absorb them, harder than any words had ever done. He felt almost like he couldn't breath because they both knew the answer to that question…he simply…could not answer. He closed his eyes, feeling a foreign feeling of wetness sliding down his cheeks. Draco Malfoy wasn't supposed to cry…Malfoys didn't cry. And no matter how much he hated his father, Draco was still quite obviously a Malfoy.

After he managed to gain composure of himself (once again) he looked at Ginny, his eyes emotionless. "Why should I?" he asked her, "I made it out alive, didn't I? Why should I care?" He expected her to look at him with disgust, but the pity-filled gaze that met his was almost a thousand times worse. He could handle hatred…but pity?

"Because you care," she whispered, having caught the fact that he didn't answer her question, "If you didn't care, you wouldn't have joined the Order. But obviously you do, and if you do, then you'll never find out why. Why do I care to talk to you? Why do I care if your fed? Why do I care if Voldemort loses or wins in this war?" He didn't even notice the use of the name so easily off her tongue.

"What the Hell are you saying?" he asked her, mocking laughter lacing his voice to cover up his previous discomfort, "That you don't know why you care so much about this war? You don't know why you want Vol-him to lose?"

She shook her head. "That's exactly what I'm saying." She answered, surprising him, "I don't know why I care if millions of innocents die. I don't know why I care if I die, myself, for I do not fear death. I don't know why I care if some girl I don't even know dies half-way across the globe, but I do, and I believe that's right. I bet you're the same way. That's why you joined the Order. That's why it matters to you. But if you want a solid answer, you aren't going to get one from anyone in this house."

They fell into silence again. Draco wondered if Ginny was purposefully not pounding on the door with all of her might to gain someone's attention, but she wasn't. It was getting late, late enough that it was beginning to be uncomfortable to have this seventeen-year-old girl in his room. With a start, Draco realized that as of midnight, he would be eighteen. It was December 23.

The next morning, Mrs. Weasley opened the door and gasped as her daughter jerked awake. "Sorry mother," she said sincerely before the woman (who reminded Draco rather of a mother hen) could scold the girl, "I came in here to give him dinner last night, and the door locked itself on me. I slept on the floor."

Eyeing Ginny and Draco both wearily, Mrs. Weasley seemed to come upon the conclusion that they had not yet done anything wrong, and so deserved no punishment. She ushered them downstairs (Draco mumbling slightly that he still wasn't ready to face everybody), and they were greeted by the smell of sugar and waffle batter. Draco walked in and caught his first sight of Harry Potter since the beginning of winter break.

It wasn't a pleasant one. He was covered from head to foot in batter, laughing insanely as Hermione Granger tried to show Ronald Weasley how to use a waffle iron. "Now why would you do that?!" she was screeching, "Common sense should have been enough to know not to fling that damn thing while it was opened!"

"Sorry," Ron muttered, dejectedly, a grin touching the corners of his mouth. Harry seemed about to fall off the bench. Draco looked around, to see Mrs. Weasley's reaction, but she had left. Ginny grabbed his hand and pulled him into the kitchen. Upon his entrance, Potter stopped laughing, and Ron' grin faded away. Hermione rolled her eyes and magicked them both to look more human.

"Hello," she said brightly, ignoring the fact that he looked extremely sullen, "I'm Hermione Granger." She was giving him a look which said, 'If you ruin it this time, you'll regret it.' He couldn't help but smile at the gesture. Potter stood up behind her. "This is my friend Harry, and that one giving you the sullen look is Ronald. I see you've met Ginny."

Draco stared at her openly. Ginny giggled. Ron gaped like a fish. Hermione and Harry offered the Slytherin Prick a chance to redeem themselves….ah, if only more people were there to see this. He finally sighed, giving in. "I'm Draco," he said, dryly, "And I have no sir name…and I'm…" all right, so he simply could not bite down his pride hard enough to say he was sorry, "Very hungry." Ouch. He winced, and Hermione smiled.

"Great," she said, turning back to the oven. "Look Ron, this is how you do it." She put the waffle batter quite neatly onto the skillet (Draco wasn't quite sure what else to call such a funny looking contraption. He sneered in disgust, it was obviously a muggle device.) and, after a few moments, opened the thing and scooped up a very perfect-looking waffle and laid it on Ron's plate. He glared at her. She smirked.

Harry and Ginny both laughed outright. "Aww," said Ginny, "It's so cute. They'll be announcing their engagement any day now. Or perhaps…you haven't eloped, have you?" she gave Hermione a very serious look, which she returned with a furious glare.

"Oh, honestly Ginny, very funny. How many times must I tell you, we're-"

"Just friends," Harry and Ginny finished for her, and they started laughing once again. Draco raised his eyebrows, wondering how they could tease the two lovebirds when they themselves seemed to be in a constant state of 'we're just friends' as well.

"And what about you two?" asked Draco suddenly, looking between them. They looked at each other, and Ron, Ginny, and Hermione started laughing outright. Harry sunk into his chair, turning slightly red, and muttered something he couldn't catch. "What was that?" asked Draco cruelly, a smirk touching his lips.

"Oh dear Harry," said Ginny, putting the back of her hand to her forehead as if she were about to faint melodramatically, "It seems as if we have ourselves a little problem. You see, it wasn't a secret, that baby."

Ron started choking, and Hermione was desperately struggling against the counter, trying to stay standing as fits of laughter consumed her. Harry just blushed even deeper. "Shut up, will you?" he snapped, and immediately Ginny abandoned the pretence of fainting maiden and grinned madly from ear to ear.

"He already has a girlfriend," said Ginny lightly, "And I have my eyes set on a very handsome young man." She raised her eyebrows suggestively. It was Draco's turn to choke. How could they act like this towards him when he had been such a bastard in the past? It simply didn't make any sense. None whatsoever. "I'm not kidding," she said with a light giggle.

"You'd better be," said about four different voices. Draco was shocked to see that the Weasley twins had entered the kitchen and were taking waffles from Hermione. That was when Draco remembered to accept one. She just rolled her eyes and went to eating her waffle.

Draco had never known that people could be as comfortable with each other as these people were. They didn't seem to worry about making a fool out of themselves, or talking obnoxiously. More than once they finished each others sentences (and it wasn't just the Weasley twins) and they laughed and talked as if everything were right in the wizarding world. Draco suddenly realized that this was what Ginny had been talking about. This was why she cared. He stared at his waffles, trying to imagine what it must be like for these people. How could they accept him after everything? They had every right to blame him for the fall of Hogwarts…at least partially. They had every right to hate him more than they ever had before…yet they offered friendship.

Or was it pity? Was it only pity that they had for him? Was that why they offered to forget the past? Draco didn't want pity, and the only one who seemed ready to not pity him and actually be a friend was Ginny. She kept on trying to get him involved in the conversation…but why would she do it when he had been so horrible to her and everyone she loved? How could she not hold a grudge against him for all the pain that he had caused in her life? Was it possible for a human being to put the past aside and cast a friendship with somebody who had hurt them so much? If it was, Draco had never known. He had never thought that forgiveness was something to be given lightly…in fact, he had never found it something to be given at all.

Perhaps that was why he wouldn't join in the conversation. There had to be two sides to ever friendship…the same was true for the opposite. How could they expect him to so willingly forgive them for all of the pain they had caused in his life? Did they think that he would just openly accept their apology? Did they even think he deserved an apology? In his mind, they had apologized to them. It didn't cross his path of thought that they might not have seen it that way. 'I'm hungry' was a rather pitiful excuse for 'I'm Sorry'.

The next day was full of unwelcome surprises. Things were said that made every member of the Order of the Phoenix shiver with horror. Somebody had come up with a plan…an ingenious plan, really, but it was risking a lot of lives. It was the best that could be done…it was, in essence, a suicide mission. They'd be leaving two days from now to meet the Deatheaters where they had planned to attack Diagon Alley. Draco, immediately, promised that he would go and fight. He'd fight alongside Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and the others whose names would be remembered forever. It gave him the feeling perhaps someday his name would be remembered as well. He wouldn't be Draco Malfoy…he'd be Draco, who helped in the war. Perhaps people would forget his forename. He needed to fight.

After the Order meeting, he came to the door of the kitchen. He wanted to get something to eat. Something to take his mind off of what he was going to do in two days time. But he stopped upon seeing Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Ginny, and Ron standing, apparently in the middle of a disagreement. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley both had tears running down their cheeks, and Ron and Mr. Weasley both looked flabbergasted.

"You can't Ginny, you're too young," Mrs. Weasley was saying, sniffling through her tears, "Please listen. You can help out by staying here and preparing a place where the injured can come back to."

"Mother!" screeched Ginny, "I'm only a year younger than Ron and Harry! I want to fight mother, please…I know I can. I'm prepared for whatever is thrown at me!"

"Ginny," Ron hissed, "You're too young, okay?"

"Stop saying that!" Ginny raged, "Stop saying that I'm too young! You were so much younger than me the first time you faced VOLDEMORT himself in battle! How dare you say-"

Mrs. Weasley had flinched horribly at the name, Mr. Weasley had taken a step back in surprise, and Ron was staring at his sister. "You don't understand," he said quietly, "You're too young, and that's final. It doesn't matter what I did, cause you aren't me. It matters what you are going to do, and you're going to stay here with mum."

Ginny gave her father a pleading look. "Please, dad," she whined, "I want to go. I need to go, don't you understand?"

Draco turned and left the kitchen, unable to listen to this. For some reason, deep inside, he didn't want Ginny to go. She didn't need to risk her life in this war…she was too…too wonderful. Simply put. But oh, the truth behind it was so much more complicated. Ginny was not like her brothers at all. She was brave in the face of pain and death. She fought not only because she was rather trapped in this mess, but because she wanted to. She was a lot like Potter, in so many ways. And she was gorgeous as well. But if she wanted so badly to fight, she should wait. Wait until the war comes, shadowing her and forcing her to face it. 'Please Ginny,' he thought, surprising himself, 'Please give in. Don't go…you don't need to. And I promise I'll come back to fight for your right to fight in the next battle. But not this one.' He had a horrible thought about this one. A terrible thought.

'Please Ginny, give in. Stay here.'

And, inevitably, she did.

'Thank you…'