Author's Note: Hi and welcome y'all, thanks for clicking on my fic and giving it a chance. I hope you'll like it.

Initially, I just had this really random idea about Draco needing help and Harry being all too cool (dare I say, almost eager) to provide it – cliché, I know, although not that much with Harry's attitude. And then, or should I say, in the meantime, I was listening to some of my favorite music…as well as stumbling upon certain other materials from a completely different universe (honestly)…and somehow the setting, the characters, certain aspects and parts of the plot – they were just coming and coming and coming…my mind was flooded and now I think I've pretty interesting tools to work with, hopefully able to prepare something that's abundant out here in a way that'll make a difference in serving.

And since this note is already too long, which is just not preferred – on with the story!


Prologue
Show Me How It Ends

"We've sworn an oath, Draco. You and I, both. It's not magical, but that only makes it even stronger. The fact that it's dependant solely on our own free will."

Harry gave off the impression of being really confident as he stood there by the main altar. Not only because of the things he said, or the way he said them, either; it was also his appearance. The mop of jet-black hair, for some reason, now seemed carefully styled; his emerald eyes, without the spectacles, sparkled more brightly than ever; and the look on his face... And then there was his robe: black as the night, heavy, with intricate embroideries in touches of mauve and gold.

Draco suddenly remembered.

"I've also sworn another oath," he said, "without my knowledge. One tying me to darkness, you remember?"

The other teen sighed, his head hanging low, as he spoke quietly.

"I know. And for that, I apologize. Again."

Then he was out of there, he felt pain all over his body, particularly in his ribs and legs. He was wet with blood, and dirty of mud and grass. His wand: mere inches from his hand.

The Malfoy Manor: hollowed out and used by the Death Eaters as sort of headquarters. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place: simply in ruins. Gringotts: locked down. Diagon Alley: mostly deserted, with dead bodies staining the streets.

The images of all the places he's known flooded his mind as he struggled to get up from the ground, looking up at Hogwarts: the castle, as if bombarded, burning with black smoke flying up to the sky. The sheer volume of destruction was unbelievable, and all that because of the insanity of one person.

'No,' he thought, 'no, you shan't have everything! I will not allow it, if it's the last thing I do in this forsaken life of mine!'

But as he reached to grab his wand, to charge again, he heard that wail of a laughter once more, and as the smoke cleared, he had no doubts about who the two figures lying a few feet away from him were. The blood in his veins felt like it was freezing.

- x -

Draco jerked awake with a sharp intake of breath, sitting up in his bed. He felt his heart beating fast, he was sweating profusely, and he had no idea where he was. He was alone, in an empty room, with the bed as the only furniture; no moonlight entering the place through the small, curtain-less window; not a single torch on the walls, or one candle on a nightstand; he couldn't even locate his wand; and he was suddenly aware that he was, in fact, naked.

'This was so not what I asked for when I said I wanted to see it all…'