The Sweetest Thing
by star of david
Draco/Harry
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters in this story; they were created by the genius, JKRowling. I do own the plot.
SUMMARY: Draco offers a sweet sacrifice, and an unlikely ending, for his dearly beloved. A song fic to U2's The Sweetest Thing.
Draco Malfoy sat on the lush carpet of his bedroom floor, a map of London laid out in front of him. In his hand was a large magnifying glass.
"Fuck!" Draco swore, his voice barely a notch over a whisper. "I can't find him!"
Draco heard footsteps outside his bedroom door and quickly hid the magnifying glass. He could not be found searching for the boy he was most forbidden to see.
I can't believe Father used Veritaserum on me, Draco mused to himself. I can't believe I let him fool me like that. Shame on me.
Enough, Draco, a voice in his head answered. That's not going to be of any help.
Once Draco was sure there was no one outside his door, he took out the magnifying glass once again and resumed his search on the map.
The magnifying glass did, indeed, magnify the London map laid out in front of Draco, but it did so to an entirely different level. Given to the blond boy for his seventeenth birthday by his mother, the Locator was a precious and most expensive artifact that allowed the owner to locate the person he wanted to see most at the moment. All the owner needed was a map to search. The Locator could track down anyone in the map that was laid out in front of it as long as the user's desire to see the searched party was strong enough.
Draco was quite sure his desire was more than strong enough. And he was also certain that the one he needed to see was somewhere in London, nowhere else.
He needed to see Harry Potter, needed to find out if he was still alive. The Dark Lord knew he could finally get to the boy tonight, at midnight. Draco could not allow that. He could not allow Harry to die.
"Come on, come on!" Draco urged the Locator. "Find Harry. Find him for me, please!"
And finally, there he was. Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived. He was lying on his bed, calm and serene, as if nothing was about to happen.
"He knows the Dark Lord's out to get him tonight," Draco said, his eyes narrowing at the sight before him. "He knows it! So why the hell are you just lying there, you bastard?"
Harry Potter lay quietly in bed, both arms folded under his head. His mane of jet-black hair was scattered all over his pillow. His legs were stretched out on the bed, his left ankle resting on his right. His heartbeat was quite normal.
The grandfather clock downstairs struck eleven. Harry could hear it all the way up in his room, for he had emptied the house previously. He knew what was coming for him tonight, and did not wish to endanger more innocent lives on his behalf. James Potter, Lily Evans, Cedric Diggory, Sirius Black, even Albus Dumbledore – they had all led innocent lives until Voldemort came into the picture and destroyed them, just because he wanted Harry dead. But Harry survived. The lightning bolt on his forehead eternally reminded him of the fact that he was marked as Voldemort's equal, that he was orphaned twice in his life, that he was partly responsible for the murder of an innocent Hogwarts student, and that he would never be pierced by the stare of the bright blue eyes that once belonged to Hogwarts' greatest headmaster.
One more hour, Harry told himself.
"The time has almost come, my friends. Tonight, we obtain greater power than ever before. Tonight, nothing will stand in our way ever again. Tonight, my Death Eaters – tonight, Harry Potter dies!"
"He has got to do something," Draco thought out loud. "He must have a plan! He does, doesn't he?"
But no one could answer his query.
For the past half hour that Draco had been watching him, Harry had done nothing but lie in bed. With each second, Draco grew more and more frustrated. How could he have fallen in love with such an idiot?
Draco checked his golden watch. It was five minutes before Harry's seventeenth birthday.
"Save yourself, idiot," he instructed the vision of Harry in front of him. Unfortunately, this boy was deaf to words.
Harry heard the grandfather clock downstairs for the fifth time since he had last seen the Dursleys. If the last chime signaled the twenty-third hour of the day, then this one surely told him of the onslaught of the twenty-fourth hour.
"Happy birthday, Harry," he greeted himself, finally lifting himself off the bed. He got up, walked towards the bedroom door and stepped outside it. He closed the door behind him, gripping the doorknob so tightly his knuckles turned white and his palm hurt.
It's just me and him tonight. He dies, or I do. No one else.
"It's show time."
Draco pulled back the vision from the Locator a bit, so that he could see what was happening outside the Muggle house Harry stayed in. He saw a man cloaked in black robes and hood appear out of thin air right in front of the house. Then there was another…and another, and another. Less than a minute later there were no less than ten cloaked, hooded figures in front of the house. Seconds later, another man appeared out of nowhere.
Draco drew in his breath sharply. His features were unmistakable. Bald head, gleaming white skin, eyes red like fire, slits for nostrils…
Voldemort unlocked the front door with ease and stepped inside.
"I'm here."
Harry could see in Voldemort's red eyes that he was quite taken aback that the prey was waiting for the predator.
"Very well, Harry," Voldemort sneered. With a wave of his wand, he managed to clear the Dursleys' living room of all the furniture it held for so many years. Harry was quite surprised to see just how large exactly the living room was.
"I don't think killing you with magic is going to satisfy me," said Voldemort, inching closer to Harry. Evil was etched all over his face. He took small, solid steps toward the boy until finally his face was right in front of Harry's.
"I want you to suffer, like I did," Voldemort hissed. He suddenly turned around, his cloak billowing. "Macnair!" he called one of the hooded men.
Macnair approached his master and handed him two identical swords. Voldemort turned to Harry and handed him one of the swords.
"Let us duel, Mr. Potter," said Voldemort, a twisted smile spreading across his face, "the old-fashioned way."
Voldemort's laughter reverberated in Draco's ears.
He knew swordsmanship was one of the Dark Lord's skills – he heard his father talking about it enough – but he was not sure if it was one of Harry's strengths.
His fears were soon confirmed, for within a few minutes, Harry was undoubtedly the underdog in the duel. Blood trickled down Harry's cheek where the blade of Voldemort's sword made contact with his smooth skin. Draco could do nothing but watch in horror.
Harry was soon on the floor, his sword knocked out of his hand by Voldemort's quick wrist. Voldemort laughed again.
"And the wizarding world really thought this boy was to vanquish me?" he called out to his audience, his faithful Death Eaters. "Look at him – he's pathetic!" He pierced Harry's chest with the sword, missing his heart by about three inches.
Harry's screams of pain rang loudly and horribly in Draco's ears.
"He can't even defend himself!" Voldemort turned to the Death Eaters, laughing.
Despite the blood gushing out of him, Harry was determined not to give up the fight. He knew he was down – there was no doubt, from the beginning of the duel, that Voldemort was an expert with the sword, and he was anything but. Still, his inexperience did not prevent him from killing Slytherin's monster when he was twelve. He was certainly determined to kill Slytherin's heir.
He scrambled for his sword, which lay about a foot away. He grabbed hold of it and got up.
"I'm not dead, Voldemort!" he called out, his voice sounding a lot braver than he felt.
"Not dead," echoed Voldemort with a sneer, "yet"
Voldemort charged at Harry, his sword held out like a spear in front of him.
Draco saw the immense amount of blood flowing out of Harry's chest. He was losing a lot. Even if he survived the duel, it was possible that he'd die from blood loss.
With admiration, Draco watched Harry get up from the floor and run to his fallen sword.
"I'm not dead, Voldemort!" Harry shouted.
"You bloody idiot!" Draco shouted too. "What the bloody hell was that for? Just stab!"
"Not dead yet!" Draco heard Voldemort reply. His eyes widened. He knew what was going to happen, for some reason, even if he hadn't seen it yet. And he knew what he had to do.
I'm dead, Harry thought as he saw Voldemort charging towards him. He was rooted to the spot, he couldn't prevent the sword from coming, it would pierce through his stomach, or his heart even. He was going to die.
Then he heard it. The sound of the sword piercing through human flesh, the sound of Voldemort's laughter. The silence that followed the malevolent laugh. Lucius Malfoy's helpless voice as he called out, "Draco?"
What?
Harry opened his eyes – he was not aware that he had even closed them, but apparently he had. Standing right before him was a boy, a bit taller than him, with white-blond hair. The sword's blade passed right through the boy's stomach.
"Malfoy?" he called.
As if in slow motion, Harry watched as Draco Malfoy's body fell to the floor.
Lucius Malfoy's cries were all Voldemort heard. He had, after all, been quite fond of Draco Malfoy.
Someone once told me that the sweetest thing in life was to be able to give your own to save another's. I now see what he meant
Draco's vision was slowly fading. He wanted to tell Harry these words that rung in his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but only blood came out.
My only regret is not falling in love with you sooner.
"Why?" he heard Harry ask. He saw nothing but darkness.
"I love you," he managed to reply, in between sputters of blood, before finally giving out.
"Why?" Harry asked Draco.
It was agonizing to see him that way, sputtering out blood instead of words. He tried his best to answer.
"I love you," Draco finally managed to reply. Then he was gone.
"And I love you," Harry softly told the dead body in front of him. Unfortunately, this boy was deaf to his now words. Even worse, he was now numb to his emotions.