Hey all! I know it's been ages since I posted anything new, but here's something.
Anyway, I'm usually a huge Draco/Harry shipper, but this fic does NOT lend itself to the pairing. There's a small mention of Harry/Ginny, but not overly gushy or anything.
Cautions: Darkfic, attempted suicide.
Nicodemus Disclaimer: Tainz does not own anything you see here.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Trade with Me
Taineyah Fyre Clawfoot
"It's one year to the day since the Boy Who Lived became the Man Who Lived. It's also one year to the day since the Man Who Lived became the Man Who Died to Save Us All.
"That's right, one year ago today, I held my schoolboy rival in my arms and cried, bawled, really, as the light dimmed from his green eyes. I heard his final words. I alone know that he died still wondering why it was him.
"In the early moments, when he was still strong enough to be brave, he gave me what should have been his last words. They were the brave words, the ones I told to everybody.
"'Tell Ron and Hermione it's okay. They don't have to worry about me getting left out anymore. They can be together. Tell Ginny I'm sorry and that I love her. That I've always loved her. Say thank you to Mrs. Weasley for me. Her and Mr. Weasley have been good to me. It was almost like having my own parents. They're wonderful and they get everything out of my vault.'
"He drifted for awhile then. If I hadn't been so badly off myself, if I could have gotten help, I think he might have had a chance to survive.
"A couple of times in those moments, I thought him dead. But then the breath would come back to him and he'd look up at me.
"After what seemed hours…It may actually have been. I'm not sure how long it was…he spoke again. His voice was choked with tears.
"'Draco, why me? Why does it always have to be me? My parents…My childhood… Haven't I lost enough? Why can't I even keep my own life?'
"Everyone always says how brave he was. How silently he carried his burden after he came to terms with it in fifth year. Guess what. He never came to terms.
"'I don't want to die. I want to play Quidditch. Draco, I want to play for the Cannons.'
"Tears streamed down his face and I held his head in my lap silently. I prayed he'd just die. I had no way of helping him. I couldn't save him. I was bound, magically speaking. Voldemort broke my magic in the days following the events on the tower. He tortured me. I can barely do wingardium leviosa even now, and I've been retrained at St. Mungo's for a year.
"His body gave a shudder and lay still. I thought again that he was gone. I started crying. As much as I'd wished he'd just go and not suffer like that, as much as I had wished to not hear his pleas, I was terrified at the thought of being alone with his and Voldemort's bodies. I had no way of knowing how long it would take someone to find me.
"Then his eyes opened again. Amongst all the white dust from the shattered stones around us, they were the only colour. I think I smiled, happy to know I wasn't alone.
"He grimaced and whimpered.
"'Help me Draco. It hurts. Oh God, it hurts.' That was his mantra for almost all of the last 20 or so minutes of his life. His voice cracked on almost every word. It was usually little more than a whisper, but it invaded my entire being.
"Then, right at the end, when I thought he was delirious, he asked me to trade with him.
"I thought there was no way it could happen. I believed that a spell of that magnitude had to be beyond the reach of a 17 year old who hadn't even finished school yet. I was wrong, but I didn't find out until months later. Granger had worked hard to find that spell and teach it to him.
"It was intended to move the wounds from one person to another. It was advanced healing magic, used to divide fatal wounds between different people to save lives. Applied correctly, it could be used to put all of the wounds from one person to another. Granger had told him to use it on a death eater. She'd assumed, incorrectly, that there would be at least one of them still alive after the battle.
"I told him I couldn't trade, because I thought that was the truth. He wouldn't have asked, would have just done it, if I'd been a real death eater. If I'd been my father, he wouldn't have hesitated. Harry would still be here.
"He asked one last time. 'Draco, please. Please. I could get us out. I could heal you some and then get you to St. Mungo's…Pl-'
"He went silent then, in the middle of a word. His mouth gaped and gasped like a merfolk out of water. He stared up at me wildly, his eyes pleading. I saw so much in that gaze. I knew that he knew it was all over and I saw all his hopes die. It was like I was watching candles go out in a light breeze, winking away one by one.
"Finally, the last candle went out and his eyes dulled. I sat there for a moment, watching his blank dead eyes and waiting for him to wake up. I started to tremble. His head lolled to one side, knocking the bent and empty frames of his glasses askew.
"I pulled his head straight and put his glasses back on as best I could. I must have shaken him at one point, too, because I remember watching those frames fall to the floor and watching the dust settle back in around them. I don't know how long I sat there before I realised he was really gone. I don't know if I did.
"Everyone knows the rest. A day or so after the collapse of Malfoy Manor, rescuers found me sleeping with my arms around Harry's cold dead form. I cried when they pulled me away. I screamed that we had to save him. That we had to keep him warm.
"I was still mumbling words to that effect when I went to the funeral, though I was kept fairly quiet and drugged.
"At St. Mungo's, they told me that, with time, I would learn to deal with my experiences. They said time would blunt the pain, take the edge off. Time would pass and I would go on with my life.
"It's a holiday today, Harry Potter Day. Everything in our world is closed down. Today we celebrate the 18th anniversary of our saviour's birth and the one year anniversary of his great victory. We also mourn the one year anniversary of our saviour's death.
"It feels as though no time has passed.
"I wake up in the night and reach for him. I wake up screaming 'Yes, I'll trade! Come back, please!' I can't concentrate, can't sleep.
"I should have died with him.
"Whoever finds this, please know I'm okay. I'm going where I should be—with him.
"Sincerely, Draconius Lucius Malfoy
Draco looks down at the parchment on the table. He reads it again and again, his waiflike frame shuddering with sobs.
It's been hard for him to bring himself to eat in the past year and it's taken its toll on his already thin body. He has to pause for breath before he puts the parchment in the envelope and writes "To Whom It May Concern" on the outside. He sets it on the table, leaning it against a small vase that the cleaning lady has been replenishing with flowers everyday since he arrived.
He goes to the window of his hotel room and throws it open. The ocean wind plays over his scruffy hair and ragged muggle clothing.
He knows he can't do this in the wizarding world. His world is obsessed with titles and he is now known as the Last Hero. The one who was hero and confessional to the great Harry Potter in the boy hero's last moments. On this day, of all days, if Draco were to go near another wizard, he'd no doubt be roped into giving a speech of some sort. He knows that this, of all days, is the right day to do this.
He pulls his broomstick out of its case under his bed and straddles it in front of the huge window.
"I'm coming Harry," he whispers as he launches himself outside.
Screw muggle secrecy and all that. Where Draco's going, they can't arrest him.
It takes all the strength he has to hold on as the wind tries to pull him from his broom. He steers straight up when he reaches the cliff. He flies perhaps 100 feet above the clifftop, at least 150 feet from the rocks at its base.
He lets go.
His legs lack the strength to hold him on. He's eaten too little, taken too many potions in a desperate and futile attempt to stifle the pain. If it weren't for the adrenaline that came with the knowledge that this was the last day of pain, he wouldn't have made it this far.
Only now does he finally feel clear of pain as he hurtles downwards. Only now does he feel good. He knows that he has maybe three seconds to think before he dies and he focuses only on the feeling of freedom.
He spreads his arms wide to embrace the earth. He opens his eyes to thank it for helping him with this, when no one and nothing else would.
He stops just barely short of his goal.
He hovers in the air and lets out a pitiful shriek of anger as he finds himself rotating to see an auror hovering next to him on a broomstick.
"We figured you might try something like this today," she says. "We've been watching you since last night. Our world doesn't need this right now. We need our Last Hero."
Draco whimpers. "Please, I need this."
She pulls him onto her broom. He doesn't have the strength to resist. The adrenaline leaves his system and he slumps against her.
She can't apparate him to St. Mungo's. He's too weak. Instead, she moves quickly, making the long journey in daylight by broom. As they go, he whimpers one phrase over and over, pitifully.
"Trade with me."