A/N: Completely unbeta'd, so sorry if there are any mistakes. Kudos to lj user misssolitude for her excellent prompts this week. My plot bunnies exploded. PS, I don't own any of these guys.

Challenge #71:

"The quickest way of ending a war is to lose it."
- "War of the Worlds" George Orwell

There really was no point, Harry thought as he watched the dark figure walk away. This war had taken away everything he'd ever loved and he'd be damned if it would ruin this as well.

"Malfoy!" he yelled, willing his feet to move, but the sound merely died as the storm raged around them. He stood there, in the middle of the old Quidditch pitch and watched his sometimes rival, fuck buddy and now ex-lover disappear into the torrential rain.

Harry wouldn't cry. There was no time for it and even if there were, he was pretty sure there were no tears left.

When Sirius died two years ago, he thought he'd never feel again. The world as he knew it had been ripped cleanly away from him in one false step and a swish of fabric. Sirius had been the only one to understand Harry for who he was. He was the only one who cared for him other than The bloody Boy Who Lived. Sirius had shown him things he never thought he'd feel, places he never imagined he'd go and pleasures he'd merely dreamed of in his fifteen-year-old mind.

It didn't matter that Sirius was wanted dead or alive all over Britain. It didn't matter that he'd spent so many years of his life in Azkaban. It didn't matter that he was twenty years his senior. It didn't even matter that Sirius would sometimes cry out his father's name when he was buried deep within Harry, because Sirius was his. And then he was gone.

Surely he deserved some kind of happiness after all his years with the Dursleys? There had to be some recompense for his years of strenuous training for the final showdown with Voldemort. The gods or the fates or whatever the fuck anyone believed in these days HAD to give him some kind of reconciliation for the life he'd been given.

He thought he'd found it in the least likely of places. Draco Malfoy: the bane of his existence since they were eleven, the annoying rival he always could count on to make his life that much more difficult (or interesting), the pointy-faced pureblood hypocrite who was always around to try and play villain.

Now he'd gone to play with the big boys. Harry had found him again while searching for those damned Horcruxes last year. He'd even forgiven him for the cursed black tattoo always staring him in the face when he woke up entwined in those too-thin arms. The pale skin was a drastic contrast to the angry black of the ever-moving Mark.

They argued again over the same stupid shit as always. Regardless of Harry's benevolent forgiveness, there was always that nagging that Draco wasn't to be trusted. He tried. God he tried, but there was always that wall he ran into when ever he would stop to use Legilimency. Draco was hiding something, but for once, Harry didn't care. So long as he could still curl up in his arms at night and allow himself to be lulled into a false sense of security, he learned to live with Draco's faults.

Draco had made sacrifices too. When he had been found that day, hiding in the very cave Dumbledore had brought Harry to the night he died, he was half-starved and wide-eyed. Harry remembered thinking that he'd never looked more frightened of his own shadow and that idea pulled at Harry's Gryffindor heartstrings enough to bring him along for the ride.

Too bad he was still a Death Eater, no matter how much Harry ignored that fact. And now he'd chosen.

There had been battles since the end of their sixth year. Hogwarts was a destroyed ruin now, the mere ghost of what it used to be. It had taken seven Death Eaters to finally bring Hermione down, but not before they tortured her beyond sanity. Ron had died shortly after, curled around the remains of his one true love. He hadn't even tried to stop them when the Avada Kedavra came. Instead, he welcomed death with open arms and fell across her chest.

The rain continued to beat down on Harry as he raised his face towards the sky, praying he could drown himself and never worry about a thing again, but the battle was close at hand. He knew this would be the one. Voldemort would die, or Harry would die trying.

He trudged slowly over the hill leading towards the old school, trying his best to ignore the numbness that consumed his limbs. He could see the enchanted fires in the distance, their ominous smoke rising through the rain like a shroud over the world. He moved closer, identifying the mass of Death Eaters crowded around in a vast circle, waiting for the final battle to begin.

Harry had no problem walking right through them. Nobody stopped him as he progressed forward towards the Dark Lord himself. Voldemort sneered as though he knew his task would be laughably easy.

Harry could feel the weight of his decision pressing down on his mind. For once, he was being selfish. The wizarding world hadn't given him a choice since he'd been born, but he made a choice anyway. Harry reveled in the numb chill that passed through his body as he walked forward, finally stopping a few feet in front of the man that had taken everything from him. There was only one more thing to lose.

Harry glanced to his left and met the clear grey eyes he knew would be there. They were hidden behind the standard Death Eater mask, but Draco couldn't hide. Not from Harry. There was a desperation there, a pleading quality that didn't fit with the strong Slytherin character Harry had grown to know so well.

Harry smiled sadly and whispered "I'm sorry" before turning back towards Voldemort. He extended his left arm, rolling up the sleeve of his robe and waited, challenging the Dark Lord to speak first.

Voldemort merely smiled in a sickening way that made Draco's stomach curdle. He bit his tongue to stave off the nausea as he watched Voldemort's wand make direct contact with the unblemished skin of Harry's arm. He tasted blood and knew he had bitten clear through the muscle, but he had no voice to scream with.

Harry Potter had taken the Dark Mark.

He only winced a little when it burned its way through his skin, the red lines extending from the wand tip pressed mercilessly into the flesh even though Draco knew how much it hurt. He couldn't tear his eyes away and it seemed like the entire collection of Death Eaters was holding its breath in anticipation.

The angry red mark flared bright for an instant before Voldemort brought his wand away. He muttered a spell and Harry felt it caress him before his arm began to throb.

"Now, Harry Potter, you must kill before you may serve."

Harry nodded with a sardonic smile on his face. He raised his wand and cast a swift Avada Kedavra. There was a collective gasp and a blinding flash of green. Harry Potter lay sprawled on his back, the Mark on his arm fading slowly to black.

Draco stared down at the broken body of the fallen hero. Cheers were sounding all around him as the Death Eaters celebrated their victory. World domination was at hand, but Draco's blood had gone cold.

Harry's eyes were open, their usual brightness replaced now with a dull void. There were times when Draco thought he could fall right into those green orbs if it were physically possible. Irony at its finest.

There was a smile on Harry's lips, as if he were finally free.

Draco raised his wand one last time and placed the end at his temple. His eyes never left Harry's as he whispered the killing curse. Life was consumed in a flash of green.