DISCLAIMER: In my world, Harry Potter is mine. In my world the sky also rains cotton candy, so there you are.
In the Arms of My Enemy by Harry Potter you're my hero
Prologue
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. – William Ernest Henley, "Invictus"
Death is inevitable.
Everyone dies eventually, there is no avoiding it. Death isn't something people like to talk about or think about, but it's always there. Death waits patiently, for one wrong move, one bad decision, illness, or if you're lucky, old age. Death can be patient because death always wins.
Slowly or all of a sudden it comes for everyone; snuffing out a life like a candle flame, plunging the world around it into darkness.
He knew more about death than most. He'd seen it with his own eyes more times than a person should be allowed.
A good death, like they went on about in stories and muggle cinema, was a load of horseshit.
It was never a pretty sight.
He learned human body contained a surprising amount of blood, and it seemed like even more when it ran all over the floor, splattered the walls, and covered his clothes.
They'd piss and shit themselves.
They would scream, cry, and plead for their lives. Some people begged for forgiveness, others for a quick death. Still others asked for their loved ones to be spared, or to die in another's place. Some, however, remained quiet no matter what spells or curses ravaged their bodies. Those were the ones he couldn't forget. Those were the ones he saw at night in his dreams.
He wondered how much it would hurt.
Draco Malfoy pushed the thought from his mind.
He knew he should be afraid. His instincts were screaming for him to run, and run fast, as far as he could. His body was so tense, so full of adrenaline his eyelid was twitching, his muscles so tight he thought he might get a cramp. He forced his feet to remain firmly planted in the beautifully manicured lawn of his ancestral home. He could not run, not this time. He would not run. He was going to die knowing he helped to bring down the most powerful dark wizard in history.
A heroic death, if you will.
It didn't matter how his death happened, either way his end would come. But he did very much mind who was doing the killing.
He hoped it would be quick, not a long drawn out affair, because even though his killer was what one could call evil, she was merciful. After everything they'd been through, everything they'd experienced, he hoped she wouldn't have it in her heart to put on a show and drag it out.
He knew she didn't have a choice. It was either him or her. In the back of his mind, he couldn't help but hope there might be a tiny shred of that legendary Gryffindor courage left that she would use to save them both.
But there was no chance of that.
Draco knew better than anyone that she would not fail in her task. He had stood by and watched, even helped, as she changed from the saintly, bookish friend of Harry Potter who wouldn't hurt a fly into one of Voldemort's most loyal followers.
No, he was not scared of dying. He'd known this was coming for some time… in a way he could almost sense it. He knew he'd get caught eventually, he knew his good luck would run out. Helping the enemy was a very dangerous, difficult task and frankly, he was shocked he hadn't been caught sooner. How had no one noticed how Wonder Boy and his friends seemed to always be one step ahead? How they seemed to show up wherever the Death Eaters were?
He'd started sending information to the Order of the Phoenix long before they captured her.
She'd seemed so helpless when she came to them. So vulnerable. No one, not even Weasley, had come looking for her. For all intents and purposes, she'd been deserted. Just another victim lost to a doomed cause.
That same girl now stood ten paces before him, her wand shaking as she pointed it at his heart. Her brown eyes were wide and scared, her chin quivering minutely.
In that moment, Draco realized he'd been wrong about her… so wrong. He couldn't look at her and repeat all the horrible things he'd told her without ripping out his heart and tearing it to shreds. All he really wanted to do was reach out, touch her, hold her close, and tell her she didn't have to worry anymore. Everything would turn out alright in the end.
He'd be lying, though. Nothing was going to end well this day. He knew it and she did too.
He just wished he could tell her how sorry he was for everything.
Instead he silently forgave Hermione Granger for whatever she was about to do to him, because he knew there was nothing else he could do.
He wouldn't be afraid. He wouldn't fight her. He would go willingly, knowing he helped make the world a better place.
Like a fucking hero.
Draco watched her close her eyes and let her wand fall to her side. She took a deep breath, then another. Her face smoothed out, all traces of despair melted away. Her chin stopped quivering. Her grip tightened on her wand. Her knuckles were white.
For a split second, he wondered if she was really going to do it.
But then her eyes popped open, and she looked at Draco the way a predator watches its prey. She was cold, calculating. There was no chance he was getting out alive.
It was then that he felt the first unmistakable trickle of fear run down his back. A cold sweat erupted over his body. His feet acted out of reflex, defying their master as they stepped back involuntarily, threatening to run. He had never seen her like that. It was like she was a different person – a powerful, preternatural, almost otherworldly being.
His stomach flipped.
He forced himself to remain motionless as she practically glided toward him, a demon of his own creation. The distance between them closed in an instant.
She came so close he could feel her breath tickle his neck as she gazed up at him. He could feel the heat of her flesh so near his; the heat that had felt so comforting and right not long ago. He could see her untamable hair starting to come out of her ponytail, frizzing out and getting in her face. One single strand was brushing against her faintly freckled cheeks. Draco wanted to brush it away, but did not trust himself to move.
For a beat they simply looked at each other.
Then she smiled shyly, as if she just realized how close they were. She stood to her tiptoes, ran the fingers of her free hand along his jawline, and ever so gently brushed her lips over his, her touch so light it felt like a feather on his lips.
He remained frozen as she whispered in his ear, "Draco… Am I a monster now?"
She returned to her feet and took a tiny step back, all the while watching him with those predatory eyes and shy smile. The cool morning air rushed between them and Draco shivered. He watched her face as she jabbed her wand painfully into his ribs, her smile growing into a disturbing grin.
It was at that point sheer terror flooded his body.
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