1: A Matter of a Battle of the Heart
Malfoy was screaming and holding Harry so tightly it hurt. His lungs constricted against the smoke he kept breathing in as he screamed and clutched at Potter. Potter swerved (recklessly, a part of Draco's mind told him) to escape the flames Crabbe had set on them. The orange fire swept through the cluttered jumble of magical debris in the Room of Requirement far faster than any Muggle fire ever could. Even Malfoy could not quite put his finger on what this demonic fire was called- nor could he think of how to put the damn stuff out. If his father were here-! But even Lucius Malfoy wouldn't know how to save them…
It was only thanks to Saint Potter that he and Goyle had any chance of living. Malfoy closed his eyes against the brightness of the fire and the tears that forced themselves out of him. He couldn't bear to watch the world around him burn, so he buried his face in the back of his rescuer. He felt the broomstick jump and screech through the air below him and he whimpered. The ground thundered beneath him and he tumbled off of the broomstick, pulling Potter with him. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to face the consequences of his friend's actions. Potter jumped up and away from him as soon as they hit the ground. Draco pressed his face against the cool stone floor of the hall and wept, coughing and retching, the result of both the smoke he inhaled in and (what he had a feeling was) the death of his friend.
"C-crabbe? Where's C-c-crabbe?" he stuttered, still sobbing.
"He's dead," Ron said, harshly.
Malfoy gulped back another sob and nodded. That was what he had thought happened- and what he had feared.
Potter, Granger and Weasley began to walk off, towards the end of the hallway where Draco could see flashes of green, blue, red, silver- the entire magical rainbow- and hear shouts and wails. He smiled to himself as their forms grew farther away and they got closer to danger. There was something almost endearing about the willingness of the three Gryffindors to throw themselves into harm's way on the behalf of others. Draco had never had enough courage to do something like that- he envied the senseless bravery of Potter and his friends.
A particularly loud boom sounded from the end of the hallway and the stones forming the entryway exploded out, smoke and rubble wafting out from the destruction. There was a taut moment of silence, quickly followed by a keening howl. Someone, Draco surmised, had just died. The blast had startled Draco out of his stupor and he shot up, his shoes echoing on the polished stone of the floor. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and found Crabbe's old wand. It was his now, having survived the fire that killed its master. He swallowed what little Malfoy pride he had left and ran, as fast as he could, in the opposite direction of the demolished end of the hallway.
His eyes were blurred with the remnants of his tears and his determination to get out, so he did not notice his father calling his name until he felt hands clutching at his arms. Draco, still stunned, stopped in his tracks. He tried to claw the hands off of him, as his sight cleared and he saw where his flight had carried him. He had run clear across the school, up the staircases and into alcove in front of the Gryffindor common room. He had been so frantic in his grief and terror that he had run up several flights of stairs and turned many corners without taking the slightest notice.
"Draco!" Lucius Malfoy's voice shook Draco out of his reverie (Draco had been very distracted lately). "The Dark Lord will soon notice that I have gone and when he does, he will NOT be pleased. Draco, my son, I beg you- hide yourself somewhere safe. You will not be protected by your ties to the Death Eaters and this battle is merely the beginning-"
"Father-" Draco began.
"There is no time, Draco! I will not have you die young, not even for the Dark Lord!" Draco's father hissed.
"Yes, Father. I love you," Draco said.
"You, too, son. Now, go, Draco!" With that, Lucius Malfoy Disapparated with a sharp crack and a cloud of dark smoke.
You must be able to Apparate in and out of Hogwarts now… what's next? Anarchy? Not if Voldemort has any say, I guess. Draco mused. He half-heartedly tried to Apparate away, and felt a wall slam against his body. Apparition must be an honor only real Death Eaters have. Not for the last time, Draco regretted his painful and ultimately unsuccessful foray into Voldemort's group of followers.
He sighed and began his hunt for a safe hiding place. It seemed (though Draco didn't want to admit how glad his coward's heart was of it) that he would spend the battle of Hogwarts safely tucked away.
But he had thought too soon. He heard a scream and a bang coming from the Great Hall and some crumb of a better nature that had hidden inside him, trapped underneath the greed and fear and hatred he had cultivated, clawed its way out and Draco realized that maybe, just maybe the best way to spend the battle would be to fight against Voldemort and the people who had so severely punished him and his father. He set off at an even greater speed than before, convinced that he would turn back and hide like the coward he knew he was if he didn't go quickly. He was headed for the Great Hall.
He was descending one of the many staircases when a masked Death Eater stopped him.
"Where do you think you're going, little boy?" the Death Eater growled. Draco's spirits sank. This was not a Death Eater he knew.
"Answer me, boy!" The Death Eater brandished his wand.
Draco felt like like a coward, but what use would he be against Voldemort if he was dead?
"I'm Draco Malfoy, I'm Draco. I'm on your side!" Malfoy pleaded, lying through his teeth.
The Death Eater hesitated, and was stunned by someone invisible. Malfoy looked around, beaming, for his savior, sure that he knew who it was. He felt an unseen hand punch him in the jaw. Malfoy fell backwards, on top of the Death Eater, his mouth bleeding, utterly bemused.
"And that's the second time we've saved your life tonight, you two faced bastard!" the invisible savior yelled.
Draco grinned in spite of himself. It was Potter, Granger and Weasley who had come to his rescue. Again. He couldn't believe his own feelings, but he fancied that his heart was possibly beginning to warm to that infuriating Potter. He decided to pay his salvation forward and he resumed his run into the thick of things.
Draco scurried down the steps, dodging spells left and right, flinging some of his own hexes when he had the chance (Draco swelled with pride as he disabled a Death Eater that was trying to curse Mrs. Weasley).
Draco spent the entire time fighting against people he had grown up emulating, people who were fighting for a cause he had grown up believing in. After what had happened to his father, a loyal and ambitious Death Eater, Draco finally understood how evil and twisted Voldemort was. His father had been loyal to a fault, and Draco himself had worked hard for the Death Eaters, smuggling them into the castle and orchestrating Dumbledore's downfall. How had their dedication been repaid? His father had been given up to Azkaban, his wand taken away (and subsequently destroyed), and now his family, formerly second only to the Dark Lord himself, were the lowest of the low . Every hex Draco cast, every Expelliarmus, every Stupefy and even Cruciatus Curse that he threw, he thought, this is for my father.
There was a sudden silence, then a lull in the fighting and a high, clear voice rang clear through the hall.
"You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows to value bravery.
"Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.
"Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately.
"You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.
"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for you for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."
Draco realized he had been holding his breath. He let it out, along with the rest of the people in the Great Hall. He felt himself slump to the floor, utterly drained. The ground was solid, but the ceiling rippled between night and day, the enchantment keeping the indoor sky stable had been hit by so many ricocheting curses that it had been twisted past recognition. The ceiling was mottled, swirling one moment into stormy night,the next moment assuming the look of bright blue day. Draco spent far too long lost in the jumble of the ceiling, trying to focus on anything but what would happen after the hour was up. Even if Potter surrendered himself to Voldemort, Draco doubted that the Death Eaters would want to miss out on the ample opportunity for Mudblood and blood traitor annihilation. Would his parents survive the upcoming onslaught of violence? He had a sinking feeling that their loyalties were shifting (which Voldemort would not take kindly to). The Dark Lord had threatened the safety of their family several times too many. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy may not have agreed with Potter and his friends, but they were fighting against Voldemort, weren't they? Maybe his parents would defect to his side…
His side? Draco was surprised by his sudden change of heart (but he had been surprising himself a lot lately). He should have been on Potter's team all along, shouldn't he? He had offered Potter his friendship in the first year and Potter had declined it. He had been quite rude, hadn't he? But then again, so had Draco. It didn't matter anyway, since Potter was going to die tonight, if Voldemort had his way. Draco was shocked (again) that this thought caused his considerable sadness. He had spent 6 of his 7 years at Hogwarts trying to make Potter's life hell- Potter had almost killed him once! But now, as he stood to lose the Boy Who Lived, he felt an unknown stirring of premature grief, mingled with...something else, something unfamiliar and strange. If Harry Potter lived, maybe Draco would give himself time to explore and understand these new feelings, but now as death hung heavy in the air, and it seemed Potter's life was winding to a close, Malfoy shoved his emotions aside, resolving to focus doubly hard on the continuing war.
Draco drifted through the fallen and the injured, flinching as he saw so many familiar faces. He saw ex-Professor Lupin and the woman he was married to- an Auror, Draco thought, his cousin Tonks- still slumped in the crumple they were killed in. He stretched them out, and laid them flat, so that they looked like they were sleeping. Poor Potter had lost all of the living links to his parents. And so, Draco moved through the crowd, helping the wounded and straightening out the bodies of the dead. He saw, for the first time, the true effects of Voldemort's rise to power, among the dead and the mourners surrounding them. An hour passed this way, far faster than Draco thought could be called fair.
"Harry! Where is Harry?" a shrill voice screamed. Draco whipped around, seeing that the shriek had come from Hermione, standing in the entrance to the Great Hall, her bushy hair as frantic as her voice. Murmuring filled the Hall, terrified whispers crowded into Draco's ears, and joined his own fear. Malfoy thought there shouldn't be much of a question as to the whereabouts of Potter. Hadn't Voldemort just called for his presence? If he had been Potter, he would have snuck away to fight the Dark Lord on his own, too. After having lost one of his friends to his own plans, Malfoy understood why Harry wouldn't want to risk the lives of his friends in a fight that was truly between Potter and Voldemort. Or, a little part of Draco's heart said, he wanted all the glory for himself. No, he thought, Harry Potter was merely too kind for his own good, he just kept getting himself into terrible situations and then somehow (as if by magic!) surviving, virtually unscathed.
The whispers that had been rumbling around the Hall were broken into silence as Hermione sunk to the floor, weeping.
"Harry's going to get himself killed, I just know it!" Hermione wailed, her sobs trailing off into the shocked quiet of the Hall. As her cries faded away, a prickly, uncomfortable hush filled the empty spaces in the hall. Draco felt as if he and the rest of the magical creatures in the Great Hall were intruding on something very personal as Ron Weasley walked up to the heap of tears that was Hermione and helped her up with a hug and a kiss. Ron murmured something to Hermione and they swept out of the door Hermione had come in by.
The silence created by Hermione's explosive entrance tightened. After she and Weasley had left, the embarrassed quiet became the hush of a mourning vigil. Draco got the feeling that if anyone broke the silence by speaking, Harry Potter would die. The lack of noise was casting a protective spell over Potter and if the madness of sound descended, he would no longer be safe. Draco knew this was all merely magical thinking, but the idea that somehow they could all keep Potter alive was simultaneously comforting and pathetic.
Although all was quiet in the Great Hall, all was most definitely not still. There was a magnificently soundless bustle of fervent preparation. Even if their lull was keeping Potter alive, their inaction would make sure they became dead. Draco marveled at how the wizards and witches could both distract themselves by making themselves very busy and focus so completely on one thing.
Time once again passed strangely. The minutes stretched by with a slowness rivaled only by the way time moved in Professor Binns' class. The dead had been moved long before, the injured escorted to the edges. The hall had been cleared of magical debris and it looked like more of its normal self.
It was then that huge footsteps echoed throughout the cleaned up Hall. Draco recognised the heavy footfalls of Hagrid, the school gamekeeper. Draco's heart became as heavy as Hagrid's feet, for he heard sadness in the half-giant's walk. He was terrified that this intrusion on the vigil signalled the end they all feared.
"Harry… Oh, Harry," Hagrid sobbed, coming into view, with a limp form cradled in his arms.
Draco (not for the first time that night) swallowed a sob. Harry Potter, his rival, his nemesis, The Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived, was dead. He didn't believe it, he wouldn't believe it. He had been pitting himself against Potter for so long that it seemed impossible that his competitor's life could have been snuffed out so quickly.
Draco cowered in disbelieving fear as the world around him exploded with painful spells, colors that shone of death. Draco's luck must not have been quite used up, for as he remained huddled in the corner of the Great Hall, he was not hit by a single curse. The ricocheting magic danced over Draco's head as all hell broke loose, and for someone who liked to brag of his bravery, when faced with true fear and the opportunity to fight, Draco was having a considerable amount of difficulty convincing himself to leave his safe little bubble to enter into the fray. After an argument with himself that lasted far longer than it should have, Draco had won himself over to fight against Voldemort's forces. He was going to really fight, not just cower in the corner as he had taken to do recently. As he dashed out into the newly ignited battle, Draco realised that he, unlike Harry, had no qualms against actively killing people who deserved it. He doubted that he would be sent to Azkaban for his use of the Unforgivable Curses, since half of the wizarding population seemed to be doing so as well.
Two Death Eaters (neither was familiar to him) died due to Draco's curses. He saw his aunt Bellatrix firing off spells towards Ginny Weasley, and to his horror, Bellatrix was also acting with a similar disregard for the unforgivability of the Unforgivable Curses, and one of her Killing Curses flew terrifyingly close to Potter's beloved Ginny Weasley. Draco knew Potter was dead, but something made him desperate to protect someone who was so close to the late Potter. It was the least he, or anyone, could do. Seized by his sudden desire to save Ginny, Draco dashed off towards her. He was too far away to help and there was no one near enough to stop Bellatrix!
"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!" screamed Mrs. Weasley, throwing herself across her daughter, green fire flaming from her wand and hitting Bellatrix square in the chest. Draco looked on as his aunt cackled in (what she supposed was) victory, he saw her eyes widen in shock and he turned away as his mother's sister and Voldemort's right hand fell to the spell of a Weasley.
Voldemort, drawn by 's shriek and incensed by Bellatrix's death, raised his wand and leveled it at . was about to pay the ultimate price for her motherly love.
"PROTEGO!" a familiar voice echoed through the hall as Voldemort's curse bounced harmlessly off of a shield cast by… Potter? The Boy Who Lived had conquered death again.
"Potter!" Malfoy exclaimed in joy. His shout was echoed all over the Great Hall by witches and wizards who had just been bolstered by the reappearance of their rallying point. Draco wasn't quite ready to admit it, but knowing that Harry had survived stirred the feeling he had hidden deep inside himself. He now knew he would have to confront those emotions. He had to talk to Potter about… a lot of things. He might even bring up the possibility of friendship (something Potter had rudely vetoed 7 years ago), but he felt that his past actions might prejudice Potter against him and any kind of friendship they could form. Perhaps, if he proved to Potter that he had changed. Had he changed? Yes, Malfoy decided. He hadn't thought such strong, deep running streams of hatred could be diverted into something absolutely opposite- but they had. Oh, dear. This was going to be hard to explain to Father… Draco was shaken out of another reverie as the sounds of relief and joy at Harry's survival were stifled all around him.
"I don't want anyone else to try to help," Potter's words soared through the Hall, clearer and calmer than Voldemort's recent proclamation. "It's got to be like this. It's got to be me."
Silly Potter, selfless as ever, and still so full of himself- but that was part of his allure, wasn't it? Malfoy knew that Harry knew there many, many people in this Hall (himself included, his heart begrudgingly whispered) who would gladly die to save Harry Potter until they were all dead and Harry was the only one left. No no one would ever do anything like that for Malfoy, except, perhaps, his mother. Just like Potter's mother had saved him 16 years ago.
"Potter doesn't mean that," Voldemort hissed. "That isn't how he works. Who are you going to use as a shield this time?"
That was the thing about Potter, Draco thought, he never asked for people to lay down their lives for him. People just did. There was something so compellingly pure (a quality that was often in practice infuriating) about Potter, one couldn't help but try to save him. There weren't enough truly good people in the world- and Draco would have been fooling himself if he counted himself among them.
As Voldemort and Potter verbally sparred, Malfoy looked around the Hall at the wizards, witches and magical creatures quietly cleaning up the new magical debris. His eyes searched the bodies on the ground for the ice blond of his parents' hair and could not find them. He breathed a sigh of relief and then forced himself to remember that just because he could not see them among the dead didn't mean that they were alive. He could be an orphan, just like Potter, and not even know it. It was no use looking for their faces among the living Death Eaters, since they were all still masked. If his father and mother were dead… what would he do?
He would find them- or their corpses- when Voldemort was defeated once and for all. It wasn't "if Voldemort was defeated" any more, it didn't seem like there was any doubt about whether or not Harry could kill Voldemort. He had escaped death countless time- more than the Dark Lord himself and often without the soul ripping sacrifices Voldemort had made. He had challenged Voldemort this final time and emerged not only alive, but triumphant. Draco looked up at Potter and was astounded by the tranquil power Harry exuded. Voldemort, by contrast almost vibrated with a high pitched fury. It was quite obvious that Voldemort's firm grasp on absolute power was not only slowly slipping, but it had been calmly wrenched from his hands by Harry Potter. Something, Draco felt, had changed within Potter. Potter had always been strong, seething with otherworldly potential, but he had never been able to fully act on that potential. Potter hadn't ever seemed very comfortable in his skin, in his inherited magic. He had always been reluctant to retaliate with extreme magic- and even when he did use magic to hurt (Malfoy has on long slash of a scar across his chest from a run in he had with Potter in the bathroom) it seemed like an accident. Now, it was obviously not the case. Potter was serene in his mastery of the formerly fearsome Dark Lord.
"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."
Draco had been the master of the most feared and coveted wand in the wizarding world for months and he had never known. And somehow perfect, pure, protection deserving Potter had figured it out in time to snatch the glory from him. That was always what happened, wasn't it? Malfoy had tried so hard to be the best at so many things, but Potter was consistently was smarter, better liked, more successful than Draco, without visibly trying to be better. Draco hated Harry for his incredible good luck. He envied him for his excess of friends. But hatred and love are intertwined, so twisted together that the slightest touch can tip the scales. Draco had focused so long on how much he absolutely hated Harry Potter, that his hatred had turned into obsession and it was now dangling dangerously close into the territory of love.
"But what does it matter?" Voldemort said softly. "Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel skill alone… and after I have killed you. I can attend to Draco Malfoy…"
Any jealous feelings Draco had towards Harry and his posession of the Elder Wand evaporated in an instant. He knew what it felt like to have his life threatened by Voldemort. He didn't want to have to worry about that again. A trickle of pity rushed into Draco's muddled feelings towards Potter.
"But you're too late," said Potter. "You've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him."
Bloody hell. Draco had not thought much of the incident at his home, he had just written it off as another time when Potter had gotten his way. Once again, he had lost to Potter.
"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" continued Harry, his whisper carrying through the expectant silence. "Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand."
A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both Potter's and Voldemort's faces at the same time, so that Voldemort's face was suddenly a flaming blur and Potter was illuminated, god-like, the long awaited savior. Draco winced as he heard the high shriek that was Voldemort's voice, and the bellow that burst out of Harry Potter as he brandished what Draco know knew used to be his own wand.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Lord Voldemort screamed. At the same time, magic leaped across the void between the Chosen One and the Dark Lord and Potter countered his own favorite spell.
"EXPELLIARMUS!" the superior power of the Elder Wand caused Voldemort's Killing Curse to glance off of Potter to strike the Dark Lord. The backlash from the connection of the two wands thrust Harry backwards, he stumbled and fell and Draco resisted the strange urge to run to help him. Potter was fine and Voldemort was dead. There was no possibility that he could have survived that blow. As Potter had said, he had no more fall backs, no fail safes.
The force of the magical blow had also thrown Voldemort back- but his momentum carried him backwards and up into the air where he exploded in green particles of ash. The Killing Curse, which normally killed without leaving so much as a mark, had, when Voldemort's own evil intent had been turned on himself, morphed into something more. The vile inhumanity that had been stewing inside Voldemort, the evil deeds he did without a thought of remorse had compressed themselves into his innards for far too long. The act of being killed had released all of his pent up evil and Draco couldn't help thinking that the exploding Voldemort looked like a show of particularly menacing fireworks. It brought to mind the parting gift the Weasley twins had left when they flew away from Hogwarts two years ago (it felt like ages).
The Great Hall erupted in cheers as the witches and wizards realized that Voldemort was well and truly dead. There would be time to mourn the multitudes who had perished later, when reality hit them squarely in the stomach- but now, those who were on the winning side would celebrate their victory and those who were not would either be punished; or they'd have to figure out what to do next. Despite his anti-Death Eater actions during the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco knew he and his family would be judged based on their past 7 years of mistaken animosity towards Potter.
"Draco! Draco!" Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy ran towards their son, the black Death Eater robes they were wearing flapping behind them. They must have ripped their masks off the minute Potter had risen and begun searching for Draco, as Narcissa later told him.
"Mother! Father!" Draco felt himself become enfolded within his parents' arms. A sigh of relief escaped him; his parents were alive, everything would be alright, eventually.
"Oh, Draco darling, I don't know what we would have done if you had died. But Potter told me- he told me outside, when when I was supposed to be checking that Voldemort had really killed him- that you were still alive. I lied to Voldemort and saved Harry Potter!" Narcissa's voice cracked with a strange pride.
"Mother, you turned against Voldemort?" Draco couldn't hide the hint of joy as he realized that his parents may have already begun their own transformation from Death Eaters to something a little more sympathetic.
Draco's father led his wife and son to a table at the opposite end of the Hall, near a window that Bellatrix had shattered in a fit of destructiveness. They huddled alone at the table, all three Malfoys feeling out of place (an unusual feeling for the high and mighty pureblood family) among the relieved and victorious witches and wizards. After they had sat down, with Draco facing Narcissa and Lucius, who had their backs to the rest of the Hall, Draco searched the crowds for Potter. He spotted him, cringing among a group of well wishers.
"Potter is never going to recover from that massive swollen head," Draco snarked.
"And you will never stop talking about him now," Lucius drawled.
Draco blushed- he was so pale there was no way to hide it.
"Bellatrix got herself killed by a Weasley. I'm sure that made Voldemort angrier than the fact that she died," Lucius muttered.
"My sister is dead and I would be greatly obliged if you would be respectful to her memory. I know you never liked her, but please, darling, for my sake, try a little harder." Draco's mother took his father's hands into hers. Draco turned away from his affectionate parents and was struck by the sight of Potter leaving the Hall. He jumped up without thinking. He wanted to apologize to Potter for everything, or at least thank him for saving him.
"Draco!" he dimly heard his mother call to him, but the urge to follow Potter was overpoweringly strong.
"Leave him be, Narcissa. I'm sure he has a lot to think about. Things are about to change for all of us.
"The reason I show such little remorse for your dear sister's death is that I cannot help but be relieved that you are safe."
Draco was walking away as quickly as he could, but he could still hear his parents' conversation.
"Oh, Lucius," Narcissa murmured. Draco sped up. Harry was getting away!
Draco rushed out of the Hall and turned the corner. Harry had disappeared. He was using his Invisibility Cloak, Draco was sure. He followed the empty space in the crowd. Potter, for all his bravery and magical prowess, was often predictable and thus oblivious about his predictability. He stayed several steps behind Potter, who was walking with Granger and Weasley, as usual. He didn't want it to seem obvious that he was following the Golden Trio. He doubted that his presence would be taken to kindly. But why should they object to him wandering the halls of his own school? He had just as much right to be there as they had, if not more! After all, he hadn't run away from the school after Dumbledore was killed, and they, everyone's favorite, the shiniest, most beloved Golden Trio had.
Draco stayed in the shadows as he trailed the invisible Harry and the very visible Hermione and Ron. It was merely an assumption that Potter was with his two best friends, but it was a strange occurrence indeed when he was farther than a stone's throw from Weasley and Granger. As he dogged the steps of his prey, Draco concluded that he was torn when it came to what, exactly, he wanted to say to Potter. He knew that he had to at least thank him for rescuing him from the fire in the Room of Requirement, and that he really should apologize to him for his 7 years of torment, but now that he was literally on the path to remorse and redemption, he was beginning to doubt whether there was a point in apologizing. The pride that came naturally with being a Malfoy had returned, after having taken a brief vacation during the Battle, it was now trying to stop him from talking to Potter. Draco wanted to see him, but perhaps there could be a way for them to restart on a positive note without Draco having to swallow his pride. When a Malfoy had to put away his pride, it was usually swallowed with the cheerful addition of poison. The Malfoys were a terrifically stubborn and haughty family.
Potter, Granger and Weasley stopped abruptly at the entrance to the Headmaster's office and Draco almost tripped over him own feet. The gargoyle that had originally stood guard at the base of the spiral stairs that led up to the office had been knocked over in the melee and was now slumped in a drunken manner against the wall of the hallway. The last time Draco had been here had been right before Dumbledore had died. After that, he had avoided the area like the plague, despite the fact that Snape, a family friend, had been appointed Headmaster upon Dumbledore's passing. It wouldn't have been fair for Draco to say that he himself had killed him, since the dirty work had been done by Snape. Harry had said before that he, Draco Malfoy, had defeated Dumbledore, the greatest wizard ever, thought to be invincible by everyone, even the Dark Lord. Voldemort had needed Draco, because he couldn't overpower Dumbledore on his own. And now, even the heroic and slightly egotistical Potter couldn't claim to have defeated Voldemort singlehandedly. No one had helped Draco with Dumbledore. He wouldn't let them, even when they tried. Even in the beginning, Potter had been saved from certain death at the hands of Voldemort by the sacrifice of his mother. No matter how much he protested, his journey to success could not have lasted so long if he hadn't been helped on the way by so many people. If Voldemort had won, if Malfoy hadn't been born on the wrong side, he was sure he would be celebrated with as much acclaim as Potter. No. Draco may have felt this way for a long time, but it wouldn't help him get very far in the Wizarding World if if he resented its savior. Besides, he was here to thank Potter for saving his life, not accuse him of stealing his rightful glory. And he was just thanking Potter. It didn't mean he liked him.
There wasn't anything inherently bad about Potter, though. That was the problem with it. Draco had tried his hardest to hate Potter over his seven years at Hogwarts, but he couldn't help putting himself in Potter's shoes. They were so similar, Draco thought, even though they had always been on opposite sides of the conflict. They had both been born with expectations already piling up around them. They were both pawns of their various factions. Draco's father had encouraged him to first befriend the Boy Who Lived, but once it had become obvious that Potter was not going to be the next Voldemort (initially, they had thought that the boy would have to be a terribly Dark wizard to have defeated Voldemort at such a young age), he had heaped on rewards and praise if Draco bested Potter in anything at school. In his heart of hearts, Draco knew that his time at Hogwarts may have been easier if he had become friends with Potter, but his pride was injured every time the muddy blooded boy somehow (often through the help of others) managed to emerge with the upper hand. It hadn't taken much persuading for Malfoy to cultivate an animosity towards Potter.
As Draco was lost in thought, hidden behind a pillar near the entrance to the Head Master's office, Ron and Hermione had exited the office, several steps ahead of Harry. Potter was just emerging, minus his invisibility cloak, when Draco awoke from his trance. He furtively glanced about the corridor- Granger and Weasley were nowhere in sight.
"Potter!" he hissed, coming out from behind the pillar.
"Wha-? Malfoy, what do you want?" Potter asked. The exhaustion and the traces of tears just recently dried was evident in his husky voice.
Draco walked closer to Harry, feeling stranger with every step.
"Potter- I just wanted to… thank you… for saving my life to tonight," Malfoy stuttered, feeling ridiculous, standing in the hallway with the hated Potter. He hadn't insulted him yet and it felt weird.
"Twice," was Potter's reply.
"What?" Malfoy asked.
"We saved your life twice, Malfoy," Harry responded wearily.
"Yes, Potter, you did. What's it to you?" Draco snapped, forgetting why he was there.
"Nothing. It means nothing. I should be the one thanking you- without you I would never have been able to master the Elder Wand to defeat Voldemort-" Potter said.
"There! The great Harry Potter needed Draco Malfoy's help to defeat the Dark Lord!" Draco crowed, his pride taking the reins.
"Why am I still listening to your nonsense? My friends are waiting- I died- almost died today, several times-" Potter said, his voice rising in pitch with each word. He began to stalk away and Draco was suddenly struck by how much he liked Potter. He (forgetting all of the anger he had just felt) ran after the retreating man. He grabbed his arm and Harry jumped.
"Harry… I'm sorry," Draco felt Harry relax in his grip. "I really meant it, when I thanked you. You're not too bad for… well, you."
"Well, uh, Malfoy. You're not entirely a lost cause yourself," Harry surprisedly stammered.
Draco, drunk off of lack of sleep and the thrill of not dying, leaned down and kissed Harry Potter straight on the lips. Potter jumped, but Draco was faster. He ran away, down the corridor, his heart pounding, the soft feel of Harry Potter's mouth was still fresh on his lips. Oh, god.
