This is a one shot for the time being. As with all my one shots, if I get any inspiration, I may decide to continue it.

Dawn was rising on the last day of the world—the day of the war. I could barely see through the fog and the smoke, but I knew they were coming. I could feel them as though I were walking with them. Hell, I should have been walking with them. That's what everyone expected—that's what my father expected. Come to think of it, he probably thought I was walking with them, hidden behind a mask of my own with the rest of my friends and housemates.

But they weren't my friends. I could never befriend murderers. And that's what they were: murderers… cold-blooded killers….

That's why I ran. I kept the mask on, but I ran. I couldn't bear the thought of killing all those innocent people. Don't get me wrong, I was still going to kill people, but they wouldn't be innocent. They were anything but innocent.

He was anything but innocent.

One by one I watched them fall. Professors, classmates, civilians—no one was safe from the killing curse. I think that day was the only one in the history of existence that the Ministry was more than willing to forgive the Unforgivables… after all, how else were we supposed to win this blasted war? The other side certainly had no qualms with breaking laws. Why should we?

Now isn't that ironic? The only way to stop death is—well, death.

I can't even remember how many people I had to kill to get to my father. That was probably a sight to see—a Death Eater killing other Death Eaters to get to a Death Eater. Not that I really was a Death Eater, but I certainly looked the part.

And when I finally reached him, he never even saw it coming. To think, he just walked right up to me—probably to reassure me that we were doing the right thing—and into a quietly spoken killing curse. Not as satisfying of a kill as I might have liked, but it got the job done, so who am I to complain?

And so my duty was fulfilled. I'd done what I had come to do, and the only options left were to hide until either the whole thing blew over or the world was destroyed, or to go back and fight.

I chose to fight.

I don't think I'll ever really know how long I was out. I figure I had lasted a good hour before I was taken down by a very well executed Confundus Curse.

I awoke in a daze from the spell, hardly even remembering what my own name was. It took me ten minutes to regain my memory of what had happened, and another twenty minutes after that to mend my various wounds and broken bones. I wasn't technically supposed to know half of those spells, but that was one thing my father was always good for. Strike that—the only thing my father was good for.

I wandered through the wreckage for what seemed like hours, pausing only to put a few of the fatally wounded out of their misery. I passed hundreds of them, but they were mostly Death Eaters.

I let them suffer.

I finally stumbled upon a young man, bent and weeping apparently over his fallen comrades. I knelt beside him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," I whispered as I gazed at the faces of his two best friends, their bodies frozen in death, clinging to each other.

He merely nodded and continued to rock back and forth clutching them to his chest. Finally he spoke, his voice broken and devoid of its once vibrant spirit. "Are there any others?"

I sighed and shook my head, though I knew he didn't see it. "Only Death Eaters on their last breaths. And if you ask me, they don't count."

It was then that he turned to look at me. And it was only when he fell backwards with a bewildered cry that I finally realized what I must look like to him.

Here I was—a Death Eater—sitting beside the great Gryffindor Golden Boy trying to console him over the loss of the other two members of the Terrific Trio.

I have to say, the irony of this day was overwhelming.

I considered removing the mask and trying to explain myself, but that would have been futile. Even if I did take the mask off, the face underneath was probably the last one Harry Potter wanted to see.

So I stood shakily and turned around. "I'm sorry," I muttered. "It wasn't my place… I'll leave."

I fully expected to get a killing curse in the back as I walked away through the rubble, but the only thing I heard was a softly spoken, "Wait."

I stopped. "You would choose to keep company with a Death Eater?"

There was a pause, then, "No… no, I wouldn't."

"I didn't think so," I said as I again began to walk away.

"But you're not a Death Eater, are you?"

I faltered and turned slightly. No one had ever doubted my loyalty to the Dark Lord, so I was completely thrown for a loop. "Why would you think that?"

"Why haven't you tried to kill me yet? You've had ample time and opportunity, yet you choose to comfort me. Does that sound like a typical Death Eater to you?"

"Maybe I was waiting to fight you face to face." Why was I arguing with him? Why did I want him to believe me a monster? Why couldn't I just remove the mask and be free?

Because he would never accept me if he knew who I really was.

He scoffed. "Yeah, because that's characteristic of a Death Eater. No. You're too brave to be a Death Eater."

I frowned. "How do you figure?"

"We're having this conversation, aren't we?"

I nodded.

"Well, that's why. You willingly risked your life to do what you thought was right. You chose humanity over fear. How many Death Eaters do you know who can even comprehend the concept of humanity?"

"I suppose you're right."

"Of course I'm right," he said with mock sincerity, "I'm the Boy Who Lived." And then he smiled. It wasn't a terribly wholehearted smile, that was to be expected in the given circumstances, but it was a goofy lopsided grin that had my heart in my throat pounding as though it had a vengeance against me.

I stared at him in wonder. "How do you do that?"

He raised an eyebrow at me, the smile fading just a bit. "Do what?"

"Make everything that's happened today seem so trivial."

He looked somber for a moment before speaking. "Shock."

"That's it? Shock? That's your answer!? You can look around you at all the destruction and feel nothing!?" I was almost shrieking at this point.

His eyes flashed for a moment. "Don't mistake calm for indifference. I don't feel nothing. I can't feel nothing." His voice lowered to a growling whisper. "I will never be able to forget this, any of this. I will remember this day—these bodies—for the rest of my life, and not a moment less."

I stood, dazed. "How can you stand it?"

He gave me a questioning look.

"How can you live with the memories—with the nightmares?"

"For now I console myself with the knowledge that none of them died in vain. The war is over, at the moment, anyway. We've won. I guarantee you that it will all catch up to me. It always does. Until then, I make the best of living in shock and I honor the memories of those who were lost, instead of dwelling on their deaths. That will come in its own time."

I nodded slowly, wishing I had the same strength and resilience, and at the same time, thanking the gods that the mask still adorning my face was hiding the look of sheer horror and paralyzing fear beneath.

"As will your own ability to cope," he added, though his voice was quieter, and I realized that I had once again turned and begun walking.

I wanted with all my heart to stop, to turn and run back to him. I told myself it was a desire to comfort my former classmate, but deep down inside I knew better—I was the one who needed comforting. I had seen things that day no man should ever have to witness, let alone take part in. I needed to forget, but most of all, I needed to be forgiven.

And then other thoughts began to plague my mind. Thoughts I had pushed away long ago for their lack of possibility, and that I knew I had no business dredging up again. Not here, anyway. Now was not the time, and definitely not the place, to once again ponder my true feelings for the boy behind me.

But ponder I did, and the unfulfilled desires from my past flooded back so strongly they stopped me in my tracks. All the secret fantasies of holding the Golden Boy close… the silent prayers and vain hopes of quiet interludes, gentle touches, and stolen kisses. It was debilitating.

So I stood there, dumbly, feet frozen as I struggled to make up my mind. I had two choices. I could either face my inner demons and turn back, confessing my suppressed emotions to the Boy Who Lived and pray to the gods that he would at least hear me out before rejecting every last word… or I could run. On the one hand, I figured the last thing he needed was me fucking things up for him even more than they already were. On the other, I wasn't sure if I could live with myself if I didn't come clean.

"Draco."

One word spoken, quietly, almost apprehensively, and my decision was made for me. Without turning around, I removed the mask. There was no use for it now. "How long have you known it was me?"

I heard shuffling and I knew he had begun moving toward me.

"As soon as you knelt beside me. I thought maybe I was imagining it, but when I turned, and you really were there, I knew it was you."

By this time he was directly behind me, but I made no move to face him until he put a hand on my arm. When I did turn, my heart began beating as it had only minutes before, because plastered on his face was that same lopsided grin, and this time, there was no mistaking its sincerity.

I wanted to melt, to just fall into his arms and never leave again, but I knew that was probably the farthest thing from his mind. I replaced those thoughts with more reasonable hopes of at least becoming friends, as I had wanted so long ago.

"So what made you change your mind about me?" I quickly regretted the question, and tried to cover it. "I mean, I was under the impression that you hated me." Not a great conversation starter, either.

He chuckled slightly, and to my relief, explained, rather than the expected denial. "I saw you fight."

I suppose I still had a giant question mark on my forehead, because he elaborated.

"It was rather unnerving, at first, watching some unknown Death Eater prancing around offing his own people. And then I realized who you were."

"And that made it less unnerving?" I ventured.

"Yes, actually. As soon as I figured it out, it all made perfect sense. I've known for quite a while you were never really on his side." He spat the one word as though it were venom. "The things you did you did to save your own skin, and your family's, and nothing more. There was no reverent worshipping, no unshakeable loyalty, simply survival instincts."

I almost smiled. Had we not been in the middle of a desolate battlefield, I may have just done so. "You're much more observant than the rest of them. I thought I had everyone fooled. Hell, even my own father walked right into his death."

"I'm sor—" he started to say, but I cut him off.

"Don't. He doesn't deserve your sympathy. He deserved a slow and agonizing demise, but a quick and painless one was all I could give him, so it will have to do."

We were both silent for a few moments before he offered his hand.

I reached forward tentatively and took hold of it. "What's this for?"

He shrugged. "Starting over."

A glimmer of hope started to trickle through me at the sound of those words, and I gripped the hand a little tighter.

"I'm Harry Potter."

I paused for a moment before smiling, even despite the given surroundings and the day's events. "Draco Malfoy."

And so it began—all of my deepest and darkest desires, blossoming into reality.

Did I mention the reviews tend to inspire me? Yeah, you know exactly what I'm saying.