Author's notes: Thank you, Waterbird and Liriaen, for your fabulous beta-reading. You are my OT3. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

Feedback and concrit are always welcome!

Casualties

Harry threw a second look at the crumpled heap of clothes in the corner when it suddenly moved. That was enough to alert all his senses, and with a few quick steps, he covered the distance between the broken door frame and the pile of dust and ragged cloak that lay half-way under a broken wardrobe. The form underneath the cloak looked almost human, although too bent to be alive. Carefully, he knelt down.

It was when the creature under the cloak tried to crawl away from him that Harry realised it was looking for a hideout. The person's face was shielded from view, and all Harry could see were bits of hair, matted with dust.

He touched the area where he suspected a shoulder. The answer was a frantic effort to retreat further under the splintered boards. One hand came into view and clutched at the cloak, as if Harry had tried to snatch it away. The nails were cracked and crusted with blood. The fingers were strangely bent, as if broken and mended carelessly, and the swollen knuckles were an infected red.

"Shhh …" whispered Harry, "I won't hurt you. I'm here to help.

"Don't …" It was almost too low to be heard.

"Who are you?" An important question. Many of the prisoners hadn't know their own names any more, having been Obliviated shortly before the raid to prevent them telling about the torture they had suffered. Many more hadn't made it through their time of imprisonment. "How long have you been captured? Do you know that you are at Malfoy Manor?" Harry felt like an intruder for raining down questions on the stranger. It had to be done, the survivors had to be taken care of. And yet, a sudden heat rose into his cheeks.

"Please … just leave me alone."

Judging from the pitch of the voice, the other had to be a man around Harry's own age, maybe a few years younger. "Of course not. You can't stay here; we'll take care of you. The war is over. Voldemort is gone, and you are free." Harry tried to remember the numerous names that were reported missing on their side.

The man crumpled even more in on himself. "Go, now. Leave me alone." His voice regained some power, revealing an off-hand drawl.

Could it really be? "Malfoy?"

An eloquent silence.

"It really is you."

"Would you just leave?" Now Malfoy was whining, almost petulant, like he had been back in school.

Harry felt his anger rise like someone was stabbing his chest with an iron rod. That man was a follower of Voldemort, a coward who only striked when your back was turned. He had desecrated Hogwarts when he had let the Death Eaters into the school. His deed was the cause for Bill being maimed – the first of many sacrifices the Weasleys had to make. Memories of Draco's mean-spirited bullying mixed with images of Lucius Malfoy at battle.

"Why should I? You deserve to be taken to Azkaban."

A rasped laugh, inhuman, was all he got from Malfoy. With force, Harry gripped deeply into the cloak, and pulled. Flipping Malfoy's body over was almost too easy. Not believing his eyes, Harry could only stare at the sight in front of him.

Malfoy had been beaten up badly. His face was covered in bruises, the left eye reduced to a swollen slit. His good eye stared at Harry in reproach. "Always the same righteous git, Potter! You won't change." Malfoy chortled again, then fell silent, closing his right eye as well. His ragged breathing told Harry that he had exhausted himself.

"What happened?"

Malfoy's face remained blank. "It's none of your business. Just go. I'm sure there is a kitten or two that need to be rescued."

"I bloody well can't leave you. We're about to burn this place down." Harry had expected Malfoy to flinch, and he was right. Malfoy's good eye twitched violently.

"One more reason for you to leave before things heat up then. For me, it's better than Azkaban at any rate."

Now was Harry's turn to flinch. Malfoy was watching him closely.

"Let me be," he repeated.

"What happened?" Harry insisted. "We've been looking for you since you ran away with Snape."

Malfoy chose to ignore the question. "You could always tell them that you found me dead."

"But … that's not true. I didn't."

"Afraid of lying, Potter?"

"Don't be silly, Malfoy."

"Afraid of not saving me?" Malfoy found the energy to laugh again. "Look, I don't care about being saved. There's nothing left to save."

Realisation dawned on Harry, resulting in a helpless combination of hate and shame. That cloak was hiding a body so battered that it would break from moving. "Your lot did this to you, didn't they? Hell, from the look of you, they more than Crucioed you. I bet you never even made it into their ranks. You failed them."

Malfoy had closed his eye again. His lips formed a tight, bloodless line.

"Listen, Potter, I haven't got much breath left. I'm asking you to go. You won't have to lie about me."

"Your cronies might have left you for dead, but I won't."

Moments passed in silence. When Malfoy spoke again, he sounded exasperated. "Why can't you, for once, forget about being the Saviour, and simply get lost? Ten minutes is about all I've left. It won't make a difference if you carry me out of this place. I'll still be dead."

"Then why shouldn't I try?"

"Because … I don't want to … to be seen like that." Malfoy's voice, dripping contempt, had reached its lowest level. "Please…"

Harry felt torn. There was Malfoy's last wish, so sure of his death. But then there was Harry's refusal to leave somebody still breathing in a house that was about to be burnt to its foundations. There was also an idea forming in the back of his mind, still too raw to command words to express itself. And Harry didn't have much time. Ron and Remus were probably already wondering what was taking him so long to search the third floor.

"How will I know-"

"It's a Dark curse, Potter. No traitor to the cause will survive the Dark Lord's downfall. I've been dying since you killed him yesterday. It happened at sunrise, and I could feel you piercing his heart with a stick right after."

Harry held his breath. It had been just him, and Tom Riddle. He hadn't told anybody about the details. There was no way Malfoy could know.

"Didn't you wonder why the only Death Eaters you've been finding since yesterday are either dead or dying?" Even in his weakened state, Malfoy managed to sneer. "Do you need names to believe me?"

Harry shook his head. The bodies of Parkinson and Zabini, protectively curled around each other, their entwined limbs forming a grotesque picture of tenderness. Crabbe and Goyle, inseparable even in death, one friend clutching the other as if to lead him on their way to hell.

"Every harm that befalls the Dark Lord will be felt by those who failed him. And when he dies, so will they, a day hence." Malfoy's voice sounded as if he was quoting from an old book. "It's almost over, Potter. Don't take this- from me."

Was Malfoy speaking the truth? Who else was out there to be found? Could some of them have learned a different lesson than their parents? Harry knew he had to leave, if he wanted to respect Malfoy's last choice. The others would come looking for him, and they would try to drag Malfoy away. They wouldn't take the time to listen. They would just see another Death Eater on the run.

Looking up, Harry found Malfoy staring at him. Silently asking for the only freedom he had left. Malfoy's eye had started to water, but he didn't blink. Harry knew what he would do before the words had left his lips.

"Malfoy … I have to go. The more time I take … My friends will come looking for me, you know? They won't understand."

Malfoy didn't answer, but his whole body went slack and the harsh lines around his mouth smoothed a little.

"I wish I could stay with you. But-"

"It's alright, Potter. You did enough."

Harry took one bloodied hand in his and squeezed it lightly.

Malfoy's fingers twitched, but he didn't speak again. Harry gently laid Malfoy's hand back on the cloak and stood up. Reluctantly, he made his way to the door. He turned, but all he could see was a soft trembling under the cloak, and Malfoy's silent face.

"Goodbye … Draco." Harry left the room and forced his unwilling legs into a calm stride down the stairs.

Ron and Remus were waiting for him in the hall. "What took you so long? Did you find anybody?"

Harry shook his head. "No. They're all gone."

"We didn't find any more prisoners, either. Just a crumpled heap of that coward, Snape." Ron's face was full of hatred. "Shame he was dead already."

Another victim. Harry hadn't thought he would feel pain on hearing that particular news.

"Let's set it on fire then," Remus said.

"Wait!"

They looked at him, startled. "Anything else?" Remus asked.

Harry swallowed hard. All he had to do was to buy a little time. "Have you searched the whole bloody house? And have you made sure that the White Ban is stuck on all the Dark objects to keep them in place?"

Ron frowned. "Harry, we've done this to more than twenty Death Eater households by now. And you never asked such a stupid question before. You need some rest!"

Remus flared his nostrils. "We're all tired. And we all reek of death. Let's be done with this place and go back to headquarters, take a shower and have a proper meal."

Harry nodded. He couldn't do more without telling them. He would have to trust Malfoy's words. Harry tightened the grip on his wand and hoped for the best.

The three men pointed their wands in different directions. "Incendio!" The fire rose quickly, and they hurried out of the huge building, leaving flames and smoke in their wake.

They always stayed to watch the burning, just barely out of reach of the flames, making sure that no artefact, no trail of Dark Magic would be able to escape unnoticed.

"This is a fitting burial, isn't it?" Remus mused.

Harry jerked up his head. "Who are you talking about?"

"Well, Severus Snape, of course." Remus shrugged and gave him an inquiring look. "Ron told you that we found his body in the basement."

"Right." Harry nodded, trying to shake away his feelings of unease.

Ron, who had been watching the fire, turned and eyed him closely. "What's the matter with you, mate? You look like you've walked through a ghost. Don't tell me that the bastard's death is getting to you."

Harry managed to produce a grunt, otherwise, his tongue felt tied.

"I only regret that he escaped a proper trial." Remus was always the voice of reason.

"I'd have given him a proper trial on the spot." Ron would never be willing to forgive the cruel murder of Charlie, whose bloodied and mangled body had been left in the garden of the Burrow one day before Christmas. The rumors that the former Potions master had been responsible for the execution had never died down.

But what Malfoy had told Harry, wouldn't it prove Snape to be on their side? What if he had worked against Voldemort all the time, knowing that he was digging his own grave in the process? Harry did his best to suppress a shudder. And Malfoy? What had he done to deserve such a fate? Being bound to the life and will of a madman – nobody deserved this.

"I wonder …" Harry started, "I wonder if some of them … were innocent."

He could feel Ron tense up on the spot. "Have you gone mad? You, of all, should know. There is no such thing as an innocent Death Eater! After all, they could have fled. They could have turned sides, couldn't they?"

Harry stayed silent, lost for words and unable to tell about his encounter in the manor.

"No, Harry! I don't believe in innocent Death Eaters. They had their chance. They chose the wrong side. And now, it's time for them to pay." Ron took him by the shoulders and shook him more than just lightly. "D'you hear me? Don't start feeling guilty. None of them ever did."

The pain of having upset Ron tightened Harry's chest. He nodded quickly. "Of course, Ron. I'm sorry. It was just a stupid thought. Forget about it." He patted Ron's arm. "Alright, mate?"

"Alright," whispered Ron, his face still flushed. He turned to look at the burning house again, and Harry followed his example.

The roof had finally caved in under the assault of the fire. Above the rush of the flames, Harry could hear the sound of cracking glass. The third-floor windows exploded, and more flames leaped into the air. The third floor. Where he had found Malfoy, and left him, alone, hurt, and dying. Malfoy, who had hopefully been dead before the flames finally reached his body. Who had been deemed unworthy of surviving Voldemort's downfall. A traitor to the cause. A man who once had dropped his wand a few mere inches, and spared another life. Which had been taken by yet another man, who Harry had called a coward and a traitor. A sob burned in his chest, and he fought it down with all his remaining strength.

Snape and Malfoy, Parkinson and Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle – if they had died from a Dark curse connected to the Mark on their arms, had they simply failed their master, or had there been more to it? Had they actively betrayed him? Harry felt that he would never know.

So, in the end, who was right? Or wrong? And who could say? And who would live to see themselves go wrong, and err, and die?

The heat of the fire, bright against the darkening sky, started to hurt his eyes, but Harry kept staring into the flames nevertheless. One day, they might all make one fatal choice, in one way or another. A choice that couldn't be taken back and that might lead to other choices until the only hope left was to die with a sense of dignity. But, if they were lucky, they wouldn't be bound to a madman's will and life. And maybe in the end, that was the only difference that mattered.