Saving the Demon

Throughout this war, I have thought many times that if it came to it, I'd be ready to die. I've fantasized about an afterlife free of fear and force- free of duty. It sounded incredibly enticing.

But when the flames lapped all around me and the smoke drowned my lungs, I screamed for my life. I don't know why. Some cursed sense of self-preservation maybe. Or maybe it was because I was Goyle's only hope, as always, stunned stupid as he was. Or maybe it was just because fire is a horrific way to go. I owe it to my parents to at least leave a body behind.

I couldn't stop my hand from grasping Potter's when he swooped down through the smoke. But even though Goyle was too heavy to be rescued on the same broom, I couldn't make myself abandon him. If Weasley hadn't come back for him, all three of us would have burned together. I make a terrible Death Eater, accepting help from the enemy and not betraying worthless sidekicks. After all my training in Dark Magic, have I suddenly gone soft?

I don't understand. Potter could have died trying to save me. And why me? If anyone, why hadn't he tried to save Goyle? Surely he has less against him than he has against me!

Confused and distracted by what just took place, I walk down hallways ravaged by the ongoing battle. Hogwarts is in chaos, but I hardly register the rush of people as I pass. There are less paintings on the walls now than there are strewn about the floors, and most of them are empty. Knights are the only paintings still remaining in their frames. They scream out old battle strategies and quotes on bravery.

"Don't let the cowards past! Fight them off! Never retreat! Victory to the strong of heart!"

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I'm being vastly stupid by walking wandless through a mass duel. If Potter had really wanted to save my life, why didn't he return my wand?

"OY! Look out, Soldier!" I hear the painting scream, just as I practically collide with a masked Death Eater. The tip of his wand jabs at my chest.

"I'm Draco Malfoy, I'm Draco, I'm on your side!" I say, raising my hands. I don't know why I bother. My name hardly protects me anymore.

The Death Eater just laughs from behind his mask. He starts to pronounce a curse, but in the next instant he crumples to the ground in a heap. I look around, imagining my mother or father or Snape, the only ones likely to be my rescuer.

A punch to the gut sends me backwards, tripping over the stunned corpse.

"That's the second time we've saved your life tonight, you two-faced bastard!" Weasley's voice calls from further away. He says "we", but somehow I doubt he had anything to do with it.

I look after his voice, but there's nothing there. Numbly, I stumble to my feet and take the wand from the grip of the stunned man, not bothering to lift his mask and see who it is.

What is this? I don't even have the malicious energy to extract revenge?

No, I'm too dazed. I can't process the possible reasons Potter would have to save my life, now twice. Partly because there are none, other than an overdeveloped sense of heroism. Did he really value life enough to risk his own for an enemy's? Why? He wouldn't have been bothered if I had died. In fact, he'd be ridding himself of a rather nasty headache, no doubt. We had been there to detain him in what appeared to be an urgent quest, after all.

Why would he go out of his way to save me?

I look over the balcony at the battle going on below and it is obvious Potter's side is going to lose. Students aiming to stun against Death Eaters aiming to kill do not stand a chance. Potter will be murdered by the Dark Lord. The one who saved my life after all I'd done against him, and again when my own side turned against me, will be killed. And then what? Who really believes that in the end, purebloods will remain to be ruled peacefully by the Dark Lord?

No, the Wizarding world is doomed without its Savior.

What I do next cannot be explained. Did I not just say Potter was losing? This whole night is confusing.

I cast a disillusionment charm on myself and wait until I'm completely blended into the stone wall of Hogwarts before I leap over the railing into the fray of the battle. Despite my solid landing, my feet immediately feel so much lighter than they have since the Dark Lord branded the dark mark on my arm.

Quickly, I weave through the witches and wizards locked in ridiculously noble duels with Death Eaters. I flatten myself against the wall and immediately blend into it. To stay hidden, the only thing I move is my wand arm that feels as light as a feather as I cast curse after curse at the masks that darkened my world.

My curses are all green.

I almost want to laugh as the Death Eaters slowly realize they are being attacked with an Unforgivable by someone unseen. Their eyes bulge in fear of having to fight a more devious opponent. They scan their surroundings as quickly as possible, trying to spot me when I move next.

I kill three within the first twenty seconds, but that's all I get anyway before his hissing voice reverberates through the castle and stills everyone in the room.

At the words "I command my forces to retreat immediately," all five of the remaining Death Eaters in the room whirl for the door. I seal it in an instant and watch as they look around for another escape route. Stunning curses fly their way from various spots around the room and every one of them falls down as I disable their weak shields.

"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 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 the 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."

Something inside of me that had begun to almost float as I fought, falls heavily back down with a thud. Did my heart just sink?

The Dark Lord is making the right move. Of course, Potter will go. The Savior will offer himself up with out a fight, the Dark Lord will win, and for my twenty seconds of treachery... I have to stop Potter.

I run down the hall leaping over bodies in the way. Gripping my Malfoy crest, I send a long overdue message to my mother: "Potter saved my life. Twice."

I know it's enough to make her understand.

Prologue (PoV: Narcissa Malfoy, Battle of Hogwarts)

The Forbidden Forest is bitter cold despite the fire blazing in the center of our semi-circle. It's as if a shadow were placed around it, filtering out all warmth. The orange flames flicker spastically, mirroring my nerves, and send up black smoke through the trees where it is lost to the dark sky.

The fire does nothing to fight the cold, just as the students of Hogwarts could do nothing against the Death Eaters. How could they even be asked to try? They are children! The loss of life is already staggering.

"Don't," Lucius barely whispers beside me, and I realize I have just opened my mouth to once again beg the Dark Lord to let me go after my son. "You will only anger him."

I squeeze my mouth shut and stare up at my husband. Besides his glistening brow, nothing gives away his panic. He avoids my gaze, not knowing how to answer the question I am asking with my eyes. What can we do to save our son?

I try to focus on keeping my body from shivering as the chill breeze blows straight through my robes. The cold seeps unnaturally deep into my bones, stealing any body heat I have left. I can feel the magical hatred behind the wind. We do not belong in here in this forest. We are invaders. Like my son, we are behind enemy lines.

I look around at the other Death Eaters, silently pleading for someone to speak up for my son. I know none will. The normally statuesque rank of the Dark Lord's closest followers is fraying. Everyone shifts erratically. The adrenaline left from the fighting makes it so difficult to wait. They wait for the battle to start again or for Potter to come in surrender. No one considers Draco. To them, he might as well be dead.

I turn my bracelet which sends yet another message to Draco. Please, answer me.

Even in my own panic, I can feel the nervous energy of the people around me. They're cold and anxious, but also afraid. Excluding my sister, of course. She looks as bloodthirsty as ever as she eyes the empty spot on Dark Lord's right hand side. When she meets my gaze and doesn't even bother to look sorry for my, and more accurately Draco's, predicament. Instead Bellatrix's eyes are filled with lusting after Severus's vacant position beside the Dark Lord. Where is Severus? I hadn't even noticed his absence.

Where is Draco?

I can only spare the missing man what amounts to a blink in my focused concern. The hour is almost up and Potter has not come. Soon more hellish chaos will let loose and Draco will again be surrounded by imminent danger. I turn my bracelet, sending yet another inquiry. Draco?

Maybe that's where Severus is. Protecting Draco. He did make the Unbreakable Vow to do so, after all. I can imagine him telling me to relax, in his deep and disgust-tinted voice, that everything was handled smoothly and Draco was never in any danger.

My fantasy is cut short when I feel the slight sting on my wrist. I hear Draco's voice in my head: Potter saved my life. Twice.

As relieved as I am that he is still alive, his tone sends a new kind of worry through me. It is bewildered, as though shocked.

But there is also apology in his tone.

My jaw goes slack and I forget about the cold when I realize that his message was not just information, but also an explanation. Draco has made a rash decision. He's shocked and confused. He'll defect and, should the Dark Lord win this battle, he will suffer for it.

If I were concerned before, I'm now sick to my stomach with petrifying worry. A chill rushes through me, causing my body to finally rebel against the cold and begin trembling. Lucius hand is instantly on my shoulder, steadying me.

I pray that Potter will not come, that he will not give up the fight. According to the prophecy, if the Dark Lord kills the Chosen One, it is over, and then Draco will be tortured and killed as a traitor.

I am about to send him my warning when I see a flicker coming from somewhere beyond the fire I have been staring into. My eyes dart to Lord Voldemort who is bowed intensely. All eyes are on him now, just as the hour closes.

"No sign of him, my Lord," Dolohov reports with barely concealed impatience. There's a long pause before the Dark Lord looks up and stares straight through the fire.

"I thought he would come. I expected him to come. I was, it seems . . . mistaken."

"You weren't," says a confident yet weary voice. Harry Potter steps out of the woods, eyes on Lord Voldemort. He stands tall with both arms humbly at his sides, no wand in sight.

I know that I'm supposed to hate this boy, but even now as he destroys my son's chances of survival by surrendering, I cannot. Instead, I am mystified by his sacrifice and quiet valor.

"Harry Potter," the Dark Lord croons, an expression strangely close to glee on his features, "The Boy Who Lived." And he raises his wand.

I try to force myself to move, to scream, to disintegrate, anything. But my thoughts are in the way and I think: what can I do, really, that would save him?

The words are spoken, the light flashes, and Potter is blown backwards.

In the process, Lord Voldemort is also thrown back. Everyone scrambles, trying to decide how to react amidst the cries and bellows coming from the half-giant. I use the distraction to try to slip into the forest and race for Hogwarts. Draco needs me.

Suddenly a curse hits me and I yelp as it burns my side. I look around to see the Dark Lord still pointing his wand at me.

"You," he spits, "examine him. Tell me whether he is dead."

I rush the remaining steps towards the body of this boy no older than my son. If not for his slightly skewed glasses, his face shows no sign of his violent death. He seems to be merely dreaming.

Respect turns into reverence as I kneel down. I place my hand on Harry Potter's forehead.

"Thank you," I mutter. I open his robes and press my hand onto his chest.

His heart is beating.

My own slams against my ribs in a jolt of hope. Draco still has a chance! The Dark Lord could yet be defeated!

I stand fluidly and face the Dark Lord without an ounce of fear.

"He is dead!"

And I know I lie well.