Epilogue: Part 1

Thank you so much for your reviews, as always! I am glad people seem to be pleased with my recent edits.

This is greatly a chapter explaining things left unclear up to this point...from Draco's and Severus' perspectives. And then a sprinkling of forward plot-movement.

A/N: I have messed with the DH timeline somewhat... that is, Harry and co. are captured and delivered to the Malfoys' before the Forest of Dean situation...and they get the cup before the locket. I may have also messed with the conditions of the Vow Severus made to protect Draco but again...poetic license!

Please Review!

oOoOo

Draco POV

To say my life has been turned upside down somewhat this last year would be the understatement of the century. More like everything I have ever believed in, and the people I have always expected to associate with-those I thought I could rely on, they've really confunded the hell out of me.

For all that the goody-goodies on the side of the light like to say about my father, he's a good man. At least he was…to me. Sure, he was strict. He expected a lot. But he wasn't impossible to please. And when I did succeed in making him proud of me, nothing else seemed to matter.

He was in the Dark Lord's service, and so I never questioned that someday I would be, too. I did a lot of boasting my first few years at Hogwarts. Maybe I didn't really know what I was talking about, but Crabbe and Goyle would go along with it, of course, and it was really amusing to get under Potter and Weasley's skin. Those two are seriously so easy to rile up.

But I never really got it. I know that now. When the Dark Lord marked me, I expected father to be so proud. To look at me that way that made me feel as if nothing could stop me. But…he didn't. He looked…well, resigned. Of course, he didn't let that show until we were back at home. I tried to talk to him, but he just slammed the door to his study and ordered me to leave him. I tried not to question it, but I couldn't help but wonder what exactly I'd done wrong. Wasn't this what he'd always wanted for me?

Mother wasn't as much of a mystery. She clearly had mixed feelings about my joining the Death Eaters, but I expected that from her-she was always so worried whenever father left for a meeting. And she's always been a tad overprotective, so for her to not be completely thrilled that I was putting myself in danger wasn't a big deal to me.

My first meeting as a marked Death Eater, I left the house with all these illusions of grandeur. But then we arrived, and I saw the way my father stooped to kiss the Dark Lord's robes-the way he acted so… obsequious! It surprised me, only a little bit, mind you. I knew the honor it was to pledge your soul and loyalty to the Dark Lord, but it still knocked me off a little bit to see my father-the proudest man I have ever known-kneel in the dirt like that. And then the torture began.

I still shoved all doubts aside, and tried to ignore the niggling voice in my head that warned me the Dark Lord's mission for me to take out Dumbledore was just an impossible task to punish Father for failing to retrieve the prophecy.

I covered any doubts with arrogance. It's so obvious now. I wouldn't listen to any ideas mother and father tried to throw at me. Once back at school, Severus kept approaching me, but I was determined that if I could just complete this one mission, my father and I would be back in the Dark Lord's graces, and this dark dream would be what I had always thought it would. All I had to do was succeed.

As things began to look more and more hopeless, I began to blame Potter more and more for our predicament. And then…that night came. I was terrified, though I would never admit it aloud. I had pushed myself on, urged myself not to doubt my mission. It was for my father. It was for the best. But killing Dumbledore had been in abstraction, but when he was there in front of me, it suddenly occurred to me that to kill another human being wasn't as simple as I'd always bragged and assumed.

It wasn't as if I'd ever liked the man, but the last few torture sessions I'd had to watch, and the pure pleasure at meaningless violence the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters had shown had disturbed even me. I had tried not to let it wear on me, but I suddenly found myself on the front lines of a very real war, in control of a person's life. And it also occurred to me that Dumbledore was probably the only one who could defeat the Dark Lord (not to mention who was such a forgiving fool that he might let me get off and on with my life).

And so I hesitated. I actually began to lower my wand. The part of me that still wanted to be a kid wanted to trust those damn twinkling eyes. But then Severus killed him and we escaped together. I returned home… but it wasn't home any longer. I realized that pretty quickly. The Dark Lord had taken our house as his own personal palace, and I soon found that rather than gaining more power since getting involved with the Death Eaters, I'd actually lost it. I was no longer at school, for one thing. And though I'd complained often enough about the place, at least I felt like someone there. I was the Prince of Slytherin, and I got respect-even if it was because people feared me.

But now, I was nothing. The Dark Lord treated me and my parents like servants-not really any different from the house elves. Honestly, worse, because he didn't often torture the house elves. I got used to it, myself. I stopped caring when he decided to use me as an 'example.' It was when he tortured Mother that I really began to crumble inside.

I could tell Severus pitied us occasionally, but this just made me more angry. I couldn't stop myself from hating him. If he hadn't killed Dumbledore and stolen my glory, maybe we wouldn't be in this situation! But the longer things continued, the more time I had to watch the way the Dark Lord played with his servants, and I realized…there was never any hope of a glorious life by his throne. It was always only him. The rest of us were only fit to kiss his robes.

I began to get why Father hadn't seemed so pleased for me to take the Mark. I wasn't so pleased any longer, either.

It looked as if there was no possible end in sight. How long was the madman seriously going to live in our house? I could hardly give an order to my own personal house-elf without consulting the Dark Lord first, anymore. I could tell he found it horribly amusing, too. I did not.

Since I wasn't in school, time seemed to stretch on and on. Even though the Dark Lord had made Severus headmaster, he didn't let me return. I accepted his decision obediently, of course, but inside I was screaming. That would have been a chance for me to make something of this, at least! At least if I had gone back to school…sure I would have had to deal with death threats from the other houses, but at least I could have stood tall and lied to the other Slyths. But no. I had to stay here in this expensive prison which used to be my home.

And with Dumbledore gone, it didn't seem like there was any way things would turn around. But then, one day, Potter and his friends appeared from out of nowhere, it seemed. They were brought to our mansion by some bounty hunters, and Potter's face was swollen up sickeningly. But I knew it was him, anyway. Especially with his two sidekicks, there was no question about it. But when they asked me to identify him, once again…I hesitated.

Now that I knew what really happened to enemies of the Dark Lord (and to his loyal followers), I wasn't as keen on seeing what he'd do to Potter and his cronies. Not that I liked them. Not at all. I've always looked down on them-hated them, really. But I'm no idiot. Just because someone's my school hood enemy doesn't mean I want to see him tortured and cut apart viciously or whatever else they had in store for him before finally killing him. And so, I lied and said I didn't know them. Mother was terrified, and tried to get me to own up. But when they noticed Potter's scar, it was over.

And then they escaped. The Dark Lord was not pleased upon his return to hear who had slipped out of his grasp, and Bellatrix (the bitch) was quick to tell him she suspected me of helping them escape. Just because I had hesitated.

Well, it wasn't as if I were in the Dark Lord's good graces. And so he began to torture me once again. The pain was beyond anything I've ever felt. I wasn't really sure how much longer I could deal with it, but…then Father stepped between us, and pleaded with the Dark Lord to spare me.

I was afraid he wouldn't get up after that.

But then things went back to the horrible monotony of before.

Then, one day, I was actually allowed out of my gilded prison. I was to accompany Bellatrix to Knockturn. Well, wasn't I surprised, as we passed Gringotts, to see another Bellatrix walking right in. The two accompanying her, Potter and Weasley, of course (I had no doubt it was the Golden Trio…who else was fool enough to go up against the Dark Lord?) met my eyes and I saw a look of panic quickly schooled. But a split second decision and I just nodded imperceptibly and distracted Bellatrix, pulling her with me down a side street as quickly as possible.

Apparently, one of the Dark Lord's "Horcruxes" had been taken that day. So that's what Potter and his goons were after…whatever it was, if it disturbed the Dark Lord this much, then they had to be on the right track. Funny, that didn't bother me at all. But the bastard needed a scapegoat, and as Bella was too valuable, he turned his wand on me.

Once again, Father interfered.

And Voldemort killed him.

It was at that moment that I truly realized what a farce I had been living. I began to really reexamine my choices, and the people I had made my friends and my enemies. I knew one thing for sure. The Dark Lord was my enemy now.

After he killed Father, Mother barely hesitated an instant before whisking me away. I think she saw the look on my face or something-she must have known I wouldn't keep quiet any longer. And so we fled. I was horrified, at first, when she took us to Hogwarts-to Snape's office. But then she explained that the man had apparently made an unbreakable vow to protect me. That was a shock.

I was also surprised by mother's risky decision to trust Snape. His loyalties have always been anyone's guess, but when she pleaded our case and her desire to protect me, the man assented to helping us. He did it reluctantly, warning mother that were he not under the compulsion of the vow, she would be dead now.

But I didn't believe it. From what I'd heard, the vow did not extend that far. Keeping me alive would have been enough. If he were truly loyal to the Dark Lord, he would have killed mother for her show of disloyalty. But rather than that, he helped us relocate to Prince manor. The Princes and Malfoys shared enough common blood that the ancient wards would worked well for our protection; not to mention the place was unknown to practically anyone, and with the additional wards Severus constructed around the place, it was sure to be a safe bet (assuming my Head of House didn't turn on us, of course).

But a week passed, and nothing happened. I was in a haze of despair and confusion over Father's death for most of the time, but then my head cleared somewhat and I suddenly felt how cut off from the war we were at the old manor. But the house, as most old pureblood manors do, contained a remarkable library. And so I decided to take advantage of it and got to work researching (with mother) about the sainted Horcruxes Voldemort was so attached to. Once I realized just what they were, it hit me what Potter was really up against. So we started to look into ways of destroying them.

Eventually, we figured the Sword of Gryffindor would work to take out the bastard's soul and we let Snape know. I suppose he took our word for it, though he only waved us off indifferently when we gave him the information. No Death Eaters arrived at our place to kill us, however, so I knew my suspicions about Snape's loyalties had to be right.

He also supplied me with a stream of potions to cut the pain in my Dark Mark. Apparently the wards cut off some of the connection, anyway. Otherwise, I don't know why Voldemort didn't just go ahead and off me when I ran.

Snape informed us of the night of the final attack, and I managed to get there just in time to stop Crabbe blasting Potter with Fiendfyre. Even though Dumbledore was gone, Potter had proven himself to be a lot more resilient than I'd ever thought. Maybe he did have a chance, despite all I'd thought that a joke since I'd met him. So I pushed the three idiots out of the way as Crabbe threw his curse.

They were screaming about a Diadem and I realized they had to be searching for the Horcrux, so I yelled at them to leave it-the Fiendfyre would take care of it anyway. The fire was out of control, though, and after yanking me onto his broom, Potter (the blasted Hero) tried to go after Crabbe, too, but another swirl of the cursed fire swooped up at us. I screamed for them to get us out of there…and so he did. Potter and Weasley were gaping at me like the idiots they are and so I had to block another curse from hitting them before they snapped out of it.

Potter (the sap) sent me a hesitant smile before running off elsewhere to perform his heroics. I then set my attention to Goyle, who was staring into space, distraught after Crabbe's miserable end.

Now, as I sit here in the Great Hall after the Dark Lord's defeat, I'm still trying to reconcile everything. So Snape was a spy for the light all along. Figures, the sneaky bastard. I must say, though, that the revelation that he is actually Potter's father? Now that swung me for a loop. It gives Potter some points, though, I must admit. A little Slytherin blood will do that for you.

Speaking of Potter…he was a surprise. I suppose I should have expected it. Even with the revelation of his Slytherin blood, he's still the ultimate Gryffindor. But after the way I treated him all through school, I really didn't expect him to change his tune so quickly-just because I'd helped him a little bit this year.

But at Mother's and my trial, there he was, in all his Gryffindor pomp, standing there and telling the Wizengamot that I lied for him in front of inner circle death eaters…and distracted Bellatrix in Diagon. He told how it was mine and my mother's research that led to him getting the Sword of Gryffindor to destroy the Horcruxes…told them how I'd saved him several times the night of the battle (as if he hadn't done the same to me by flying me out of the room on his broom)…

But he and Severus both spoke up for us. Mother wasn't marked, so that made things easier, and my age and apparent remorse worked for me. They managed to convince the Ministry sods that I had been forced to take the Mark, and that I had only been used as a servant by Voldemort. That I was a victim. Well, they weren't too far off, I suppose.

I felt it necessary to give Potter a semi-public show of gratitude. As a Malfoy, it would show a great lack of decorum to do anything less. But his easy and genuine acceptance…and his subsequent offer to play… quidditch? That, I did not expect. Maybe he isn't so bad after all…

Making my way to the Great Hall, I wonder at our decision to stay at the school rather than return to Prince Manor, as Severus suggested. I definitely groused enough about staying here, but it was mostly for show. I honestly wanted to stay at Hogwarts, even in its current safe-house condition. For one thing, I've spent about enough time locked up in manors, recently.

And there's something to say about being around more people than just Mother-even if most of them are obnoxious Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. But staying also proves I'm not afraid to show my face. That I have nothing to hide. I am a Malfoy, after all. Why shouldn't I stay and stake my rightful place in this school?

The House Tables are no longer sorted by house. People are just sitting wherever, but I don't really mind. As I walk in, yawning in boredom, I notice a tall, dark-haired guy around my age I've never seen before and spare him a slight glance, gesturing to the next seat. He nods curtly, and I take my place beside him.

At least he doesn't seem to be a loudmouthed obnoxious prat like so many. But is it just me, or is he smirking? As if he's privy to some great joke…well, I am not about to let some new kid laugh at my expense!

"Excuse me," I drawl, "But just what do you find so amusing?"

The boy turns to me and grins and I find myself staring at his eyes. They're strangely familiar.

"Oh, nothing Draco. I'm just somewhat surprised by how quickly you've forgotten our last conversation."

Narrowing my eyes, I glare at him. I swear I've never spoken to this kid…but he does look familiar. Perhaps…I nearly choke on my coffee, and have to drop my cup somewhat inelegantly. I know where I've seen those features! My eyes track between the smirking young man to my right and my Head of House, apparently watching us with a smirk identical to his…

"Potter!" I gasp, jumping up and pointing at him in shock.

Many heads around us turn and the usual hiss of whispers begins.

"Damn it, Draco, do you have to be so subtle?" Potter grouses sarcastically.

Smirking, I sit back, gracefully, at the table and stare at him unabashedly. "My, my. You are the Professor's son, aren't you?"

Potter rolls his eyes.

I grin widely. For some reason, seeing him this way, it's harder to think about all those years of animosity. This Potter, I think I can deal with. After all, I've always liked Severus, for the most part. And I have to admit that some intelligent conversation with someone my age would be nice... "So…you still on for a little game of Quidditch, later?" I ask casually, and a little smile plays around Potter's lips.

"I suppose." He turns to me and smirks. "Just a bit of warning, Draco. My father was a Seeker for Slytherin. Don't think this little appearance change is going to give you the upper hand."

I can't help it. I laugh out loud. Damn it, it almost feels like we're friends. And for some reason, the idea isn't all that abhorrent, anymore. The Dark Lord's gone, so why the hell not? "I'm sure I'll manage. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Potter-Snape," I smirk.

He grins back, but then turns around when two familiar Gryffindorks enter the Great Hall.

"I'll meet you later, alright? I have someone else to surprise." I nod and watch as he scurries across the Hall and taps the two annoyances on the shoulders. They jump, the Weasel scowls and glares (no surprise, there), while Granger looks at him as if he is something interesting under a microscope…but then, of course, Granger leaps into his arms, and Weasel's mouth drops open unattractively.

More idiots along the Gryffindor table leap up or back up. Not my problem. I think I'll top out at a civil relationship with one Gryff, thank you very much.

oOoOo

Severus POV

Ever since I'd heard tell of Potter's birth, I had been determined to despise the boy. He was, after all, the son of the man who had tormented me. Not only was he likely to be just as insufferable as the man had been, but he was the proof that I had lost Lily for good. The proof of my failures. I had too many, already. I knew seeing the tangible proof of my regrets would only make life more painful.

And when he arrived at Hogwarts, far too small to be 11, and with a hesitant shyness in those green eyes which had haunted me for years, I slammed my occlumency shields into place as quickly as possible. The boy was, after all, a clone of James Potter, and so I forced myself to ignore anything else I noticed about him which might suggest otherwise. I could not let myself see him as Lily's…because that would make the pain too real.

I needed to keep my distance from him, and so I shot down any chance of his taking an interest in my class in his first lesson. I ignored any twinges of guilt I may have felt at my decidedly unfair treatment of him. This was necessary. I would not survive his seven years at Hogwarts otherwise.

Years passed, and our relationship became increasingly volatile. And occasionally, I would slip up, let my guard down, and notice something which ran counter to my expectations of him as Potter Jr…but I would violently squash any such thoughts. I accused him of being just like Potter. I did it in part to convince myself. And it worked. I truly began to see the child that way. And as he grew older, I continued to see Potter and his gang sneering at me when I looked at him…

But when Albus told me of his final plans for the boy, I could not deny how it unnerved me. It upset the balance of my world. Albus had always protected James Potter and his cronies. Surely he would put Harry's needs above all else, as well? But no…he was simply using the boy as a tool in his war. And with this revelation, my carefully constructed conception of Harry Potter began to crumble at last. I did not let him see this, of course…I treated him as reprehensibly as always. I had a part to play, after all. The Death Eater Professor. Of course I hated all things Potter. Especially Harry Potter.

After completing the horrendous duty I had pledged my soul to…on the astronomy tower…I thought that was the worst of it. I was wrong. The way Potter looked at me; his green eyes blazing with a ferocity I had not seen since Lily, almost undid me. The way he accused me of being a coward, the way he impertinently used my own spell against me; in those few moments, he brought the past back into such clear and distinct focus that I almost truly lost control.

And then…

And then I discovered the truth. Yes, my past had been painful, but the boy, Harry, was not, as I had always seen him, the proof of my failures and regrets. He was, in fact, the proof of the best part of myself, the best part of my life…he was the proof of Lily, and of my connection with her. I had tormented an innocent boy for so long for incredibly selfish reasons. Not only had I accused him, constantly, of things he had no knowledge of, but my accusations were based on absolutely nothing. Nothing but a story, constructed to keep us both safe.

But there must have been a better way! As it is, I will never fully be able to atone for the way I have treated my son.

In an instant, with this revelation, the walls I had built to protect myself from becoming attached to him, from seeing Lily in him, crumbled. It wasn't that my opinion of him suddenly changed on a dime with this knowledge, per se. It was simply that I now could see how superficial my hatred of him had always been. My accusations flimsily-based vitriol that I had projected onto him rather than myself. I realized then that I have never truly hated the boy. I have hated myself, and my mistakes, and my regrets. I did hate James Potter. That is undeniably true, and so I did nearly convince myself to hate Harry at times. But that was never for him, but for someone I thought him related to.

I am sick at the loss of time. All of his childhood. I never had the chance to raise him…only now that he has reached adulthood do I realize he has been mine all along. I can't help my anger at Albus. Despite Lily's pleas, could he not have done something differently? I can't help but feel that his machinations for the war led him to keep this knowledge from me longer, in an attempt to mould Harry as he would.

I became determined, then, that Harry would not stand up to Voldemort alone. His childhood had been literally ripped away. I didn't know much (though that is changing, and I intend to fully exhaust the topic soon), but I had heard tell that Harry disliked his muggle relatives. I remembered Petunia, of course, and so this didn't surprise me, overmuch. But this was another thing I had simply shoved to the side in an attempt not to see Harry as himself. But I would not let him go to the very end of the battle alone. Even if my efforts did not yield much of a difference in the long-run or in the outcome of the battle, the thought of Harry bravely pushing ahead, putting himself on the line like that. It reminded me of how alone he must always have felt. I would not let him feel that way much longer.

Naricissa's and Draco's defection was heartening, though I regret that Lucius was killed before having the chance to reform. But he was likely too far gone. He had done too much, and enjoyed what he did too much. But he did care for his family. Of that, I am sure. So perhaps the way he died, protecting his son from Voldemort, was the most honorable way his life could have ended at this point. Certainly that way was better than rotting in Azkaban.

My year as Headmaster was hell, but at the same time, little flames of hope had begun. Narcissa and Draco's change of heart…and Harry…

Whatever I did, no matter how busy I was keeping the students as safe as possible, my thoughts continued to return to the boy. And the more I thought about him, the more sure I became that Harry had truly never warranted my scorn. I delved into research, to find another way to rid him of the Horcrux…

And with the Malfoys' help, I was able to deliver the sword to Harry in the Forest of Dean. When he vanished under the freezing cold water overlong, I felt a panic like I had not felt in a great deal of time. Acting with uncharacteristic impulsiveness, I plunged in after him and carried him out with the sword.

The boy seemed so frail. So small. Much younger than his 17 years. I could almost imagine it hadn't been quite so long we had missed together. Perhaps he was still just beginning Hogwarts. Perhaps he was still young enough to forgive me. I pushed such selfish thoughts away. Caring for him was more important. I ripped the Horcrux from him and gazed in horror at the burned flesh on his chest. Just how long the child had been wearing the thing was anyone's guess. I applied burn salve and another of my own creation to repel dark magic to his chest after casting warming charms. I allowed myself to care for him and hold him, knowing that he would never allow me to do such were he conscious.

It was harder than I would like to admit to leave him that night, but thereafter I made sure to trail after the boy, to protect him from the shadows (more than I had thus far).

I would watch him from the shadows, though I wished I could do more.

But when Nagini bit me, even though I had taken the anti-venin as I had been wont to do recently, I did not want to die with the truth…and so even though it was perhaps cruel, I added my more recent memories in regards to Harry on top of those I had already resolved to give him.

I woke in the hospital wing to my mark burning. Voldemort was calling…and I could feel his location in every fiber of my being. It made me sick. I disillusioned myself and flooed to the Headmaster's office before Poppy had the chance to realize I was awake. I made quick work of taking back the memories still left in the pensieve (even sparing an instant to feel a twinge of annoyance at the boy for so carelessly leaving them out)…

But once they were back with me, I could almost feel Harry calling to me. The memories of my revelations and feelings as a father were so fresh that I felt renewed determination to end this once and for all. Using a little trick I'd learned from the Dark Lord, I flew from the window, pausing only stop that damn snake from finishing off Longbottom. Once beyond the apparition wards, I followed the aching call in my arm to Voldemort's circle of fools.

What followed, I can hardly believe. It is more stark and painful than any of my numerous hope-filled dreams these past 20 or so years-dreams which never fail to give way to depression when I wake to find myself alone.

But perhaps, as I watch my son, grinning casually and looking so very comfortable in his skin, cross the great hall to indulge in some adolescent nonsense with his Gryffindor friends (though I must admit myself having enjoyed his dealings with Draco)...and he throws me a subtle smirk and a nod of acknowledgement... As I see those beloved eyes, now so wonderfully unobstructed, and the way they hold mine for a moment too long to have been simply my imagination, I allow myself to hope.

I've never written from Draco's point of view before…How did I do? I thought that might be a good way of getting his story across.

Anyhoo, let me know what you think! There will be an Epilogue, Part 2, as well (if not more...).

Thanks~

tess4aria