Title: The Misfortunes of Virtue
Author: Winter Ashby (rosweldrmr)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling & Misfortunes of Virtue (title only) were written by the Marquis de Sade in 1787 (more notes about the literary allusions in the footnote of the last chapter)
Rating:
M (for language and adult themes)
Summary:
Draco steals away in the dead of night on orders from the Dark Lord to either kidnap or kill Hermione. But who is he really loyal to?
Timeline
: Post 'The Half-Blood Prince' Some incorporated plot of 'Deathly Hallows'
Warning: Major Character Deaths! Inferi!Character, Necromancism: controlling the dead (NOT necrophilia), strong language, violence, blood, gore, & DH spoilers
Authors Note: So, we're finally there. The last stand. Which side will come out on top? Any why is Draco going into the Castle alone? What will he find?


Part Eight
Matter of Time

She was gone the next morning before he woke. There was a letter pinned to the mantle of the fireplace.

Hogwarts, midnight. Bring your wand. Tonight, it ends.
-HJG

And there was no more.

Draco spent the day hyperventilating by the fire and remembering the feel of her skin against his. At eleven, he left the Fidelus charm of her Scottish Castle and apparated to Hogsmeade. The air was crisp with something that felt very much like the crackling of magic's in the air. He drew in a long breath, filled his lungs with the power of the anticipation and fear and entered the Hogwarts ground steadily.

There was already a crowd. They stood, mulling around, mostly looking scared or battle-ready. There were a few older witches and wizards, from the original Order. But Dumbledore's Army became the new Order, and students just barely of age, not even qualified to take their NEWTS was all that stood between this world and the next.

No one stood with their backs to the forbidden forest, and Draco could only surmise that the thin line of trees was all that separated the kids from the deatheaters. Although, there weren't nearly as many people as he an envisioned for the 'last stand' and a part of him reveled in their inevitable defeat.

He didn't have to wonder why there were so few. He had heard stories, during his year and a half long self-imposed exile. He heard of 'Muggle Born Registration Act'. He heard of the camps, the new wings of Azkaban devoted to those who 'stole' their magic. But it wasn't until he was finally back at Hogwarts, a place from his childhood, that he really took the time to appreciate how bad things were.

He could feel the despair and anguish in the air. He assumed that it was common knowledge what Harry Potter was about to do (for their side, at least). And everywhere he looked, people mourned the not-dead-yet man who would become even more of a legend tonight.

Martyrdom was the path Potter chose, and it killed Draco to admit that he was sorry. He was sorry things had to end like this, sorry for his part in all of it. Sorry that he spent one night, just one night with her. Because he knew it would never happen again. And he would spend the rest of his life trying to forget the way she looked laying naked in the light of the fire, hair spread out on the carpet, eyes making that sparking brown that he dreamed of at night, and telling him that it was alright.

Everything'll be alright. He could still her whispering it.

He spotted her from across the Hogwarts grounds. She was pressed so tightly against The Boy Who Lived, it was a wonder she could even breathe. He could hear her sobbing from 50 yards away.

He made his way past them, and their inner circle. He went unnoticed and slipped into the empty school. His footsteps echoed off the high, vaulted ceilings, and down the stretching, winding hallways. The staircases didn't move anymore, and the portraits were all empty. He imagined they were all jammed into smaller ones that overlooked windows of the forbidden forest.

He didn't know where he was going, really. He just let his feet take him up flights of stairs, past classrooms he used to sit in, and through secret corridors he used to prowl. Until, finally, he found himself on the seventh floor, face to face with the eerily blank wall, behind which, he knew was the Room of Requirements.

I need help.

And immediately, a door was formed out of the stone, and it opened to him. Without hesitating, he entered. It was always the one thing Snape and Dumbledore said to him during his sixth year. After his father was sent to jail, and he was branded with the dark mark, Dumbledore told him over and over again, that all he had to do was ask for help.

But back then, he'd had too much pride, too much hate to let anyone help him. He thought it was a sign of weakness, that he was a failure.

Inside the room there was nothing but blank walls and large windows that overlooked the grounds. He could see lights in the forest, beyond the tree line, and the groups of people near the smoldering remains of Hargid's house. It wasn't until his second inspection of the room that he noticed what waited for him there.

There stood a tall mirror, with an ornate gold frame and two clawed feet. There was an inscription on it in a language he'd never seen before. As he approached it, it didn't reflect his pallid features, as he would have expected it to. But instead, was the shadowy figure of his former Headmaster.

"Draco." The ghostly figure smiled and clapped his hands together. He looked younger than Draco remembered him being. But the again, the last memory he had of him was of Dumbledore defenseless and weak, begging. Draco pushed that thought aside.

"Professor." He greeted, not questioning how such things were possible. He learned long ago, not to question things that happened in the wizarding world.

"You are looking well." Dumbledore, or the reflection of his departed soul, perhaps, looked him over once and smiled. "Tell me, is it about to start?" His blue eyes twinkled just the way they did in Draco's mind, when he allowed his thoughts to wander that far.

Draco turned his head to the large window and nodded. "Nearly."

"Well, you'd better get going."

Draco didn't move. "Why are you here?" he asked, unable to stop himself.

"You wanted help." Dumbledore answered, rather blandly. "So, I am here to help."

"And how, exactly, are you going to help me? You're stuck in a mirror."

Dumbledore chuckled, his white beard moving as he laughed. "No, not stuck. This mirror can only show you your heart's greatest desire. Above all else, you desire help." He waved a finger at Draco and winked. "Young Master Malfoy, you came here tonight looking for help not for yourself, as I would have expected, but for them," Dumbledore pointed out of the windows surround the room. Where, Draco knew, down below people were beginning to fall into place.

"Potter's going to kill himself." Draco begrudgingly admitted.

"Oh, that is something Harry will have to deal with on his own. I have left him all the help I could." His eyes twinkled mischievously.

"So how are you going to help?"

"I can't. I'm not really here Draco. This is just what you want to see, what you truly desire."

"I desire an old geezer?"

"No, you desire power and wisdom. You wish you could be everything I was, so you could save her from having to fight anymore." And as Dumbledore finished, Draco didn't need to ask who, because Hermione's face had also appeared in the mirror, alongside himself. And the image of Dumbledore was gone.

The clock on the tower chimed a quarter till, and Draco turned from the haunting image of himself and her in the enchanted mirror. Hands clasped, a boy at his knee with grey eyes and brown hair.


Has Draco finally had a revelation? What will this mean for him and Hermione. And what about this epic battle? Who will live - who will die? You'll have to read the next chapter to find out.