Chapter 13

The car stopped at a grimy part of Paris, covered in half-wit tags and stinking of something rotting. Scorpius felt lethargic, unwilling to get out of the car, but he forced himself. The air was icy and a burst of activity down the alley signified that some scout had seen them coming. They had to move quickly before the cretins sorted their defences.

"This way," Draco said. Draco always had an instinct for where the enemy was. He really was the consummate fighter.

They didn't hurry, instead strolled down the alley toward a door, tagged with a symbol. "They have started using these to communicate," Draco said. "Hiding in plain sight is not always the best strategy." He wretched the door open and they immediately met with blasts, which Draco easily defended against.

The door let to a narrow set of stairs, which was clever on the rebel's part. The rebels had the higher position looking down on a confined space.

Draco flew up the stairs, leaving a black trail of smoke. It was a trick Scorpius hadn't been taught yet. And maybe it was about time he was, but it was intensely distracting and muggles noticed things like that. Instead, he had to wait for Draco to clear the immediate threat, which happened quickly and brutally, usually in more or less silence as Draco's victims rarely had a chance to scream. Draco was efficient, and as soon as firing ceased coming down the stairs, Scorpius walk up the stairs. Adrenalin was now coursing through his blood and he felt the call of battle nipping at him. He'd loved this in the past, the heightened senses, the feeling of invincibility.

The rebels had retreated further into the warehouse, which had nooks and crannies everywhere. It was a good choice for a fight, and Scorpius wondered if this confrontation had been more planned than expected, which meant that they could have laid all sorts of traps—most likely still rudimentary to the point where Scorpius felt his intelligence questioned.

They split up and Scorpius took a hallway leading down to the left. It was dark and somewhere the coarse sound of electrical sparks tortured the air. A blast few his way, but he had time to shield himself. "Just not fast enough," he said. "You're not going to be able to take me."

"You're not as clever as you think, fascist," a man said. The adrenaline made his voice shaky. The days of those extreme reactions were gone for Scorpius, although he still left the energy of a fight, the urge to extend and persevere, be victorious.

"Yeah, I really am," Scorpius said. "This was a mistake."

"You're a mistake."

"That may be so, but I'm still here and this is our town."

"Not anymore." Another shot came and Scorpius ducked out of its way. So predictable. This was like taking candy from a baby. Scorpius shot an energy blast through the wall and was rewarded with an expected cry of pain. He heard the man scamper off, limping away.

This felt a little like déjà vu, not entirely dissimilar to how he'd claimed Lucy. Scorpius sighed. Maybe he'd have another ghost at the end of today—a boyfriend for Lucy perhaps. He could hear by the sound of the guy's voice that he was young. A flash of something shot through him. Another deluded boy, fighting for a cause they didn't quite understand.

"This doesn't need to be," Scorpius said, surprising even himself. "Just slip away. No one will know."

"I'll know," the guy said. Obviously still here.

Another blast came and Scorpius blocked it. They were in closer quarters now and the blasts were more powerful. Scorpius shot another one as soon as he walked around the corner and the guy fell to the ground, scrambling up as quickly as he could to return fire.

"There is no point in dying for this," Scorpius said, trying again, but the guy shot another blast. It was harder to defend at this close range. The guy was sliding back toward the wall. Scorpius wondered how many times he would have to do this exact same thing. They had gotten to this confrontation point so very easily and the kid was running out of options. He knew it too. "It's not worth fighting."

The kid threw his arm, a desperate blast which zinged past Scorpius' ear. Funnily, he hadn't actually defended himself against that one, which was careless. The kid's energies were draining. They were about the same age, and above the scowl, he had light brown hair and freckles. There was blood on his teeth. Truthfully, Scorpius didn't want to kill him, watch the life fleet from his eyes, but there was really no other way to go. Even if the guy begged for forgiveness, Draco would never accept any prisoners. They never accepted prisoners.

"You don't get it, do you?" the guy said. "You can only suppress people for so long. All the energy you spend trying to control everything; it will never work. You might force people to dance to your tune, but no one wants you here, no one accepts you." That wasn't true at all. Their kind thrived in this new order, gaining unimaginable wealth—other's had to comply. "We'll never stop. Sooner or later, you will fall."

"The cost isn't worth it."

"I'm never selling my soul to you. That's what I would do if I stood by and did nothing." He fired another blast, an Avada Kedavra, which Scorpius could only fight with another killing curse. Again, so predictable, Scorpius had known it was coming and was fully ready, and stronger. The curses met and traveled toward the kid.

"Just stop," Scorpius said, even though he knew it was useless. Even if the kid broke, Scorpius had no chance of stopping his at exactly the same moment. The kid was already dead; still breathing for a few more moment. Scorpius' curse overtook as the kid's energy or will faded, throwing a last defiance look at Scorpius before the curse found his chest and he stilled. Everything stilled, replaced by utter silence. The kid's eyes were wide and glassy, staring emptily down at the floor.

Fuck, Scorpius swore silently. This didn't have to be; they just had to stop. Why wouldn't they just stop?

A blast somewhere else in the building garnered Scorpius' attention. His father was still fighting somewhere and Scorpius had to go help. As torn as he felt about this, he couldn't ignore his father. Draco being injured or even dying was unfathomable. Draco's mortality wasn't something that had ever really entered his consciousness before. Draco had always been too strong, too cunning. But was he? An unlucky days and Scorpius could lose his father. There only were two people that actually cared for him; he wasn't ready to lose one of them.

Scorpius ran to where the fighting was, blasting away as soon as he could someone to fight again. It was impersonal again, just enemies without faces or thoughts. He did what he was good at and they soon cleared the building, wary of stragglers hiding for a last shot.

Nausea nipped at his gut when they walked outside. He'd never reacted like this before.

"Why do they do it?" he asked when the car pulled up.

"Because they must," Draco said, looking as unblustered as always.

"They're dying for nothing."

"They're dying for principle."

"A stupid reason to die."

"Or the only reason to die," Draco said, getting into the car.

Scorpius didn't understand. Or maybe he did and didn't want to. These kids, Lucy, would rather die than to live under their rule. They weak insisted on having their say, at peril. Lucy wasn't weak, just on the wrong side.

The car sped home, the blur of scenery passing unnoticed. He'd never seen any of this, but it was dawning on him that Draco did, Draco knew. Scorpius had been too caught up in the privileges of their position, always assuming that it was as it was always meant to be. But their success was at the expense of others, through the control and alienation of those who threatened them. Someone had to be in control. Someone was always stronger. That was the way things were.

His apartments were quiet, but he felt her rage. There was an air of anticipation, like he'd just proved her right, and maybe he had. She stood on the far side. He could see the outline of her body. The A-line dress under a thin cardigan. She looked so innocent, like a student returning from class.

"I could have saved you if you'd let me," he said. It flowed out of his mouth like a thought that refused to be held back—a hope that had never been rational to begin with.

She raised an eyebrow. "You killed me without a second through, like a stray dog, a passing nuisance."

It was true, but it hurt to hear it. His thoughts had not been on her or what she meant. He'd just been forcing an enemy out of their miserable existence. "I'm not a bad person." He knew it was a lie even as he was saying it.

"Who'd you kill today?"

"He forced me."

"Like I did?" she said as she came closer, "Forced you to kill me as I was trying to run away."

"You should never have been there."

"There wasn't anywhere I should have been according to you."

"That's not true."

"No, that's right, exist in sheer subjugation, while you roll straight over us in your greed."

"It isn't like that."

"Yes, it is. At least be honest with yourself—we deserve it. People are dying and you can't even be honest about the reason," she said harshly. This wasn't true. He moved toward the door, but she appeared in front of him. "Others must die so you can live, and you won't even acknowledge that. Perhaps that's the biggest insult."

Scorpius felt hemmed in, still battling with an irrational desire to save her. Subconsciously he'd be searching for some way to restore her, or at least to find some way of co-existing, but the truth was that there was no escaping her death—one he'd caused. He'd killed her and there was no use wanting that undone. "I'm sorry I killed you," he admitted.

She blinked. "You think I'm after an apology?" she laughed.

"What are you after?"

"My objectives haven't changed. I want you ended, destroyed."

It hurt to think that she was so close to him, knew him and still wished him ill. She fed from him and he wanted her, and she still felt nothing but cold hate. "You've always had the power to. Didn't you realize that?" Somehow, he'd expected that she wanted something more off him, because the truth was that he'd wanted something more off her.

"Just been gathering my strength."

Scorpius forced a lopsided grin, because she'd been zapping his—not just his blood, but slowly his confidence and peace of mind. It had all been a clever trick. She'd forced him to look at himself and what they did. Just like the soothsayer had told him to do. Now he felt tired. She had been better at this than him.

"Who'd you kill today?"

"Some kid," he admitted, unable to lie anymore. "Not much different from you." She moved closer and he still wanted her, wanted her near, wanted comfort from the one who would never give it to him. "I tried to make him stop."

"See, you can't. It's you they object to." She was close now; he could feel goosebumps rising all over his body. He just wanted her warm, coming near him—accepting him. But that was the point: she didn't, fundamentally rejecting everything he was, and it wasn't just his position, it was him. "You're cruel."

"You're cruel," she accused. "I'm just pointing it out. You've always been completely heartless, and you always will be. Things will never change. You will keep killing, anyone who stands in your way, our lives just a passing side-note in your stellar existence."

She was moving toward him and he was backing up, feeling cornered. Nothing she said was a lie. He felt his own weakness. She was growing strong and he was weakening. Also aware that if he bested her, weakened her, he had to become much harder, colder, the way Draco was. Youthful arrogance didn't cut it anymore; this was the sacrifice. There was no fairy tale ending here where they would find some compromise and learn to exist, maybe even thrive. There was no way he could continue this existence with his soul intact either. This was kill or be killed, and he would be unrecognizable on the other side. He could feel the chill of it already, emanating from the future, where hope didn't exist.

"I can't," he said, more to himself.

"You will. I won't stop. It will never stop, unless you are stopped, or you stop me. Looks like I'm winning."

He could feel her now, the chill growing, her rage cresting, but he still wanted her. She would never forgive him, never save him from the sheer loneliness that lay ahead. How desperate was he if he clung onto a ghost to save his own humanity.

His fingers touched him and she felt solid, but cold as ice. There was icy wind, whipping around the apartment. This was her doing. She was gathering her forces, ready to rip him apart.

"Just do as you will," he said, feeling utterly defeated, and the truth was, it wasn't her—she was just the mechanism. He didn't have the heart to fight her.

The pressure in the room built painfully. He felt it pressing on his chest, on his ear drums. It still wasn't as scary as the future he faced.

Icy fingers dug into his chest. This was it. He felt the chill around his heart. It would be over soon. He was giving in to her, placing himself in her hateful hands, because the alternative seemed a worse option. On some irrationally hopeful level, he wished she did this with some empathy—but maybe the wish for it was enough. Pain seared through him, so harsh he couldn't even vocalize it, then blackness encroached.

A/N Bit of a cliffy, I know.