Draco made it just as the lift door opened down the hall; he caught sight of the edge of a threadbare cloak before he closed the door and cast those very familiar wards against it, quietly and without fanfare. He sought out the shaggy, leonine head of the Minister for Magic and beelined for him, leaned close to his ear. The Minister drew back, eyes wide and horror-struck, and Draco nodded, once.
"Everyone!" said Minister Scrimgeour. "There is a spell mishap on the floor above us, and the court will need to relocate! Please exit through the front-"
Draco shook his head.
"Using Apparition," Scrimgeour amended.
The surprised and unsettled murmurs that rose up among the bystanders told Draco all he needed to know:
Voldemort had risen an Anti-Apparition barrier, probably when the trial started.
A THUNK shuddered through the air like a clap of thunder. Everyone's attention was drawn inextricably to the doors...
Witches and wizards clambered around to face the sound, backs to the windows, though a few remained in their seats, perhaps convinced it was all some sort of mistake, that the others were overreacting...
Scrimgeour seemed to realize the situation had fallen beyond plausible deniability, and drew his wand. "To me!" he shouted. "Ranks!"
Draco drew back to stand at Scrimgeour's elbow, wand aloft.
But then…
From purses and pockets and cloaks the seated witches and wizards drew familiar white masks; they donned them and became a faceless horde, drew their wands, and advanced on the crowd.
"Easy," Scrimgeour said, as the rattling thumps rained down against the side door. "Easy, everyone –"
"What is the meaning of this racket?" the Chief Warlock said, emerging from chambers, followed by other members of the deliberating Wizengamot. His face drained of colour once he saw the milieu, caught sight of the Death Eater Masks, but he raised his wand. "How dare you?" he began, but Scrimgeour, mouth drawn back in a snarl, raised a hand to silence him. A vibratory silence fell, but for the thunk against the side-door of the Wizengamot; even the masked Death Eaters were held in abeyance.
Then, the side door splintered with an enormous crack, and Voldemort stepped through the clearing smoke.
"Hello, ladies and gentlemen," he said, as Death Eaters spilt in behind him.
There were too many – far more than Draco had ever known existed. They were like locusts, spilling into the room until the entire court was ringed with them. Gazing about the courtroom, Draco had to wonder how many of them were under Imperio; Voldemort should not have been able to raise a host this large so soon after the Battle of Hogwarts.
"Mister Malfoy, what a surprise," Voldemort said, the picture of gentility.
The Potter palimpsest nudged. "Tom," said Draco, and got the pleasure of watching the monster recoil.
"What did you call me?" he hissed.
"Tom. Thomas. Rather common name. Gives away your origins, really," Draco said. "I see why you changed it. Not exactly named for a constellation, are you?"
Scrimgeour was staring at him in horror, and Draco could barely speak, his tongue was so thick and heavy with adrenaline, but somehow his lips were still moving, somehow sound was still emerging.
"All fear my name!" Voldemort growled. "They fear to have it pass their lips –"
"Voldemort," Draco said. "Voldemort. Voldemort." He tilted his head to the side. "No, my situation doesn't appear to have worsened, does it? Then – how could it? When we have nothing to lose, we can do anything at all..."
"Not for long," Voldemort growled, bringing his wand to bear.
"Hang on," Draco said. "You want to watch out; I'm holding one of your Horcruxes, after all." He feigned concern. "You could destroy it by accident."
Voldemort's wand lifted, as though the very idea of him holding one of his own Horcruxes at wandpoint was more than he could bear. "You're bluffing," he growled.
"I'm not," said Draco. "I've got Slytherin's Locket… the Locket that was your mother's."
Voldemort's eyes widened in a flash, before narrowing back to slits. "Give it here," he ordered. "Give it here and I'll spare you."
"Release some of these people and I will," said Draco. He could feel an internal tremble emanating from his gut and sliding down each limb. His hands were beginning to shake. He clasped them behind his back, nails digging half-crescents into his palms.
"You're in no position to negotiate," Voldemort said, advancing, wand extended.
Behind Voldemort, Draco could see, now, the edge of a familiar bushy head poking through the side-door, and cursed silently. Of course, the Gryffindors had crept up from behind; they had to ruin everything, Draco thought fondly.
"Give it to me," said Voldemort. "Give me the Locket, and I will spare you. I will spare your family…"
Draco's breath stuttered. He hadn't let himself think beyond this moment, this final defiance, and Voldemort's words reminded him he was not alone in this. The thought that his father could be harmed for his defiance... his mother...
Tom, he thought wildly. Just a scared little boy…
"All right," Draco said, fishing in his pocket. "All right, just – easy, now," he said, and approached Tom as slowly as another man might approach a rabid dog. He kept his wand hand angled down, his right hand extended, fist closed.
Draco had never been so close to Tom Riddle… sharing his space, his breath. Only an arm's length away, he thought, giddily… but it was just Tom, Tom who wanted to stop hurting people and couldn't because of how he was built… Tom, who invented ideologies to cloak the ravening monster he was inside, to keep himself from thrashing out at the world indiscriminately. Draco wondered what that must feel like… the mental equivalent of years of physical torture… and afraid, always afraid…
"What are you doing?" Tom hissed. "Open your hand… give it to me!"
He could see the others just behind Riddle, Luna with her heart in her mouth, Hermione, Blaise and Ron clutching at each other…. He could see Luna raise her wand, but he met her eye and shook his head.
"If I give this to you," Draco said, slowly. "If I do, then everyone here will be safe?"
Riddle nodded. "Yes. Yes… just give me the Locket and I will release everyone."
Draco stared into his mad eyes, knowing it was all a lie. But all he had left was hope.
He reached out and dropped the Stone into the centre of Riddle's palm, then instantly closed the other man's cold fingers around it.
Please, he thought. Please work. Oh, please –
Riddle stared at him as Draco pressed his hand closed. "What have you done?" he demanded. "What are you doing?" He tried to wrench his hand away, but Draco clung with Potter-inspired tenacity.
"What am I undoing, you mean," Draco said, and Tom fell to his knees, Draco still hanging on for dear life. A window smashed in as a bright light travelled from who knew what distance to slam into Tom's chest; he took a rattling breath. The second climbed down his throat – all his remaining Horcruxes were flying home.
"NOW!" Draco shouted. "Fight, if you want to live!"
The rest was chaos. Draco wrestled with Riddle, who was more whole and hale than he had been in decades… Riddle fought like a cornered Muggle, but Draco was ready… he knew Tom and knew what he would be like … he kept Riddle's fist clenched around the smoothed river stone even as Tom kicked and hissed and spat, until he'd counted four Horcruxes returning. Then he rolled away and took a blow to the chin from a Tom Riddle full of desperate strength… Draco's neck snapped back and he heard something crack…
A figure hauled Riddle off of him… through Draco's dizzied vision, he made out a leonine head and large arms… and then he saw himself, pulling him out of the action and rolling him underneath the barrister's table…
"What 'm I doing over there?" Draco muttered, staring up at a familiar pair of sharp green eyes behind smudged spectacles, set under wild hair.
"You've a concussion," said his own voice. "Stay put, Malfoy!" and he ran back into the battle.
"No. No, definitely not," Draco muttered to himself, "I'm not – it's my responsibility…"
But then suddenly, as though a child had abandoned her puppets for better play, the people in Death Eater masks slumped to the floor. Draco pulled himself forward on his forearms until he could sit up by clinging to a table leg... the courtroom spun queasily... All about the room, the Death Eaters were stirring, now, ripping off masks… staring around themselves in horror… and the few Death Eaters remaining were lifting their hands into the air.
"No!" one screeched. "My Lord!"
Draco looked over to see the slumped form of Tom Riddle, his eyes gazing up, up, up into nothing. Sightless.
Dead. He was dead.
"Draco. Draco!"
He wrenched his gaze away from the carnage with difficulty to find Luna stroking his face with her hands. "Are you all right?"
"What?" he said.
"He's got concussion for sure," his own voice and face observed.
"Stop… copying me," Draco replied, and the uncertain smile on Potter's face suddenly made him realize who he was looking at. "Potter?"
Potter knelt so he was at eye level. "Yeah, it's me," he said. He reached out tentatively before letting his hand fall. "You all there, Malfoy?"
"I think part of me is over there," Draco observed with a frown, looking up at Potter.
"Okay, let's get you to a medic," Potter said, and hauled him upright. "Whoa, whoa," he said when Draco began to list. "Ron, a little help?"
Ron ducked under Draco's other arm.
"Ron?"
Ron wrapped an arm securely around his waist. "That's me," he said.
"What am I doing standing over there?" Draco said. He felt like that question had been resolved, but the reasoning had slipped by him again, and he felt he had to be sure of the answer before he went anywhere.
"I'm not sure, either," Ron confided, "but," he said, then paused, looking carefully into Draco's features. "But I'll sort it?"
"Oh," said Draco. "Okay."
The flash of surprise on Ron's features worried Draco for an instant, but then Ron's arm tightened about his waist, and his expression shifted to a fixed determination that felt more familiar.
"Hey," said Draco. "Hey, Luna. Are you all right?"
Luna appeared in his field of vision again – it felt strangely instantaneous, not-there-then-there… "I'm fine as the hair off a Kerwhuffle," she said.
Draco laughed. "I love you, you know? I really do."
"Okay," she said, softly. "Okay, Harry? I think he's about to pass out."
And as usual, Luna was absolutely right.
There was a smell in the air: fresh spring wind with a hint of rain in it.
Petrichor, thought Draco.
Then, Pansy.
Draco blinked the ceiling into existence: huge beams, crisscrossed with buttresses for support, all whitewashed. He turned to see sunlight beaming through tall windows set deep into the walls… the Hospital Wing.
He moved to sit up, but when he did, his head rang like a bell. He pressed a hand to the back of his head but touched rough-weave cloth, instead… gauze… bandages.
"Ah, Mister Malfoy!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, bustling in from her office. "Wonderful, wonderful… how many fingers am I holding up?"
Draco peered carefully; after sitting up, everything seemed ringed in light. "Three?" he said.
"You'll do," she replied with a smile. "Here you are, Headache Potion."
Draco quaffed it thankfully; his head felt swollen and oversized, like it wanted to wobble on his neck, and a profound exhaustion had taken over his limbs just at the effort it took to sit up. He propped himself up on pillows and leaned back with a sigh.
"A few people wanting to speak to you," Pomfrey said. "Popular lad. I'll just go ahead and let them know you're awake, shall I?"
Draco opened his mouth to protest that he didn't really feel equal to any of it, but Madam Pomfrey had hurried off already and besides, the potion was kicking in, clearing his head of cobweb and chasing away most of the pain.
A few more minutes and Albus Dumbledore swept through the Hospital Wing doors. "My boy!" he said.
Draco blinked slowly at him.
"Are you well?" Dumbledore inquired, pulling up a chair and seating himself beside Draco's bed. "That was quite a knock you took."
"I… think so," said Draco. "Hurts."
"As well it should. Not many can say that they took a punch from Tom Riddle and lived to tell the tale."
Draco's eyes widened as it all came flooding back… Tom… the others… the Stone… the Imperiused horde rising from the seats in the courtroom like Inferi…
"Is everyone all right?" Draco demanded. "Where are the others? The vote, did they vote?"
"A consummate Slytherin until the very end," Dumbledore chuckled, "and I do mean that in the best possible way." Dumbledore frowned, then, and added, "I am afraid they did not vote. Too many of the Wizengamot fled to have a referendum. But there was already muttering that it was clear that they had worse to worry about than werewolves… talk of rogue Death Eaters, and the giants mobilizing to the south…"
"They just wanted an excuse not to," said Draco. "The audience was on our side, I could tell – the people were on our side."
"Likely," Dumbledore agreed. "Highly likely. The Chief Warlock is already saying that – ah, here we are," he said, and Draco looked up to find the door opening. He expected Luna, but instead, standing in the doorway was none other than Remus Lupin.
Blinking, Draco leveraged himself up straighter, then flopped back when his head spun uncomfortably.
"Easy, Mister Malfoy," said Lupin. "Good to see you mostly intact. I hear I owe you a great debt."
Draco looked over at the other man, who was offering his hand to shake. At the start of the year, Draco would have scoffed, or even recoiled in disgust. Four months ago, he would have hesitated before forcing himself to engage.
But he'd argued that werewolves were people with lycanthropy in half of his waking moments, since, and so he took the other man's hand immediately.
"Hardly," he said, flopping back against his cushions. "The initiative failed. Explosively."
"Hardly," Lupin echoed. He pulled up a second chair and sat, hands folded; Draco saw that his sleeves were frayed and suspected Lupin hadn't been able to land a steady job since Hogwarts, three years back. "Last I saw you, Mister Malfoy, you looked… rather different."
Draco's gaze darted to the Headmaster's.
Dumbledore tipped his head. "The Order knows," he explained. "No one else."
"I seem to recall you trying to convince me that Draco Malfoy was a dangerous lunatic, akin to Voldemort himself."
"Easy, now, Remus," said Dumbledore gently. "Any man can find he's been wrong about himself."
Draco huffed.
"And that Arthur and I were doing our best to instruct you in the proper use of your power as the Boy Who Lived," Lupin went on. "Telling you that you couldn't just expel Draco Malfoy on a whim."
"I remember," said Draco, cautiously. "At Christmas."
"At Christmas," Lupin said, smile warm.
It confused Draco enough that he dropped his gaze to the hands folded in his lap. Lupin should be shouting, not wearing that fond expression.
"And after I thought you'd really taken it in," Lupin went on. "After you'd really absorbed that Harry Potter could say things and do things and press for change without question, the very next thing you told me was that it was time to draft legislation for werewolf reform." He chuckled. "Though after that you congratulated me for not murdering Fenrir Greyback: a very Slytherin compliment. I should have known."
Draco blinked. "I… did I?" He frowned. "I suppose that I did, but –"
"Mister Malfoy," he said, and Draco looked up. "Our initiative was not a failure. There was not a vote, today. But most werewolves now see that the Death Eaters prevented the vote in order to destabilize the Wizarding World as a whole; and that they used one of our rare attempts at legislative action as a stage for a massacre, without a care for what that might mean for us. Greyback is still alive," he added, "but he won't be gaining new followers anytime soon. And even his base doubts him." He smiled. "We certainly made a big enough splash that no one can avoid hearing about it!" Lupin reached out carefully, and pressed one of Draco's hands between his own. "We could not have got so far without you – do you understand?"
Draco lifted his free hand to his chest and nodded, wordless.
Lupin eyed Dumbledore. "None of us could have got so far without you."
Dumbledore, sitting at Lupin's side, nodded. "A million points to Slytherin," he added with laughter in his voice, and Draco dizzily wondered whether the House counters understood that command.
"I misjudged you –" Lupin began, put Draco held up his hand.
"Uh, no. You really, really didn't," he said. "I was a little gobshite."
"But," said Lupin, standing, "everyone has the right to grow up. Lots of people are idiots at fifteen," he added, then bowed before departing.
"Wow," said Draco.
"Wow, indeed," said Dumbledore.
"Is he – really dead?"
"Tom?" said Dumbledore. "I do suppose that he finally is, yes. At long last."
"Who killed him?" said Draco.
"You played your part in it," said Dumbledore meditatively. "Without that Stone of yours…"
"The work of six months," said Draco, remembering long, fruitless hours in the Room of Requirement.
"Only someone who made division of himself could have made it happen," Dumbledore observed. "The idea of using the Stone – why, I don't think that Draco Malfoy or Harry Potter could have thought of it on his own."
Draco opened his mouth to protest, but paused.
In all those long, feverish hours – in doing nothing but obsessing over the Stone and the Cabinet and the escalating violence against his classmates – never once had it occurred to that Draco Malfoy to use the Stone on Tom Riddle. Direct engagement with the monster had been quite literally unthinkable. And, he thought – unless he was mistaken in Potter – Harry would have gone about it all the hard way – the Gryffindor way – destroying the Horcruxes one at a time, instead of trying to make Tom Riddle whole. He would have attacked the problem with an Expelliarmus rather than an Alohomora.
If this had never happened – if Draco had never been Harry Potter – he might not have done enough research on Horcruxes to ever have had the idea.
"Merlin's sky and stars," he whispered, feeling suddenly faint again.
"And his whole, smiling moon," Dumbledore added. "And now, I think I shall let you sleep, Mister Malfoy. You still look a bit like you've been dragged by a hippogriff backwards."
"Oh, thank you, sir."
"No, Mister Malfoy," Dumbledore said, grave-eyed behind his half-moon spectacles. "Thank you."