Chapter 35

Quick AN here (you will get what I mean later). Explanation of Draco's… surprising and uncharacteristic ability will be explained in next chapter. Don't kill me.

~DPOV~

"Draco."

"Yes?"

"Take my wand."

Draco looked at Potter for a long moment, but finally nodded, not needing to ask what his reasons were; he knew that Voldemort was strong enough to use magic, knew that he wouldn't stay himself through all of this. Draco knew too, but he didn't like to have it confirmed.

Draco had more or less dragged Potter up to the castle and up to the Headmaster's office where the hat of course was kept – a secret path behind a statue having helped quite a bit. Now they stood in front of the gargoyle, and they both realized that they had a new problem; they didn't know the password.

Draco held Potter's wand firmly in his hand. Potter was exhausted. The snowy and icy road up to the castle had not been good for him, and the stairs inside of it even less so. They had absolutely no idea where McGonagall was, and even if they did, they wouldn't be able to get her.

Potter was in a far worse state than Draco ever had been able to anticipate. Almost as if he was confirming his thought's, Potter suddenly sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily.

Draco had never felt so useless in his whole life. He could do nothing for Potter. And what was stopping them was something as simple as a password on ground that should have been theirs and to their advantage. If he could, he would have run to find McGonagall himself, even though leaving Harry in this state would pain him. But the problem was that if Draco left Potter now, the Saviour of the wizarding would die. Plain and simple.

Desperate, he walked up to the grinning statue and put his hand on its horned head.

"Please… please, you must open. I have to help him…" he whispered, even though he didn't know why.

Suddenly he felt the statue move under his hand. Startled he backed away, and found that the gargoyles eyes were now open, staring at him. Then, incredibly, it moved to the side, revealing the stairs to the Headmaster's office.

"What in Merlin's…!" he stuttered, backing away, turning to Potter for some sort of explanation.

To his surprise, Potter chuckled weakly. "Dumbledore always said this office had a mind of its own. Seems he was right…"

"I don't care if it was bloody Voldemort himself who opened it," Draco said and helped Potter to his feet, slinging his arm over his shoulder to support him, "right now all that matters is that we get in."

Draco carefully helped Potter up onto the revolving stairs, and then quickly jumped on them himself.

The stairs stopped right as they reached the heavy wooden door that lead into the office itself. Draco quickly pushed the handle down and swung it open, thanking Merlin that you didn't need a key to open it.

"Come on now, Potter," he said and urged the man forward, more than a little unsettled by how unresponsive he seemed. But Harry lifted his foot and stepped over the high doorstep and into the room. Draco quickly followed and passed him.

"Now where the hell is that damned hat?" he said impatiently, looking around, not able to keep himself from fingering the ring in his pocket.

Finally, he spotted the old headwear on top of a high shelf.

"Accio!" he demanded, pointing what happened to be Harry's wand at the hat. It flew to his hands immediately, but didn't seem to wake up from whatever state it was in.

"Malfoy…" Harry suddenly said behind him, "I don't feel very well…"

Draco spun around quickly, alarmed by the tiredness and surrender present in Potter's voice.

Potter's shoulders were slumped and his red eyes stared back at Draco with no real life in them, a strange dullness covering them like a veil.

Draco almost thought that he was imagining it, but the redness of his iris seemed to be spreading, out to the corners of his eyes. But suddenly it overflowed, and started dripping down Harry's cheeks. Tears; only red.

He's crying blood…

"I don't feel very well at all…" Potter's eyes slid shut, and for a horrible moment Draco though he would just collapse. But then it got worse.

Potter's mouth opened, and out came the words and voice of Voldemort.

"So here we are then, at last, Malfoy…"

Draco gripped the hat so hard that he was surprised that it didn't wake up to protest. "What do you mean?" he asked verily.

"Oh, come on now, you must've known that you couldn't save Potter," Voldemort said, the blood dripping from Potter's chin as he took a step forward. Draco instinctively backed up, but ended up pressed against the desk in the middle of the room.

"Or did your little infatuation with the boy blind you to stupidity?"

"You will not have him…" was all Draco could get out.

"So you keep saying, and yet it's me and not you that is inside of his body right now, isn't it?" Voldemort said, and pulled Harry's lips into a wicked grin.

Draco felt his face heat in anger. "How dare you-…!"

"How dare I?" Voldemort interrupted furiously, but suddenly went down on his knees. Draco was torn between laughing and rushing to aid, but decided against both.

"How dare you! You pretended to be loyal to me, your whole family did, and yet you do this! You are the only one able to hold me off, to delay my victory, and you choose to do it! You betray me because of something as ridiculous and weak as lo-…" Voldemort was interrupted by a series of coughs that splattered the floor with blood as Potter fell down onto his hands.

"Draco…" Potter's real voice sounded weak and faint after Voldemort's dark insults.

Draco rushed forward and dropped both wand and hat as he fell to his knees beside Potter and grabbed his shoulders. He didn't get anything out before Potter rasped something, a single inaudible word.

"What? What did you say, Potter?" Draco asked, squeezing Harry's shoulders.

Slowly Potter lifted his head and looked up at Draco. Green was battling with red in his eyes as the blood flowed abundantly from them.

"Run…" Potter demanded in a hoarse whisper.

Draco shook his head. "No. We're here now, Potter, we've won. All you need to do is pull the sword out of this stupid hat and this is all over, I know you can do it."

To his horror, Draco saw Potter slowly shake his head.

"I can't…" he whispered, "I'm so sorry, Draco, but I can't. Voldemort… he's too much… I can't anymore, I'm sorry…"

Potter's head dropped again as another surge of coughs shook his body, and even more blood stained the floor. But Potter lifted his head again and stared at him pleadingly. "Run…" Then his eyes suddenly flashed, and the green was gone.

"Or stay; don't mind me." Voldemort said and forced a grin on Potter's lips once again.

Draco snatched his hands away as if burned and quickly scrambled away; somehow managing to drag the hat and Potter's wand with him as he did so.

"Ah… alone at last…"

"Alone…?" Draco asked in confusion. Then it suddenly dawned to him what Voldemort meant. And his world slowly started to come apart. "No… you're lying!" Draco accused, but it came out almost as a plea. It couldn't be true. It couldn't.

"We both knew this was coming, Draco, no need to be surprised." Voldemort said coldly, almost impatiently and rose. "But there's no need to break down yet; I have a small piece of your darling Potter left still."

"What? Why?" Draco asked, and despite himself he clung onto that piece of information; that last hope.

"Because I want him to see you suffer!" Voldemort spat, momentarily losing his composure. But, this was Voldemort; it was back in no time. "After all you have done to me, of course I want to see you pay for it. And then there's the obvious upside that it will drive Potter completely mad to see me do it. You're a smart lad; you have to have seen it coming."

Draco hadn't. Maybe it had been foolish of him not to be more realistic, not to have prepared for this, but that there actually was a real possibility of failing… It was not really arrogance; what was about to happen was just… unthinkable.

"Actually, you have been surprisingly smart. I never intended someone to find their way to Washington; the consequences of that you did was just precautions. And of course no one but you could have. They needed to have your recourses… your knowledge… You never did tell Potter what books you looked in, did you? Why you continuously refused to take him to the library, why you did most of the research alone… and the foolish boy just thought you enjoyed teasing him…"

Draco was horrified. "What have you told him?" ¨

"Oh nothing," Voldemort replied casually and began pacing back and forth, slowly. "I rather enjoyed watching your little games. I'm impressed by your ability to lie, though; Potter never suspected a thing. I'd be the first to know. Of course, the wonder boy has never been the most perceptive one, has he…?"

Draco blushed in a mixture of anger and shame. Never had he felt worse about himself than when Voldemort gave him the praise.

"The the pretty little lie you made up; about it being a song! And the legend being from a children's story! And Potter never thought it suspicious that his little mudblood couldn't dig up something like that…!"

Voldemort laughed. For a moment it was Harry's, but then it broke and turned into Voldemort's mad chuckle.

"There's nothing sweet and innocent about this, and you know it, Draco Malfoy! This is black magic! Black, so dark that you could only find it amongst the darkest legends, so horrible that everyone wished nothing more than to forget about them!" Voldemort pointed a pale finger at him. The veins on the back of Harry's hand unnaturally large.

"And they did. Until you found them again. But all you told him was lies." Voldemort didn't scream anymore. His voice was even, almost soft, and his tone like they were talking about nothing of interest. "You told him that there must be a cure, though the clues you were chasing never had lead anywhere. You never told him about the pain that awaited him when I won. And-…"

"Shut up!" Draco finally burst, "He had enough on his mind! I couldn't lay that on him! I couldn't tell him that!" As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt ridiculous. He was trying to convince Voldemort, trying to defend himself in front of the Dark Lord. Useless, of course.

"You never told him that we'll never die. That no one will ever be able to kill me again."

The words left a strange chill in the air, like it had affected the world, just merely by being spoken.

"You never told him that he will not go anywhere. You never told him that he will be forced to stay; like a ghost inside the body that is now mine, unable to do anything but watch."

"No. No, no no no…" Draco's hand closed on the tip of the hat almost convulsively, shaking madly. He had promised himself that whatever happened, this wouldn't happen. That he was not by any means going to let Voldemort win.

"Oh, you were so clever. You found the book and the part you needed. Though you had to translate it from the ancient runic letters it was written in. It didn't take long, of course. Then you just transformed your scribbling from that parchment into looking like a page from an old book and stuck it in one. A book with pretty fairytales and songs that you thought wouldn't scare Potter like the ones that were in the book the verses truly originated from. A book of despair and horror. Of fear!"

He fumbled and somehow got the ring out of his pocket, clenching it hard, as if crushing it was an actual possibility. He had the hat, he had the ring. Everything they needed. Despite that he had lied about where he had gotten the information, he had never told anything that wasn't truth when it came to the things he had learned. He might have… kept things from Potter. But that was the things he was better off not knowing.

"How did you know…?" he managed to get out. "How did you find out…?"

"You did it so well that you even fooled me. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. But Potter provided me with an explanation that I bought far too easy; I – like his mudblood friend and himself – was raised by muggles. But I knew where I had found my sources. Yours simply couldn't be true. And as soon as I saw that, I realized what you had done. That you were protecting him, you foolish little boy."

Potter. He still needed Potter. He needed a true Gryffindor that could pull the sword out of the hat. One that could put an end to all this. One that could help him defeat Voldemort. One that could help him. One that could tell him that it was all right, forgive him for the lies and the deceiving. He needed Harry.

"A Slytherin to the heart and to the end, Draco Malfoy, you could have made me proud."

The words made Draco lift his head again, staring up into those red eyes.

"I didn't." Draco said.

"No, you didn't." Voldemort confirmed. "Potter, though… you exceeded his highest hopes. The stupid, hopeless minds of Gryffindors. It shall be a joy to have him in the background, to break him."

Harry had been… proud of him?

The ring slammed loudly into the wood of the desk – possibly even leaving a mark – as he put his hand on it for support as he stood.

Voldemort looked amused.

"Your resolve, though in vain, is impressive. I'd say it's a shame to kill you, but I really don't feel that way." Voldemort grinned. "How are you planning to pull this off? You need Potter to get the sword. But I have him. He will never be yours."

Draco flinched at the words, and could only hope it wasn't visibly. But it probably was, as he saw Voldemort's lips quirk in a grin. "Do you want me to let you in on a secret, Malfoy?" he whispered. His read eyes were almost shining, and the narrow streams of blood that flowed down over Harry's quickly paling cheeks increased further in pace.

An ominous feeling rose inside of Draco at the words. He let go of the table and backed away a little, but left the ring laying on the dark wood still.

"What…?" he finally whispered back.

Voldemort smiled. "I can do magic without a wand."

Draco saw as if in slow motion how Harry's hand lifted until its open palm was directed at him.

"Avada…"

A shill went through Draco's body and froze him to the spot. He knew it was only a warning, a proof of what he was capable of and that he wouldn't get off so easily. But the fear that the word induced made him unable of thinking rationally.

"… Kedavra."

Had Draco Malfoy known of electricity, maybe he would likened the brief flash of green to the flash of when a light bulb breaks as you flick the switch. As it were now though, he could only stare in shock.

Red as they were, Harry was still behind the eyes that stared at him, pained.

Draco stared back. How could he possibly fail Harry now, when he needed him the most? He had been proud of him, believed in him. He had to do this. Had to. No matter what.

Without really thinking about what he was doing he lifted the hat he had barely been aware of that he still was holding and stuck his hand into it. For a moment, there was nothing. Whatever it was that had filled him faltered a little, and the fright that had filled the red eyes in front of him changed into relief and mocked him.

But then something cold landed in his hand, the grip so perfect that it was as if the silver had been welded for his hand. And, out of the sorting hat, Draco drew the sword of Gryffindor.

Putting the hat away, his gripped the hilt with both hands, the weapon feeling balanced and surprisingly right in his hands.

The fear had fully returned into the red eyes.

"No!" Voldemort screamed, but it was too late.

Draco took two steps forward, changed his grip on the weapon, and drew it straight into the ruby on the desk, almost like they had been drawn together.

Just like the knife had done, the Sword of Gryffindor went far deeper in the gem that should have been possible. And Harry screamed. Both he and Voldemort did, in a two-voiced roar of pain and anguish.

There was no light this time. Nothing mysterious and magical that proved that something momentous, incredible, had just happened. Then suddenly the sword and the ring shot apart, as if an explosion had just taken place in between them. The ring flew into some far-off corner, while the sword went straight into the wall and bounced down on a chair and finally clinked down onto the floor.

With a heavy exhale – almost as if he was breathing out his soul through his mouth – Harry collapsed onto the floor.

This was it. This was the end. He could feel it; there was no more Voldemort. But Harry…

Draco fell to his knees beside Potter's motionless body.

"Harry…" he managed to get out in a choked whisper. "Harry…"

Tears were burning at the corners of his eyes as his emotions flooded back from the perplexed state he had been in. An overwhelming desperation took an almost violent grip on his stomach, clenching, making him feel sick.

His hands were shaking heavily as he lifted them to Harry's face to wipe away the rivers of blood marring his face. He ended up just smearing it, leaving Potter in an even worse state than previously. "Harry…"

His hand clenched harshly around Potter's shirt as he doubled over. A sob finally managed to tear its way from his throat as he felt devastation and panic roaring through his mind.

Not Harry, not now… not now…

After all they had done… and now… now like this? Now… just minutes too late. Too late. Everything was too late. He had never said...

"Harry…!"

The tears overflowed in his eyes, dripping rapidly from his chin, leaving wet marks on Potter's shirt. "I told you that you couldn't die… I told you!"

Every single heartbeat was painful, as if a stone had settled in his heart making it heavy and hurting. He was so desperate and devastated that he didn't know where to go, what to do. His throat was so tight, the lump in it so hard and so big, that he almost couldn't breathe. His head was refusing to believe that which Potter's body clearly said. He had lost. He had failed. Voldemort was gone, but so was Harry. If this was a victory, then the price was immense. Draco would have much preferred to lose if only that cost could be erased.

He's gone. It's all over now.

Draco had always looked down upon crying, but now he might as well have stopped the flow of time as that of his tears. He had never witnessed a death like this. And he had never cared so much about someone that he had lost before.

Draco had always looked down upon crying, at useless shedding of tears.

But now, with Harry Potter's dead body in his arms, he cried so hard that it felt like he would puke.

"Harry… stay with me… please, just stay with me…"