Chapter Eighteen
It was their seventh year at Hogwarts. Even before stepping into the Hogwarts Express, it was glaringly evident who the seventh-years were. Every one of them had their chins lifted and chests puffed out, emitting confidence and superiority which, looking back, really is quite conceitful of them, but at the time, why shouldn't they? It was their year of glory.
In ordinary circumstances, Draco would be at the center of it all, basking in fame. However, considering the task at hand, all he could feel was anxiety and dread. His bag, which held the gun Lord Voldemort gave, seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.
"Draco, what's wrong with you today?" Pansy asked. They were in their usual compartment in the Express. Marcus and Millicent were laughing uproariously, Blaise smiling faintly along with them, and everyone was in a fantastic mood. Pansy peered up at him where she was sprawled across the seat, her head resting on his lap. Hearing her question, Blaise glanced over queryingly as well.
"I'm fine." Draco glanced down at her and forced himself to smile. It felt stiff and fake.
Pansy clearly wasn't satisfied with his answer. Pouting, she reached for his hand, but in the process, his sleeves were pulled back slightly, and a few lines of the Dark Mark peeked from beneath the hem.
"Pansy, stop!" Draco snapped, snatching his hand back as if he'd been burned. His heart pounded furiously in his chest. When he looked up, he realized that everyone in the compartment was staring at him. Usually, he'd crack a joke or says something to diffuse the tension, but in that moment, he was terrified, so all he did was to turn to the side and glare out the window sullenly.
An hour later, they entered the Great Hall. As usual, it was brilliantly illuminated and lavishly decorated, filled with chattering people and the excitement of being reunited with friends and starting a new year. After the first-years were sorted, servants swept into the hall to fill the tables with platters of food, and everyone, starving after their long day of traveling, tore into it like wolves.
Pansy was giggling with her friends. Marcus was bragging to a group of underclassmen. Blaise watched the proceedings with his usual distance, but seemed warm and content. Everyone was so happy Draco couldn't bear it. He glanced away from his friends, but right at that moment, his gaze flickered across the hall and he caught a glimpse of a familiar head of messy black hair and clear green eyes, an arm slung casually across Weasley's shoulders as he laughed with his friends.
And… god. It drove Draco mad. They were so happy. Everyone was so happy. Why was everyone so fucking happy? Didn't they know that Lord Voldemort himself was in the castle right now? Didn't they know that three innocent souls would soon be taken hostage? Didn't they know that Harry – their closest friend – was going to die tonight?
Draco clenched his fists. His fingernails dug deeply into his skin, and the pain helped to clear his mind. Then, taking a deep breath, he pulled his sleeve back under the table and stared at the Dark Mark.
He was a Death Eater. He served Lord Voldemort. It was an honor to serve the Dark Lord. He had to do it, because if he didn't, he would have let the Dark Lord down. If he didn't, he would have let Father down. If he didn't, he would have to bear the consequences, and god knows he didn't want to end up like Karkaroff vomiting his guts out on the cellar floor.
He had to do it. He had to do it. He had to do it.
Draco took a deep breath and stood up from the table.
"Where are you going?" Blaise asked.
"I'm just feeling really tired today." Draco lied, picking up his bag. Actually, it wasn't a complete lie. He was really exhausted. "I'm going to the dorms first. See you later tonight."
His friends bade him a quick goodbye, and he left. Fortunately, everyone was too engrossed in their conversations and catching up to notice that after leaving the Great Hall, he slipped back in through an entrance close to the Gryffindor table, waiting by the door.
Colin Creevy was first, his precious camera hanging around his neck even as he left the Hall to use the restrooms. It was too easy. Draco asked for a photo, but claiming that the lighting was poor, led him down the hall and round a corner where a masked Death Eater was waiting with chloroform and zip ties. Lavender Brown was next, slipping out for a smoke. Draco asked for a cigarette, and laughing and chatting, led her right into the trap. Fred Weasley was the last. On his way to the restrooms, he had found it incredibly suspicious that Draco was lingering around the Gryffindor entrance, and questioned him about it. Knowing that the Weasleys couldn't resist a good chase and an opportunity to prove themselves as the hero of the day, Draco took off down the hallway, and sure enough, Fred came barreling after him – only to be knocked out by the Death Eater.
Draco hated it. God, he hated it. Guilt tore at his heart, for leading these people – who had nothing to do with the Dark Lord or Horcruxes or any of this mess whatsoever – into a plot to kill the Boy who Lived. He couldn't look at their faces, no doubt pale with shock and fear. He couldn't look into their eyes, no doubt filled with hurt and betrayal.
It was alright. He was doing it for the Dark Lord. He was doing it for Father. He was doing it for his own self-preservation.
Draco returned to the Gryffindor entrance and took a deep breath, bracing his hands against the frame, mustering his strength and courage. Exhaling, he lifted his chin, and strode right up to the Gryffindor table, right up to where Potter and his friends were. When they saw him, they immediately stopped eating, glaring at him.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Potter asked coldly.
"I need to talk to you." Draco said. His voice sounded normal enough, but his hands were covered in a slick layer of cold sweat.
"Don't, Harry." Granger said immediately, and scowled at Draco.
"What do you need to talk to me about?" Potter frowned.
"Something that isn't any of their business." Draco angled his chin sharply at his friends. He regretted his haughty tone immediately. Weasley and Granger looked outraged, which probably didn't help his task of isolating Potter, but he must have sensed that something was off. Rather than telling him to sod off, he turned to his friends.
"If I don't show up at the dorms tonight, let the Headmaster know." Potter said darkly.
"Harry!" Granger protested, but before she could finish, the two of them had already left.
They made their way down a corridor. The Death Eater should have already brought the three hostages to R08. Draco was almost done with his task. All he had to do was to lead Potter into that room, and he would finally be free.
"Where are we going?" Potter asked.
"I-"
Draco choked. He coughed. He stole a glance at him. Potter was behind him, his brow furrowed, and watching him warily. Clearing his throat, Draco tried again.
"I... uh…"
He couldn't say it. It should have been easy to lie, to say something that would keep Potter occupied and unsuspecting, but at the same time… he couldn't. Why couldn't he? He and Potter were enemies! He should be glad that Potter was going to die! But at the same time, he couldn't. Guilt and shame and fear overwhelmed him, and… he couldn't. He just couldn't.
Draco grabbed Potter's sleeve and took off sprinting. Harry yelped in surprise and struggled but Draco refused to let go, dragging him down a dozen different hallways, before they arrived at a corridor far from everyone else when Harry finally succeeded in freeing himself.
"What the hell are you up to?" Harry demanded, scowling as he straightened his sleeves.
"Saving your life!" Draco hissed. He glanced around. The corridor was dark, without a soul in sight, but Draco was so fucking paranoid. His hands clenched around the straps of his bag unconsciously, and he turned to Potter. "The Dark Lord is in Hogwarts right now and he wants you dead! You need to get the hell out of here!"
Harry frowned and eyed Draco warily. "You're a prick, but if you joke about this…"
"How the fuck can I joke about this?" Draco yelled. His voice rang down the hall, and he forced himself to lower his voice. "My job was to get you into room R08, where the Dark Lord is waiting to kill you. But as much as I hate you, I…" his throat bobbed as he swallowed. He suddenly couldn't meet Harry's gaze, and spoke the truth. "I don't want you dead."
Draco took a deep breath and braced himself. He expected Harry to start yelling at him for working for Lord Voldemort, or for literally leading him to his death, but to his surprise, there was only silence. Draco cautiously glanced up, and wished he hadn't. Those clear green eyes were in turmoil, filled with shock and anger and fear, but it was only for a moment. A mask of cold control covered every trace of conflict, and Harry nodded grimly. When he spoke, his voice was steady. "Come with me. We need to let the Headmaster know."
"No." Draco shook his head. "I'll let the Headmaster know. You need to leave Hogwarts. Now."
The sound of hurrying footsteps rang through the hallway and both of them recoiled, leaping apart. Draco's heart leapt to his throat and he swore he nearly had a heart attack, expecting furious Death Eaters to storm down the corridor raging over his treachery, but what rounded the corner was so much worse.
It was a Weasley.
"George!" Harry looked surprised. "What are you doing here?"
Draco turned away. In that moment, he hated the fact that Fred and George were twins. The face before him now was identical to the one he had just dragged into Voldemort's hands, and… god. He suddenly felt like puking. He had never been so sick and disgusted with himself before.
"Have you seen Fred?" George asked, out of breath, and thankfully ignoring him. The Weasley twins were notorious for the constant grins on their faces, but this time, George didn't simply look uncharacteristically worried. He was openly panicked. "He went to the restrooms, but didn't come out. Went in to check, but couldn't find him. Have you seen him?"
"What?" Harry's eyes flashed with alarm. "How long has he been gone for?"
"Twenty minutes?" George wiped his forehead, which was glistening with sweat. "He's not the only one. Dennis is looking for Colin, and Parvati's searching for Lavender. Thought it was just a joke in the beginning, so I didn't say anything, but goddammit, I have a bad feeling about this."
Harry's eyes darkened, no doubt coming to the conclusion that Voldemort had them.
"George, contact the Order and let them know that Voldemort is in Hogwarts, room R08, right now." Harry ordered. "Draco, find the Headmaster and let him know that there might be people in danger."
George paled, but nodded and took off immediately. Draco was ready to hurry down the hallway as well, expecting Harry to follow him, but instead, Harry was heading the other direction.
"Hey, wait!" Draco grabbed Harry's arm. "Where are you going? Safety's that way!"
Harry shrugged him off and continued striding down the hall.
"What the fuck, Potter!" Desperation leaked into his voice. "Do you want to die?"
"No!" Harry yelled, whirling around. Draco took a step back in alarm. Those green eyes were blazing with fury. "You think I want to die? Of course not! Do you think I fucking want to face Voldemort? No!"
Harry took a deep breath, his hands fisted at his sides. He was struggling to keep his emotions in check, jaw clenched, but at the same time… he was trembling.
"I'm terrified." Harry said. He swallowed, his throat bobbing. "I don't want to die, but I have to face him, because it's my fault that Fred, Lavender, and Colin are in danger. I can't let Voldemort hurt them."
No. Draco shook his head. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't. No, it wasn't Harry's fault. It was his. It was his fault that three innocent lives were in danger. It was his fault that things had become like this.
In the movies, this would be the moment where he would stand beside Harry and declare that they face the Dark Lord together. He would bear his blame, overcome his fears, and seek immediate redemption for it. They would survive a vicious battle, sustain perhaps brutal injuries, but ultimately emerge victorious, with everyone safe and sound, as the saviors of the day…
But, in reality, Draco was afraid. He was terrified. He had already let Father down. He had already disobeyed the Dark Lord. As heroic as facing the Dark Lord together sounded… he couldn't. He just couldn't do it.
Draco yanked open his bag, grabbed the pistol inside, and pressed it into Harry's hands. Harry looked surprised at the weapon, but took it, and tucked it under his shirt.
"Thank you." Harry said.
Draco didn't trust himself to speak, and could only nod in response. With that, they headed off – Draco hurrying towards safety with every inch of his heart and soul crushed with guilt while Harry made his way down the hall to face the Dark Lord.
Harry Potter stepped into room R08.
Colin, Lavender, and Fred were on their knees on the opposite end of the room, gagged and bound, but fully conscious. Their eyes widened with hope as Harry entered, but then with fear as the saw the Death Eater and Tom Riddle emerge from the shadows.
They watched as Riddle pulled off his mask to transform into Lord Voldemort, a monster of ghostly skin and mad eyes glittering with cruelty. They watched as he asked Harry to give up the Horcruxes and accept a fast death. And they watched, as Harry Potter, his face grim, say no.
A gunshot rang through the room, and Colin slumped down, blood pooling around his body. The Death Eater had shot him in the heart.
Harry's pistol appeared in his hands immediately, aimed at Lord Voldemort. The mask of control on his face slipped, fear and shock and guilt flashing in those clear green eyes, his hands trembling. His voice was still steady as he demanded Lord Voldemort to let the hostages go, but try as he might, everyone knew that that his plea was useless. He was outnumbered, two to one, with two victims caught in the middle.
Lord Voldemort asked again, for Harry Potter to give up the Horcruxes and accept a fast death, but Harry hesitated. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to protect his friends, to give up the evidence, and even die in their place, but he had seen enough to know and understand that Lord Voldemort had to be taken down…
Lord Voldemort grew impatient. The Death Eater raised his gun and fired, the bullet tearing through Lavender's chest, but this time, Harry couldn't watch another friend die. The pistol on his hand recoiled, the sound of a gunshot tearing through the room, and the Death Eater collapsed, dead, beside the girl he just shot.
In the chaos, Lord Voldemort grabbed onto the last hostage, holding Fred Weasley in a headlock and pushing his gun up his head. Harry whirled to face them, eyes flashing with rage, but there was nothing he could do. Smiling cruelly, Lord Voldemort once again asked Harry Potter to give up the Horcruxes and accept a fast death.
Harry knew he shouldn't. Giving up the Horcruxes meant that Voldemort would continue to be in power, that more lives would be threatened and harmed and lost as a result of his reign. But at the same time, he couldn't see another life taken away before his eyes. Not even to mention that the one in question belonged to one of his closest friends. Seeing the conflict on his face, Lord Voldemort began to smile, believing that victory was at hand.
However, one thing he did not take into consideration was that the hostage he had was Fred Weasley.
Fred Weasley's gag had slipped, and with his mouth free, grinned and swore. He slandered Lord Voldemort with the most vulgar curses and insults that would be enough to make even a deaf man cry, but through his mouth poured filth, his eyes shone with sincerity and bravery and determination, and Harry understood what had to be done.
Two gunshots rang through the air in rapid succession, and two bodies collapsed on the cold stone floor. One of them was the Dark Lord, his long reign of destruction and fear finally over. The other was a hero, a friend, a brother, the ghost of his last laugh still on his face.
And in that moment, Harry Potter – the Boy who Lived, the hero of the story – collapsed on his knees and wept.
It wasn't until the next morning when Draco Malfoy learned what happened during the Fallout.
The Dark Lord was dead, along with Barty Crouch Jr., the Death Eater that had accompanied him. Colin Creevey and Fred Weasley were dead, though Lavender Brown had miraculously survived and was still in surgery, with doctors struggling to save her life. The world was in disbelief that the seemingly righteous Secretary of State Tom Riddle was in fact the notorious Lord Voldemort, and now no longer under his protection, those bearing the Dark Mark fled as the governments of the world launched an international manhunt for the Dark Lord's followers.
And Harry Potter… the world thanked him, praised him, and hailed him as the hero who single-handedly vanquished the tyrant that had terrorized humanity for far too long. The reporters and media camped outside of Hogwarts and his friends' homes, dying for an interview or even a glimpse of their beloved savior, but through it all, he remained silent. He had been spotted once at Dennis Creevey's house and another time visiting Lavender Brown's mother, but otherwise, he remained at the Weasley's residence or his home at Grimmauld Place, doors locked and curtains drawn, refusing to see anyone but his closest friends.
Which was just as well. Draco didn't know if he could ever bear to see Harry – or Dennis or Lavender's family or the Weasleys or anyone else – ever again.
Four deaths. One life in mortal danger. Dozens more in chains, locked away in prison for life.
All because he believed that it was an honor to serve the Dark Lord.
All because he wanted to make Father proud.
All because he was afraid.
Everything was his fault.