A/N: This is a short fic I did a while ago for a writing competition. I really should do a prequel or something for it. Hmm…
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: doubtful. Stupidity. Tis all
Though he tried to close the door quietly, it slammed shut, echoing down the long hall. Harry winced and began to creep forward on all fours, the knees of his robes, torn and bloody, his hands, encrusted with the blood of Voldemort. The door at the other end of the hall swung open, Harry guessed the cause of his own door shutting. He quickly stood as the doorway was filled with the hulk of a being. He grimaced as the figure grinned at him. Harry gazed steadily at the disfigured face of it. One of the people he had trusted most. He sneered in disgust, spitting on the once polished floor. The figure threw back its head and laughed an evil laugh.
Even though everyone had thought that Voldemort had been the most evil being ever, and the powerful, they were all wrong. There had been someone higher up, controlling Voldemort. He had hidden as one of Harry's accomplices, throughout the years, and Harry flinched when he thought about everything he had done for him. He still couldn't believe it. He sneered again, thankful to Malfoy for having taught him.
Once Lucius had been killed by Voldemort, in Harry's sixth year, Malfoy's 'friends' had left him, knowing he wasn't going to follow in his fathers footsteps. He was constantly being cursed and hexed and Dumbledore had finally permitted him to move to his own dorm. Surprisingly, he and Harry became good friends. For some reason, Draco had taken him aside one day, and said to him," I have to teach you something." He had explained why and it had taken them the whole day, missing classes, meals and even an exam for Harry. Draco had explained about the greater power. Harry had never learned how Draco knew; Voldemort killed him that very evening.
But now, Harry knew why he had listened to Draco, and he was thankful.
"Poor, poor Potter," he sneered.
Harry said nothing.
"What? Too afraid to speak?"
Harry still didn't speak. The figure shook his head, as if scolding Harry.
"You must answer when spoken to, Mr Potter." He said, exactly impersonating Mrs. Weasley. Harry felt his gut lurch. Mr and Mrs Weasley had been killed that morning, right before Harry had defeated Voldemort. Harry felt contempt rising up in him, though he still said nothing.
"Ahh, Mr. Potter. We both know what happened earlier. Now, if you would just surrender you life, we can both be on our way."
"No," he said quietly. The door swung open again and slammed shut. Harry heard two pairs of footsteps and saw his two best friends come up beside him.
"Ahh, Miss Granger, Mr Weasley. How nice of you to join us." Ron sneered at him. "Contempt will do you no good, Mr Weasley."
"Why?" a whispered voice from Harry's left asked. The figure turned sharply, somewhat shocked by Hermione's question.
"Why what?" he snarled, regaining his composure.
"Why did you do it?" she asked, tears welling in her eyes. "Surely not for the joy or the fame. Why?"
"Why shouldn't I? All my childhood spent scorned because of my inabilities. Why shouldn't I? WHY?"
"Innocent lives," spat Ron coldly, emotion evident in his face.
"Innocent, ha!"
"They were," whispered Hermione, falling to her knees. Harry stooped to help her up.
"No, they weren't."
"Please! Think!"
"For the first time I am thinking. Thinking for myself."
"You can't go around killing people because of how a few others treated you."
"Why not?"
"Idiot! It doesn't take that much to figure it out!" Ron shouted, trying to contain his anger.
"How dare you insult me?!" The figure raised his wand and began to shout the killing curse, aimed for Ron.
"No," whispered Harry, glaring at the figure. "No more." Harry raised his wand quicker, and shouted the killing curse himself. The figure fell to the floor, dead. Hermione cried out and crumpled to the floor. Ron, frozen in his tracks, stared at the dead figure lying on the floor before them. Harry quickly kneeled down, trying to comfort Hermione.
The door at the other end of the hall slammed open and four figures ran into the room, Professor Dumbledore in the lead.
"Harry, Ron, Hermione!" he cried when he saw them. Professor McGonagall crouched beside Hermione.
"She's fine, Professor. Just shocked," she reported after checking her over.
"Thank God. Harry?" he asked, turning to him. "There's someone who I'm sure wants to see you. He stepped aside and Draco stepped out, smiling.
"Draco?!" cried Harry. "I thought you were dead!"
"Mr Malfoy was never dead," interjected Professor Dumbledore.
"But, how?"
"He and his mother switched places, using Polyjuice Potion." Harry boggled.
"You mean to say, that was Narcissa who told me all that?" Draco and Dumbledore nodded gravely.
"Come, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley. We must get you to the Hospital Wing right away. Professor McGonagall, could you and Professor Lupin bring Hermione?" They all nodded at Dumbledore's instructions.
After letting everyone else before him, Harry walked back to the spread-eagled figure lying on the floor. "I'm sorry it had to end like this," he whispered to the dead body before him, tears filling his eyes and spilling down his cheeks.
"I'm sorry, Neville."