And so my wrath ensues…mwah. Another part to this, ain't 'cha happy? This is still implied slash, and mucho other couples, and deals mainly with Harry, Draco and Snape. Contains most characters crying, or usually depressed/sad/blah. You no like? SHOO!

Yes. Deathfic here, folks. People die. I'm such a happy person. I quite like Lucius in this.

I can't explain how grateful I am to everyone who reviewed, or/and put this on their favorites list! You guys rock, I love you all!

The Harry Potter series doesn't belong to me, it belongs to J.K Rowling, and any other companies which I'm too lazy to name.. More references to Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Carrol.

Here's the supposed second to last part to my little Wonderland story. Though I'm very bad at finishing things. Slightly different story set up than last two chapters. The rating also gone up (to a PG-13! GASP!), because it's dark, and because blood, swearing and death are fun. I hope you enjoy this part!

Of Many Things

("The Time has come," the Walrus said. "To talk of many things. Of shoes, and ships, and ceiling wax, of cabbages and kings! Of why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings.")

"DRACO!"

Shit. He's in for it now. Blood roars in his head, and his hands clumsily shove the owl out of the window. It hoots angrily and pecks at his knuckles, drawing blood. He swears, bites his lip, and watches the gray owl fly, until it's nothing more than a V. He sits down, and waits for his fate.

Silence. The young man doesn't answer, and still sits in the room, legs spread and arms behind him. His hands are flat on the floorboards for support. He watches the door with an intense gaze. He'll come barging in, rage evident in his clear blue eyes. Yes, he can see it now.

So it happens, much like he envisioned it. It's happened before.

-

"Draconius Malfoy. There are Ministry Officials at the door. Perhaps you know why?"

"I've got a faint idea, Father."

"Really? Pray tell."

"Maybe they're here for child abuse. You know, seeing as you've been keeping me in here for what, a few months? Or it's that very dodgy black ivory statue of a basilisk you've got in the living room, you know, the one with the blood red eyes? I've seen Nagini in the basement. Gee, it could be a-"

Slap, moving his whole face to touch his shoulder. A red blotch, and the man standing kneels, and grabs his shoulders.

"You will never talk to me like that, do you hear? Shut your mouth."

His hand is still raised, waiting, daring the boy to speak again. Though his eyes rage on, his lips never move.

-

Draco stares into the mirror, no, the looking glass. A pool filled with alternate realities. Yes. He'd much prefer to step into somewhere that isn't real, that doesn't have consequences.

He cries out, and slams his fist into the glass, cracking it from the center out. The reflection looks back at him, stunned and broken, slightly warped by the shattered glass.

When he leaves, and his reflection remains, it cries for him. He wants that sense of reality.

For a world without consequences isn't a world of freedom.

Blood, the reflection thinks, is a very strange thing to have. Is it just proof of life?

It's the last time he ever sees his original, and so the reflection never changes, the embodiment of a young man.

-

"What do you accept?"

"My inevitable death."

"What do you wish?"

"To die."

It's killing me. Get it fucking over with. Just kill me. No one loves me anymore. It's not worth it.

Yes it is. No, stop, I want my life back. Give it back to me, I want him, it's making me ache. Oh God, he's pointing his wand at me. He's going to go through with this. Please, someone. Why isn't Mother here? My life's a doomed tragedy. Oh God, I'm sorry, Harry, I'm so sorry…I couldn't, wouldn't understand, I'd do anything to make it all different, Harry-

"Avada Kedrava."

When lightning fast green magic hits him dead in the heart, he barely feels it, except for one jolt of unbearable pain that shoots through his system, causing him to lash out. The last thing he sees is that shocking, horrible and yet beautiful color.

Emerald. Harry's eyes were that color. Oh…

"Boy, I'm sorry. He's, it's, just too much. Voldemort…" When Lucius bends down to pick up the body of his fallen son, wiping his silver and gold hair away from his sweaty face. His head twists back strangely in his father's arms, and he dangles, like a helpless marionette, unable to control his inner actions, even though he tries to direct his life…his strings are always there to hold him back. His usually off-white skin is now an ashen color, with green veins.

Lucius looks up the heavens, and closes his eyes, the deadweight of his son barely even noticeable. He asks for forgiveness, though doubts if he'll receive it.

When he looks down again, he finds the still open eyes of Draco, open wide in the shock of the pain. He sighs, and closes his eyelids with his thumb, and shuts his slightly opened mouth. He presses his lips to the boy's cold forehead lightly, and walks down the stairs, crimson staining his hands, and leaving a trail of blood behind him.

-

The less aged Lucius Malfoy walks into Malfoy Manor, the large wooden doors slamming heavily behind him.

A little boy runs up to him, but stops when he sees the man, his eyes confused.

Lucius smiles, and bends down to his level, and takes a Chocolate Frog out of his pocket, and offers it to the little platinum boy. They're almost identical, these two.

"Here, take it. It won't hurt you." The boy looks up at him, mistrust in his eyes.

Neither notice Narcissa wait at the end of the Entrance Hall, her eyes watching every movement.

"No thank you, sir," Comes his hesitant voice. "My mum says not to take sweets from strangers."

Narcissa's hands fly to cover her mouth, as she gasps, and tears somehow spring to her eyes.

Lucius chuckles, though his eyes show something else.

"Then your mum is a very good woman. I'm Lucius."

When realization dawns on the boy's face, he smiles brightly, and hugs the still eye-level man, gripping at the material on his shoulders, and buries his head on Lucius' shoulder.

-

Harry Potter, now in his early twenties, is lecturing about Tarot Cards, his speech animated by his hands, as he walks around the classroom.

Who would of thought he'd end up teaching Divination, following that crazy Trelawny? Though, she did have a few trances when she was training him, that seemed to be very, very real. The woman died of a heart attack a few years ago. He'd been the only qualified person they could find.

He senses something, it's just a feeling in his bones, a tension in the air.

He looses grip on the deck of cards, and they fall to the floor the second green lightning pierces another's body.

When he bends down to pick up the cards, his eyes widen when he finds only a few cards are facing up, on the top of the scattered pile, both upside down. Now, Harry, don't turn into Trelawny…

The Hermit, The Tower and The Moon. Of course, just to spite him, he also finds The Lovers visible.

"Professor Potter?" Snaps him back to reality. He looks up, and smiles weakly, before gathering up the rest of the cards.

The voice didn't come from a student, though. A slightly petrified first year stands at the doorway, his eyes wide. The fifth years in the class laugh, and he silences them with a wave of his hand.

"Um, sir. Professor Dumbledore wants to see you, sir."

The cards aren't always right, but in the Wizarding, and Harry's world, these kinds of things never lie.

-

"Draco Malfoy. What can I say? I hated him with a passion for many years. I'm sad to say I never got the time to really know him, but I often felt as if we had a small bond of understanding. Something that tied us undeniably together. Whenever I was in trouble, he was there to smirk, and we both were very competitive with each other. Quidditch, and when I finally took it seriously, school. House points, clothes, hair, eating. Everything.

I'm proud, glad to say I knew Draco. He became a warped kind of friend, something I could always count on, something consistent.

I don't why he died, what he had done to deserve this. I'm going to miss you, Draco. God rest your soul."

All of these thoughts came purely from Harry's mind, as they stand in a field miles away from any graveyard. Wild flowers are everywhere, and though the air is motionless, it's thick with unshed tears and mourning. 'They', means quite a large reunion of Hogwarts staff and students. Dumbledore watches with sad, baby blue eyes, contemplating why these things happen.

Hermione looks out to the hills that surround the field, and shakes her head. It had to end in pain, didn't it? Ron stays expressionless, though he feels for the best friend he's ever known.

Harry's mind is screaming at him.

You liar! He was more than that! You emotionless…God, why is your voice so calm? You're shattering inside, splinters of your soul. Why can't you cry?

-

When the others have gone, when even Hermione and Ron have deserted him, he walks up to the charmed crystal coffin, that will keep Draco's body in the same state.

He slides the cover off, and stares at Draco's lifeless body. He takes a limp, ashen hand in his, and clenches it, as if this might bring the boy back to life.

"Jesus, I'm…"

"You're what, Potter? Sorry? Gee, that's going to help."

"Draco, why did you do this to me? Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"Oh, why did I do this to you? That's a funny question, Potter."

Tears finally spill from his shattered eyes, but no sobs shake his body, and his lip never trembles.

His liquid pain lands on Draco's closed eyelids, and they slip down his lifeless face, his expression how it used to always be. Blank. This time, Draco cries with tears that are not his own. Silver streams that seem out of place on his dead face.

When Harry Potter slides the crystal lid back on, his eyes are bloodshot, and his face is drained.

Muttering a spell, he levitates the coffin, and slides it into an opening in the white marble statue.

An angel, a pained look on his face, wings spread wide. His long tunic ends at two sandals. His hands are both open, outstretched, offering freedom, the chance to fly away. It bears a small resemblance to Draco, with the same, now loose, medium length hairstyle and thoughtful, sad eyes.

He locks the tomb, and walks away, always looking back every five or six steps.

The final steps towards the portal that will lead him out of this quiet paradise.

He turns, and a light breeze picks up, which sends his hair into more of a mess, and sparks his eyes alight. When his lips move, the words are carried away by the breeze, and float around the field, and are never heard.

"Goodbye, Draco."

-

Something nags at his mind, one day. It starts off as a small impulse to do something random.

He finally understood what was happening to him after a week of that strange feeling, a small nagging at the back of his mind.

The Dark Lord was coming for him, he was testing his will.

Serverus closed his eyes, and slumped into a chair.

He could already feel Death creeping towards him, ice sliding down his back.

-

"Why are you here? It's bad enough that you're my reason of suicide. Couldn't get one of your thick minions to finish me off?"

"I came to see you die, Serverus. Because you've cost me a great many things. I feel your death should be of my device."

"Bloody bastard."

"Hah, I should think not. Do you like knives, Serverus…?"

"You…wouldn't…"

His words betray him as he reaches for the knife, but his fingers twitch, as he tries to regain control. His ebony eyes are wide, unfocused as the try to fight of the pain, the control, the twisting of his fingers, the smalls cracks from his knuckles.

He still fights, even when the knife is poised above him, and a diagonal jab would send it straight through his heart.

"So, Serverus…any last words?"

This voice is almost as low as it had once been, with still hints of higher pitches, because this man now before him was almost fully formed, deep red eyes that could have been pools of blood.

The Dark Lord isn't surprised when Serverus smirks, and the knife hovers about his chest. He is, surprised, however, when he lets out a low chuckle. His tired head lifts to stare his former Master in his serpent eyes.

"What did he do to you, Tom?"

Slash. Right where he heart was supposed to be, a thin but long gash, that traces diagonally down his chest. It cuts through his robes, and invisibly stains the black robes with darker blood. Serverus coughs lightly, but never winces.

"You will never speak of him like that, you worthless excuse for a man."

"Me, an excuse for a man? You've become quite the hypocrite, Tom."

Another. X marks the spot. The two lines cross at the exact resting place, that if you cut away the skin and bone, would lead to his heart.

"You hid from me for a very long time, Serverus. At Hogwarts, with that fool Dumbledore. Now, I've got you in your own house, the famed Snape estate," he gestures with long, spindly arms. "I dare say I shall quite enjoy killing you."

The twisted remains of human that stands before him doesn't need a wand to do magic anymore.

With a wave of his hand, the knife, now back in it's original position above his victim's chest, inches forward, as he leaves Serverus a few moments to contemplate his death.

Nothing separates the silence of Serverus' death and his last words with Voldemort. No witty phrase, no last words that will haunt the Dark Lord forever.

When the knife plunged into his skin, and then followed through to his heart, he felt himself gag, and tried to find a way to get air into his lungs. When he felt that familiar metallic taste in his mouth, he knew it was too late. Nothing could save him now.

He only started to feel the pain a few seconds later.

It shot through him like electricity, though his body still didn't respond.

Involuntary tears ran down his face, and they slowly were tainted by blood, until all of his tears were a scarlet color, and his eyes blinded by red.

When Serverus takes his last staggered breath, and falls to his knees, then to the floor, he's lying in his own blood. It's all around him, crimson, red, scarlet, it's all he can see, the world is shades of red. His lying on the floor only edges the knife in further, to finally pierce his entire heart.

Voldemort's cold, high laugh echoes through the house, as he leans down, rolls the limp body over, and takes out the knife, still hot with blood. He seems to contemplate whether or not to take it, as he runs his finger down it, collecting blood on his white finger. The knife pricks his finger, though he shows no sign of responding to the small cut, as dark blue blood seeps from it, and trickles down his finger. When a smirk passes his thin, blue lips and he rests the knife in Serverus' hand, and it's easy to tell what he's trying to do. He wipes his stained hands casually on his robe.

Yes. He'll frame him, say he committed suicide.

Did he? Voldemort ponders this for a moment. Yes, he'll have to think about that later.

With nothing more than a slight wisp of magic, he Apparates out of the house, leaving a dead man on the floor in a pool of crimson, with a blood stained knife in his hand, and blood running down his face from haunting red eyes.

-

The woman Auror shrieks when she enters the kitchen, causing two men to come running. They stop short, and gape at the scene with horrified eyes. The man on her left speaks to an invisible microphone.

"Get a channel over to Dumbledore. Tell him he's dead."

Soon, Dumbledore knows of the news. He slumps down into his chair, and holds his head in his hands, wanting, needing to know how much longer this suffering will go on.

-

Harry walks down the street, and soon spots the Leaky Cauldron, it suddenly snaps into vision. A small smile plays on his lips, as all of the Muggles near him pass it, but soon look into the window of the clothing shop next to it.

A little girl, with short, light blonde hair in pigtails looks directly at it with wide blue eyes, her mother having stopped to chat with another woman, but still holding her child's hand. She watches the strangely dressed people walk into it, and others come out. The girl then looks up to Harry, the corners of her mouth forming a small smile, before looking back to the Cauldron, until her gaze returns to him.

Harry grins back, and winks at the girl. She giggles, and waves to him as he walks towards the wizarding pub. He waves back, and opens the door, disappearing into warmth.

-

Harry Potter sits in a wheelchair, as the nurse chatters absent-mindedly to him. She's pushing him down a long corridor, her heels clicking loudly. He's in a Muggle nursing-home, it's just been his 100th birthday.

It's funny, because no one here knows how important he once was. How the scar, that is now just a faint white hint of a lightning bolt, was once always open, a crimson gash. He chuckles to himself, but the nurse takes no notice, still absent-mindedly chatting away.

His emerald eyes are now slightly dimmed, but still sharp, and all-seeing. His once jet-black hair is now gray, and his frail fingers toy with his glasses, now thick-framed again, like they were when he was young.

He feels something tug at his navel, like a Portkey. No, he sighs happily, but it's not a Portkey. Well, maybe it is, in once sense.

This Portkey will take him away for ever.

"Ivy…?" He calls to the nurse softly. She stops the wheelchair, and bends down, eye-level with the old man who know, somehow, still silently demands respect.

"Will…you, say goodbye, to the others for me? I think I'm about to go."

The nurse, with short black hair and chocolate brown eyes smiles sadly. She understands him perfectly. Yes, she's seen this before. Her mother even told her. Many people can feel that they're going to die. She used to think this must be horrible, but when she sees the serene look on Harry's face, this changes her perspective on death.

One, last, shaky breath comes from his lungs, and he stops living.

In this world, anyway.

Ivy rubs at her eyes, and kisses the old man's cheek. She turns the wheelchair around, humming Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody.

-

He's in a white void, and everything is silent. He walks to where the light seems the brightest, and sits down, trying to figure out where he is. He feels younger, as if a giant weight has been lifted off his chest, his shoulders.

A mirror appears before him. He doesn't see his reflection, he gets up and walks closer…

Wait!

Ron and Hermione are there, waving, grinning like mad, they look so young, maybe fifteen at the most. Sirius' eyes light up when he sees his godson, and so many other people are there…Remus walks up to Sirius, looks at him, before he sees Harry, and he shouts something unheard. Dumbledore just smiles, and pops a lemon drop into his mouth, chewing on it thoughtfully. Even Snape is there, he leans down to whisper something to a blonde boy who's hair obscures his face. The boy looks up, and raises an eyebrow.

Draco! He's leaning against an invisible wall, smirking, but his eyes are laughing. He finally changes position, and then walks up to the boundary of the mirror. He offers a hand to Harry, which slides out of the mirror, making it ripple.

'Come with us.' He mouths, but the words don't make it through the glass.

The Looking Glass.

Abandoning reason, Harry grabs the pale hand, and lets what he hopes, prays to be Draco guide him into this paradise, this heaven of sorts. He doesn't care if this is just Hell in disguise, or a torturous dream. If it is, he hopes he never wakes up.

He walks through the mirror, which feels like ice-cold water. That fades to a comfortable warmth.

Draco hugs him, and kisses him quickly. It feels wonderful, like a craving he's had to control for so long. When he's just about to return the affection, Ron and Hermione attack him, and Hermione clings to his neck, chattering about how much they've missed him, how long they've waited for him.

Snape walks up, and shakes his hand.

"Took a bloody long time, Mr. Potter. Glad you could make it."

After all of the commotion, hugging and talking, his hand slips smoothly into Draco's, who suddenly squeezes it tightly, before drawing the boy into another hug, which follows with a light kiss that tastes of peppermint.

Harry smiles against the pressure of the other's lips, while Draco whispers;

"You've found your way to Wonderland."