Title: Or Trade the Memory
Author: Sprinkles
Rating: PG-13 (for implied violence etc.)
Categories: Angst (implied violence, implied sex)
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Sadly.
Summary: Voldemort has won and Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy meet by chance on Diagon Ally.
Title from "Love is Not all" by Edna St. Vincent Millay
The icy, snowy, wind howled in Harry Potter's ears as he trudged down Diagon Ally. It was silent now - but he could remember when it was filled with people. How often had he come here with his friends or for a chat with Sirius or for a butterbeer with Ron and Hermione?
Ron and Hermione.
The sound of the names still sent an icy-hot swoop of grief through him.
They should be here. They should all be here: Seamus, Dean, Fred and George…
His thoughts trailed off as he kept walking through the snow. Harry often went walking in the snow. He liked the way it covered up the street – and the bloodstains on the street.
He stopped in front of the old tea shop.
Severus Snape had fallen here – betrayed by a Slytherin no less – and Lucius Malfoy had hunted him down. The first curse had missed, shattering the window. Harry would never forget the images: The glass showering down on Snape, blood running down his face and hand and spattering the ground, his face twisted in … Harry could not call it pain. It was the look of hopeless agony. The look of a man who knows that years of believing, that years of work, that years of pain might be for nothing after all. That they were for nothing.
Was this the pain that Snape had faced every moment as a spy? "Listen to me, you ungrateful little sod, you have no idea – no idea at all – the things I have seen, the things I have felt as a spy!" Snape had hissed at him during one defense lesson. "Don't you dare – don't you dare – presume to lecture me on the meaning of pain, on the meaning of - of sacrifice. You have no idea--." He had broken off and turned away from him. Harry had stared, his eyes glazed with all-consuming hate for the man who stood across from him.
Then Snape's shoulders had sagged slightly and Harry knew he was thinking of Dumbledore.
Dumbledore had died three days earlier – poisoned by one of the Slytherin Death-Eaters-to-be. Essence of Belladonna Poison. It was so abysmally simple – Dumbledore had had no prejudices against any of his students, he had taken no precautions, he never even suspected... Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw – he loved and trusted them all – to a great fault.
Damn him! Harry thought angrily. Damn him and damn his talk about sacrifice. Did Snape think that Dumbledore had been nothing to him? Did Snape think that Harry didn't even care?
But there was nothing to be gained by dwelling on these memories now.
"Potter?" A cold voice said from behind him. Harry knew that voice. His hand flew to his wand.
"What are you here for, Malfoy?" Harry turned. Draco Malfoy stood there in the snow. The layers of his robes did little to conceal the gauntness of his body and the hollowness of his eyes. Harry was not surprised.
"I'm here for several things, Potter, but not for a battle."
There were fingershaped bruises on his neck and on his wrists. Harry wasn't surprised about those either.
After Dumbledore had died, the entire wizarding world had been thrown into confusion. The chosen Slytherins were quickly branded and set to work. Voldemort's army sprung upon them one week later – and they had fought ferociously. Voldemort had inspired them and they had fought with the strength given only by a feeling of true purpose. The Order had fought with the strength that is given only by a feeling of true grief – and they had lost.
The final battle had been fought at Diagon Ally. And at the front of the Death Eaters, to the right of Voldemort was Draco himself.
Ron and Hermione, Seamus, Dean, Fred and George. One by one pieces of his heart broke off and fell to the pavement. Hagrid, McGonagall, Flitwick. The list of names went on and on.
The Order had lost. Those members of the Order who had survived the final battle were rounded up and killed. Those who were unaligned were invited to join. If they refused, they were also killed. Few refused.
The armies of Voldemort then had had to set themselves to the task of finding a new place for themselves. Oh, there was work to do in setting up a new government, but that only required a certain number of people.
Draco had wanted to be the potions maker for the Dark Lord who was still as focused as ever on achieving immortality. And, actually, Harry believed that Draco had been a damn good potions maker for at least a short time – before it became clear that Draco was meant to serve another purpose.
Theodore Nott had been the first to notice the true extent of Draco's lithe grace, the way he carried himself, the clear crystal in his eyes and the elegance of his face, and the beauty in his slender body. Nott had suggested his idea to Voldemort and in the end Voldemort had owned the body of Draco as he owned everything else.
When Voldemort was finished, he had given Draco to his Death Eaters to play with.
Harry glanced over at Draco's hollow eyes.
His official title was still "Potions Maker", but Harry didn't think that he made many potions anymore. Harry's gaze traveled down to Draco's neck. Unless they were for healing his own bruises.
Draco caught him staring and tugged his scarf higher up on his neck. Harry glanced at the broken window of the tea shop.
"So why are you here, Malfoy?"
"I wanted to think."
There was a pause and Draco's next words came out in a rush.
"I heard rumors that you were still alive." Harry looked at him quickly. "I heard that the Dark Lord let you live."
"And you, Harry Potter – the thorn in my side for so long – you shall not die with your precious friends. After all, you are the Boy Who Lived, therefore you shall live – and you will see all whom you hold dear fall before you." Voldemort had paced around him in a circle, his colorless lips twisting in a smile and he had gestured to the bodies lying in Diagon Ally. "Grieve well, Potter, knowing that you did everything in your power to save them," Ice cold hands had descended on his shoulders in a crude parody of consolation. "Or didn't you?"
Oh yes, the Dark Lord had, indeed, let him live. Just like a person still lives after the Dementor's kiss, Harry was still alive.
'Or didn't you?' Harry had perhaps grieved over this question more than any other person.
"Yeah, I'm still alive." A bitter smile.
They stood for some time side-by-side, staring into the broken window of the old tea shop.
Harry spoke up, "You know, I took Cho Chang there once on Valentine's day." He cut himself off – he wasn't sure what he wanted to say.
"The Ravenclaw seeker?"
Boldened knowing that Draco was actually listening to him, Harry continued. "Yeah. It ended badly though. She kept trying to make me jealous by talking all about her great times with Cedric Diggory before he--"
Was murdered. By Voldemort.
Harry couldn't finish the sentence. It all did come down to Voldemort. Every major event, and every minor one. Every conversation, every sentence. Everything from the last battle at Diagon Ally, to the bruises on Draco's neck and the circles under his eyes.
The snow had stopped and the sun was setting. The sky was streaked with pink and orange which reflected on Draco's blond hair.
Draco spoke, "Let's keep walking, it's getting cold."
They both started walking down Diagon Ally toward the setting sun and climbed the hill that marked the end of the street. Hogwarts stood there – half of it had been burned to the ground, the other half was collapsing day by day. All the enchantment in the castle had vanished when the students and teachers had left. Now it was only crumbling stone.
They looked at it. Their entire lives were based in this tired old castle.
The sky was now magenta and purple and the first stars were beginning to appear.
"I better go soon." Draco spoke again. He paused. "They generally don't miss me till about--" Draco's voice faltered, "—till about seven o'clock or so, but I don't want to risk--" He stopped again and looked at Harry. "It not because of the potions, it's because --"
"It's alright, Malfoy. I understand."
Draco Malfoy turned to go.
"Wait, Malfoy."
Draco looked back.
"I need to ask you something. I – I guess I meant to ask you this before." Back before this whole damn thing started. Back before he had you in his clutches.
"Yes?"
"Are you--" Harry didn't know what to say. "Are you alright?"
Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Am I alright?"
Harry just waited for his answer.
Draco thought back to when he had joined the Death Eaters – his branding. He remembered how he had poisoned Dumbledore – with one of the poisons that Snape had produced when he himself was a Death Eater. He remembered selling Snape to Voldemort. And Voldemort himself had congratulated him for all these triumphs. He had never known anyone to be proud of him until that day.
And then Draco thought back to last night. Theodore Nott had held his hands roughly above his head then moved to his throat when Draco couldn't suppress a scream of pain. When it was all over, Nott had stroked his cheek. Draco had turned his face away.
"Pretty whore, would it help if I paid you?"
The words echoed in his brain. Pretty whore.
"Yeah. I guess I'm okay."
Harry merely looked at him. Draco looked away again.
A pause, and then: "And you, Potter? Are you alright?"
This time Harry looked away.
"Knowing that you did everything in your power to save them. Or didn't you?"
"Yeah. I'm alright."
They paused, staring at each other for a second more. Then Draco nodded and Apparated away.
Harry sat down and looked around him one last time. Something was whispering across the fallen snow. It was a crinkled and worn paper decoration – an old Valentine's Day decoration from the tea shop. It flew along the ground and out of Harry's view. Slowly Harry got up and began to walk toward the fading sunset.