He Had Loved
WARNING: Contains spoilers for Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Rating: K
Disclaimer: Not my characters. Obviously.
Summary: Draco reflects upon what he has learnt from an old man. Oneshot.
'The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved'
-Victor Hugo
'Love can vanquish Death'
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson
It was strange to see you there. And yet my entire being was filled with hatred for you and what you stood for- or at least I told myself that was the truth. But in reality I was full of hatred for what I had become, and the things I had allowed to happen- not that I was truly given a choice, my father being who he was.
And so I looked down at you and smirked and raised my foot.
And later I boasted. I broke Harry Potter's nose- that was me. See that blood on his shirt? I did that.
That year I was important, I was worthy. My parents loved me and respected me, though I knew that my mother was afraid of what would happen in the future. But I had been entrusted with a supreme mission from the Dark Lord, and I had been given the mark to show that I was one of his supporters. It wasn't long after I received the Dark Mark that I understood that it was merely a brand, to mark yet another fool as the Dark Lord's property.
But still, I had something to do. I had a purpose and the means to carry it out, and then came the night when I stood before his terrible loving presence and pointed my wand at him. It was that moment that I realised he loved me as he loved everyone, that he saw all the good in me and not the bad, that I became myself. I was not a killer- he was right. I could not do it, not by myself, not even with a crowd of Death Eaters surrounding me and cheering me on.
And so I did not. I did not raise my wand again, did not utter those deadly syllables that had the potential to rip life away, to turn a person into a corpse. But Snape did. He said it, said the words, did the thing that can only be done when one has the desire to see someone killed by their own hand. He killed the one who I had only barely begun to realise as the most powerful wizard in the entire world. The power of his love- he had died saving me from becoming a killer. He had died still loving everything, everyone, even me, the boy who brought about his death.
He had died.
I almost threw myself off the tower that night- I, a self-important snobbish brat who had only seen the world as a toy for my own private use and Dumbledore as a pathetic old man spouting nonsense about peace and choice- the choice between the right and the easy paths. I saw the world too late. I saw everything too late, and changed from the boy who stomped on Harry Potter's immobile face out of a spiteful jealousy to the boy who understood that love truly did conquer all. For even as Dumbledore had died, he had loved, and that made him better and greater and more triumphant than all the Dark Lords in the world put together, and always would.
Yet I could not turn myself to love, to be the kind of man that Dumbledore had hoped we would all become. I was not Harry Potter, not nearly good enough for that. I was only the pathetic Draco Malfoy, and though I was altered for the better, I was almost glad to renounce my Death Eater status, and then to await the arrival of the Dark Lord's assassins.
At least they could not say I died in fear, begging and pleading. But it was ironic whom the Dark Lord selected to be my murderers. He always demanded proof of loyalty, and my father proved well that he preferred to kill his own son then to face his Lord's wrath. I found much amusement in that, because the lack of love my father demonstrated only served to illustrate the impossibility of the Dark Lord winning his pathetic victory. There was no love there, not from the Lord to his servants, nor the servants to their master.
And yet, love conquers all. But you knew that, didn't you?
Didn't you, Harry Potter?