A/N: Apologies for the lack of update yesterday - I just started a new job last week and am now working Wednesdays, which was previously my day off. I'm off Thursday mornings though, so that might become my new posting time for now. Here's a nice long chapter to make up for it - the final scene (Harry's flashback) popped into my head while listening to "Stars" (from Les Mis, of course) on my drive home and is what inspired this whole fic. Enjoy! :)
"I'm still skeptical," I say when Malfoy finishes his story. "So, you finally realized you were following a madman and decided to do something about it, good for you…but what really made you change your mind? I don't believe that a couple of nasty spells and some dead bodies did the trick all on their own – Merlin knows you'd seen plenty of awful things before sixth year and had no trouble with any of it then." Malfoy practically growls in frustration.
"Don't even start, Granger," he snaps. "I fully admit that I made a lot of stupid mistakes, alright? I don't need you to get up on your high horse about it. I'd started doubting things a long time ago – ironically enough, because of you – but the final straw was when Lucius killed my mother."
Well, that shuts me up right quick. There's so much to unpack in Malfoy's last sentence that I don't even know where to begin. I decide to start with the obvious.
"Your father killed your mother? But…why?" Malfoy sighs heavily, and I suddenly realize that this can't possibly be easy for him. I quickly add, "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."
"No, Granger, I do have to tell you. You need to understand where I'm coming from here, and you can't do that if you don't know everything." I nod slowly, still a bit unsure but understanding his meaning all the same.
"When I was a child, Lucius worshipped the ground my mother walked on," Malfoy begins. "He treated her like a queen, and I always felt – well, 'special' isn't the right word-"
"It was special, Draco," Pansy cuts in quietly. She looks at me and adds, "When you pride yourself on blood purity, there are only so many acceptable partners when it comes to marriage. The kind of relationship the Malfoys had – that was rare. My parents cared about each other, and most of the other couples in their social circles were amiable enough, but the Malfoys loved each other deeply."
"Pans, my life is no fairytale, so stop making it sound like one," Malfoy says. "But she's right, in a way – being witness to that kind of love felt like a privilege. Even when he came back at the end of our fourth year, Lucius made it clear to us – my mother and I – that we were his first priority.
"But that all changed after the Battle at the Department of Mysteries. You know what happened there, of course – after the Azkaban breakout, Lucius was no better than the lowest of the low, because he'd failed. And so, I was given my task – I've already said my piece about that. But the point is, Lucius wasn't so foolish as I to think that the task was an honor – he'd been a Death Eater for long enough to know that it was a punishment, that I was supposed to die. If he'd really put family above all else, as he'd always preached, he could have done something. The Malfoy coffers are extensive enough that we could have successfully gone into hiding – left the country, changed our names and faces, started new lives without a trace. And yet we stayed, I returned to Hogwarts for sixth year with a death sentence over my head, and that was that. All Lucius cared about was retaking his place at his master's side – that was never plainer to me than during my initiation ceremony, except for when he killed my mother."
"But…why?" I repeat. "You said your parents loved one another deeply. Why would your father kill your mother if that was the case?"
"If there's one thing Lucius loved above all else, it was power. That power was more important to him than even his own family – like I said, he didn't think twice about handing me over, if it meant a chance to get back in his master's good graces. My mother, though…my mother was damn good at masking her emotions, so good that even I had a hard time knowing what she was thinking. But one day, that mask slipped, and she betrayed her true feelings. She'd always been worried about me – I was her pride and joy, the child she'd struggled for so long to have, and she would've gone to hell and back to keep me safe. As you know, she made the Unbreakable Vow with Snape after I got my mission, begging him to do whatever it took to help me both succeed and stay alive, but since the danger never went away, neither did the worry. She was secretly plotting to get us both out of the country, much like Pansy's mother was, and the Death Eaters found out. He ordered her executed, by Lucius' hand, and Lucius did it without hesitation." When Malfoy sees the horrified look on my face, he adds, "He was devoted to the cause, and she wasn't. That just wouldn't do."
"I'm so sorry, Malfoy," I say quietly. I'd never had any good interactions with Narcissa – the few times we'd met, she'd looked at me like I was something foul on the bottom of her shoe – but I know the pain of losing a parent. Pansy reaches over and squeezes Malfoy's hand, likely in a gesture of comfort – this is his mother he's talking about, after all, and he's having to tell his story to someone he likely wishes didn't need to hear it. Deciding he might appreciate a change of subject, I add, "What did you mean, when you said earlier that you'd started doubting things because of me?" Malfoy rolls his eyes.
"Honestly, Granger – for someone so smart, you can be frightfully dense sometimes. Imagine you've been taught since birth that Muggle-borns are beneath you and not worthy of magic. Now imagine that on your first day of classes, a Muggle-born student shows up and blows all those teachings to bits by being absolutely, infuriatingly brilliant. There was no way in hell any of us stood a chance at beating you in the class rankings – not only did you consistently perform magic far beyond the usual abilities of a witch your age, but you also seemed to innately understand magic in ways that the rest of us couldn't even fathom. Potter told me you brewed Polyjuice when you were twelve, for Merlin's sake!"
"Thirteen," I say.
"What?"
"I was thirteen – my birthday's in September; I'm one of the oldest in our year," I explain.
"And that is why we couldn't stand you," Pansy mutters.
"Excuse me? You hated me because I'm a Muggle-born!" I snap.
"No, Granger, we hated you because you were a pretentious little swot! Always acting superior, walking around with your nose in the air, constantly correcting people, showing off in class – yes, we hated you for your blood status because we'd been raised that way, but honestly, the way you acted, we would've hated you know matter who your parents were!"
Pansy's comments hurt more than they should. I'm used to people calling me a know-it-all by now, but I was so insecure when I first went to Hogwarts. I wanted to fit in so badly, and showing off my knowledge of the Wizarding world was the only way I knew how. It stung when I realized that Hogwarts wasn't so different from Muggle school after all – the setting had changed, but I still didn't have any friends, I didn't know how to make them, and nobody seemed to want to be friends with me because of my intimidating intelligence. My 'I'm-better-than-you' persona quickly became my defense mechanism, but it certainly didn't warm my classmates towards me – instead, it just drove them away. Until Harry and Ron rescued me from the troll that Halloween, my only 'friend' was Neville, and he almost didn't count – we drifted together by default, because no one else wanted to associate with the outcasts of Gryffindor House. (That relationship blossomed over the years, and I'm honored to call Neville a true friend nowadays, but that's beside the point.)
"Pansy, enough," Harry says sharply. "You've made your point, let Draco continue." Pansy huffs but says nothing further.
"It was a combination of things, really," Malfoy says then. "You finishing top of the class every year certainly helped, but I wasn't joking when I said I'd been sheltered from the worst of it for most of our schooling careers. Don't forget that while Potter over here was somehow confronting old snake face at the end of every school year, for the rest of us, nothing really happened until after the Battle at the Department of Mysteries. Remember that even though he'd come back at the end of our fourth year, he kept quiet about it for all of our fifth."
"Umbridge didn't help," Harry mutters, and I growl softly at the mention of our former Defense professor. That woman is evil incarnate.
"By the time the Wizarding world acknowledged his return, he'd already set up camp at Malfoy Manor," Malfoy continues. "At first, I thought we should be honored – he chose our home for his headquarters above all others – but once I'd pulled my head out of my arse and realized it was a punishment, not an honor, well…you know what happened after that. And when you've seen as much blood spilt as we have…it's kind of hard to continue believing in pureblood superiority when you have so many horrible examples of how it all looks the same."
The room is quiet for a moment as I digest his words. I glance at Harry and notice that he doesn't look the least bit surprised – none of this must be news to him. And I suppose it makes sense, in a way. Malfoy's always been a prejudiced brat, but prejudice is a far cry from murder. I saw the side effects of his mission myself, even if I didn't know what the mission was at the time. At the start of sixth year, he was his usual cocky, arrogant self, but as the year went on, it became clear that something was wrong – he visibly lost weight, only picked at his food during meals, make excuses to skip Quidditch, and developed seemingly permanent dark circles under his eyes, which suggested he wasn't sleeping well, either. I really do wonder why none of the professors ever said anything, because it was obvious to anyone with eyes that Malfoy was a wreck.
"So, Pansy came here to London, and Lucius killed your mother," I say, thinking through everything they've told me thus far. "But what exactly was your daring plan, Malfoy? And how does Harry fit into this?"
"We're getting there, Hermione," Harry says. "Long story, remember?"
"My mother was still alive when Pansy first came here, and I didn't have a concrete plan, exactly," Malfoy begins. "More like a vague idea of what needed to happen. I knew I couldn't wait around any longer – I had to openly declare my allegiance, one way or another. I had no idea how to contact any of your lot, or even if any of you were still alive – and even if I could find you, I was liable to be hexed or even killed on the spot before I could explain myself. So, I decided to stay where I was and infiltrate from within. If I could convince the Death Eaters that I was unquestionably loyal to their cause, I might be able to work my way up and gain information."
"Information that would help you, and by extension us, bring them down," I conclude. "Not a bad plan, really…except that they'd already marked you as useless. How did you plan to persuade them otherwise? Suddenly participating in raids and throwing curses around would make them suspicious, no?"
"That was the flaw in my plan," Malfoy admits. "It was going to be difficult, that I knew, and I had no idea even where to begin. But then Lucius killed my mother, which gave me the opening I needed." I nod at Malfoy…no, Draco to continue – based on what I've already seen and heard, I have a sneaking suspicion as to where this is going, and if I'm right, I really should make an effort to do as Harry does and refer to the blond by his given name, if only to keep things straight.
"I already hated Lucius for getting us into the whole mess in the first place, and him killing my mother in cold blood was the last straw. I might not be you, but I did take N.E.W.T.-level Potions, and Snape taught me a few tricks as well. I'd been thinking of brewing some Polyjuice anyway, just to have on hand, and it was a matter of a few simple tweaks to create a longer-lasting dosage. I challenged Lucius to a duel."
"And you won," I conclude. Draco nods.
"I did. My anger over my mother's death helped, I think. The papers correctly reported that a Malfoy died that night, but it certainly wasn't me. There was no way of them finding out the truth, either – after I took what I needed for the potion and forcibly extracted his recent memories, I destroyed the body beyond all recognition. It's what Lucius would have done to his traitor of a son, after all." I shiver involuntarily. Draco might have defected, but he's still cunning and unquestionably ruthless.
"I assumed Lucius' place in the inner circle, seamlessly thanks to those memories, and because of that, I have intimate knowledge of Riddle's plans. He's going to stage a massive attack here in London soon – it wasn't difficult to persuade him that one of his most loyal should be on hand, and I found myself stationed in the city beginning on the first of September. I've been here ever since."
"And no one knows where you live?" I ask, suddenly apprehensive. "I thought this was supposed to be Pansy's safe house."
"Just because the underlings know who's in charge doesn't mean they have a right to impose on my private life," Draco replies with a disdainful little sniff. "Lucius' position guarantees me certain freedoms, you know. Neither Pansy nor I can be disturbed here – as you might have guessed earlier, I am the Secret Keeper for this house, so no one can find it without my consent."
"Very well." I take another minute to digest this new information. It's a lengthy tale, to be sure, but a fairly straightforward one. I still don't know how Harry fits into it, though.
"I think it's my turn to talk," Harry says, echoing my thoughts aloud.
"Yes," I agree. "How do you fit into all of this? What happened to you, Harry?" Harry sighs and runs a hand through his hair. It sticks up in all directions, as usual, and the sight is so familiar that I can't help but smile a little. The expression feels foreign – I haven't smiled for real in so long.
"I went into the Forest, you know, during the armistice hour," he begins. "Those memories that we got from Snape – well, I was a Horcrux."
"What?" Harry sighs again, heavier this time.
"Yeah, that's how I felt when I found out, too. Old Voldy had split his soul one too many times, it seems, when he attacked my parents that Halloween night. It was so fragile that it split again, without his knowledge, when he tried to kill me, and it latched onto the only living thing in the room – me. It's why I could speak Parseltongue, and why I had all those visions."
"That was also because you were rubbish at Occlumency," I remind him with a snort. Harry shoves my arm playfully.
"Shut it, you. I've been practicing with Draco, just in case, so I'm not rubbish at it anymore."
"You're still not very good," Draco says, snickering. The snicker turns to a yelp as Harry sends a Stinging Jinx his way.
"Shut it, you prat. Anyway, once I learned the truth, I realized the only way we would have a shot at winning was if all the Horcruxes were destroyed…which, unbeknownst to anyone but myself, now included me. I couldn't tell you," he adds when he sees the look on my face. "Would you really have let me go, if you knew?" My lip trembles.
"I don't know," I say quietly. "I've gone all this time thinking you were dead, and the pain was awful – I can't imagine how much worse I'd feel knowing I'd okayed you walking to your death."
"And that's why I went straight from the Pensieve to the Forest," Harry says. "How could I put that on you – on any of you? You wouldn't have understood. Someone would've insisted on finding another way…except that there was no other way. And since Voldy had his little personal vendetta against me, I knew that the only way for the Horcrux to die was for him to kill me himself. The other Death Eaters would've done it with pleasure, but I doubt it would've made him very happy."
"Anyone who dared kill you would be dead themselves as soon as he found out," Draco says matter-of-factly. Harry nods.
"That was my thinking, anyway. And I had my suspicions about the Elder Wand, as well – remember, before he killed Snape, he was asking Snape why the wand didn't work for him? It should've been all-powerful, he said, but instead, it worked just like any other wand. It came to me after I finished watching the memories – Voldy thought Snape had the wand's allegiance because Snape killed Dumbledore, but he was wrong. It was Draco."
"Draco?" I ask, looking over at the blond.
"Mhmm. Draco Disarmed Dumbledore long before any of the other Death Eaters even got there. He was the true master of the Elder Wand, and nobody ever knew it."
"And then you Disarmed Draco at Malfoy Manor," I say suddenly, the details coming back. "When we talked with Mr. Ollivander at Shell Cottage, he said one of the wands you'd taken was Draco's, and you decided to keep using it, because it felt right."
"Exactly," Harry agrees. "For whatever reason, ripping the wands out of Draco's hand was enough, and his wand recognized me as its new master."
"Arse," Draco mutters. "I liked that wand."
"Oh, shut up. You can have it back when I'm done with it."
"You're still using it?" I ask, confused.
"Course I am," Harry replies. "It works just fine. Nobody bothered to check my pockets, so I still had it afterwards. And Draco has to use Lucius' wand anyway, as part of his disguise. Anyway, I'm getting off topic, here. Because I Disarmed Draco, I not only became master of his wand, but of the Elder Wand, as well – at least, that's what I thought, anyway, and it would explain why the Elder Wand wasn't 'working' like history said it should."
"I'm lost, Harry," I confess. "I get what you're saying about the wands, but what happened in the Forest? You died."
"I did – well, sort of, anyway. See, if my suspicions about the Elder Wand were correct, Voldy wouldn't be able to kill me, because the wand wouldn't harm its true master. The Horcrux, on the other hand, had no such protection, because even though it was in me, it was a part of him."
"You're so stupid, Harry James Potter," I say. "Risking your life on speculation like that!"
"But it worked, didn't it?" Harry insists. "And even if it didn't, I had to try! It was our only chance."
"It was still a stupid thing to do!" I cry. "And you still haven't told me what happened! When Hagrid brought you out of the Forest, you were most certainly dead! We checked before we buried you, even, just in case by some miracle you'd survived – you had no pulse!"
"The Horcrux fought me."
"What?"
"The Horcrux fought me. My guess was right, Voldy threw an A-K at me without a second thought…and I died. Or at least, I think I did. I was in this weird place that looked like Kings Cross, and Dumbledore was there-"
"Dumbledore?"
"Not important." Harry waves a hand dismissively. "It was basically a stopping point for those…moving on. Anyway, the Horcrux was there, too, this pathetic little thing. Dumbledore and I talked for a bit, and it just lay there under a bench, whimpering…but when I voiced aloud my intention to go back – because apparently I had a choice, whether I wanted to stay dead or keep on living – the thing put up a fight. You think my previous fights with Voldy were tough? Well, you know how much hell we went through destroying the other Horcruxes, and this one was just as stubborn. For whatever reason, even though the curse had finally separated us, it wasn't going to go down without a fight. If the Elder Wand's allegiance really was mine, there was no way the soul bit could win, but it fought anyway."
"And what happened?" I ask.
"Well, I overpowered it, eventually. Damn near killed myself in the process, I think – which is ironic, since I was already dead."
"Is this really the time for joking?" I demand, smacking his arm. "Honestly!"
"Sorry, Hermione…anyway, I won, and as soon as did, I woke up. Except, I wasn't in the Forest, like I was expecting, nor was there anyone else around. I was in a very small, very dark space – I only just managed to get my wand out of my pocket and blast my way out."
Harry rubbed dirt out of his eyes and adjusted his glasses, then turned to examine his surroundings. The castle looming before him told him he was still at Hogwarts, and a quick second look placed him on the lawn by the lake. As he looked closer, he clapped a hand to his mouth in horror as he realized just where he was.
"Good Godric," he muttered, feeling sick. "I think I just blew up my own grave." The hole beside him was certainly the right size and shape, and when he looked closer, he noticed a small stone marking the spot. In fact, there were dozens of identical stones strewn about the area – a makeshift cemetery for the fallen.
"They think I'm dead," Harry said to himself. "That's…not good." He didn't know what had happened while he'd been fighting the Horcrux, but based on this cursory inspection alone, he knew it couldn't have been anything good.
Harry was pleased to see that his invisibility cloak had somehow escaped detection; resolving to explore the area and hopefully figure out just what the hell was going on, he pulled the cloak out and made for the castle's front doors. He surveyed his surroundings as he walked, each new sight suggesting that something had gone horribly wrong. A jagged gash bisected the lawn, which was very much overgrown, and in the distance, the Quidditch pitch lay in ruins. Harry could see angry scorch marks on many of the nearest trees, the edges of the Forbidden Forest as dead as the rest of the immediate landscape. When he reached the front door, he had to contort himself slightly to avoid the nasty splinters of wood protruding from it.
"Lumos."
As soon as he'd lit his wand, Harry wished he'd remained outdoors. Weather and time had worked its magic on the lawn, but the interior of Hogwarts had not been so lucky. The entrance hall was hardly recognizable – huge chunks of the marble staircase had been ripped out or blown away completely by stray spells, a beam had crashed down from the ceiling, and nearly every flagstone was stained with blood. The sight, however, was nothing to the smell – rot and decay and bodily fluids and all sorts of other horrible things Harry couldn't name and didn't care to. The wand's light flashed over the mangled remains of a body at the foot of the stairs. It was too much, and Harry's body gave him almost no warning at all before he bent over and vomited. Shaking and sweating, he hurriedly made his way back outside.
"What the hell happened here?" he wondered. The carnage inside, the makeshift graves, the derelict state of the grounds…he knew he was missing a very important piece of the puzzle.
"Hogsmeade," Harry murmured. Perhaps the village would have some answers.
Hogsmeade was much the same as Harry remembered it, at least at first glance. All the shops he remembered were still there, at least. But the atmosphere was much more akin to Diagon Alley had been when he, Ron, and Hermione had broken into Gringotts – people kept their heads down as they went about their business, and no one spoke much. A beggar sat hunched outside the Three Broomsticks, a cloak wrapped tightly around their shivering form. Seeing the beggar, it occurred to Harry then that it was indeed much colder than he thought it should be. It couldn't have been that long since the Order had buried him, could it?
Harry found the answer soon enough – there was a newsstand just outside the post office, the familiar banner of the Daily Prophet visible even from a distance. When he got close enough to read the front page, it was all Harry could do to stop himself from swearing loudly.
According to the paper, it was November of 1999 – a whole year and a half after the Battle of Hogwarts.
Harry stumbled back to the castle, angry tears blurring his vision and mixing with the dirt he hadn't quite managed to get off his face entirely. When he reached the side of the lake, he took a long look over the rows of graves, each as anonymous as the next. Even his own was indistinguishable from the others. He dropped to his knees beside his 'headstone', for the first time noticing a small crack in the top left corner. A crack…or perhaps a deliberate mark, in the shape of a lightning bolt. Perhaps not so indistinguishable after all, to those who knew to look for it. Harry thought of Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and all the others he held so dear. Where were they? Were they still alive and fighting? He couldn't bear to contemplate the alternative, so he held onto hope for all he was worth. He brought his gaze up to the heavens, which were beginning to darken into night.
"I'll find you, and I'll make this right," he said softly to the stars. "I swear it."
