A Suicide Mission

HBP era.

Draco has been tasked with assassinating Dumbledore but he doesn't want to be a Death Eater and he doesn't want to murder anyone. Hell, he'd call the whole thing off if Voldemort weren't threatening to kill his family. Backed into a corner, Draco can only think of one way to keep both his parents and the Headmaster alive. In order to keep Voldemort from using him as a tool in his sick regime, he's going to have to take himself out of the equation. In other words, he's going to have to kill himself.

Harry x Draco

Warning: Dark themes

Chapter 1 - Sectumsempra

Draco Malfoy's hurried footsteps echoed down the empty stone corridor.

He glanced over his shoulder as he moved through the dim lighting, paranoid the reverberating steps were not his own. Had Pansy or Blaise followed him from the Slytherin common room? They'd been desperate to figure out what he'd been up to all term. Or perhaps it was Filch's footfalls mixing in with his own. That scraggly old squib would love catching him out of the dormitories this close to after hours, wouldn't he?

It could be even worse than Filch, though. It could be Potter.

The tatty haired Gryffindor's tailing presence had not gone unnoticed by the Slytherin and it was beginning to grate on his very last nerve.

Stupid Potter. Always sticking his nose in places where it didn't belong.

"Lumos,"

Draco could see the tapestry fast approaching. The pink-clad trolls stirred in their sleep and Barnabas the Barmy cursed at him eloquently as the wand light illuminated his portrait, but Draco ignored him, peering fretfully down the corridor instead.

There was no one following him. He was completely alone.

His shoulders rose with a deep, steadying breath and he turned his attention to the wall.

"Tonight. Tonight I'll finish it," He whispered, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them, the blank space had morphed at his command. An age-worn mahogany door with brass handles and iron hinges now stood before him. He set his jaw and strode forward, letting himself deftly into the Room of Requirement.

The winding labyrinth of discarded objects and hidden treasures greeted him as he shut the door softly. The mass of things had been overwhelming at first, but his route was well memorized by this time. He stepped carefully into the maze.

Continue straight at the empty pixie cage, on past the blood-stained ax. A right turn at the enormous stuffed troll and there. Draco came to a stop, breath quickening as the Vanishing Cabinet loomed into sight. It was taller than him by several heads, and smooth with black venire and silver knobs.

Draco approached it cautiously as if a sudden movement might startle the thing into fleeing. He swallowed thickly against a too-dry throat.

How many weeks had he been tinkering about with this cabinet? Far too many for his liking, and far more than he'd ever intended.

His hourglass was quickly emptying.

He stared up at the Vanishing Cabinet blankly, remembering when the Dark Lord had first given him this task. It had been during summer break in Wiltshire. Voldemort had sought him at the manor for a private conversation. It had been terrifying. The sharp, hissing words still haunted him.

"Kill Albus Dumbledore," Voldemort had said, circling him like a vulture, "The Malfoy's have served me faithfully for years. Yes, your father has disappointed me, but I know you can right his wrongs. I will reward you and your family greatly if you succeed. If you complete this mission, Draco, I will reward you with...forgiveness,"

Voldemort had reached out and stroked Draco's face as he purred that final word. Goose flesh rose on his arms as he recalled the sickly feel of those bone-thin fingers tracing his jaw.

Of course he'd accepted the mission. That same night was when he'd taken the mark as well, branded just like his father. He had looked down at the skull and snake inked into his arm and swelled with determination and resolve. He'd been too distracted, too stupid, to notice the terrified look on his mother's face. She'd known all along what the Dark Lord was playing at.

This was not a chance at redemption.

Lucious's mistake in the Department of Mystery had enraged the Dark Lord. And this? This was revenge. A manipulative game. This was the Malfoy punishment.

He reached out a trembling hand to fumble the latch of the broken cabinet.

His situation was futile. How was he, Draco, a 16-year-old newly instated Death Eater, supposed to kill the headmaster of Hogwarts, possibly the strongest wizard of all time? The man who had defeated Gellert Grindelwald, and the only person the Dark Lord seemed to fear.

It was a laughable thought.

Completely outlandish.

A suicide mission if he'd ever heard of one.

The Dark Lord knew this from the start, of course. He expected Draco to fail and was simply waiting for an excuse to punish them further.

The Dark Lord was ruthless, like a child plucking the legs from a spider one by one. He reveled in their suffering with nothing to lose and everything to gain. If Draco succeeded, Voldemort would have one less enemy to defy him, and if Draco failed, then The Malfoy's would become his play thing. As if they weren't already. Why his father had willingly chosen to join this man, Draco would never understand.

He shuddered as he recalled his last trip home. He'd been summoned by the mark just before Halloween. It was the first time the brand had burned him and he'd nearly screamed aloud in the middle of Charms. Sweating and faint, he'd had to leave immediately, his excuse of being ill far too believable.

The Dark Lord had been waiting for him when he'd finally arrived at the manor. Again he'd been pulled aside. Completely alone with the most evil wizard in the entire world.

"Your progress is slow, Draco. I fear you're not taking this task seriously. I worry I haven't motivated you properly, which is my fault of course. Let me undo my wrong. I will give you an ultimatum. If Albus is still alive by the end of the year, I will kill you. But I don't think that promise will be enough motivation, oh no. I think I'll have to kill everyone dear to you as well. I'll kill your mother first, lovely Narcissa. And then your father. Poor Lucious will meet his end by my wand, though he may very well have earned that sentence on his own," Those red eyes flashed in his mind's eye as if Voldemort were standing before him now, that damned snake hissing at his heels.

"And after that's done, Draco, be assured, I will kill you along with them. I'm afraid that would put an end to the Malfoy line. What a tragedy that would be..."

The room around him seemed to tilt as a wave of anxiety rolled over him.

Draco reeled away from the cabinet suddenly overcome by nausea. He vomited violently into a cracked pewter cauldron several rows down.

Pathetic. Malfoy thought when the bout passed.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and scorgified the mess he'd made. Why he'd even bothered to eat dinner he wasn't sure. He hadn't been able to keep down his meals for weeks now. The white collared button-up felt all too loose on his sickeningly bony shoulders.

"Get it together," He told to himself, lifting his chin in a dignified manner and making his way back to the Vanishing Cabinet.

He stood again, before the broken, daunting piece of furniture, eyeing it like an old adversary. He didn't have much choice than to try his hardest. He didn't want to serve the Dark Lord but he had a duty to protect his family.

If this is what it took, then so be it.

He dove in with determination but hours later, Draco found himself defeated and frustrated. Verging on tears and panic. The little golden finch he had placed in the cabinet minutes earlier now lay limp and lifeless.

It was dead.

Just like he and his family would be if he didn't fix this Goddamn cabinet.

Draco kicked out at a nearby stool, knocking it over along with several glass bottles that shattered all over the floor. The clatter echoed around the cathedral-sized room.

Panting, he turned heel and stormed to the exit.

He had had enough.

He flew back down the corridor, past the Barmy Tapestry, away from the Room of Requirement, and down the stairs to the sixth-floor washroom where he burst through the entrance, uncaring that Moaning Myrtle appeared from the far stall, gasping as she sighted him.

"You're back and... oh no. You look awful," She said, gliding after him as he rushed to one of the many sinks, grasping the porcelain bowl for support.

The nausea was back but there was nothing left in his stomach. He retched emptily until the heaving dissolved into sobs. It seemed nowadays, the only thing he could do was retch or cry, and if he was feeling particularly talented he could do both at the same time.

Pathetic.

He bowed his head away from the mirror and his paper pale complexion, tears rushing down his face.

"Don't," Myrtle crooned. He could feel the clammy sensation of her transparent hand stroking his hair.

"Don't ... Tell me what's wrong ... I can help,"

"No one can help me," Draco spat, still keeping his head down. His whole body was shaking. "H-He's toying with me. He knows I can't do it... he knows. And even if I could, I don't want to do it. God, I don't want to!" He sobbed, bending even further over the sink. "I fucking hate him. I want him to fall. I-I want things to be like they were before he came back,"

"Shhh, It's alright. It's alright,"

"It's not alright," Draco sobbed, "If I don't do it soon, he says he'll kill my mother and father...and then he says he'll kill me..."

His silver-blonde head whipped up, heart pounding, as he heard a scuffle of shoes behind him, and there, in the mirror's reflection, stood none other than Harry fucking Potter.

The black-haired boy had a stupid look of surprise on his face like he'd caught a lady in the midst of changing.

Malfoy gaped at the other boy in the mirror for a breath's time, incensed that perfect fucking Potter had found him in such a state and had the gall to look at him like that. Like he, Draco, was the most pitiful creature in the world.

And oh Lord, how much did Potter hear?

Rage overwhelmed him as he wheeled around to face the Boy-Who-Lived. His hex missed Potter's right ear by inches and cracked the tile on the far wall behind him.

The Gryffindor pulled his wand out as well but Malfoy dodged the countering hex easily, diving behind the wooden stalls.

"No! No! Stop it!" Myrtle screamed as Draco darted out to shoot another hex at Potter who clumsily sidestepped it, the bin beside him exploding into a flurry of crumpled waste paper.

"Stop it, STOP IT!" Myrtle wailed, the cistern beside her shattered violently as Harry's hex hurtled by Draco's flank.

Draco's fury reached a peak as Potter slipped in the spray of water that was quickly flooding the floor. His better senses were drowned out by blind anger.

"Cruci-" He began, wand held high over his head.

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" Potter bellowed. The unfamiliar curse hit Draco squarely in the chest and suddenly, there was searing pain and blood everywhere. It spilled from him almost as quickly as the water pouring from the ruptured pipes. It was as if he'd been slashed by invisible swords.

It all happened so quickly.

His wand clattered to the floor as his legs gave way and he stumbled backward, collapsing with a splash. He scrabbled at his front in surprise, clutching at the deep gaping slashes that spanned his face and torso. Where the hell had Potter learned dark magic like this?

"No-" He heard Potter rasp. There was a great shuffling and then Potter was crouching above him, looking pale and stricken in the dim lighting. "No - I didn't,"

Draco's whole body was trembling and he couldn't move. He was very cold. Freezing in fact. And tired. So, so tired.

He gasped as Potter suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling his upper half off the wet stone tile and into his lap. The Gryffindor had taken off his sweater and was now pushing it firmly against the wounds on Draco's chest as if that was going to work.

He was bleeding out for heaven's sake!

Blood was gushing from him at an alarming rate. Potter had somehow become covered in it. Splashes of scarlet peppered his face and streaked his glasses.

If things carried on like this, he was surely going to die. Draco should have been more upset by this realization, but for some reason, he wasn't. It would almost be a relief to let go. He wouldn't have to kill Dumbledore anymore and Voldemort could hardly punish his parents if Draco died by Potter's clearly accidental hand.

In fact, being murdered by Harry Potter seemed suddenly comical. The-Boy-Who Lived. The-Boy-Who-Can't-Stop-Thwarting-The-Dark-Lord's-Plans. At it again.

Oh, Voldemort would be furious.

He swallowed clumsily as he studied Potter's face, sweaty and furrowed with fear as his efforts did nothing to staunch the bleeding. Draco was too weak to remove himself from Potter's lap, but even if he could, he wasn't sure he would have. It was rather comforting to be held like this. That thought made him want to laugh as well. He never would have guessed he'd die in Potter's arms.

"MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!" Myrtle screeched.

"No, I didn't mean- I didn't know, please," Potter chanted, his face contorted with remorse.

Draco grimaced. The Chosen One was always on the right side of the fucking fence, wasn't he? Crying over every drop of spilled blood, even his enemy's. Didn't Potter understand that Draco was trying to murder their precious headmaster? Isn't that why he'd been stalking him for the better part of the year? Why didn't he realize that killing Draco was the right thing to do?

Yes. Just let me die. Here and now, and end this whole mess.

"Oh please, don't die. Please don't- MYRTLE! Would you stop shouting and just run for help!?"

But she didn't need to. The door banged open to admit Severus Snap, his billowing robes cascading over Draco's vision like a closing curtain before everything went black.

"I won't say I told you so," Hermione said. "I knew there was something wrong with that Prince person, and this proves it,"

Hermione, Ron, and Harry were the only Gryffindors still left in the common room. They'd waited for the last pair of giggling second-year girls to retire before Harry had recounted exactly what happened earlier that night. Harry was still shaking from the ordeal. He had washed and changed from his soiled robes hours ago but he couldn't stop imagining the sticky feel of blood on his palms.

"Leave it, Hermione," Ron said warningly. "Snape's already given him a terms worth of detention. He's had enough,"

"Not to mention I nearly killed another student," Harry said staring down at the pale hands in his lap. "Even if it was Malfoy,"

"Well, I hope you're ready to get rid of that book, Harry. It's dangerous!" Hermione said passionately, her eyes glinting in the firelight.

"Hermione, I said leave it," Ron groaned.

"I don't want to talk about the Prince," Harry said firmly. "It's my fault for trying out that spell without knowing the consequences, not, the Prince's. And I think you're missing the whole point of what happened tonight. I was right about Malfoy! He has been up to something,"

Ron looked down awkwardly and Hermione bit her lip and leaned forward.

"Are you positive you overheard him correctly? How can you be sure he was talking about You-Know-Who?"

"Who else would be threatening to kill him and his family?" Harry asked grimly. "The good news for us is that whatever task Voldemort's asked him to do isn't going well. Malfoy said he couldn't do it...or wouldn't," Harry frowned, trying to remember everything he'd overheard.

"If only you'd thought to roll up Malfoy's sleeve while he was down. Could have proved he was a Death Eater once and for all,"

"Ron! Harry was hardly thinking of that at the time. It sounds like Malfoy was really hurt!"

Harry nodded solemnly, "She's right. My mind went blank after the curse hit. I never thought I'd be happy to see Snape, but if he hadn't come by, I don't think Malfoy would have made it. There was so much blood. Malfoy's a git, but I don't want him killed,"

Harry swallowed thickly. There was a heavy pit of unease in his stomach. Was Malfoy even alright? He wished he'd thought to ask but he'd been too rattled, even after Snape had returned from carrying the blonde's limp form to the hospital wing. The Slytherin had looked so pale and broken when Harry had held him in his lap, though thinking back on it, Malfoy's expression had been oddly peaceful. Like he was happy to be bleeding to death, or -relieved. It was a disturbing thought.

Harry stared into the fire, contemplating Malfoy's situation. If what he'd overheard was true, the Slytherin's very life was being held hostage by Voldemort. Harry suddenly felt very sorry for him. Death Eater, or not, even someone like Malfoy didn't deserve to be threatened like that.

And what had he said about Voldemort? He hated him and wanted him to fall...

"Well don't beat yourself up too much, Harry," Ron said, breaking his reverie with a firm, consolatory slap on the shoulder, "It wasn't your fault you fought back. Malfoy was the one who attacked you in the first place, and by the sounds of it, he was trying to use an unforgivable curse,"

Hermione looked troubled as her eyes flicked between the two boys. "I know you're not going to want to hear this, Harry, but I think you should go to Professor Dumbledore,"

"I've already told Dumbledore what I heard Malfoy saying, Hermione. He was there while Snape was telling Professor McGonagall what I'd done. He sort of just nodded and said I shouldn't be concerned over it,"

"Well if Dumbledore's aware, then you should drop it, Harry. Stop tailing Malfoy. This whole thing wouldn't have happened if you'd just left it alone," Hermione said gravely.

Harry couldn't fall asleep that night. He couldn't stop picturing Malfoy splayed across his lap, staring blankly at the ceiling with that resigned expression on his face.

Harry frowned and turned over for the umpteenth time, punching his pillow into yet another unsatisfying shape.

Harry was used to thinking about Malfoy as of late, considering he'd been tailing the boy for weeks now, obsessed with that labelled black dot on the Marauder's Map, wondering hopelessly what Malfoy was doing in the Room of Requirement. He was not, however, used to worrying over the Slytherin. He hated giving a damn over Malfoy's well being.

It wasn't that he suddenly liked the other boy. It was just his guilt. Or maybe a sense of responsibility.

Or perhaps it was sympathy for the blonde. Harry was familiar with the fear that came with facing Voldemort, and that was coming from a Gryffindor. He was humble about it, but bravery was in his blood. He could only imagine the Slytherin all but pissed himself just standing in Voldemort's presence, let alone being threatened by him. It was no secret that Malfoy was a coward.

Harry rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, frowning up at the darkness. The soft snores of Ron and Neville filled the silence.

He had to remind himself that Malfoy was an enemy. He was a Death Eater, Harry was certain. He was only in his position because he had placed himself there to begin with. Harry had no business going gray over him.

Even still, it wasn't until early morning that he finally drifted into a restless sleep.

Hello!

I know this story is starting in a place that has been redone time and time again but it sets the mood for where I intend to go. I did use several quotes directly from the book to tie the scenes together so I cannot take credit for those!

Let me know what you think!