Harry approached the spellscreen cautiously – even though the guards had told him it wouldn't burn the visitor no matter what he did. (Only the prisoner.).

"Mr. Malfoy?"

The figure in the dingy grey robes stepped forward – dingy all over, now. Even the hair. "Potter. You came."

"Yeah. Why didn't you want me to bring Draco?" He had his suspicions…

…And Malfoy confirmed them immediately. "Because I have a proposal for you that I do not want Draco to hear."

He backed away again. "Look, Mr. Malfoy, I answered your owl, but I'm not interested in any kind of-"

"Give me some credit, boy. I do know who I'm dealing with."

He made it sound like an insult. "So do I. What do you want from me?"

"I read your editorial," Malfoy said. "About the executions." He gave a theatrical pout. "They will suck out our soul, too. Very poetic. Did you think of that line yourself?"

He hadn't, actually. Hermione had helped him quite a lot with the writing.

But he wouldn't admit that to Malfoy. "Did you call me here just to accuse me of copying my homework?"

Malfoy straightened up. "No. But I honestly wish to know: do you stand by what you wrote?"

"That executions are a terrible thing and people shouldn't be celebrating in the streets about them? Of course I do. What kind of question is that?"

At that, Malfoy grinned at him unexpectedly. He had the same smile as his son. "Right. You're Harry Bloody Potter - why did I even ask. Very well, then. So you think it's a bad thing for the Wizarding community at large. That it's doing harm."

"Of course I do," he said again. "But I can't save all of you like I did Draco - and I'm not saying I would if I could. You all have done real evil. More than once. You're not kids - you knew exactly what you were doing."

Malfoy shrugged. "I'm not asking you to save any of us."

He believed that about as far as he could throw Malfoy Manor. "But you are asking me to make some sort of deal." Every word that came out of Malfoy's mouth had strings attached to it - he could hear them.

"I am," Malfoy admitted freely. "Let me tell you what I want first, because if you can't promise it then we have nothing to talk about."

Harry crossed his arms. "All right: I'm listening." He had come all this way, he might as well at least hear him out.

"You've saved my son's life already, likely his sanity as well, and that's an excellent start," Malfoy began. "But I want more than that."

"You want more. Why am I not surprised?"

Malfoy ignored him. "I'm concerned that as confessions are elicited and new evidence is found," he went on, "Draco may well be arrested again. Tried and sentenced again, this time with a much less happy outcome." Harry saved his usual speech about how half a year in Azkaban wasn't much of a happy outcome; after so much time in Azkaban himself Malfoy must know it already. "I'm also concerned that the Ministry will strip him of everything that was mine, in an effort to ensure that he lives out his days disgraced and penniless and alone." He made a face and admitted: "And on a related note, I'm concerned that without fortune or status, Draco will have a hard time finding a suitable mate."

"A suitable mate?" Was he being asked to play matchmaker?

"Which is critical. I want the Malfoy name to live on, and I want it to be worth something. Therefore, I'll need you to protect more than just Draco's life - I want you to promise you'll see that his wand and his spirit remain unbroken. That you'll help him find a place in this new world you lot are building, that you'll position him for success as best you can. This is a difficult period and he'll need support – but if he gets it, I'm confident he can recover from his losses in time."

His losses. Malfoy said it with a perfect straight face - also exactly like his son's - but Harry had to say something. "Yes, I heard about your wife," he said. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"You heard what about my wife," Malfoy spat.

Harry stammered. "That she-, I just- they said-..." His stomach twisted as he suddenly knew, knew it was more. "They said she took sick in jail, and died in the infirmary."

Malfoy swallowed. "It did happen in the infirmary," he said, quietly now but with even more venom. "And sick is a good word for it."

"I'm so sorry. I had no id-"

"I want them dead. The three who did it - and the one who held me down to watch."

Harry stared, but his voice didn't work and he had no idea what to say anyway.

Eventually Malfoy spoke again into the silence - staring away, now. "They didn't even use any charms - for any of it. His breath was on my face the whole time and the weight of him still wakes me at night - the smothering." He snapped out of his trance. "It was all very physical," he summarized, short and neat again, "In a manner to which Narcissa and I were not accustomed. That's what comes of hiring Squibs to staff one's dungeons, I suppose. You'll note I have always been against the Ministry's use of such creatures. I don't think they should mingle with wizards at all."

What was he supposed to say to that?

"Names," Malfoy prompted eventually. "I want you to pass the names on to Draco - later, when he's ready. I never want you to pass on the details."

"I could report them...?"

"Inadequate. I said I want you to pass the names on to Draco."

Harry swallowed. The Ministry was known to hire Squibs, all right - but usually Squibs from families that were very well connected. Little chance anyone would take action against them for something they had done to Narcissa Malfoy.

"Fine - but Draco will want to know something," Harry pointed out. "He's not going to go after these people for no reason."

"Very well. Tell him the infirmary staff neglected Narcissa in her illness, could have saved her if they'd done their jobs. Here are the names." Malfoy handed him a slip of paper, wincing as he brushed the barrier, and Harry pocketed it.

"So... is that all you wanted?" he said. "I help Draco out, and I give him this list? What makes you think he'll even accept any help from me?"

"Seven silent snitches, mountain, not Duncan."

"What?"

"It's a set of code words."

"If I repeat that mess to Draco he's going to understand it?" Or are you just setting me up to look like an idiot?

"Yes. And yes: you've summarized my requests correctly. I want you to give Draco that paper, and look after him. That is all."

Harry thought it over. "And what are you going to do for me in return?"

"In return, I'll help you save everybody's soul." With his trademark icy sneer. "I have a Portkey prepared that all the Dark Lord loyalists in here will know how to use."

Harry still hadn't gotten past the first part. "Hold up: you have a Portkey?"

"A DIP, obviously."

"A – sorry – what?"

"Diffuse Incorporeal Portkey," Malfoy explained, rolling his eyes. "You really are practically a Muggle, aren't you. A DIP allows group travel, without requiring the group to be all touching the same physical object."

Harry passed over the insults and thought about it. "That's the same way you people operate the Dark Mark, isn't it."

"It's similar, yes. The problem is I cannot set it from in here, so I will give you instructions, and you will do it. Once you do, I will activate it. They all trust me, and they'll all come along when I call. Everyone will immediately be transported to the location you have selected… which will be a spot straight off a cliff. Or in the ocean. The heart of a volcano. Whatever you prefer."

He must be misunderstanding. "I don't…?"

"Yes you do," Malfoy said shortly. "You're going to kill them." Completely calm.

"But… how can you…? These are your friends."

"Friends overstates our bond, and in any event, it hardly matters. The Ministry isn't giving them any better offers."

That was cold. Cold, cold, cold. "So you'll kill all your friends," Harry said, cold right back, "And then escape, I don't know, by boat or something, and a happy ending for you and tough luck for everybody else and that's it?"

"Oh you great child," Malfoy sighed. Shook his head. "I'm not planning to escape, obviously. Frankly that is a great deal of the plan's allure. My life as I knew it is over already. More importantly I've seen ugliness that I wish to forget, and I know I'll never forget as long as I live. So: do we have a deal, or not?"

If he went home to think about this he would talk to Ron and Hermione, and they would be just as horrified as he was. But it was a good idea. Better for everybody all around – Draco would get help, the remaining Death Eaters would die quick and painless instead of the miserable circus the Ministry was giving everybody… and there would be no more of people's sick celebrations.

But you'll have to kill them. A whole bunch of people. Sure, they were going to die anyway… but this way you'll have to kill them yourself.

Hard. But it wasn't the first hard decision he had made alone. He reached through the spellscreen to offer his hand, and tried not to wince in sympathy when Malfoy got burned taking it.

The End?

Lucius is a cold SOB. I like writing him. But I don't really know where this fic would be going, so I'm not planning to continue.

Let me know what you think!