Chapter 14: Someone Has to Be the Fall Guy

Harry and Hermione crouched down underneath the partially shattered window of the boat house, down by the docks that launched small rowboats out onto the Black Lake. Inside, they could hear voices conferring: Draco, nervous and feeble. Voldemort, dangerously poised with his timbres as smooth as silk.

"Why doesn't it work for me, Draco, my boy?"

"M-my lord, you have performed extraordinary magic already with that wand. Professor Snape has told you so himself…."

"I wish to hear no more of Severus," Voldemort dismissed haughtily. "He has thrown in his lot with Potter's wench of a mother."

Red-hot anger flashed behind Harry's eyes and Hermione had to physically restrain him to keep him from charging in at an attempt to defend his mother's honor.

"In any case, the matter at hand is still this, Draco: the wand performs for me, yet it has not yet bowed to me. One can wield a wand that does not recognize the caster as its true master. For me, this is not enough. It cannot be enough. The Dark Lord cannot be denied what he wants, even by what Muggle filth would think as an inanimate object. But, no, this wand is very alive…. and it resists me. Precisely because I am not its true Master. This is where you come in, lad."

Harry attempted to peek just over the rim of the windowsill as far as he dared. He could barely see a blurry outline of Draco's silhouette; his old schoolyard rival had his back to them. However, Harry was fairly certain that could he and Hermione see Draco's face, it would be devoid of all its color.

"M-my Lord….?"

"You have been a good and loyal servant, Draco, and all in rather…. taxing personal circumstances, due in no small part to your parents' woes, I'm sure. Now I am asking you to assist me one final time: can you do that, lad?"

"… What is thy will, my Master…..?"

"Simply a desire that you go on the record. I shall confirm that you, and you alone, were the one who cast the fatal blow, the Killing Curse on Albus Dumbledore on the night of the thirtieth of June of last year, were you not?"

From how his body rolled, Harry could tell how Draco had swallowed. More likely, gulped. Then the blonde-haired Death Eater in training gave a guilty little nod.

"Your honesty is appreciated, my boy. For you see, now I understand what must be done, and shall do it. To defeat Harry Potter, the Elder Wand must have a new Master."

"….. My lord…..?" Draco asked warily, comprehension dawning with horror in the second before Voldemort crooned:

"Goodbye, Draco." Then there came a hiss, in Parsletongue, which Harry instantly translated in his head. "Nagini: kill."

There was a snapping sort of hiss, followed by several chilling thumps against the wall, just on the other side of where Harry and Hermione were crouched. Only once did Draco make any kind of attempt at a sound – a chilling cross between a gurgling whimper and a scream. Hermione stuffed some of her shirt into her mouth and bit down on the fabric to hold back her own horrified scream.

At last, the brutal and merciless assault ended. Harry shuddered as he considered that he might have just been an ear-witness to a murder. Of all the horrors and trauma he had survived and endured in his educational career, that would actually be a first. He felt Hermione turn her face into his chest and he stole an arm around her, rubbing her back in comfort.

The emotional support could only be short-lived; hearing footsteps approaching, Harry hustled himself and Hermione further into the shadows. Hidden, they observed Voldemort glide serenely, supremely unconcerned and even satisfied, out of the boat house, the snake Nagini slithering in his wake.

Harry was attempted to make a desperate run at the slimy thing, bloody damn how it would be suicidal, but Hermione held him back. "Harry! Draco's still in there!"

She was right of course, and though Draco clearly had been one of his worst enemies, Harry wouldn't wish what he feared had befallen the arrogant boy on any of his enemies. His thoughts oddly jumped to Daphne and he felt a twinge of sympathy: she would be devastated, and likely furious, if there was still a chance of Draco being saved, if only physically, and Harry and Hermione had done nothing to try and help him.

Once they were certain the coast was clear, Harry and Hermione crept into the boathouse. Upon the dim lighting casting its glow into the corner, Hermione drew a hand to her mouth to hold in a horrified gasp.

Draco was little more than a lump on the floor under the windowsill, lying in a bloody heap. Flinging themselves down at his side where they could see Draco's ashen face, how he clearly was convulsing, Hermione's hands trembled as she attempted to undo the drawstring of her beaded bag. Dig around desperately for some Essence of Dittany. Her fingers only stilled when Draco inlaid his bloodied palm over hers. He was shaking his head, trying to speak, and leaning his ear close to the other young man's lips, Harry thought he might have heard the word, "Don't." It was too late, so late even Draco himself knew it: he couldn't be saved.

In spite of all of the animosity this arrogant youth had inflicted on them in their childhood, particularly on her, it was a credit to Hermione that she found in this hellish tableau a moment of grace in which to cry.

Draco smiled weakly, the grin ghoulishly stained with crimson. His lips formed words, but no sound came out. There was no need: unlike his mother, Harry had learned how to read lips.

'I'm sorry….'

Rearing up, Draco quite unexpectedly pressed his lips to Hermione's in a farewell kiss. A kiss of apology. Hermione stiffened in utter shock and bewilderment, yet to her credit, she was aware enough of and in the moment to not push her schoolyard tormentor away. She even held the kiss, if for no other reason than to perhaps convey some measure of forgiveness, if not absolution for the deeds Draco had done.

More likely had been forced to do, Harry thought bitterly. The sudden kiss broke apart as shockingly as it had started, and having depleted the last of his energy, Draco slumped back against the windowsill of that boathouse. His head lolled to one side, and he moved no more.

Harry gathered Hermione into his arms as she curled into his shirtfront and wept, still stunned by the parting gift left to her by their vanquished enemy….. who may not have been so much their enemy after all.