Prologue
Wormtail gathered up his few belongings and the belongings of the Dark Lord. After finally escaping his rat form, he had fled to Albania in search of his master. While he had been living with wizards as a rat, he had heard mostly that the Dark Lord had been killed as he had attempted to kill a baby. He had known that that was not possible as he knew the Dark Lord took too many precautions to ensure that he could not be killed, although he had no idea what these precautions might be. He had waited for 13 years, disguised as a pet rat waiting, waiting, for someone to whisper any useful information. He had finally heard that the Dark Lord was not dead, but not truly alive either, and had last been seen in Albania. After several weeks of searching the forests, he had finally located his old master and was once more a faithful servant.

One night, while having a few drinks in the local inn, he had run into an old schoolmate, Bertha Jorkins. After talking for a bit he had learned that she was working for the Ministry of Magic and was on holiday visiting some relatives in Albania. She had been quite surprised to see him, since he was supposed to be dead after all. She had remained as much of a gossip as he remembered from his school days, so while that had been useful in bringing her to the Dark Lord, it was necessary to kill her. The risk of her informing everyone she came across that Peter Pettigrew was not dead but very much so alive and running around Albania with a pathetic wretch claiming to be Lord Voldemort was far too great for any other consideration.

Before killing her, the Dark Lord had been quite harsh but discovered some very interesting information. Barty Crouch Jr. had gone to Azkaban for refusing to stop pledging allegiance to him but at his mother’s insistence had been snuck out and had been living with his father, placed under the Imperious curse and under an invisibility cloak. From what she gathered, given his father’s extreme security measures on him, he was not in the least repentant and was very much a loyal servant. The Quidditch World Cup would be held in England this summer and shortly thereafter, the Triwizard Tournament would be held for the first time in centuries, hosted at Hogwarts.

Armed with this information, the Dark Lord had decided that it was now time to act. He had been neither dead nor alive for the past twelve years, and while he was willing to quietly wait for decades if need be, he had to admit that he was getting very frustrated with his situation. He knew of an ancient dark ritual that would give him a body once more and so he had informed Wormtail that they needed to visit Little Hangleton in England.

Wormtail was currently finishing the necessary preparations to move to Little Hangleton for several weeks. He knew it was unlikely that they would return the Albanian forest they had been hiding in and that any traces of their stay would need to be completely obliterated. He was still puzzled as to why the Dark Lord had chosen this particular Albanian forest to hide in for so many years: surely there many more forests just as secluded as this one closer to his followers?

He finished packing their few belongings into a small enchanted bag, mostly potion ingredients for the nasty potion he had brewing from the Dark Lord’s careful instructions that was allowing him to regain a very crude, childish body once again. He had snuck off into the town earlier, disguised, and stolen some food from a local Muggle shop. He placed some charms on this food to ensure that it would not spoil in the next few days, then shrunk all the remaining items to fit into the small bag. After making sure that everything was in the bag he charmed it to be feather light and shrugged it onto his back.

He once again questioned why, why his master had decided to hide in this horrid forest so far from his followers. After selecting a rock from the forest floor, he cast the complex spells on it to take them to Little Hangleton in twenty minutes. Once completed, he walked over to rouse his sleeping master.

“My Lord? The preparations are complete,” squeaked Wormtail as he bent over the small curled form of the once formidable Dark Lord. He touched his shoulder gently to wake him, flinching as he touched the scabbed shoulder.

“I shall summon Nagini and we shall be on our way,” said the Dark Lord in his high, cold voice. Following this, he began hissing something completely unintelligible to Wormtail, presumably calling Nagini back to the camp site so they could depart. He never ceased to be amazed that despite having the small, pitiful, disgusting body he had still retained his voice from twelve years ago.

“M-m-my Lord,” stuttered Wormtail, “I have set the portkey to leave in twenty minutes.” Sweat began to glisten on his brow; he had not expected his master to wake this quickly and was concerned of the consequences of his lack of such foresight.

“Very well, I did not expect much more from an imbecile such as you. Give me the portkey and I shall correct it to leave as soon as Nagini arrives.” The Dark Lord’s voice was still high and cold, but Wormtail knew that he would pay for his oversight later. Despite the warm summer air, he began shivering as he groped about in the small bag for the stone portkey, which he quickly handed over to his master. The Dark Lord began waving his wand over the stone in a complicated motion and finished as a giant snake came slithering towards them.

“Ahh, Nagini is here at last,” Voldemort said coldly and he began making the strange hissing noises again. Wormtail had never quite gotten over his shock and fear of neither the huge snake nor the disconcerting hissing noises his master used to communicate with it. The hissing stopped abruptly and the Dark Lord stated, “Nagini has finished searching the forest for any witnesses and there is no one here.” He stopped to hiss again at the snake and placed a slimy finger on the stone portkey while the snake hissed at Wormtail and slithered near the stone. Wormtail realized at the last second that they were ready to leave and quickly placed a finger on the stone, feeling a tug at his navel as they were whisked away to Little Hangleton, wherever that was.

************

Wormtail felt himself flying face first into the ground as they arrived in Little Hangleton. He immediately heard hissing from both his master and the snake; apparently his master was greatly weakened by the short journey and had also landed face first on the ground. He quickly picked himself up, checked that his bag was still slung over his shoulder and bent down to pick up the small, helpless, disgusting form next to him.

As Wormtail stood up, cradling his master like a small child, he began to observe the surroundings. They appeared to have come out on a hill overlooking a small, sleeping village below. It was nighttime and while there was no moon the stars sparkled brilliantly since there was little ambient light. Set aside from the village a little ways at the bottom of the hill was a small church and graveyard. At the top of the hill sat what must have once been an impressive house. It was still quite impressive, but clearly fallen into disrepair. He began trudging up the hill towards the house, grateful that his master’s current form was so light, but at the same time repulsed by the small slimy fingers clinging onto his neck.

He arrived at the front of the house but was too intimidated to enter through the large, heavy door. He walked around to the back of the house and found what appeared to be a servant’s entrance, far more welcoming than the imposing front door. He muttered “Alohamora” and the door swung open quietly on greased hinges. He walked in and once again observed his surroundings. He appeared to have entered what was once a kitchen and a thick layer of dust lay over everything. He smirked, confident that no one would find them there, closed the door with a flick of his wand, and began to look for a room that was comfortable enough for their stay, however long that was.

Dismissing the imposing parlor and dining room on the first floor, he crept up the once magnificent staircase to the second floor. At the very end of the hall he found what appeared to have been a private parlor, the furnishings, albeit old and decayed, still had a look of grandeur about them, but the room looked far more inviting than the formal parlor downstairs. There was a large chair and a well worn rug in front of a fireplace, so he carefully deposited his master on the chair while the snake curled up on the rug. He muttered a spell and large crackling flames filled the grate. This made the room seem even more inviting and helped alleviate the slight chill. He began to rummage through the small bag, finally coming across a small bottle of the potion his master needed to retain his small, grotesque form.

“M-my Lord? I have your potion if you desire it,” squeaked Wormtail, who knew his master was still too weak to feed himself and he would have to spoon feed him the potion. This was his least favorite part of the day. He looked at the Dark Lord who had quite visibly rolled his yellowing, slimy eyeballs.

“It has been a very tiring journey, I will need my potion,” stated the Dark Lord even more coldly than usual. Wormtail gulped and holding the bottle of potion and a spoon proceeded to spoon small amounts into the Dark Lords mouth. While he was doing this, the great snake slowly started slithering out of the room and into the hall, hissing as she went, leaving trails behind in the thick dust on the floor. Finally, after a few minutes, the Dark Lord sighed quietly and leaned back in the chair.

“There is a little more in the bottle if you are hungry, My Lord,” stammered Wormtail. He hoped that he was full, this was his least favorite part of the day and right now he wanted nothing more than to run out of the dusty old house screaming like a banshee.

“Later,” Voldemort stated in a cold voice. “The journey has tired me greatly. Milk Nagini when she returns as I will need feeding in the night.”

Wormtail gulped. He disliked milking Nagini even more than spoon feeding his master potion every few hours. Unfortunately the venom in her fangs was necessary to make the disgusting potion. The fact that she greatly disliked him did not help matters.

“H-how – how long will we be staying here My Lord?” stammered Wormtail. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, he wasn’t thrilled waiting on his master hand and foot by himself all the time and was beginning to wish more and more each day that he had faced Dumbledore and the Ministry with whatever they had planned instead of seeking out the Dark Lord. At the same time, while this house was imposing and dusty, it was still a hidden shelter that he had not had previously. He’d probably get a chance to sleep on an old dusty mattress tonight instead of the forest floor, which he was very happy to think about.

“About a week, this place is reasonably comfortable and we cannot proceed further until after the Quidditch World Cup,” drawled Voldemort, still facing the fire and now twirling his wand idly in his fingers.

“Why – why is that My Lord? Surely I could go out and find another wizard and bring him back to you,” stammered Wormtail. Yes, yes, that was it, at least he could get away for a little while searching for a suitable wizard for his master to use and after that, he would have his body back! Wormtail would not have to spoon feed him potion all the time or milk Nagini every night!

“Quiet, you fool. I have already explained the reasons behind my decision, the Ministry security is too tight because of the Quidditch World Cup and Harry Potter’s blood has a special protection from his mother that I desire,” Voldemort spat out with not a little contempt at Wormtail. He rolled his eyes once again, a truly terrifying sight for Wormtail who swallowed nervously and continued on.

“B-b-but – but My Lord, you said yourself that that charm only protected him from your touch and surely there are many, many other safety spells put in place by Dumbledore around his relative’s house. Surely a pure blood wizard would do better? Harry Potter is only a half-blood after all, his mother being a Mudblood.” Wormtail smiled inwardly at this, surely this would appeal to his master, very few of his followers, let alone his enemies knew that his great weakness was his half-blood status. Recreating his body with the blood of a pureblood wizard, one of an ancient family, would surely appeal to his master.

He had struck gold. The Dark Lord looked quite pensive after hearing this proclamation. “Yes, yes,” he said musingly, almost to himself. “A pureblood wizard, how did that escape my notice before? I even have the perfect victim…” He seemed to pull out of his reverie. “But Wormtail, while I do quite sense your urge to get away from me, there is no need to run off. I am still quite weak and would lose what little I have regained under your clumsy care. The Ministry security is still too high. We will remain here for another week and then carry out your idea.” He smiled coldly at the thought while gazing into the fire. Wormtail gulped at the prospect of being in the house with his master for another week. He brightened a bit as he remember that he only had two days worth of food with him, he would have to go into the small village below to procure supplies, which would allow him a few minutes away from his master!

A Muggle out in the hallway by the name of Frank Bryce had come up to investigate the flames he could see in the grate from his house. He had stood outside the closed door quietly listening to the entire dialogue. He fearfully turned around and returned to his home, desperately hoping that he had been hearing things.

************

A week had passed since Wormtail had arrived with the Dark Lord at Little Hangleton. He was rather pleasantly surprised that his idea had worked and his master was seeking another pureblood wizard for the ritual. While he now required more frequent feedings to build up more strength before the ritual, he was being sent out to gather the necessary supplies to brew the potion. This had unfortunately included a gigantic cauldron that could not be shrunk or charmed to be featherlight and he was required to drag it from Diagon Alley to the graveyard at the bottom of the hill. Fortunately it was not immune to concealing charms and he was barely able to fly it on the back of a broomstick one night. He set up muggle repelling charms all around the graveyard so they would not be disturbed by individuals trying to visit deceased relatives. The Dark Lord firmly believed that no witch or wizard would have any reason to visit the area until he summoned them after getting his body back, so nothing else was put into place to prevent them from coming near.

After an exhausting week of preparations, Wormtail was spoon feeding the Dark Lord, silently hoping and praying to anyone that might listen, that this was the last time he would perform such a task. Once he finished, he began to repack everything into his small bag again. The Dark Lord hissed at Nagini, supposedly to tell her to wait for them at the graveyard. Wormtail picked up the Dark Lord like a child once more, flinching as he did so, the two of them vanishing with a crack a moment later.

************

While the Dark Lord had described the place they needed to go to Wormtail so they could reach the destination safely, he had not told him where it was that they were going. Upon reaching the destination, he saw a large house standing in a well maintained, manicured lawn. An ornate sign in the front stated that they had arrived at the Crouch residence. Wormtail gulped; Barty Crouch was a senior Ministry official who had very nearly become the Minister of Magic about a decade ago and was quite formidable. Fortunately it was nighttime and they were able to sneak up to the house very quietly without attracting the neighbor’s attention.

As he reached the front door, he began to feel frightened. He lingered on the front step for a moment before his master started hissing curses at him, forcing him to bite back yelps of pain. He rang the doorbell and prayed Mr. Crouch had a house elf to answer the door and didn’t personally see to all callers.

The door opened and a tiny house elf appeared at the door and Wormtail breathed out a sigh of relief. Just as it opened its mouth, the bundle in Wormtail’s arms raised a wand and said, “Imperio!” The house elf’s face went completely blank and quite suddenly turned around and walked back into the house a few feet, then turned to face them again, obviously expecting them to follow. Wormtail trusted the elf since his master had clearly had control over it and he trusted that while in his current condition his master would not do anything to incapacitate him for any length of time. He stepped over the threshold and the elf scurried forward to shut the door behind them. It then silently scurried ahead, clearly leading them someplace.

After going through what seemed to be a maze of corridors, the elf finally stopped at a door and stopped to turn and face them. The Dark Lord shifted in Wormtail’s arms and said, “This is the office of Mr. Crouch. He is not expecting us, so remove his wand once the door opens.” Wormtail gulped, he did not want to have to duel such a powerful wizard, even if he did have the element of surprise and the most powerful wizard in the world resting in his arms. He gulped again and nodded at the elf to open the door. As soon as it was opened a crack he could see an aged figure bent over a desk. The figure began to stand as soon as it could hear the door opening, but Wormtail was too quick.

“EXPELLIARMUS!” he thundered, watching the wizards wand float through the air and clattered at his feet. The Dark Lord smiled up at Wormtail coldly then almost lazily said “Imperio” to the wizard who had just been disarmed. The look of surprise dropped off his face instantly and he picked up his fallen wand from the floor and placed it on the Dark Lord’s lap. The Dark Lord then picked it up and placed it in one of his robe pockets while the wizard began heading for the door. The house elf seemed to have been released from the previous enchantment and began to wail.

“Master Barty! Master Barty! Winky is coming!” It then snapped its fingers and disappeared with a loud crack. While Wormtail stared at the spot where the elf had just disappeared, confused as to what it had just said. He presumed that the wizard he had just disarmed and was under his master’s control was Barty Crouch; why then did the elf say it was coming to him while he was in view? He didn’t have long to fuel his confusion as the elderly wizard began walking forward at a brisk pace.

Wormtail mentally cursed the wizard leading them. He was walking quickly while Wormtail was encumbered with the Dark Lords small form and the bag he had forgotten to charm to be featherlight. He began panting after the first few turns of the maze and hoped that wherever he was leading them was close by.

Abruptly, the wizard stopped at a door and knocked. Wormtail nearly knocked him down as he continued plowing ahead and the Dark Lord hissed at him menacingly. He stood and waited at the door and was very surprised to see it answered by the same house elf from before. The elf gulped nervously seeing the old wizard standing there and a hoarse voice from inside the room was heard.

“Winky? Who’s out there? Don’t tell Father what’s happened!” A young man, rather wild looking came running towards the door. Wormtail looked quite surprised and was really beginning to wonder what was going on when his master finally spoke.

“Ahh, Barty, I have heard that you are still a loyal servant of mine?”

The man gasped at hearing the voice and immediately knelt on the floor. “Always my Lord! Forgive me, I looked for you and there was no trace of where you had gone!”

“Yes, yes, that is forgiven,” drawled the Dark Lord lazily. “I have great plans if you wish to accompany me further.” This was stated such that no one could mistake that this was a demand rather than a request.

“C-c-certainly my Lord! What is it that you wish for me to do?” The man was still kneeling on the floor and Wormtail suspected the glint in his eyes was due to tears of joy.

“Well then, stun and bind your father. You will accompany Wormtail and I back to the Little Hangleton graveyard.”

To Wormtail’s great surprise, the Dark Lord flicked his wand and after feeling squished, they were standing in the Little Hangleton cemetery. He hurried over to the giant cauldron and after clumsily removing his masters small robes, carefully seated him in the bottom of the cauldron. The potion went over his head, but according to the manuscripts from which he got the recipe for the potion, the occupant should still be able to breathe normally. Wormtail wasn’t particularly concerned about that: if it worked then he no longer had to care for his master as if he were a newborn baby and if it didn’t work, well, he wasn’t even supposed to be alive in the first place! He could go off and spend the rest of his days as a rat. On the downside, Sirius was out of Azkaban so he’d have to keep avoiding him; maybe he could hide in the kitchens at Malfoy Manor?

He was startled to hear the pop of someone apparating nearby. He turned around and saw the two men from the house earlier. The old wizard was stunned and bound so Wormtail hurried over to help the younger wizard tie him to a nearby headstone. After ensuring he was gagged, the younger man pointed his wand at him and muttered, “Enervate”. His eyes flew open, but bound and gagged he was unable to do much more than struggle against the restraints. His eyes, which appeared to be bulging out of their sockets, never left the younger man, as if demanding an explanation.

The Dark Lord had carefully been instructing Wormtail in how the ancient ritual worked from some equally old manuscripts. He had them mostly memorized, but closed his eyes, nerves beginning to take control. After the young man looked at him expectantly he took a shaky breath and began:

“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!” At this, a stream of dust came bursting out of one of the graves, flying neatly into the cauldron. The potion which had been clear and sparkling up until now turned a bright shade of blue.

Now came the part that Wormtail dreaded the most. His master needed three things: bones, flesh, and blood. The bones were taken from his long dead father’s grave and the blood must be taken from an enemy, in this case, Barty Crouch, and the flesh must be given willingly from a servant. The Dark Lord had decided that since only two of his servants would know of his plans at this time Wormtail would be the one to make the flesh sacrifice. The younger man had willingly gone to Azkaban for his master, now it was his turn to make a similar sacrifice. Taking a deep breath and choking back sobs, he continued:

“Flesh – of the servant – w-willingly given *hic* - you will – receive – your master…” There was nothing more to do, Wormtail clenched his eyes shut, picked up a knife he had placed next to himself on the ground earlier, swung it in the air and brought it down, cleanly chopping off his right hand. He screamed in agony as it fell into the cauldron, barely noticing the potion had turned bright red. He bitterly wished that while learning how to brew this potion he had learned some pain relief spells; his arm was burning in agony and he was wondering about the blood loss. Surely St. Mungo’s would not accept him later for blood replenishment potions. He drew a deep, shuddery breath, picked up a small vial, and made his way over to the bound wizard.

“No, let me do it,” the young man offered eagerly. Wormtail hesitated but figured that the other man still had two hands and could likely collect the wizard’s blood far more quickly and efficiently. He handed over the knife and vial and was slightly sickened at how gleefully they were snatched away from him. The young man rushed over to the bound wizard and lovingly held up the knife as if contemplating where would inflict the most pain. The old wizards eyes looked at him pleadingly but he ignored it. He slowly drew a line down his arm, holding the vial at the wrist to collect the blood. Tears streaked down the old wizard’s face and the young man sneered at him. Wormtail quickly grabbed the vial of blood and hurried back to the cauldron, saying:

“Blood of the enemy… forcibly taken… you will… resurrect your foe.” Wormtail poured the blood into the potion. It changed back to bright white then boiled so quickly it all became vapor. A minute later, his master’s voice was heard demanding robes. After Wormtail quickly and clumsily robed the tall figure, it stepped out of the cauldron. Lord Voldemort was alive once more.

************

Three years later a gruesome silence fell over the grounds at Hogwarts, broken only by cries of hurt and grief. Parts of the castle were beginning to look a bit worse for wear and there was a rather impressive variety of vegetation snapping and twisting around the black cloaked figures outside. The air was slightly smoky from all the spells that had stopped moments before.

“You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured

“I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”

Voldemort’s cold, high voice echoed unnaturally loudly over Hogwarts. Harry looked bleakly at Ron and Hermione who were standing with him, open mouthed, after the announcement. The din of the battle around them had stopped abruptly.

“Look Harry,” Ron said furiously, reading his mind. “Don’t you even think about handing yourself over. You know how well he keeps his promises; he’ll kill every bloody person in the castle even if you do turn yourself over.”

Harry had stopped thinking about Voldemort’s proclamation nearly as soon as it had finished. The sole occupant of his mind was a desperate need to see the memories Snape had given his as he was dying; what on Earth was that look about just before he died? Ignoring Ron and Hermione’s looks of terror, he began running towards the Headmasters office. He could hear them running behind him, Ron’s long stride matching his while Hermione did her best to keep up with the two. Panting, he reached the gargoyle in front of the Headmaster’s office. In a sudden panic, he realized that he did not actually know the password to get past it.

“DUMBLEDORE!” bellowed Harry. To his great surprise, the gargoyle stepped aside, permitting him entrance. He ran up the steps three at a time. Gasping for air, he plunged into the office and quickly opened a cabinet to reveal a stone basin carved with runes. He dumped Snape’s silvery memories into the basin just as Ron and Hermione ran into the room. He then dove his head into the basin, desperate to discover just what it was that the dying man needed to pass onto him.

************

After what seemed to be an eternity to Harry, he pulled himself out of the basin. Finally, finally, the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Seven horcruxes he was sent to destroy: he had managed the Prevell ring, Slytherin’s locket, Hufflepuff’s cup, the diary, and Ravenclaw’s diadem. Neville was out there somewhere trying to kill Nagini. Those were six horcruxes. He was the seventh.

Neither can live while the other survives, the fateful words of the much hated prophecy. The Boy Who Lived could no longer survive if he wished to restore order to the wizarding world. He was not to be the savior of the wizarding world as so many believed and Voldemort himself feared. His mission was to do what he was meant to all those years ago when he received the scar on his forehead: to die. He did not even have to put up a fight, he simply had to die. He was not meant to be the savior of the wizarding world: that was someone he would have never expected in his short life.

Draco Malfoy.

“Go and wake Severus,” said Dumbledore faintly but clearly. “Tell him what has happened and bring him to me. Do nothing else, speak to nobody else, and do not remove your cloak. I shall wait here.”

“But – “

“You swore to obey me, Harry – go!”

Harry hurried over to the door leading to the spiral staircase, but his hand had only just closed upon the iron ring of the door when he heard running footsteps on the other side. He looked around at Dumbledore, who gestured him to retreat. Harry backed away, drawing his wand as he did so.

The door burst open and somebody erupted through it and shouted, “Expelliarmus!”

Yes, Draco Malfoy was now the rightful master of the Elder Wand and only he stood a chance against Voldemort in a duel. He was destined to be the savior of the wizarding world.

************

Ron and Hermione had looked more than a little annoyed as Harry began walking around the office as one possessed. He ran his hands through his hair a few times before running back out of the office without a word. He donned the invisibility cloak as he ran down the stairs, desperately searching for a head of platinum hair. Ron and Hermione completely gave up after losing sight of Harry and went down to the Great Hall to help aid the survivors.

Harry finally found Draco and began hoping against all hope that it wouldn’t take ages to convey the vitally important information he just learned. He finally spotted him, thankfully sitting alone against a stone wall in a deserted hallway. He hid from his sight and pulled off the invisibility cloak before quietly walking over to the silent figure.

“Malfoy.” It was a statement, calm and collected. Harry felt all his fear leave him, at least for the moment. He was glad, he wasn’t sure if he could go through this in a calm, collected manner and it finally seemed that someone, somewhere, was giving him the strength he needed to go through with everything. His fingers closed in on the snitch again; it seemed to be radiating warmth and comfort to him.

Malfoy looked up, surprised that someone had invaded his privacy of the quiet hallway. He instinctively sneered as he saw Harry coming towards him. He stopped, remembering that for all their past grievances, this was still the man who had saved his neck twice since breakfast. However, there was still far too much animosity between the two for him to be polite. “What do you want Potter?” he snapped.

Harry wasn’t terribly surprised at the blond’s demeanor. The animosity between the two went back far too long to fix before he marched off to his death. He glanced at his beloved, battered watch and gulped as he realized he only had twenty minutes to get through to Malfoy and meet Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest.

“Malfoy,” he said hurriedly, “we don’t have much time. I know we’ve never been on the best of terms, but you’ve got to listen to me.” Fortunately he seemed to have his undivided attention at this point and he was wondering how much detail he’d have to go into: hopefully he’d cotton on quickly. “Voldemort wants me to go duel him in a few minutes. I’m not going to fight him: I need to die so he can be killed.” Harry drew a shaky breath after saying this and Malfoy’s jaw had dropped in horror. “The wand he has, it’s the same one Death gave to the Pevrell brother in the old story. He’s not its master, and if you listen to me, he never will be.”

Malfoy continued staring at Harry in disbelief. Harry seized on this and continued plowing ahead. “You are the true master of that wand: the Elder Wand. You became its master the night you failed to kill Dumbledore. If you duel Voldemort, it will not harm you, its rightful master.”

By now, Malfoy was beginning to suspect his jaw was dragging along the ground, but try as he might, he couldn’t get it to shut. This was just too much to take in all at once. He kill the Dark Lord? That was unbelievable. Harry opened his mouth again, apparently he wasn’t quite finished.

“Look Malfoy, it’s extremely important that you don’t try to duel Voldemort until you know for sure that I’m dead. Voldemort wants to kill me himself and I’ve evaded him for the past 17 years now so he’s going to want to gloat a bit after he kills me. Don’t make any attempt to duel him until after you see my body.”

Malfoy stared at him for another moment. Finally he said, “Well, Potter, this all very nice and all, but what’s in it for me? The Dark Lord might not be particularly pleased with me at the moment, but why should I turn on him?” He really wondered why this was important. Shouldn’t he be out there with the Dark Lord right now? Had he not been marked nearly two years ago now? Why then, did this ludicrous plan of Potter’s sound so appealing?

Harry stood perfectly still, trying desperately to recall the night up on the tower when Dumbledore had died. “Your mother,” he said suddenly. “If you kill Voldemort, he will never be able to threaten your parents again.”

Draco paused a moment, considering. This made perfect sense. If he killed the Dark Lord his family would no longer be threatened by him. Much as he disliked the thought of the wizarding world thinking him some great hero, if he did manage to kill him, his family’s association with him would likely be discarded. If his family’s poor reputation was saved by killing the Dark Lord, he would also be saving himself and his father from solitary cells in Azkaban.

“Alright Potter. I’ll wait to see your body and then I’ll duel the Dark Lord.”

Harry tried to give him an encouraging smile, but it came out more as a grimace as he realized that his task here was finished and the only thing left for him to do was march off to his death. He clutched at the snitch for reassurance as he donned his invisibility cloak and set off for the Forbidden Forest.

************

Draco stood in the hallway, watching Potter disappear under his famed invisibility cloak. His mind was still spinning with the brief conversation that had just occurred. He still had no idea how he of all people was the master of the Dark Lord’s wand. Potter was so insistent though; he believed it so deeply that he was willing to walk himself to his death. He still wasn’t sure of what his parent’s reaction would be. His father believed so staunchly in the Dark Lord, but his mother – she was a lady; she should not be subject to the cruelties of war that she had been subjected to.

He had been amazed that the Dark Lord had even contemplated killing his mother, a pure blood witch. He had recently discovered something even more shocking: the Dark Lord himself was not a pureblood as so many believed; his father had been a muggle. Surely his father and other crazy relations would understand if he were to kill him for betraying their trust in that regard for so long. He glanced down at his watch and noticed that Potter had less than 5 minutes to turn himself into the Dark Lord so he headed down to the Great Hall to see what happened.

A few minutes later Draco entered the Great Hall. The hour was up: the death eaters should be back any moment if Potter had revealed himself. He looked around and noticed that everyone looked a bit dazed. The teachers were running around trying to fix some of the damage and put up protective wards to help hold off the death eaters a little longer and there were various other adults tending to the wounded.

He recognized many of his classmates among the survivors, usually carrying smaller children who seem to have snuck back in to fight, despite McGonagall’s insistence that anyone under 17 needed to leave the castle. He was stunned to see the Weasley girl helping a sobbing third year. His heart jumped in his throat; here she was helping when she was only a sixth year! He rushed forward and picked up the small girl she was supporting, glancing at her, horrified at the mess she was. Her normally neat red hair was wild, her face was white and smudged with tears, and he could see various cuts on her skin and robes where spells had grazed past her. He did his best to give her an encouraging smile and hurried off to the end of the hall where the dead and wounded were being gathered and treated. The girl in his arms began sobbing.

“I don’t want to be here! I want my mum!” she wailed. Draco looked down at her: she wasn’t wounded too badly but she had nasty looking gashes on the right side of her body. He was clueless as to how to comfort her; he had always been the one being comforted, not the other way around.

He walked more quickly, hoping that a healer would be able to care for this poor, stupid fool of a girl who had bravely thrown herself into a battle against full grown, vicious wizards and witches. He gently placed her on the floor and was immediately pushed aside by several mothers and a healer who began waving their wands at her and pouring a potion down her throat. She seemed to calm instantly and breathing a sigh of relief, he started back to the hall to collect more of the injured.

In his rush to get to the girl help, he did not realize that he had passed through where the dead were being collected. His breath caught in his throat as he recognized one of the Weasley twins lying among them. He would have never admitted it to anyone, but he had always had a great admiration for those two. They seemed to possess the best qualities of every house at Hogwarts. They had the brains of the Ravenclaws, the loyalty of the Hufflepuffs, the bravery of the Gryffindors, and the sly cunning of the Slytherins. Despite their reign of terror while he was part of the Inquisitorial Squad, he could not help his admiration of them, especially when they made their great exit proclaiming they already had a shop on Diagon Alley. He had made it a special point to give them all of his business and had stopped all trips to Zonko’s despite the fact he had easier access to it in Hogsmeade.

He realized that her brother’s death must have been the reason the Weasley girl’s face had been caked in tears. His heart dropped into his stomach as he realized that Potter was as good as family to them and he was walking to his death, if not already dead right this moment. If he survived his encounter with the Dark Lord, he was going to have to go pay his respects to the Weasley family and let them know of Harry’s great sacrifice for them all.

Swallowing hard, he continued walking around, looking for wounded survivors. Everyone else seemed to have done an excellent job already as everyone was walking around, talking to one another in hushed voices, all with pale faces set with resolve.

Just as he was starting to wonder what he should do, he began to hear great heaving sobs in the distance. Startled, he walked over to a window and noticed the sobs were accompanied by shouts and crashing. The half-giant Hagrid came into view, clutching a bundle in his arms, surrounded by giants and death eaters. As he came closer, Draco realized it was Potter. He was really dead. His resolve was now completely set and he waited to face the Dark Lord.

************

Draco swallowed nervously again, trying to block out all his thoughts as he and the Dark Lord circled one another in the Great Hall. It seemed that he had talked to Potter in another lifetime, not half an hour ago. He was doing this for his family and the rest of the world. Everyone was standing around the two of them in a circle, he couldn’t escape. How on earth had he gotten here?

The Dark Lord was sneering at him. “So Draco Malfoy, why is it again that you wish to duel me?”

Draco was quiet for a moment. He really had no good reason other than that Potter wanted him to. He knew better than to keep the Dark Lord waiting or tell him lies, so he said, “Well, it’s not really my choice. Potter came running up to me saying that he was going to die shortly and I was the only one who could defeat you.”

Voldemort let out a high, cold laugh. “Ah yes, but what makes you think you can kill the most powerful wizard of all time?” Many of the death eaters began cackling in agreement with Voldemort’s sentiment. How could this young boy who failed to kill Dumbledore possibly have a chance of killing the Dark Lord?

“I have no idea,” Draco said honestly. “But I do know that Potter was so sure of it that he was willing to walk to his death.” He was really starting to doubt this entire plan. Why did Potter think he could defeat the Dark Lord? Dumbledore had even told him that he was not a killer, how could he be expected to survive against such a powerful wizard that had ruthlessly killed so many?

Voldemort sneered again. “Well then, let us end this! AVADA KEDAVRA!”

“STUPEFY!” Draco blessed his quick reflexes that had landed him the seeker position on the Slytherin Quidditch team that the spell had sprung off his lips as soon as he realized the Dark Lord’s intent. The moment he cast it, he mentally cursed himself. Stupefy? Was I stupefied when I cast that? I’ll be killed for sure!

He watched in amazement as the spells hit in mid-air. Voldemort red eyes widened in horror as his wand flew out of his hand and his curse turned on him. Both Voldemort and his wand clattered to the ground.

It was finally over. The Dark Lord was truly dead and would never threaten his family again.