Draco Malfoy and the Denial of Reality
Chapter One - Death, Pure and Simple
If Draco Malfoy had been an ordinary man, the rubble underneath his feet would have make a crunching sound as he walked out of the bunker where he had just killed Harry Potter.
Draco Malfoy was not ordinary, however. His boots were endowed with a Silencing Charm, so as to ensure stealth when he approached.
Sometimes, Apparition made just too much noise - not that it was really possible for anyone to Apparate anymore.
Once, Draco Malfoy had been a leader. He had an ability to inspire men and women to follow him. He was quite good at it. He still was a leader, in a way, even though he didn't want to admit it
But, as Draco looked at the moon, and felt the cooling blood of Harry Potter on his hands, he knew that he was first and foremost a killer.
Alone.
Silent.
It wouldn't do to have his prey hear his footsteps.
Of course, Harry was different. There had been no need to hide from him.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Man Who Ended The Evil. Voldemort was long dead, but Harry had fallen a bit short of his informal title. Evil was very much alive and doing quite well.
Draco sighed, and wondered how he had come to this.
The past two years had been horrifying beyond comprehension.
In a way, killing Hermione Weasley had been easier. At the end, she had been driven insane, consumed by madness. She had run a valiant and noble race, but in the end the horror was too much for her.
Draco had suspected that he was writing the epitaph for humanity when he had killed Hermione. Everything afterwards had just been a rote exercise in survival, an emotionless, mechanical response of a spasming animal that didn't quite realize it was already dead.
The "animal" was the human race.
Now, Potter was dead. After all the suffering, Draco was the only one who was left. He knew, all too well, what that meant.
Harry had known, too. The fear in his eyes as he watched Draco bury the blade in his heart was touched with a tinge of pity; as Harry had involuntarily pulled at the enchanted handcuffs that bound him to the wall, Draco had wished that it was himself who was suffering the sweet release of death, and not Harry Potter.
For now, with the death of Harry Potter, it fell to Draco to lead.
Draco thought back to how the world had come to this. Despite everything, a twisted smile formed on his face. A Slytherin was supposed to be ambitious, but Draco now quite literally ruled the world - or rather, that small bit of the world that was still sane.
It had been three years since the death of Voldemort. Two years since the birth of the Rectification. A year and half since Draco's wife had been slaughtered, his children stolen and killed.
A year since Draco had watched Harry as he wept over the corpse of Luna Lovegood Potter.
Six months since Draco had been forced to kill Hermione, after she had ripped her husband's throat out with her teeth and then turned to smile at Draco. Every night, Draco prayed that the fleeting light of sanity and regret in her eyes had been an illusion that Draco had imagined. He didn't want to think that the creature that had once been Hermione Weasley still had enough mind left to realize that she had killed her husband.
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
The death of Voldemort had sent the Wizarding World into an orgy of celebration. Harry Potter was Elvis, Merlin and the Messiah all rolled up into one.
Ron and Hermione had been a bit embarrassed by all the attention, but Draco had been more than happy to bask in some of the reflected glory from the Man Who Killed Voldemort. Perhaps he could funnel some of that public admiration into a political career; after all, Draco hadn't been in Slytherin just because he looked good in green.
Draco had harbored dreams of being Minister of Magic eventually - he didn't have to worry about competition from his closest friend Harry Potter, as the Wizarding Public was busy trying to anoint him as king, much to his horror. Strangely, Luna had handled the fame better than Harry; she had actually been pleased when a large group of teenage witches had announced that they had formed some sort of worshipful cult around her. She thought it was "cute."
Draco smiled as he recalled teasing Harry that his wife would make a good cult leader. Harry's stuttering was replaced by choking when Luna had vaguely asked Draco if he thought she could get her "cult" to sacrifice young virgins to her husband.
It had taken a long time for Draco to get used to Luna's sense of humor. Thinking about her made him smile even more, until he remembered that he had just killed her husband, whom she had died to save.
Draco spoke to the empty night sky.
"She bought you a year, Harry, I hope it proved worth it, because I know you would rather have died with her."
A voice behind him startled Draco.
"How could it have been worth it? I would rather have died a year ago myself."
Draco felt his heart return to normal as he spun around and recognized the man behind him.
"Christ, Sergeant, you scared the hell out of me."
"Better me than what's out here, sir, we better get back under cover."
"Quite right you are. I just. . ." Draco's voice trailed off. He didn't know what to say. He had a strange sense of guilt, for the Sergeant should not have been out here - it was even more dangerous for Muggles outdoors than it was for wizards.
Funny. I just drove a knife through my best friend's heart but I feel guilty because I'm putting a Muggle at risk by being outdoors.
The Sergeant spoke again.
"It's nice out. Can't remember how long it's been since we've been in there."
"Almost two months."
Two months since Harry had been bitten.
The Rectification had made itself known at the first anniversary of Voldemort's death. They had attacked the celebration that had been held outside London, in a field that had been warded against Muggle eyes but that had not been terribly secure against magical attacks.
After all, almost all of the Death Eaters were dead or in prison.
No one expected a group of very talented, very insane wizards to strike out at the world, determined to kill every pureblood they could get their hands on.
The Rectification had started with one man. One solitary man, whose identity was still unknown, even as he was undoubtedly roasting in the fires of hell.
A little was known of him.
He was Muggleborn.
He had been active in the fight against Voldemort, although he wasn't a member of the Order.
He was brilliant, on a par with Hermione Weasley - maybe even smarter.
Draco couldn't help wondering what his other dead friend would have thought of that.
Ron, if you're watching me, please don't strike me down for thinking the blasphemy that there may have been someone even smarter than your wife.
The leader of the Rectification was also totally barking mad.
And now, his peculiar madness had spread to the entire world.
"Begging your pardon, sir, but things are in motion."
Draco closed his eyes. The Sergeant was a good man. He had a name, Draco knew, but ever since they had been thrown together, he was and would always simply be the Sergeant.
The Sergeant had close-cropped hair, and haunted eyes. Of course, everyone had haunted eyes these days. The Sergeant had been an American, back in the days when there had been a nation called the United States of America.
Fully a quarter of Potter's - and now Draco's - little force were United States Marines, including the Sergeant. A smattering of Belgian, French and German military made up another quarter. The other half were former British troops - mostly members of the SAS, the Special Air Service. Although their formal name made them sound like an express delivery company, they were actually some of the most deadly commandos in the world.
Draco also had one elderly witch under his command. She had one eye and one arm, but she also had a fierce loyalty that had probably been why she had been sorted into Hufflepuff a century and a half previously. Agnes Nelson may not have been the most powerful witch Draco had seen, but she could do magic, and that was what counted.
Draco took a breath, and opened his eyes.
So it begins.
"Very well, Sergeant. Is there any word from the Russians?"
"Yes sir. They'll try."
"That's it? They'll TRY?"
"That's the whole message."
Draco gave a bitter laugh.
"Guess we don't have much of a choice, do we?"
"No, sir."
"How long?"
"Two hours. The Chinese will launch in an hour and a half. The Alabama and Nevada are closer; they will launch in an hour and forty minutes. The Rhode Island is waiting in reserve, as you ordered."
"We may need the Rhode Island if the Russians don't show up."
"Yes, sir."
Draco started walking back into the bunker.
"I want to bury Harry."
"Yes, sir. We've dug a grave, and the men are assembled."
Draco thought back.
A half hour ago, he had killed Harry.
"Draco? I feel. . .normal. It's time, isn't it?"
A single tear came out of Harry's eye.
"Yes. I've cast the spell. We have fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen minutes. I. . .I don't trust myself. I don't want to die insane. Do it in fourteen."
Draco nodded.
Harry gave a hoarse chuckle, "What's one more minute of life, right?"
Harry's voice dropped lower.
"I'm so scared, Draco. I. . .I don't want to die. It's different when you talk about it abstractly, but looking at you holding that stopwatch. It's too real."
Draco couldn't look in Harry's eyes.
"I never, ever thanked you Harry."
Harry looked puzzled.
"What for? Letting you steal Ginny from me?"
Draco couldn't help but laugh. It was a long-standing joke between him and Harry that Draco had somehow "taken" Ginny Weasley from Harry. Although they had never been involved, Harry and Ginny had been inseparable friends during their later years at Hogwarts.
"That. Everything. Grimmauld Place. . .Cannes. All I am, all that I did. . .I owe to you."
"Shut up, Malfoy, you're getting mushy."
"Malfoys, as a rule, do not get "mushy". I am merely attempting to express proper appreciation to a fellow wizard who has rendered me a service, despite him being an utter idiot." Draco couldn't keep the humor out of his voice.
"Idiot, eh? Show some respect for the soon-to-be-dead."
That was too much. Harry was trying to be brave, and was masking his fear with humor, but considering that Draco had eight minutes left before he had to kill his best friend, Harry's comment just wasn't very funny.
Harry saw the hurt on Draco's face.
"I'm so sorry, Draco. How long has it been since I've been in my right mind enough to have a conversation? Things are a bit fuzzy."
It was Draco's turn to taunt Harry. "Actually, Potter, I never knew you before you came to Hogwarts, so I couldn't answer that question."
Harry looked puzzled for a minute and then laughed.
"Seriously, Draco."
"I don't know. Off and on, I'd say it's been a week since you were consistent in your speech. You've still been able to help with the planning, though."
Harry nodded. "Thank God. You're going to do it, then?"
Draco looked Harry in the eye.
"You know I have no choice. I will do it. And I will succeed."
"I know. . .I know you can't release my hands. But. . .can you take my hand, Malfoy? If this works. . . ."
Draco reached out and gripped Harry's left hand just above the manacle that was chained to the wall.
"I don't know what will happen. I don't know what the other Harry and the other Draco will be like."
Draco's eyes grew cold. "I do. The other Harry will be a hero, and I will be one of the greatest villains of the age, before I die in some spectacular blaze of glory or get sent to Azkaban. Malfoy loses again."
Tears started to roll down Harry's cheeks. Despite the tears, his voice was firm. "The other Harry will have a gaping hole in his life, because he will never had the privilege and honor of being friends with Draco Malfoy. And it is horrifying to me that I will not even know what I'm missing."
"I will do it, Harry. For you. For Ginny. For Luna. For Ron. For Hermione. For my children, that will never be born. For the world. And for me, for the man that I was and should have been. I can do nothing else. I must do this, and I will succeed."
"Winston, Emily and Arthur. I don't know what to say, Draco."
Draco's voice was almost totally flat, but there was an undercurrent of hope.
"I've spoke to the Priest before we lost him. He said. . .he didn't really know, he's was just guessing, but this has never happened before. But he said one thing, he said that the soul is indestructible, immortal, and beyond physics and time. He says that somehow, someway, the essence of my children will survive, and that I will be with them again despite what I have to do."
Harry nodded. "Funny how watching the end of the world can make even the most hardened wizard religious at the end."
Draco's voice was bitter. "The Priest says that God does not forsake his children. I look around the world we have left and really have to wonder."
"We did it to ourselves, Draco. And it's up to you to redeem us and give us another chance."
"Don't remind me, Potter. I've got enough to worry about."
"Sod off, Malfoy." Harry smiled as he delivered the age-old insult, for what he knew was the final time.
Draco looked at his watch.
"Harry. . ."
"I know. It's time. Use the knife. Wait. Maybe. . .you can leave a note or something. So that someone knows what you've done."
Draco nodded. "Done. I've prepared it all, I have letters to my mother, and to Ginny, and even to you and Ron and Hermione. And Luna."
"Ok. I hope you were convincing."
"You all will fall under the Malfoy charm. You won't be able to help yourselves. My brilliant writing will render your other self speechless."
"We're out of time, Draco. Use the knife. Not Avada."
Draco choked. "I would not use Avada on you. Not after your parents died by-"
"No, no, I mean it seems that every time someone uses on Avada on me it seems to bite them on the ass, I still don't fully understand what my mother did as a baby and I don't want to take the chance that I've still got some lingering protection. Just wouldn't do to have you AK me and kill yourself instead."
Draco's eyes widened. "Ah. Yes. Good point."
"Hurry up, Draco, I want to die in my right mind."
Draco said nothing. He reached into his robes, and pulled out a small locket that was closed around a thatch of dirty-blond hair. He put the locket in Harry's other hand - the hand he wasn't holding.
Harry twisted his arm to look at the locket. He gave Draco a weak smile.
"You kept it safe. Thank you."
Slate grey eyes locked with emerald eyes. For the last time, Draco Malfoy spoke to Harry Potter.
"Goodbye, my friend. You will live again."
Harry nodded - a nod of permission, maybe even a plea -, and then his eyes widened as Draco drove the blade into his chest, expertly slipping it in between his ribs. A single smooth slicing motion cleaved his heart into two, and a trickle of blood dribbled past the hilt of the knife.
Harry fell back against the wall, and Draco fell with him, keeping the knife embedded, making sure that his heart was well and truly destroyed. As Harry sagged to the ground, Draco followed him.
Draco felt Harry's hand grip his tight, tighter, and then loosen.
Fear showed in Harry's eyes, then acceptance. A grimace of pain, and he closed his eyes. He did not cry out. A single tear leaked through his closed eyelid.
The eyes shot open, and a hoarse gasp that Draco could barely understand came from his mouth.
"Luna. . ."
The eyes closed.
Harry's hand went limp.
Draco put a small towel against the opening in Harry's chest, and withdrew the blade, instinctively cleaning with the towel as he pulled the knife free. He laid the knife gently on the ground, and felt for a pulse.
Nothing.
Draco pulled out his wand, and muttered the proper complex incantation to open Harry's shackles. He then straightened Harry's arms and legs, and pinned Harry's Order of Merlin to his robe.
He didn't try to unclench Harry's fist, which still tightly gripped the locket containing Luna Potter's hair.
Draco's self-torture was interrupted by a man he recognized as the Muggle communications officer running up to him and the Sergeant.
"Sir! A new message from the Russians! Just like last time, two words!"
Draco looked at the man.
"Yes?"
"We will."
Draco smiled.
This WOULD work.
He walked into the bunker, and saw that the Sergeant had assembled everyone.
It was almost time.
In a few hours, most of his soldiers and the solitary witch under his leadership would most likely be dead.
If they were lucky, it wouldn't matter.
Five and a half hours later, Draco collapsed to the floor in the Department of Mysteries.
He had made it.
No one had walked these halls in over a year, and no one would ever walk them again.
Deep underground, he could not hear the sounds of the battle that was raging above him.
The nuclear strikes from the Chinese and the remaining American submarines had done their job. England was a smoldering, radioactive wasteland, but the enemy had been sufficiently distracted.
London was even more of a shambles than he had remembered. The corpses of strange creatures littered the ruined streets, but the ragged remnants of the Russian Air Force had done its job well. A neat path had been laid, a trail of death and wreckage right up to the remains of the British Ministry of Magic, long deserted but heavily guarded. Draco and his force of Muggles had managed to make it to the Ministry entrance almost unmolested.
The Muggle soldiers had sacrificed themselves well - indeed, several of them were still fighting, not knowing they had already bought Draco and Agnes the time they needed to breach the protective wards that still held despite the best efforts of the Rectification forces.
Now, the door was open.
Agnes met Draco's gaze.
"Good luck, Draco. It's been an honor, young man."
Draco kissed the top of Agnes' forehead.
"See you around, grandmother."
"Impudent pup. As if a silver-tongued devil like yourself could ever have come from my line. Now go in there and save the world."
Draco checked his pack one more time. The letters were there, along with the checklist that he, Harry and Agnes had put together. He slung the pack over his shoulder.
A loud crash sounded in the distance. The Muggles had fallen. In a few minutes, the Ministry would be swarming with hellish creatures.
"GO. I'll seal you in."
Draco nodded, and closed the door behind him as he walked into the Time Room at the Department of Mysteries. He went to work.
Ten years earlier, things began to change.
Ten years earlier, twenty-seven year-old Draco Malfoy stood in the bedroom of seventeen-year-old Ginny Weasley.
Thankfully, he had been able to get past the Burrow's wards. Draco was relieved to discover that the talisman he was given to pass into the Burrow worked, even though it technically hadn't been created yet.
He had timed it right. The Burrow was empty; no one would see him.
There had been a moment of sadness when he saw the Weasley family clock.
It just didn't look right without the hand with Draco's face on it.
Draco stood in Ginny's bedroom and inhaled as deeply as he could.
Ginny, Ginny, I can smell you.
He sat on the bed, and rubbed his hand over the neatly made blanket.
You're wasting time.
This world was pure. Voldemort was present, yes, but so was love. The Burrow was intact, and he had passed normal, average people on the street in London. The bustling city had disoriented him, but he hadn't had to deal with it long.
He could Apparate here without problems.
This living, thriving world was a paradise.
It was a shame he would have to leave it.
He reached into his pack, and withdrew a thick package, tied tightly with string.
Draco placed it on her bed, in the center, against the pillow, where she would be sure to see it.
He took his wand, and cast the proper charms. No one but Ginny would be able to lift the package, or open it.
Finally, he put a sealed envelope on top of the package.
Draco took one last look around the room, reluctant to leave.
He knew he had to go.
He heard the excited sounds outside, as the Weasley clan arrived home from King's Cross.
He could dally no longer.
He was overdue for an appointment with his younger self.
Chapter One - Death, Pure and Simple
If Draco Malfoy had been an ordinary man, the rubble underneath his feet would have make a crunching sound as he walked out of the bunker where he had just killed Harry Potter.
Draco Malfoy was not ordinary, however. His boots were endowed with a Silencing Charm, so as to ensure stealth when he approached.
Sometimes, Apparition made just too much noise - not that it was really possible for anyone to Apparate anymore.
Once, Draco Malfoy had been a leader. He had an ability to inspire men and women to follow him. He was quite good at it. He still was a leader, in a way, even though he didn't want to admit it
But, as Draco looked at the moon, and felt the cooling blood of Harry Potter on his hands, he knew that he was first and foremost a killer.
Alone.
Silent.
It wouldn't do to have his prey hear his footsteps.
Of course, Harry was different. There had been no need to hide from him.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Man Who Ended The Evil. Voldemort was long dead, but Harry had fallen a bit short of his informal title. Evil was very much alive and doing quite well.
Draco sighed, and wondered how he had come to this.
The past two years had been horrifying beyond comprehension.
In a way, killing Hermione Weasley had been easier. At the end, she had been driven insane, consumed by madness. She had run a valiant and noble race, but in the end the horror was too much for her.
Draco had suspected that he was writing the epitaph for humanity when he had killed Hermione. Everything afterwards had just been a rote exercise in survival, an emotionless, mechanical response of a spasming animal that didn't quite realize it was already dead.
The "animal" was the human race.
Now, Potter was dead. After all the suffering, Draco was the only one who was left. He knew, all too well, what that meant.
Harry had known, too. The fear in his eyes as he watched Draco bury the blade in his heart was touched with a tinge of pity; as Harry had involuntarily pulled at the enchanted handcuffs that bound him to the wall, Draco had wished that it was himself who was suffering the sweet release of death, and not Harry Potter.
For now, with the death of Harry Potter, it fell to Draco to lead.
Draco thought back to how the world had come to this. Despite everything, a twisted smile formed on his face. A Slytherin was supposed to be ambitious, but Draco now quite literally ruled the world - or rather, that small bit of the world that was still sane.
It had been three years since the death of Voldemort. Two years since the birth of the Rectification. A year and half since Draco's wife had been slaughtered, his children stolen and killed.
A year since Draco had watched Harry as he wept over the corpse of Luna Lovegood Potter.
Six months since Draco had been forced to kill Hermione, after she had ripped her husband's throat out with her teeth and then turned to smile at Draco. Every night, Draco prayed that the fleeting light of sanity and regret in her eyes had been an illusion that Draco had imagined. He didn't want to think that the creature that had once been Hermione Weasley still had enough mind left to realize that she had killed her husband.
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
The death of Voldemort had sent the Wizarding World into an orgy of celebration. Harry Potter was Elvis, Merlin and the Messiah all rolled up into one.
Ron and Hermione had been a bit embarrassed by all the attention, but Draco had been more than happy to bask in some of the reflected glory from the Man Who Killed Voldemort. Perhaps he could funnel some of that public admiration into a political career; after all, Draco hadn't been in Slytherin just because he looked good in green.
Draco had harbored dreams of being Minister of Magic eventually - he didn't have to worry about competition from his closest friend Harry Potter, as the Wizarding Public was busy trying to anoint him as king, much to his horror. Strangely, Luna had handled the fame better than Harry; she had actually been pleased when a large group of teenage witches had announced that they had formed some sort of worshipful cult around her. She thought it was "cute."
Draco smiled as he recalled teasing Harry that his wife would make a good cult leader. Harry's stuttering was replaced by choking when Luna had vaguely asked Draco if he thought she could get her "cult" to sacrifice young virgins to her husband.
It had taken a long time for Draco to get used to Luna's sense of humor. Thinking about her made him smile even more, until he remembered that he had just killed her husband, whom she had died to save.
Draco spoke to the empty night sky.
"She bought you a year, Harry, I hope it proved worth it, because I know you would rather have died with her."
A voice behind him startled Draco.
"How could it have been worth it? I would rather have died a year ago myself."
Draco felt his heart return to normal as he spun around and recognized the man behind him.
"Christ, Sergeant, you scared the hell out of me."
"Better me than what's out here, sir, we better get back under cover."
"Quite right you are. I just. . ." Draco's voice trailed off. He didn't know what to say. He had a strange sense of guilt, for the Sergeant should not have been out here - it was even more dangerous for Muggles outdoors than it was for wizards.
Funny. I just drove a knife through my best friend's heart but I feel guilty because I'm putting a Muggle at risk by being outdoors.
The Sergeant spoke again.
"It's nice out. Can't remember how long it's been since we've been in there."
"Almost two months."
Two months since Harry had been bitten.
The Rectification had made itself known at the first anniversary of Voldemort's death. They had attacked the celebration that had been held outside London, in a field that had been warded against Muggle eyes but that had not been terribly secure against magical attacks.
After all, almost all of the Death Eaters were dead or in prison.
No one expected a group of very talented, very insane wizards to strike out at the world, determined to kill every pureblood they could get their hands on.
The Rectification had started with one man. One solitary man, whose identity was still unknown, even as he was undoubtedly roasting in the fires of hell.
A little was known of him.
He was Muggleborn.
He had been active in the fight against Voldemort, although he wasn't a member of the Order.
He was brilliant, on a par with Hermione Weasley - maybe even smarter.
Draco couldn't help wondering what his other dead friend would have thought of that.
Ron, if you're watching me, please don't strike me down for thinking the blasphemy that there may have been someone even smarter than your wife.
The leader of the Rectification was also totally barking mad.
And now, his peculiar madness had spread to the entire world.
"Begging your pardon, sir, but things are in motion."
Draco closed his eyes. The Sergeant was a good man. He had a name, Draco knew, but ever since they had been thrown together, he was and would always simply be the Sergeant.
The Sergeant had close-cropped hair, and haunted eyes. Of course, everyone had haunted eyes these days. The Sergeant had been an American, back in the days when there had been a nation called the United States of America.
Fully a quarter of Potter's - and now Draco's - little force were United States Marines, including the Sergeant. A smattering of Belgian, French and German military made up another quarter. The other half were former British troops - mostly members of the SAS, the Special Air Service. Although their formal name made them sound like an express delivery company, they were actually some of the most deadly commandos in the world.
Draco also had one elderly witch under his command. She had one eye and one arm, but she also had a fierce loyalty that had probably been why she had been sorted into Hufflepuff a century and a half previously. Agnes Nelson may not have been the most powerful witch Draco had seen, but she could do magic, and that was what counted.
Draco took a breath, and opened his eyes.
So it begins.
"Very well, Sergeant. Is there any word from the Russians?"
"Yes sir. They'll try."
"That's it? They'll TRY?"
"That's the whole message."
Draco gave a bitter laugh.
"Guess we don't have much of a choice, do we?"
"No, sir."
"How long?"
"Two hours. The Chinese will launch in an hour and a half. The Alabama and Nevada are closer; they will launch in an hour and forty minutes. The Rhode Island is waiting in reserve, as you ordered."
"We may need the Rhode Island if the Russians don't show up."
"Yes, sir."
Draco started walking back into the bunker.
"I want to bury Harry."
"Yes, sir. We've dug a grave, and the men are assembled."
Draco thought back.
A half hour ago, he had killed Harry.
"Draco? I feel. . .normal. It's time, isn't it?"
A single tear came out of Harry's eye.
"Yes. I've cast the spell. We have fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen minutes. I. . .I don't trust myself. I don't want to die insane. Do it in fourteen."
Draco nodded.
Harry gave a hoarse chuckle, "What's one more minute of life, right?"
Harry's voice dropped lower.
"I'm so scared, Draco. I. . .I don't want to die. It's different when you talk about it abstractly, but looking at you holding that stopwatch. It's too real."
Draco couldn't look in Harry's eyes.
"I never, ever thanked you Harry."
Harry looked puzzled.
"What for? Letting you steal Ginny from me?"
Draco couldn't help but laugh. It was a long-standing joke between him and Harry that Draco had somehow "taken" Ginny Weasley from Harry. Although they had never been involved, Harry and Ginny had been inseparable friends during their later years at Hogwarts.
"That. Everything. Grimmauld Place. . .Cannes. All I am, all that I did. . .I owe to you."
"Shut up, Malfoy, you're getting mushy."
"Malfoys, as a rule, do not get "mushy". I am merely attempting to express proper appreciation to a fellow wizard who has rendered me a service, despite him being an utter idiot." Draco couldn't keep the humor out of his voice.
"Idiot, eh? Show some respect for the soon-to-be-dead."
That was too much. Harry was trying to be brave, and was masking his fear with humor, but considering that Draco had eight minutes left before he had to kill his best friend, Harry's comment just wasn't very funny.
Harry saw the hurt on Draco's face.
"I'm so sorry, Draco. How long has it been since I've been in my right mind enough to have a conversation? Things are a bit fuzzy."
It was Draco's turn to taunt Harry. "Actually, Potter, I never knew you before you came to Hogwarts, so I couldn't answer that question."
Harry looked puzzled for a minute and then laughed.
"Seriously, Draco."
"I don't know. Off and on, I'd say it's been a week since you were consistent in your speech. You've still been able to help with the planning, though."
Harry nodded. "Thank God. You're going to do it, then?"
Draco looked Harry in the eye.
"You know I have no choice. I will do it. And I will succeed."
"I know. . .I know you can't release my hands. But. . .can you take my hand, Malfoy? If this works. . . ."
Draco reached out and gripped Harry's left hand just above the manacle that was chained to the wall.
"I don't know what will happen. I don't know what the other Harry and the other Draco will be like."
Draco's eyes grew cold. "I do. The other Harry will be a hero, and I will be one of the greatest villains of the age, before I die in some spectacular blaze of glory or get sent to Azkaban. Malfoy loses again."
Tears started to roll down Harry's cheeks. Despite the tears, his voice was firm. "The other Harry will have a gaping hole in his life, because he will never had the privilege and honor of being friends with Draco Malfoy. And it is horrifying to me that I will not even know what I'm missing."
"I will do it, Harry. For you. For Ginny. For Luna. For Ron. For Hermione. For my children, that will never be born. For the world. And for me, for the man that I was and should have been. I can do nothing else. I must do this, and I will succeed."
"Winston, Emily and Arthur. I don't know what to say, Draco."
Draco's voice was almost totally flat, but there was an undercurrent of hope.
"I've spoke to the Priest before we lost him. He said. . .he didn't really know, he's was just guessing, but this has never happened before. But he said one thing, he said that the soul is indestructible, immortal, and beyond physics and time. He says that somehow, someway, the essence of my children will survive, and that I will be with them again despite what I have to do."
Harry nodded. "Funny how watching the end of the world can make even the most hardened wizard religious at the end."
Draco's voice was bitter. "The Priest says that God does not forsake his children. I look around the world we have left and really have to wonder."
"We did it to ourselves, Draco. And it's up to you to redeem us and give us another chance."
"Don't remind me, Potter. I've got enough to worry about."
"Sod off, Malfoy." Harry smiled as he delivered the age-old insult, for what he knew was the final time.
Draco looked at his watch.
"Harry. . ."
"I know. It's time. Use the knife. Wait. Maybe. . .you can leave a note or something. So that someone knows what you've done."
Draco nodded. "Done. I've prepared it all, I have letters to my mother, and to Ginny, and even to you and Ron and Hermione. And Luna."
"Ok. I hope you were convincing."
"You all will fall under the Malfoy charm. You won't be able to help yourselves. My brilliant writing will render your other self speechless."
"We're out of time, Draco. Use the knife. Not Avada."
Draco choked. "I would not use Avada on you. Not after your parents died by-"
"No, no, I mean it seems that every time someone uses on Avada on me it seems to bite them on the ass, I still don't fully understand what my mother did as a baby and I don't want to take the chance that I've still got some lingering protection. Just wouldn't do to have you AK me and kill yourself instead."
Draco's eyes widened. "Ah. Yes. Good point."
"Hurry up, Draco, I want to die in my right mind."
Draco said nothing. He reached into his robes, and pulled out a small locket that was closed around a thatch of dirty-blond hair. He put the locket in Harry's other hand - the hand he wasn't holding.
Harry twisted his arm to look at the locket. He gave Draco a weak smile.
"You kept it safe. Thank you."
Slate grey eyes locked with emerald eyes. For the last time, Draco Malfoy spoke to Harry Potter.
"Goodbye, my friend. You will live again."
Harry nodded - a nod of permission, maybe even a plea -, and then his eyes widened as Draco drove the blade into his chest, expertly slipping it in between his ribs. A single smooth slicing motion cleaved his heart into two, and a trickle of blood dribbled past the hilt of the knife.
Harry fell back against the wall, and Draco fell with him, keeping the knife embedded, making sure that his heart was well and truly destroyed. As Harry sagged to the ground, Draco followed him.
Draco felt Harry's hand grip his tight, tighter, and then loosen.
Fear showed in Harry's eyes, then acceptance. A grimace of pain, and he closed his eyes. He did not cry out. A single tear leaked through his closed eyelid.
The eyes shot open, and a hoarse gasp that Draco could barely understand came from his mouth.
"Luna. . ."
The eyes closed.
Harry's hand went limp.
Draco put a small towel against the opening in Harry's chest, and withdrew the blade, instinctively cleaning with the towel as he pulled the knife free. He laid the knife gently on the ground, and felt for a pulse.
Nothing.
Draco pulled out his wand, and muttered the proper complex incantation to open Harry's shackles. He then straightened Harry's arms and legs, and pinned Harry's Order of Merlin to his robe.
He didn't try to unclench Harry's fist, which still tightly gripped the locket containing Luna Potter's hair.
Draco's self-torture was interrupted by a man he recognized as the Muggle communications officer running up to him and the Sergeant.
"Sir! A new message from the Russians! Just like last time, two words!"
Draco looked at the man.
"Yes?"
"We will."
Draco smiled.
This WOULD work.
He walked into the bunker, and saw that the Sergeant had assembled everyone.
It was almost time.
In a few hours, most of his soldiers and the solitary witch under his leadership would most likely be dead.
If they were lucky, it wouldn't matter.
Five and a half hours later, Draco collapsed to the floor in the Department of Mysteries.
He had made it.
No one had walked these halls in over a year, and no one would ever walk them again.
Deep underground, he could not hear the sounds of the battle that was raging above him.
The nuclear strikes from the Chinese and the remaining American submarines had done their job. England was a smoldering, radioactive wasteland, but the enemy had been sufficiently distracted.
London was even more of a shambles than he had remembered. The corpses of strange creatures littered the ruined streets, but the ragged remnants of the Russian Air Force had done its job well. A neat path had been laid, a trail of death and wreckage right up to the remains of the British Ministry of Magic, long deserted but heavily guarded. Draco and his force of Muggles had managed to make it to the Ministry entrance almost unmolested.
The Muggle soldiers had sacrificed themselves well - indeed, several of them were still fighting, not knowing they had already bought Draco and Agnes the time they needed to breach the protective wards that still held despite the best efforts of the Rectification forces.
Now, the door was open.
Agnes met Draco's gaze.
"Good luck, Draco. It's been an honor, young man."
Draco kissed the top of Agnes' forehead.
"See you around, grandmother."
"Impudent pup. As if a silver-tongued devil like yourself could ever have come from my line. Now go in there and save the world."
Draco checked his pack one more time. The letters were there, along with the checklist that he, Harry and Agnes had put together. He slung the pack over his shoulder.
A loud crash sounded in the distance. The Muggles had fallen. In a few minutes, the Ministry would be swarming with hellish creatures.
"GO. I'll seal you in."
Draco nodded, and closed the door behind him as he walked into the Time Room at the Department of Mysteries. He went to work.
Ten years earlier, things began to change.
Ten years earlier, twenty-seven year-old Draco Malfoy stood in the bedroom of seventeen-year-old Ginny Weasley.
Thankfully, he had been able to get past the Burrow's wards. Draco was relieved to discover that the talisman he was given to pass into the Burrow worked, even though it technically hadn't been created yet.
He had timed it right. The Burrow was empty; no one would see him.
There had been a moment of sadness when he saw the Weasley family clock.
It just didn't look right without the hand with Draco's face on it.
Draco stood in Ginny's bedroom and inhaled as deeply as he could.
Ginny, Ginny, I can smell you.
He sat on the bed, and rubbed his hand over the neatly made blanket.
You're wasting time.
This world was pure. Voldemort was present, yes, but so was love. The Burrow was intact, and he had passed normal, average people on the street in London. The bustling city had disoriented him, but he hadn't had to deal with it long.
He could Apparate here without problems.
This living, thriving world was a paradise.
It was a shame he would have to leave it.
He reached into his pack, and withdrew a thick package, tied tightly with string.
Draco placed it on her bed, in the center, against the pillow, where she would be sure to see it.
He took his wand, and cast the proper charms. No one but Ginny would be able to lift the package, or open it.
Finally, he put a sealed envelope on top of the package.
Draco took one last look around the room, reluctant to leave.
He knew he had to go.
He heard the excited sounds outside, as the Weasley clan arrived home from King's Cross.
He could dally no longer.
He was overdue for an appointment with his younger self.
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