Choice

Draco stood amidst the ruins of the living room. It had once been a handsome chamber, with high ceilings and large windows.

The view onto the grounds was near-panoramic, and in daylight the room would flood with brilliance as the sun swept its course across the sky.

But it was dark now. Draco could see his own reflection in the old speckled glass - eyes wide and intense with fear, skin marble-white.

He turned, scanning the destruction laid out before him. The mantel above the gaping fireplace had been shattered, its various ornaments lying across the carpet like corpses. Shards of silver glittered among them.

Draco looked up, catching his reflection again in what remained of the great gilt-clad mirror on the wall. He looked even more frightened in its crystal-clear depths.

Something

(a spell?)

had hit the glass directly in its center. Draco stared at the wooden backing that had been revealed by the impact.

He wanted to call out. The dreadful silence terrified him, and it wasn't fear for his own life.

Calculated logic battled with instinct as he crossed the room. The cry was caught in his throat, desperate to ring out and shatter the silence like the blast had shattered the mirror.

He mouthed the word instead, telling himself over and over that the element of surprise would be his greatest weapon.

"Harry."

A creak was heard upstairs, probably just the normal sounds of the old house, ones that he'd heard regularly since their arrival here almost two months ago. Probably.

He mounted the staircase, taking care to walk along the risers so that his feet wouldn't make a sound.

The first floor was unlit - a stretch of blackness which Draco's eyes refused to adjust to.

Edging along the hallway, he drew his wand. It felt reassuringly solid in his hand.

He turned a corner and a light came into view. Only a flicker, like a candle flame.

It was in the bedroom. Their bedroom.

Thoughts crashed around Draco's head like angry giants.

His grip tightened. His jaw set.

He strode through the doorway.

The desiccated bedroom made the ground floor look like a badly-painted theater backdrop in comparison. An entire section of the south-facing wall had been blown inwards. Bricks and plaster lay strewn amongst splintered bookcases. The chandelier - once a masterpiece of silver and glass - now a twisted mass which sat atop the four-poster bed like some grotesque dead insect.

The spell must have been powerful. For Draco knew now that this was the work of a wizard.

His eyes roved the debris. They found Harry lying on his side. A trickle of blood, now dry, had escaped the thick black hairline and weaved its way down his face.

One arm was stretched out, the hand palm-up and empty. Mere inches away, the sword of Gryffindor winked silver in the shifting light.

White-hot panic leapt up Draco's spine. Dread clenched his heart like a fist of ice.

He watched Harry, his mind aching to locate the smallest signs of life.

They came, in the form of an impossibly slow expansion of the chest. He was breathing. As Harry exhaled, a small groan escaped his slightly parted lips, and his eyelids flickered.

The wounds became apparent as Draco looked closer. A rip at the base of Harry's shirt revealed part of his stomach, where a dark patch had spread. He was bleeding internally.

Draco moved towards him, feet stumbling over loose bricks.

The intruder was forgotten. Some part of Draco's mind had registered the presence in the room, but it was swallowed up, snuffed out by his concern for Harry.

His father's voice halted him mid-step, barely a foot from the slumped body.

"You thought I would not find you?"

Draco's cobalt eyes moved in unison with his wand to face the shadowed figure. The familiarity of that voice jarred him, but it was made uncanny by the flat tone. The words were uttered without emotion - cold and sinister.

"You thought I would not find you?" Lucius repeated.

"It has been my greatest wish never to be found."

His father laughed, mouth twisting obscenely into the mockery of a smile. His wand was held loosely at his side.

"Make your choice, Draco. I offer it but once. Abandon this childish fantasy, retake your place at the head of the greatest pure-blood legacy there has ever been or ever will be. Or remain here, a prisoner in a Muggle house and a slave to exile with your broken hero."

There was a pause, mere seconds, before the flash of green lit up the ruined chamber. It seemed to last much longer.

Lucius fell slowly and silently. The eyes so like his son's were lifeless before he hit the ground.

There was no choice, none at all.

* * (?) * *

Calculated logic battled with instinct as he crossed the room. The cry was caught in his throat, desperate to ring out and shatter the silence like the blast had shattered the mirror.

He mouthed the word instead, telling himself over and over that the element of surprise would be his greatest weapon.

"Harry."

A creak was heard upstairs, probably just the normal sounds of the old house, ones that he'd heard regularly since their arrival here almost two months ago. Probably.

He mounted the staircase, taking care to walk along the risers so that his feet wouldn't make a sound.

The first floor was unlit - a stretch of blackness which Draco's eyes refused to adjust to.

Edging along the hallway, he drew his wand. It felt reassuringly solid in his hand.

He turned a corner and a light came into view. Only a flicker, like a candle flame.

It was in the bedroom. Their bedroom.

Thoughts crashed around Draco's head like angry giants.

His grip tightened. His jaw set.

He strode through the doorway.

The desiccated bedroom made the ground floor look like a badly-painted theater backdrop in comparison. An entire section of the south-facing wall had been blown inwards. Bricks and plaster lay strewn amongst splintered bookcases. The chandelier - once a masterpiece of silver and glass - now a twisted mass which sat atop the four-poster bed like some grotesque dead insect.

The spell must have been powerful. For Draco knew now that this was the work of a wizard.

His eyes roved the debris. They found Harry lying on his side. A trickle of blood, now dry, had escaped the thick black hairline and weaved its way down his face.

One arm was stretched out, the hand palm-up and empty. Mere inches away, the sword of Gryffindor winked silver in the shifting light.

White-hot panic leapt up Draco's spine. Dread clenched his heart like a fist of ice.

He watched Harry, his mind aching to locate the smallest signs of life.

None came. The body was only that - a body. Harry was gone from the room that they'd shared for so long.

The panic and dread reached Draco's brain simultaneously, leaving desolation in their place.

He stumbled towards Harry as if in a nightmare. His legs felt impossibly slow, his body impossibly light. He slumped to his knees.

"Harry..." his voice sounded cracked, strange in his own head.

A movement in the corner of his eye made him spin, wand outstretched. Grief jarred his mind like a headache.

"You grieve him? Crouched like a sobbing child over a broken toy?"

His father looked older than he had ever seen him. White-blonde hair hung across a thin face even paler than Draco's own. Grey eyes stared from shadowed sockets like twin gems.

"You left your family, besmirched your own name, to run away with the boy who tried his best to destroy both?"

Lucius was walking closer, limping slightly under the pain that Harry's spells had caused.

Draco did not answer him. Surprise at seeing his father was a sensation he could not feel. In his mind there was only Harry.

"You have forced my hand Draco. Forced me to decide for you. Now there is no choice but to return. Forgiveness will be granted if you would only ask for it."

The words stirred something in Draco's mind. Or rather, they elicited action. The idea itself had been there since he'd first seen Harry's body.

He turned back, reached out. Gryffindors' sword was light in his hand, glinting as he twisted it round.

It slid home without obstruction. Even the pain would not register.

Lucius was shouting something but Draco didn't hear it.

He was staring at Harry's face, determined that if this was the end of all things it would be the last thing he saw.

The room seemed to darken. The face stayed bright.

Draco died as the words slowly escaped him.

"No choice...none at all."

* * (?) * *

Edging along the hallway, he drew his wand. It felt reassuringly solid in his hand.

He turned a corner and a light came into view. Only a flicker, like a candle flame.

It was in the bedroom. Their bedroom.

Thoughts crashed around Draco's head like angry giants.

His grip tightened. His jaw set.

He strode through the doorway.

The desiccated bedroom made the ground floor look like a badly-painted theater backdrop in comparison. An entire section of the south-facing wall had been blown inwards. Bricks and plaster lay strewn amongst splintered bookcases. The chandelier - once a masterpiece of silver and glass - now a twisted mass which sat atop the four-poster bed like some grotesque dead insect.

The spell must have been powerful. For Draco knew now that this was the work of a wizard.

His eyes roved the debris. They found his father lying on his side. A trickle of blood, still wet, had escaped the high blonde hairline and weaved its way down his face.

Standing over him, a wand in each hand and his arms limp at his sides, was Harry.

Confusion flitted across Draco's mind like thick cloud. But only for a moment.

Seeing Harry - a sentinel over Lucius' prone form - caused a wave of relief to wash all else away.

He stumbled towards him as if in a dream.

Harry raised a hand, telling him silently not to come closer.

"He's still alive."

Lucius' eyes flickered open at the sound. They moved slowly around the room, before focusing on Draco. His lips parted.

"Draco. My son..."

The words were uttered softly, all arrogance gone.

Harry stirred, his stance shifting minutely. Draco noticed him wince, saw the small movement of hand to stomach. There was blood on his shirt.

"You're hurt?" whispered Draco. He closed the distance between them, clasping Harry's still-outstretched hand in both of his own.

Lucius watched the exchange with dull eyes, an expression of slow contempt emerging through the pain on his face.

"You go to him first? You choose him above your own father?"

Draco turned his head.

"Yes." He said simply.

It happened within seconds. Lucius was on his feet, the guise of injury now gone. He clutched the sword of Gryffindor, rushing at Draco with hatred in his eyes. The blade was drawn upwards, bright silver in the failing light.

"Avada Kedavra!"

He fell heavily. The ghost of his expression was frozen on his face.

And then Harry was in Draco's arms.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want it like this. He was going to kill you. I'm so sorry, Draco."

They were hugging so tightly it hurt.

"Don't." Draco whispered against Harry's shoulder "Don't. It's you I want. It's always been you. Nothing he could say would change that, Harry. There was no choice, none at all."

They stood together in silence amidst the ruins of the bedroom.

* * (?) * *

Draco came round to find himself lying close to Harry, sprawled awkwardly on the pile of bricks which had been the south wall.

After Harry's face, pain was the first thing he noticed. His legs were broken.

The green eyes hid it well, but Draco could see that Harry suffered also. The battle had been fierce.

He had no way of telling how long he'd been unconscious - the darkness outside was no different now than when Lucius had attacked them. Lucius, his own father, who had done this to them.

Casting his eyes sideways, no strength to turn fully, he thought he noticed movement by the doorway but couldn't be sure. Were they alone?

Harry stirred beside him, his lips

(lips that he'd kissed)

trying to form a word. Before they could, a voice cut into the silence. A drawl, unmistakable. The sound hurt Draco's ears.

"Ah, awake at last."

Lucius stepped into view. He was bent over slightly, one hand clutching at his stomach, the other holding his wand. The deep gashes on his face from the spell Draco had cast were dry of blood now, and healing. He noticed Draco looking, and smiled. It was an expression that never stretched as far as his eyes, which remained cold and grey.

"Yes. I must admit I never expected Sectumsempra. Well done, Draco. You are certainly of Malfoy blood - traitor or not."

The smile was slipping from his face, turning to contempt as his gaze fell on Harry.

"I wish I could shower such praise on Mr. Potter here, but alas. His problem has always been a lack of imagination. Conventional spells. Utterly mundane, and easily undone."

His expression was pure hatred now, and he kept his eyes on Harry as he continued.

"Your wounds are not fatal Draco. I could heal them at a stroke. Sadly the same cannot be said for Potter. He will die, and soon. There is nothing left for you here. Come with me, forget these months of running. Forget Him. You are my son, I will forgive, I will forget."

Draco said nothing. The pain would not allow it. He stared into Harry's eyes. There were tears there, he thought.

With a great effort, a terrible effort, he reached out to brush them aside. His hand rested upon Harry's cheek.

The gesture was the catalyst. Lucius snarled in fury, his wand hand flicked outwards. The jet of green light surrounded both Harry and Draco.

Draco knew in that final dying moment that he would rather be here, broken and defeated with Harry, than anywhere else in the world with his father.