Judge, Jury and Executioner

When I witnessed Harry Potter kill the Dark Lord, I should have noticed the murderous glint in his eyes as his adversary's body hit the ground. I always wondered what would have happened if I had come up to him that day, instead of turning tail once my evil overlord bit the dust. If I had took his hand in mine and tried to melt that murderous adrenaline rush away, perhaps things would have been different. We wouldn't have been on opposite sides of the Azkaban Inquisition after the Order of the Phoenix was victorious in the war. We could have been friends, and maybe even more.

But it was all too late for that now.

And so I ran. I fled with the thought of facing the man I had called my enemy for so many years. And Harry, with his friends dead and his world shattered, had no one to quell that exhilarating blood rush after a man's first kill. The next time I saw him, it was but a glimpse on the front page of the Daily Prophet. The thrill of murder had festered in him; it was so plain to me, I was surprised that the Ministry that treated him like such a god never noticed it. But perhaps it was only because I had killed so many myself did I see the same need in Harry's blood as I saw in mine. But I was a refugee, constantly pursued for war crimes, and Harry was a high-ranking Auror, whom no one would have asked questions about if he offed any former Death Eater in custody. Harry had all the opportunity to feed his lust for murder, and there was no one who would stop him.

I should have known this would have happened. I should have stopped him when I had the chance.

Now, I'm fighting for my life.

I hear my feet slap against the pavement, faster and faster. I'm not even telling myself to run anymore; my feet respond to animal instinct, like a gazelle fleeing from the lioness. My mind reviewed seven years of curses and spells in a blink. The empty cobbled streets that had been my home for three years after the war now felt like they would be my tomb.

A blast like a hot poker hit the broad of my back, and my legs crumpled under me. I tried to will myself to get back up - come on, Draco, keep running! - but by then, my pursuer was upon me. I looked up at him, cloaked in black and wand outstretched.

"You should be wearing a mask," I muttered. It no longer mattered what I said, I was already a dead man.

Harry's emerald eyes stared down at me coldly. "I'm not like you," he said.

"No," I retorted, narrowing my eyes. "You're exactly like me. You kill for the fun now. For the pleasure of knowing they died under your power. That, for that split second, you controlled something important." I knew this was how Harry felt because it was what I felt every time I killed in the name of Voldemort, or for the honor of my father and my lineage. "We're so alike, Potter...we could be soulmates."

Potter's jaw clenched and another curse shot from his wand, this time smashing into my arm. I could feel the bone crack, but I didn't care anymore. By his outburst, he knew that I was right. And perhaps we could have been soulmates - I'd like to think that I could have changed him, could have prevented the killing machine he became.

"Draco Malfoy." His voice was loud and authoritative, but his hand shook more than when he killed my comrades. "You have caused chaos and mayhem in the wizarding community for years. Your crimes include illegal use of magic, assault, robbery, torture, and the murders of over a dozen wizards and Muggles, including the Auror Ronald Weasley." He surprised me with his stoic appearance, even when reciting the murder of his best friend. There was no emotion, no fiery anger he had in his school days. The horrors of the war had truly changed him.

"Now, I didn't really mean to kill him, Harry, you have to understand that!" I said, trying to receive some leniency from The Boy Who Lived, the Boy Who Killed. Of course, I didn't mean what I said; I had meant to kill the Weasel the minute I received the Dark Mark, and I knew that he would be my first kill out of many. But I thought that making myself sound redeemed would cause Harry to be a little more lenient than now; perhaps then he wouldn't kill me right away. I had no such luck.

Harry's expression didn't change, and I don't think he even took time to realize I was just about begging for my life. "For these crimes, you will be immediately put to death by the Killing Curse."

My head shot up, shocked. "By you?" I asked. I at least thought that the once prominent Malfoy name would have gotten me a trial in the Ministry of Magic. They would have found me guilty anyway, but at least there would have been less of a surprise for me. I would have had at least a week more to live.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Judge, jury and executioner," he said. He raised his wand. I could almost see the words "Avada Kedavra" on his lips. "Do you have any last words?" asked Harry, more as a formality than anything.

I didn't care anymore. Everything since the end of the war - since Harry Potter had killed the Dark Lord - had gone wrong, had crumbled apart into something far from what was real. Harry Potter was the law; he could kill whomever he wanted and no one would question him. And of course, he would want to kill me, one of the most nefarious Death Eaters of his time. I've murdered - he's murdered. If that last battle had ended differently, would I be on the other side of this execution? Would I have been the one to kill Harry Potter? Would we have ever been able to battle on the same side, to stand beside each other instead of on opposite sides of the front lines?

I looked up into his eyes, and I was surprised that he didn't look away. "You're no better than Voldemort," I said coldly. It was the first time I said my dead Dark Lord's name, and it would be the last.

"So be it," said Harry. "But I will be the one standing in the end."

The last thing I remember was a flash of green light, and then, emptiness. It had probably been the deadly light of the Killing Curse, but I'd like to think that it was the emerald glint in Harry's eyes, that shone the brightest for me before I received emptiness for eternity.