A Conversation

A Conversation

by Charlotte Sterling

*****

Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it. - J.K. Rowling

The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. - J.K.R.

It is our choices...that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. - J.K.R.

*****

"Hold on. You're saying this, all this, all these years ..." Harry gestured around the room, unable to complete the idea he was trying to convey.

"Exactly," Draco replied evenly, meeting Harry's eyes with unwavering confidence.

"But, that's just ... And the ... and Umbridge! And your little group of bastards in training! And the Quidditch match in third year! And the leprechaun - "

"I had nothing to do with that one."

"I figured. But still, the others!"

"Harry, I couldn't just -"

"Harry? Oh my God! Since when am I Harry?"

"Potter, you've always been Harry."

"Oh Merlin."

"Harry, I had a part to play. Just ignoring you would have left too much room for suspicion. Do you know how many people on 'your side' and 'mine' were watching you and I every day? Nothing but an all out offensive would have presented a strong enough front to distract everyone."

"Why couldn't you have told me? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Harry, you keep secrets as well as an open book. Like when you and your fan club brewed up that Polyjuice to question me about the Heir of Slytherin. You might as well have written it on your forehead."

"What? You ... Even back then?"

"Since first year."

"But ... But what about your father? You were furious."

"It would have appeared so, I hope. I've been meaning to thank you for it, really. Spared me quite a bit of inconvenience."

"But, you - you said 'I was dead'."

"Well, it might have looked a bit odd if I had sent you a fruit basket and tickets to the opera ... You honestly never knew?"

"No."

"Well, that's good, at least. There were a few times I nearly ..."

"Nearly what?"

"Nearly screwed up. That's what."

"How so?"

"Well, like in our third year, when I was trying to tell you about Sirius."

"What? You did no such thing!"

"Of course I did. I was trying to give you some hints that day, that he was your Godfather. Dumbledore and the others didn't want you to know, they all still thought he was a murderous, raving lunatic. But I knew a little more than they did. I figured if I mentioned it, you might get curious, do a little research or something. If they'd told you from the beginning, maybe the pieces could have been put together sooner. It would have saved everyone a lot of ... unpleasantness."

"True."

"And the train ride back, after break, in our fifth year - all throughout the year, really. I nearly spelled it out for you that my father and his friends were onto Sirius - that they knew he was an Animagus. You honestly didn't catch my hints? Even Crabbe and Goyle wondered why I was talking about dogs so much."

"I got it, all right. I thought you were ... teasing, or, you know, threatening us."

"Ah. That figures. Look, Harry, I would have warned you more directly; I'd have come right out and told you, if I could. But I couldn't afford to risk it all - your life, my life, Hogwarts, defeating Voldemort - no matter how badly I wanted to."

"Well, maybe you should have! I might have preferred a little 'unpleasantness' to ... the way some things turned out."

"Harry, don't. I know how it was for you when Sirius died. I saw how much he loved you and I saw how much you meant to him. You'll never know how hard I tried to stop it. That's why I had the Inquisitorial Squad - vile, power-hungry lot we were - catch your little 'study group' that night. I knew what Voldemort had planned and I was trying to keep you at Hogwarts where you would have been safe. I just underestimated your Slytherin-like talent for squeezing out situations that didn't agree with your agenda."

"You were trying to ... protect me?"

"Yes! Have you not been paying attention?"

"I need to sit down."

"Please do. I rather think you've fainted enough for one lifetime."

"Shut up. ... Blasted albino ferret."

"There's the Harry we all know and love. ... Scarhead."

"Oh, I'm so sorry that I need a minute to process this. You've just undermined everything I've believed in for the last seven years."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, honestly."

"So, you pretty much know everything about me."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far, but you could say I do know a great deal about you. Maybe even more than Granger and Weasley know about some things."

"What do you mean?"

"What does it sound like I mean?"

"Are you talking about ... No, you couldn't."

"Don't be so sure."

"Malfoy, how do you ...?"

"How do I know? Harry, do try and complete a sentence once in a while. You learn a lot, playing for both teams. I was there that night."

"No. You couldn't have."

"Au contraire, mon petit chou. I could and I was. That was the worst moment of my life, Harry. The only time I felt like just giving up. The one person I had ever really believed in - you. You just ... folding like that. It scared the hell out of me."

"You were the one who sent the owl to the Ministry."

"Ah, I was wondering if you would catch that one. Yes, it was me. I had to do something to stall - to delay things until you came to your senses. It must have been the quickest letter I ever wrote. But when Harry Potter comes strolling into a Death Eater meeting and announces that he's had a change of heart and could someone direct him to the sign-up sheet ... I had to do something."

"Er, I suppose so. Although, I didn't say it like that. I was looking to take over. I wanted to be in charge, to have everyone either under my command or dead, and I was ready to do anything necessary to achieve that. I wasn't there to 'sign up'."

"Yeah, I noticed. It was probably one of the seven times that you Crucioed Voldemort, or when you made him bow before you and kiss the hem of your robes that tipped me off. God, Harry, you're scary sometimes."

"Oh, you saw that then?"

"I see it every time I close my eyes. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Having you throw Voldemort out would have been ... efficient, but then, you would have taken his place."

"Well, that was the plan."

Honestly, you're ambitious, aren't you? No wonder the Sorting Hat wanted to put you into Slytherin."

"How did you know about that?"

"Long story. I'm just glad you came to your senses. You must have had at least some idea, even then, what a powerful wizard you are. If you had gone bad, if you had gone through with it ... Harry, you would have been ten times as powerful and feared as Voldemort could have even imagined. We'd all be calling you Lord Potter now."

"I suppose so. Er, thanks, then, I guess, for you know, stopping me."

"Anytime."

...

"Anyway, what I was getting at, I never got to tell you this, so I'll say it now. I'm sorry about Sirius, Harry. He was a good man."

"Yes, he was."

"If it were possible to live that day over ... Just be glad you got to mourn, and had your friends there to lighten the load. Not everyone had that luxury."

"What are you on about?"

"Harry, Sirius was the only member of my family, besides my mother, who wasn't completely insane. Or evil. I remember before I was even in school, hearing stories about how he had 'turned against the Malfoys and the Blacks', how he had left the family and run away to live with your father and your grandparents. It was quite the scandal. I remember thinking I wanted to be just like him."

"Oh."

"Without him, I would have turned out like my father. And I never even got to tell him. He died thinking I was everything I'm not and I never got to say 'thanks.' I never got to say goodbye."

"Oh."

"And besides, I couldn't have followed Voldemort even if he hadn't been an evil madman. For one, I have better sense than to side with the losing team. But also, I'm not a follower, I don't conform and I certainly don't do as I'm told. It just wouldn't have worked out."

"Knowing you - even given recent developments - you probably would have overthrown him and taken over within a matter of days. We might have ended up calling you 'Lord Malfoy'."

"You have to admit, it does have a nice ring to it."

"That, it does."

"There were other things too. I imagine you'll figure them out as time goes on."

"You think?"

"Yes, I do."

"But you won't tell me?"

"No."

...

"Well, Harry, I guess that's about it. In a few weeks we're probably never going to see each other again, and I, well, I just wanted you to know."

"I see."

"Do you? Do you really, Harry? All those things I had to do. Please, just understand, I didn't really mean them; not in the way it seemed. When I wrote to Dumbledore before school even started and ... asked for his help, I told him that I didn't want to follow in my father's footsteps, didn't want to be a Death Eater, that I wanted to 'fight the good fight' and all of that ... I wanted to be your friend. It would have been so much better than the way things turned out. On the first day, remember that, Harry? I offered you my hand in friendship ... You'll never know how scared I was. I screwed it up though. Ron laughed at me and I slipped and it was over just like that, my chance gone, and I knew we wouldn't be able to do it the easy way. Dumbledore and I agreed that I'd have to pretend. I'd have to act as if I was still planning on carrying on the 'Malfoy tradition'. We knew that way I'd have access to knowledge and information that no one else, not even Snape, could have. And I did. And I had to be a bastard to you to do it, so that no one would question my motives. But in the end, it worked out for the best. I learned Voldemort's weakness. You were able to capitalize on those to defeat him that day. I'm not asking for glory and worship, please don't think that. And I'm not apologizing for most of the stupid things I did to you and yours, because you made my life more difficult than I would have preferred, Harry - not that I wouldn't have done it if I'd known how difficult it would be. It's just that, I came to enjoy being your 'enemy' in a way. Plus, it was the perfect excuse to keep tabs on you without looking conspicuous. Merlin, what I'm trying to say, Harry, is that I just couldn't stand the idea of you thinking that, all this time, I'd really been so ... horrible. None of it really mattered to me; the shite in lessons, the pranks, the insults, the dirty glares, the fights, the Quidditch ... Okay, well, the Quidditch, I did care about, because you're good, real good, and that really got under my skin. It was one of the best days of my life, the day I finally beat you. Merlin, you looked so shocked. But that was it, okay? The rest I did because I had to. I just don't want you to remember me as a childish, mean brat, when ... er, when you've come to mean so much to ... everyone."

Harry took a moment to let Draco's words sink in. It explained a lot of things, really.

Like how Draco always showed up at exactly the wrong moments. How he always knew so much about Harry and how he could easily make his temper flare. All those times Harry had been wandering around, numb and jaded, sick with shock or grief or worry, and Draco would drag him, kicking and screaming, from the edge of whatever blade he'd been tottering down that day - madness, darkness, total apathy or sweet oblivion - with a snide comment or an embarrassing prank.

And it explained that stormy autumn day, at the beginning of the year - the day Harry defeated Lord Voldemort...

***

It had been raining for days. Harry was in the Gryffindor common room, trying to get started on an essay that had been due the week before. A shy first year had come into the room, looking scandalized, and told him he had a visitor. He had been expecting the Ravenclaw girl that he'd been dating and had recently broken things off with, come to make another scene. But he wasn't entirely surprised to open the portrait and find Draco standing there, looking mildly offended to be in such close proximity to so many Gryffindors and even more pale than usual.

"What do you want?" Harry had said, still more bitter than usual about the messy Slytherin fiasco that had befallen himself, Ron and Hermione in the kitchens earlier that week.

"No one's ever completely alone in this castle, so I'll only say it once, Potter. Listen close, for all our sakes. When Voldemort tried to kill you -"

Harry, Gryffindor all the way to the eyelashes, immediately bristled. "What the hell are you - "

But he was stopped by a surprisingly strong shove, forcing him against the wall and a wand, warm with the crackle of a ready hex, pointed at his neck. Also, maybe something about the look in Draco's eyes made him shut up. Draco spoke in a harsh and quick whisper.

"There's no time to fuck around, Potter. Listen to me. When Voldemort tried to kill you, he made a mistake. A big one. It was easy enough to do, but the worst type of thing to forget. You can't kill a wizard baby if you kill one or both of their parents first. Their blood protects you and whatever that person tries to do to you, will come back to them, three times. Once, when they try it - that's why you've got your scar. That's why your eyes are that colour. It'll come back to them again when you summon it and again when either of you is near death. He grew up with Muggles - he didn't know and still doesn't, I think. Since he used the Killing Curse on you, it should have killed him when he cast it the first time, but he was, and still is, feeding off the Death Eaters. That works backwards too, savvy? Hermione can tell you how to summon it. Have her to look under 'life debts.' Do it now. Voldemort will be here in one hour."

With that, he shoved Harry into the wall again and, said much more loudly, apparently for the benefit of the inhabitants of the castle's paintings, who had been stumbling over each other and rushing through neighbouring pieces to hear what was being said. "And don't ever try to bribe the house elves into serving me tea from a nose biting teacup again!" Then he was gone, so quickly that Harry nearly wondered if it had really happened.

Nearly. Once he regained some of his composure, he stumbled back into the common room, and asked, in a shaking voice, if the shy and scandalized first year could go and get Hermione, and if she could hurry, please.

He didn't tell Hermione why he needed her knowledge, and she knew that he wouldn't explain even if asked, until he was ready. She hurried back upstairs and returned with two books. She took a moment to flip through each book, placing a bit of paper as a bookmark in a few spots, then handed the books to him. Then she kissed him on the cheek and said, "Good luck, Harry, with whatever it is you're about to do." She turned and went back upstairs.

Harry had no time to try and find Dumbledore or anyone else. Being a Sunday evening, the professors could have been anywhere in the castle or even visiting Hogsmeade. He briefly considered asking Ron or Hermione to come help, but didn't want to know it had been his fault if anything happened to them.

He ran to the Great Hall, footsteps echoing loudly in the empty corridors. He was desperate to remove himself from any distractions and to create a good distance between himself and his friends.

The spell was simple enough; a first year could have done it - just a few words. He wrote them on the back of his hand, because if Draco was telling the truth, and Harry wasn't in a gambling mood, it would soon be a most inconvenient time to forget the words. After making sure he had properly understood and memorized the spell, Harry ran his fingers through his hair, cleaned his glasses, removed his wand from his robes and waited.

Not more than ten minutes later, Harry's scar exploded in dazzling white agony. He put his free hand to his forehead in a futile attempt to block the pain, and was not at all surprised when he drew it away, to see that his scar had literally split open and blood was streaming from the gash.

Ignoring the searing pain, as one can only do in the rare situations where something more urgent than personal welfare has captured the mind's attention, Harry stood and began walking. He was no longer trembling, he was somehow blessedly and blissfully unconcerned about the whole grim situation. He would either triumph or fail, and it was that simple.

Harry followed the pain to the main entrance of Hogwarts and the huge wooden doors flew open with a quick movement of his hand. His nerves were singing, as if electrified, and he could feel magic crackling off himself in arcs and ribbons.

Standing just a hundred feet away from the doors was Lord Voldemort, flanked by two hundred Death Eaters. It had stopped raining. Harry walked down the path leading away from the castle, slamming the doors shut with another wave of his hand, and stopped when he had crossed half the distance between himself and Voldemort. He dimly registered a silver hand gleaming in the crowd.

He inclined his chin in greeting and waited for Voldemort to speak.

"Harry Potter! Decided you won't be joining me, after all? No matter, you'll be dead a minute from now, anyway," Voldemort drawled, a cruel sneer curling across his lips.

The hair on Harry's neck stood on end. He tightened his grip on his wand. "What do you want?"

"I've come to finish what I should have done seventeen years ago." Voldemort stepped forward. He stopped when he and Harry were about twenty feet apart.

Rather than waiting to see what Voldemort had planned and then trying to defend himself and the school, Harry decided, in a moment of crisp and clear revelation, that enough was enough. He was tired of adventures and danger and the endless shite involved in trying to stay one step ahead of Voldemort. He glanced down at his hand, to be sure he had it right, and spoke, clearly yet quietly.

"Je convoquer les vies de me sang en vengeance."

A blinding white light, brighter than a Patronus Charm, gathered at the tip of Harry's wand. It pulsed for a few moments, then flickered and faded completely, like a flame being extinguished.

In the stretch of less than two seconds, several things happened.

Harry glanced down at his wand, terror creeping over him. The spell hadn't worked. The hand not holding his wand reached up to his brow, about to wipe away the trickling blood before it could drip into his eyes.

Voldemort, who had visibly tensed after Harry spoke, resumed his arrogant stance and began to smile, pleasure shining in his eyes.

Harry's mind frantically searched for anything he could do to get out of the situation alive. Even if he could somehow disarm Voldemort, there would still be two hundred angry Death Eaters to contend with. It was suddenly clear why everyone was always lecturing him about not jumping into things. Why had he believed Draco? Why hadn't he had some sort of backup plan? Suddenly, Harry felt very alone and very scared.

Just as suddenly, a heartbeat after it had vanished, the blinding white light appeared again, directly over Voldemort. It hovered for a moment, and then rushed towards him.

Voldemort crossed his arms over his head in a terribly ineffective attempt to guard himself.

The light crashed down upon him, and as soon as it made contact, turned a startlingly familiar green colour - the colour of Harry's eyes, the colour of the Avada Kedavra curse.

Voldemort didn't even have time to lower his arms from his head. As soon as it reached him, he was facedown in the mud, arms and legs crumpled in a decidedly ungraceful manner.

A second orb of white light appeared. In the blink of an eye, it rushed down and collided with Voldemort's back, also turning a frightfully familiar green on contact.

The first pulse of light had been absolutely soundless. This time, as the light connected to Voldemort's body, there was an infinitely soft hiss - like a lit match being dropped in water.

Before the noise had time to finish, the green light flared and expanded with sickening speed. It flashed over the Death Eaters, who were standing behind their fallen leader and suddenly looking rather dubious as to whether their visit had been a good idea. As it passed over them, they too crumpled to the earth in a tangle of arms and legs. It would have been painful, but they, like Voldemort, were dead before they even hit the ground.

Harry's hand finished wiping the blood away from his brow. He stood for a moment, surveying the scene, swaying slightly, and then turned to walk back toward the castle. He heard a scream from Gryffindor tower. The mud squelched and pulled at his shoes as he walked. It looked like it might rain some more that evening. Harry had a vague idea that he should probably notify a professor about what had just happened, or something.

Eventually, the teachers all gathered on the front lawn. Professor Sprout fainted. Hagrid alternated between clapping people on the back and crying. Dumbledore was the first to wander over to Voldemort's body.

He toed the corpse lightly with his boot, then again, with more force than was really necessary.

Voldemort was dead. Classes were cancelled for the week. The bodies were identified, their families notified, then they were incinerated by the teachers with a horrifically efficient Incendio spell.

Harry tried, and for the most part, succeeded in not thinking about the two hundred and forty-one people, plus one Dark Lord, that were now dead because of him.

He used the week off to finish his essay.

***

Harry had always assumed, during the few brief moments when he allowed himself to think about that day, that Draco had given him the warning out of selfish and twisted personal reasons. He figured that Draco had gotten scared at the last minute and wanted an easy way out, rather than risk his hide in battle.

Now, it occurred to Harry that this might not have been an entirely accurate assumption.

"How did you know?"

"I heard Wormtail mention it to my father. They decided it probably wasn't a threat, because the magic was so old and obscure. They thought it wouldn't occur to anyone to try it."

...

"Oh."

"Indeed."

...

"Well ..."

"Yes. I suppose that's it."

"I guess so ... er, Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks. For everything. I mean it. I never knew ... You could have explained. We could have, er, ... been ... friends? Or, you know ... It could have been different."

A sad, tired smile drifted across Draco's lips. "I know. Maybe in another life. Another time."

"Yeah."

"Good-bye, Harry."

"Good-bye, Draco."

Draco picked up his cloak from the table, draped it over his shoulder and left.

Harry stood by the window for quite a while, staring out at the stars.