Sea of Waking Dreams

Most of the Death Eaters were dead, as well as a large percentage of Draco’s allies. The battle was nearly over and Draco knew they had won. Voldemort wasn’t there, and he hadn’t seen his father.

Draco threaded his way through the battle, looking for his father grimly. He couldn’t find him, and had just went into the castle to look for Ginny, when Hermione suddenly appeared, looking feverish.

“Is the battle over?” she asked abruptly, sneering. “Is it?”

Draco was startled. “Nearly.”

“And did Harry die?” she growled.

Taking a nervous step back, Draco said carefully, “Are you all right?”

She stepped closer. “He told me about you two,” she hissed.

Draco frowned. “What about us?”

“That he doesn’t l-love me anymore because he wants you.”

Draco cursed savagely. “When the hell did I become a fucktoy to use to get back at people?!”

“I don’t care,” she snarled. “I hate him. I do. I hate him.” She stepped closer to him, shoving him roughly so he stumbled back against the wall. Then she pressed herself against him, her lips only inches from his. “Don’t you want me?”

“Hermione,” he said, rolling his eyes. He grabbed her ands and tried to pull them away. “This is really not the time for this.”

“But I want you.”

“Well get in bloody line, apparently so does everyone else, now get off me!” He shoved her, and she stumbled back, starting to cry.

“He said that I’d cheated with Ron, but I didn’t. He doesn’t trust me and I was so scared when he was sick and then he came back and wouldn’t even talk to me and I hate him for that, I hate him so much.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Look, you love him, he loves you, just talk about it, preferably after the war, and let’s all move on, all right?”

“I don’t love him,” she hissed, scowling. “I’ll never love him again. I hate him.”

“Hermione –” Draco began, not even knowing what he was going to say. She pulled away, sobbing, and threw the door to the courtyard open.

It happened too fast for Draco to do anything about it. A young Death Eater, probably someone Draco had once shared meals with, burst into the room, hysterical. He pointed his wand at Hermione and shouted, “Avada Kedavra!” There was a flash of green, and she collapsed to the ground, dead before she hit it.

Swearing savagely, Draco killed the Death Eater with a flick of his wand and ran to Hermione’s side. Harry and Ron were suddenly there; it was like they had known something like this was going to happen. Harry was holding Godric Gryffindor’s sword, he had summoned it from his chambers when they had landed, using it in the battle. Now, he tossed it aside.

“She’s dead,” Draco told them.

Harry started to cry, falling to his knees and gathering Hermione up in his arms. Ron just stood in the doorway, shocked. “Why…” Harry began, still crying. “Why was she in here? She was supposed to stay far away, where it was safe. What were you doing?”

“Talking,” Draco said shortly, standing up. He was furious; their bickering and lack of trust had brought them to this. They should have been happy, but instead they had let everything fall apart, tried dragging him into it as well, and now look where that left them.

“Did she say anything?” Harry whispered.

Draco pressed his lips together, anger warring with pity, and finally, he said, “Yeah. That she loved you no matter what and always would.”

Harry nodded slowly, setting Hermione’s body carefully on the floor. “I’ll kill him,” he said softly.

“He’s already dead.” Ron’s voice was faint, staring at the young Death Eater’s body. It was easier than looking at Hermione.

“Voldemort, I’ll kill Voldemort,” Harry hissed.

“He’s not here,” Ron explained, his voice trembling. He was fighting tears.

“He’s dead?” Draco asked. “Voldemort is dead? Someone killed him?”

Ron shook his head. “He’s just not here, no one has seen him. They’re worried this was a decoy, but for what, I can’t tell. I think maybe he died at Hogwarts and they don’t want us to know.”

“What of my father?”

“I haven’t seen Lucius,” Ron whispered.

Draco swore and turned to go, but Ron grabbed his arm, pressing something into his hand. “Ginny… Ginny told me to give you this.” Draco opened his hand, and a knot of Ginny’s hair shone copper in the dim light.

“Where is she?” Draco whispered, suddenly terrified.

“Dumbledore sent her and the children away,” Ron said quietly. “Down through the tunnels under the kitchen, into a boat, and down the coast.”

“In a little boat, out there, by the cliffs in this wind?” Draco snarled. “And you let her go alone?”

Ron swallowed and nodded. “It would have been her only chance if the castle fell. It didn’t. It’s over, the battle is over.”

“It’s not!” Draco shouted. His voice echoed in the huge hall. “My father is nearly as dangerous as Voldemort and no one knows where either of them are!”

“Maybe they’re dead.”

“My father’s not. If he was dead, I’d know.” Draco clenched his jaw, closing his eyes. He was getting a headache. Harry still knelt at Hermione’s side, crying, and he would be no help. “I’m going to find Ginny,” he said finally. “It’s too dangerous for her to be out with the children.” He picked up Godric Gryffindor’s sword that Harry had dropped. Harry didn’t notice him take it.

Draco glanced once more at Hermione and then left the castle quickly. The courtyard was littered with bodies, and he stepped over them, hurrying up to the northern battlements. He looked out to sea but couldn’t see the boat there, and cursing softly, he slipped the lock of hair into his pocket, pulling out his wand. He opened his hand, holding it palm-up, and resting the wand on it like the needle of a compass.

“Invenio Ginny,” he whispered, and the wand spun quickly for a moment before snapping to a stop, pointing down the east shore. “Accio Firebolt.” Moments later, he was speeding through the air along the eastern shore.

****

Ginny’s lungs were still burning, and she coughed a few times weakly. She didn’t want to alarm the children. They were clustered on the shore and she didn’t know what to do.

“Ginny,” Belle cried. “The baby won’t stop crying.”

“I know, I know,” Ginny said, frustrated. “He’s cold, rock him a little, there’s nothing else we can really do.”

“I’m scared,” Keela whispered.

Ginny buried her face in her hands, taking a few deep breaths. “Everything’s fine,” she said. “Calm down, I need to think.”

It had started raining a few minutes before, and they were all dripping wet. The boat had washed away, and she didn’t know where to go.

“We’ll walk for a bit, try to find somewhere dry, all right?” she said, standing up. The children followed her wearily, and they were about to start making their way over the rocks when Ginny noticed someone standing there, watching from the shadows. She froze, squinting into the darkness. She could barely make out white-blonde hair and smooth, pale features. “Draco?” she called softly, feeling nervous.

It wasn’t Draco. Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the shadows with a cold smirk, and Ginny took a quick step back, standing protectively in front of the children.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice trembling.

His smile widened. “It was odd,” he said. “All the Dementors dropped dead. Voldemort was understandably furious. He said only one thing could kill a Dementor: someone with a gift more rare than Parseltongue. An Empath. He ranted and raved about the characteristics of an Empath; and imagine our surprise when our seers claimed the talent resided in the body of a child.”

Ginny was shaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said huskily.

Lucius studied the children. “I think you do,” he said silkily.

“It was a decoy,” Ginny whispered. “The attack on the castle.”

He pulled something out of his pocket: a rolled up piece of parchment. Unrolling it with a snap of his wrist, he read, “’Dearest Hadley: we’ve received word from Professor Snape that the Death Eaters are planning an attack on Hogwarts. Dumbledore said that if ever an attack was to come, I was to take the children out and run as fast as I could, so that’s what I’m doing. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I love you and I can’t wait to see you again, darling. Yours forever, Gin.”

Ginny swallowed. “Where did you get that?” she said quietly, though she already knew.

“Hadley turned it into us the very moment he got it,” he replied with a smirk. “It was useful then, when we wanted to know who the spy was. It is useful now because it told us how we could force all the children out of the castle, unguarded, to get our hands on the Empath. Lord Voldemort sent a few young, inexperienced units into the castle after he had dismantled the barriers, and then scattered the more advanced units around the surrounding area, waiting for you to bring the child to us. Which one is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ginny snapped.

“Give it to me and I’ll let the rest of you go,” he tempted.

Ginny started breathing fast. “No, you can’t have any of us.” She grabbed her wand, holding it up threateningly, and then whispering, “Silentio,” casting a silencing charm on Lucky so she could not tell him who she was.

“And you’re going to stop me? A pathetic little Weasley girl? Come now, child, you’ve betrayed your side before, feeding all that information to Hadley. Why don’t you just give the brat over to us? Voldemort will reward you, I’m sure.”

“Leave us alone,” she pleaded; her voice cracked. Some of the children had started to cry.

“I can kill you easily,” he said calmly. He lifted his wand.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Ginny cried, levitating his wand out of his hand. She’d never been very good with the spell, and his wand jerked out of his hand, soaring upwards and disappearing into the sky.

Lucius looked annoyed, but not unduly so. “I can easily summon it back,” he told her. Then he smiled. “But I won’t. Magic may make everything easier, but it doesn’t make some things any more fun.” He backhanded her across the face so hard that she was knocked down, onto her back, stunned.

There was a shriek, and Iniko launched himself at Lucius, biting his arm, and the rest of the children, except for Belle, followed suit, throwing themselves at him and scratching, kicking, and biting. All of them were screaming profanities that Ginny was sure they had learned from Draco, and she was terrified that Lucius was going to kill them.

Belle was standing there, holding Axel, who was screaming, and looking stunned. Ginny climbed to her feet, one hand pressed to her stinging cheek. “Stop,” she said weakly. “Stop it! Get away from him!”

The children hesitated, and Lucius grabbed Ginny by the throat. “Back off,” he snarled, “or I’ll kill her. I will.”

Glancing at Ginny uncertainly, they backed up a few steps. “Please don’t hurt Ginny,” Miles whimpered. Lucius’ fist tightened and Ginny’s breath was caught off. She started pounding at his arm, but he didn’t even glance at her, just kept glaring at the children.

“Which of you is it?” he snarled. “Which of you is the Empath?”

Strangling, gasping noises were coming, unbidden, from Ginny’s throat, and she struggled to break his grip. His fingers wrapped all around her neck and only squeezed harder the more she struggled. The children started screaming and crying, not knowing what to do. Lucky was making muffled whimpering noises through the magical gag Ginny had cast on her, her eyes huge, tears running hysterically down her face.

Red spots started dancing before Ginny’s eyes. Painful tears gathered in her eyes; her lungs were burning and she was getting dizzy. She started scratching weakly at his hands, her knees giving out beneath her. Slowly, he lowered her to the rocks, his grip still tight around her throat, and Ginny started losing consciousness.

“It’s me!” Belle shrieked suddenly. “It’s me, take me and let everyone else go!”

Lucius’ hand didn’t loosen, and Ginny started struggling again, weakly. Then Keela cried, “No, no, it’s me. I swear. Don’t take Belle, take me.”

The rest of the children started screaming that they were the one Lucius was searching for, all except Lucky, who was watching Ginny die in silence, tears running down her tiny face.

Ginny’s body went slack, her lungs feeling as if they were about to explode. She turned her head a little and saw Lucky watching her, and tried to smile a little, reassuringly. The effort took too much, and then Ginny slipped away, using the last of her strength to tighten her fingers around Lucius’ hands, digging her nails into his flesh. And then she lost consciousness.

Lucius held on until he was sure she was dead, and then he stood up, smirking as he studied the children. He picked Ginny’s wand up off the rocks and used it to summon his own. “Accio wand,” he said, holding out his hand. A second later, his wand snapped into his hand, and he dropped Ginny’s carelessly before gesturing threateningly to the children. “Do what I say or you’ll end up as dead as she is,” he said coldly. “You,” he pointed to Belle. “Leave the baby here, it’ll die soon enough. Then all of you follow me. I’m sure the seers know which one of you is the right one, they didn’t even tell us if it was male or female, the stupid gits.”

Belle was crying softly as she gently set Axel down on the rock beside Ginny, wrapping her limp arm around the child. She brushed her fingertips against the livid bruises on Ginny’s neck and then stood up. Lucius nodded once and turned to lead the way off the rocks, and when he wasn’t looking, Lucky, who was still crying, laid Snape’s wand on Ginny’s chest.

It started to rain even harder as the children walked away from Ginny’s body, following Lucius into the trees a short distance away.

***

Draco couldn’t see through the darkness and the rain, so he flew low to the ground, searching for any sign of Ginny and the children. He still held Godric’s sword in one hand, and he was growing more and more terrified as he flew.

He heard Axel screaming a second before he finally saw them, just a dark smudge on a black rock, and his heart leapt into his throat. “No,” he whispered, diving to the ground. He leapt off the broom before it even reached the rock and ran to her, falling to his knees. The sword fell unnoticed to the ground.

Axel was crying, cradled against Ginny’s chest. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted to the side, and black fingerprint bruises marred her throat.

Draco’s hand was trembling when he reached forward, carefully brushing a tendril of wet hair off her face. “Ginny?” he called, very softly. “You can’t be dead.”

She didn’t reply, and Axel kept wailing.

Sucking a shuddering breath through his teeth, Draco touched her cool cheek, biting his lip and wondering why he wasn’t screaming. Screaming about something like this somehow seemed too petty, not strong enough. He wanted to die.

He trailed his fingers over her still, cold face, touching her forehead, her eyelids, her lips, and then lightly brushing the bruises at her throat. “You’re not allowed to die,” he told her calmly, a still sort of quiet falling over him. He pulled his hand back, as if afraid to touch her anymore. “You’re not. You’re the only purely good thing I’ve ever known. Ginny, you’re not dead.” She didn’t agree or disagree with him, only lay there, rain running down her pale face. Her freckles were standing out like spots of blood, and there was a tiny bit of blood on her lips. Draco’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and he carefully wiped it away with his finger. “You’ll be all right,” he told her. The only reply he got was the falling of the rain.

Draco stood up, fighting panic. Ginny still lay there, looking perfect, like she was sleeping. In the rain. He remembered kissing her in the rain, and the way he promised never to let her hurt again. Remembered the way he’d followed her up there the night before, and watched her standing there in the rain, staring at the waves crashing below. He suddenly realized what had made what he and Ginny shared so different from anything he’d ever experienced.

He had never known what love was, but standing there that night and watching Ginny try desperately not to cry, he had finally understood. Love was leaving your room without caring that it was raining and you were only half dressed. It was losing a Quidditch match to save a little girl. Kissing in the rain and staying up all night roasting marshmallows – marshing roastmallows – and drinking butterbeer. It was the softness of a first kiss that meant more than just trying to coax someone to take their clothes off. It was also the horrible, echoing emptiness of wondering where, exactly, he was supposed to get the strength to stand up and walk away, leaving her lying here, looking like she was asleep. Except she wasn’t. She was dead.

He picked Snape’s wand up; someone had placed it carefully on Ginny’s chest. Then, very tenderly, as if he were afraid to break her, he lifted one of Ginny’s hands to his mouth, brushing her knuckles against his lips.

Something glimmering and gold fell from her hand, hitting the rock and gleaming dully in the rain. His father’s signet ring. Ginny must have pulled it off while he was strangling her. Draco picked up the ring and slipped it onto his finger.

Rage seethed suddenly into every pore of his body until he was trembling with it. He had let his father take everything from him, but he would not let him take this without some sort of retribution. “I’ll kill him,” he hissed, grabbing Godric’s sword. He would have run off, where, he did not know; Axel’s wail punctured his rage, and only a few steps away from her, he turned back. Suddenly the rage was gone, torn away and replaced by something deeper, darker, and more echoingly empty. He couldn’t just leave her.

He tore his cloak off and laid it over her, tucking it gently under her chin, and making sure the baby was sheltered under it from the rain but could still breathe.

“I’ll come back for you,” he whispered very softly, stroking her wet hair. He got up, rested Godric’s sword on his palm, balancing it carefully, and hissing, “Invenio Father.” A moment later, he walked purposefully into the trees, the sword clutched in his hand, the white-hot rage snaking through him. In the darkness, Godric Gryffindor’s sword seemed to glow.

It didn’t take him long to find his father. Voldemort and his remaining forces had been confident that their plan would succeed. They camped a short distance into the trees.

The sentries called out greetings to him as he passed, and Draco realized they thought he was still one of them. That he had just been spying for Voldemort. Draco’s rage grew hotter at the thought.

The camp was a small collection of tents. Most of the army had been used to put the castle under siege, and only Voldemort’s head officers had remained behind, all of whom were now scattered in the countryside around the castle, in case Ginny and the children had fled that way.

There was a central campfire, though it was not lit in the rain, surrounded by the tents, and the sun was rising as Draco stepped into the camp, his hands clenched around the hilt of the sword.

He could hear Belle talking fast, trying to convince Voldemort to let them go, and Draco smiled grimly. It was just what Ginny would have done.

“Please, sir, we don’t know what you’re talking about,” she was sobbing. “Please let us go.”

It was not Voldemort’s voice that answered. It was Lucius. “Where is Prescott?” he snapped. “The seers said he’d know which one it is.”

“Patience, Lucius,” Voldemort said calmly. “The children aren’t going anywhere.”

“I think they are,” Draco snarled, stepping out of the shadows of the tents and into the light of the moon. The children were sitting in the dirt, magically bound, and looking terrified. Draco forced himself to smile at them, trying to sooth them, though soothing was the last thing he felt like. Lucky was staring at the sword with huge, dark eyes and biting her lip, as if she could distantly hear someone talking and was trying to make out the words.

Lucius looked up, startled. Then he smiled. “Draco!” he cried with false sincerity. “You’ve come back to us!”

“Hardly.” Draco was shaking, and the strangest feeling was coming over him. It was almost as if the sword were coming to life in his hand. “Let the children go.”

“Tell us which one is the Empath,” Voldemort said silkily.

Draco’s eyes shot to Voldemort’s face, narrowing dangerously. “That’s why you did this?” he hissed. “For a child? You killed Ginny because she wouldn’t tell you which child it was?”

Lucius laughed. “Oh now I see! What, Draco, did you fancy yourself in love with that freckled little girl I killed on the beach? That weak, whining little –”

“She’s not weak!” Miles screamed, writhing in fury against the magical cords that bound him.

Lucius turned slowly to face the boy. “Maybe not,” he hissed, “But she is dead.”

Draco snarled. “I’ll kill you, I swear, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Now, Draco,” Voldemort chided. “Really, this is quite unseemly. Killing your own father over a stupid girl who died because she would not cooperate. She’s not worth this.”

“She’s worth it to me,” he said in a very low voice.

Voldemort took a deep breath, nodding as if in understanding. “All right then, if you’re sure you do not wish to help us. Lucius, kill him.”

“No!” Belle shrieked. “Don’t kill him! It’s me, it’s me, I swear to god it’s me, I have the magic!”

Draco shot her a dark look. “Shut up, Belle,” he said tonelessly. Lucky was still staring at the sword in his hand, and the sword still felt as if it were trying to wiggle out of his grip.

Lucius shook his head. “Dying for a dead girl and all her brats,” he scoffed. “I thought I raised you better.”

He lifted his wand, but suddenly the sword jerked to life in Draco’s hand, moving quickly, soundlessly, and with deadly precision. It cut through Lucius’ arm at the elbow, cracking the bone easier than it would have cut through butter. With a spray of hot blood, his arm fell to the ground, twitching once before going still, still clutching his wand. Lucius screamed, and Voldemort chuckled, watching.

“That was for Snape.” Flicking his wand out, Draco muttered a brief sealing spell, which quickly grew a patch of skin over Lucius’ bleeding stump. “Fight me,” he snarled.

“What?” Lucius snapped, furious. He was trying desperately not to cry or faint from the pain, and was now staring with narrowed eyes at the bloody sword in Draco’s hand.

“You heard me. You’re the one who used to tell me that the most honorable way to kill someone was in a sword fight. You’re the one who spent hours practicing. Fight me.”

“I’ve only got one bloody arm!” Lucius growled. He was feeling faint, and did not wish to show weakness before his son.

“Get your weapon out, or I’ll kill you where you stand,” Draco said very softly, stepping closer and resting the tip of his sword against the hollow of Lucius’ throat.

“Do it,” Voldemort commanded. “It’ll be interesting to watch while I wait for the others to return to get this matter of the children settled. Rest assured, Lucius, should you die, I’ll kill him in a second, before he can cause anymore damage.”

“You never learned to fight,” Lucius reminded his son, grimly. “You know I’ll kill you.”

“It’s a chance I’m willing to take.” Draco stepped back gracefully. His father had offered to train him in sword fighting a hundred times when he was a boy, and he’d never wanted to learn. Too bloody, he’d decided. He’d do his killings with a wand. Now, however, blood was just what he wanted. His muscles itched as if they knew how to fight with a sword even when he didn’t. He glanced at Lucky and suddenly understood. She was channeling the emotional memories associated with the sword into him. She was channeling a bit of Godric Gryffindor into Draco.

“Accio sword,” he said, holding out one hand. His father’s sword flew into his hand, and Draco tossed it easily to him. “Fight me,” he said coldly. Then he attacked.

Lucius had no chance to talk him out of it, so, holding his sword in his left hand, he quickly leapt out of the way, swinging his sword up defensively. His eyes widened as he watched the way his son stalked him, predatory rage in his eyes. It was almost like he knew what he was doing.

Draco’s sword was heavier, but somehow he carried it as if it hardly weighed a thing, attacking with speed and grace that Lucius knew he himself hadn’t mastered, after years of study.

There was a light smile on Draco’s lips as he ruthlessly attacked, his muscles moving as if someone else were controlling them, and he knew that was the case. All his senses were heightened, he could sense the children watching in terror, though he did not stop to look at them. He could feel Voldemort watching with a strange sort of lust. Men, women, house elves, indeed, Draco thought dryly as he easily blocked a clumsy thrust of his father’s. He retaliated with a quick succession of jabs, slashes, and strikes, until blood mingled with the rain on Lucius’ clothing. Draco had torn his arm open.

Snarling, Lucius intensified his attack, surprising Draco with a quick spin, followed by a high kick to the stomach. Before Draco had caught his breath, Lucius slashed his sword upwards, trying to cut open Draco’s throat. Flinching back, Draco narrowly escaped, the blade hissing across his face, slicing a thin, deep and bloody gash along Draco’s cheekbone. Blood dripped from the wound, filling his mouth with the thick, coppery taste, and he could distantly hear Voldemort laughing, the children crying.

Lucius was panting, trying to get a breath, and Draco took the opportunity to wipe his bloody cheek on the back of his hand. It was a mistake, his grip was slippery enough with the rain. Now, with the blood as well, he had difficulty holding onto the hilt of his sword.

The next attack nearly knocked the blade from his hand, and he could tell that Lucius knew that he now had a slight advantage by the smirk on his father’s face. Draco gritted his teeth and pressed on.

The ground below was muddy, and after Draco’s next slash, Lucius stumbled back, slipping in the mud. Draco slammed the bottom of his boot into his father’s knee, hearing a sick snap. Lucius screamed, falling to the ground. He was crying.

“That was for Ginny,” Draco hissed. Lucius opened his mouth to reply, and Draco kicked him savagely, twice. Blood mixed with rain and snot on Lucius’ face, and still, the rage Draco was feeling burned. His father writhed in the mud at his feet, bloodied, broken, and the emptiness that had been growing since he’d found Ginny wasn’t filled yet. He didn’t think it ever would be.

Lucky was still pouring memories of sword fighting into him, and Draco felt what Godric would have felt, staring down at so pathetic an enemy: disgust.

He sensed Voldemort moving behind him, reaching for his wand, and he spun, his eyes narrowed, his sword raised. “Don’t,” he snapped.

Voldemort laughed. “Fool, you can’t kill me. You think I don’t have protection from weak wizards like you? I bet you’ll be easier to kill than your girlfriend was. I watched Lucius do it, you know, the girl hardly even struggled. He just wrapped one hand around her throat and squeezed, like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.”

The grief Draco had been carefully restraining broke inside and, with a scream that did not sound human, he leapt through the air, swinging the sword with so much force that his body spun in a fast circle midair, before the sword sliced through Voldemort’s neck, severing his head from his body in a spray of cold blood that splashed all over Draco’s face. The head flew and landed in the mud with a sick thump, and the body slowly crumpled to the ground as well, laying still.

“You stupid bastard,” Draco said weakly, tears running down his face. “Magic can’t kill you. I helped you with the Immortality Potion myself. Magic can’t kill you; that wasn’t magic.”

Lucius was laughing, even as he fought for breath, and Draco turned slowly to face him. He was still on the ground, missing an arm, muddy, bloody, and crying. But he was laughing. “You stupid boy,” he said between mad giggles. “You’ve killed him, but all the most powerful Death Eaters are on their way here, even now. They’ll rip you apart.”

“I don’t care,” Draco said quietly.

Lucius laughed again. “All of this for the love of a stupid girl? Come on, Draco, you know as well as I do that you don’t even know how to love. Love is weak, look where it got that girl of yours. Dead. Hate is power; hate is the only honest emotion. Voldemort was right, she was nothing. Come back to me, I’ll forgive you all this, we can forget it and rule the Death Eaters together, now that Voldemort is gone.”

Draco glanced at the children, who were watching him with dread on their little faces, and he knew he was a mess. Blood and pieces of flesh clung to him. He glanced back at his father, even more gruesome in the weak light of dawn, and shook his head slowly. “You’re mad,” he said wearily. “You’ve always been mad.” The magic inside him was fading, Godric’s emotion was dripping out of his system and he was exhausted, more than just physically. His heart was sore.

Fury lit Lucius’ eyes. “You’re trying so hard to be good,” he snarled. “It’s against your nature. There is nothing good about you.”

“Ginny saw something good in me.”

“She was a whore. She used you the way Hadley used her. Tricked you to think she was in love with you. Who the hell could love something like you?”

Draco snarled, rage once again tearing through him. To shut his father up, he brought the flat side of the blade down on Lucius’ face, smashing his jaw. Lucius’ scream was muffled as blood ran down his throat, but Draco didn’t care. He raised the sword and turned it in his hands, the razor sharp blade slicing into Lucius’ chest. His father died with a scream, but still Draco kept lifting the sword and plunging it into his body, again and again, blood splashing all over him. With every downward slash of the sword, Draco’s heaving breath hissed out between his teeth, until Lucius was just a mess of blood and flesh, unrecognizable. And then Draco tossed the sword aside and stumbled a few steps away. He collapsed to the wet grass, unconscious before he hit the ground.