Never Too Late

Three o'clock in the morning - the fine divide between dusk and dawn, light and dark, madness and sanity. Three o'clock - the longest, blackest, and quite possibly, loneliest hour of the day. Or night, rather. Three o'clock found Draco Malfoy wide awake and standing in the murky shadows of a conspicuous balcony. But his long, inky cloak and mask hid him well away from prying eyes.

He stood still and silent, gloved fists clenched on the cold hard metal of the railing that caged him. The edges bit through the thin leather and into his palms. Draco slid the gloves off and he stared down an his pale, pale hands, made silver in the moonlight.

Such soft hands. Long-fingered. Elegant, Innocent. Or appearing to be. But even the softest of hands can be capable of death, and its ever-present companion, destruction. Strong hands are not required for the simple, graceful, swish-and-flick wrist movement when meting out curses.

Draco shook his head sadly. He pulled the gloves back on, once again shielding his hands, those hands of Death.

He swept his gaze across the quiet expanse of street below him. Lamps flickered and cast a weak, orange glow on the litter and doorways of Muggle London. Not a single thing stirred, The eerie darkness underneath seemed dead, as dead as the many Mudbloods that met their green ends by wand-tip and Avada Kedavra. The night held its breath, anxiously awaiting the departure of the intruder in its midst.

Not bloody likely.

"Avada Kedavra. The good old days," Draco muttered sarcastically. A gentle breeze consented to sift through his cloak. His face hardened. He stared unblinkingly into the light of a street lamp. In his mind's eye, he saw the masses of nameless, faceless witches, wizards, Muggles and Mudbloods who died under the orders of the Dark Lord through he and his fellow Death Eaters. They had screamed for mercy. Their voices crying empty in his head. Sometimes they had tried to run from the onslaught, scrambling for cover, or better yet, escape.

But didn't they know? There was no escape. Death was inevitable.

Draco laughed silently. Mirthlessly. Bitterly. He raised his masked face to the sky.

The Dark Lord himself preferred the Killing Curse. The minimal Avada Kedavra. Clean. Quick. Efficient. Shoot, dead, move on the next victim. Others liked the Cruciatus Curse. The torture and horrid physical agony amused them. I, however, favoured the Imperius Curse. I appreciated the cunning and the genius of controlling another, of making them think and do whatever I wished.

No mercy. No love lost between those I killed and me. None whatsoever.

Draco felt an odd prickling behind his eyes and an ache built in his throat. He clamped his eyelids tight and took in great gulps of air.

"I loved it," he whispered furiously. "I loved the absolute bloody brilliance of the whole fucking thing."

A single tear escaped and trailed down his gaunt cheek. Draco hung his head and turned to face the sliding glass door that separated him from Redemption. He slid the door open. Moonlight mingled with the muted light of the lamps outside spilled into the sparsely furnished room.

In the blink of an eye, Draco faced the tip of a wand. He pulled off his mask and hood, revealing his pale, pointed, haunted face. He stared at the man in front of him.

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Salvation of Draco Malfoy.

Draco took a step into the room. His feet sank into the plush carpet and still he did not take his eyes off of Harry. He stood. He dared not move further.

Their last encounter flashed white-hot and painful in Draco's mind. Harry had been brave and solemn, seeking out the young Death Eater in his own home. Harry's voice echoed in Draco's ears.

"I have not come to beg. There is another way, you know," Harry had said. "You are free to choose, and I am here to talk."

"Talk?" Draco scoffed. "Talking is for fools and cowards, Potter."

Harry gave no response to this.

"Well? Which are you Potter?" sneered Draco. "A fool or a coward? You're obviously not a coward. You're here aren't you? Then you're a fool!" Draco had whipped out his wand and cried, "Imperio!" At Draco's silent command, Harry had flung himself repeatedly down a flight of stairs. When Harry was broken and bloody enough for Draco's liking, he lifted the curse.

Still Harry gave no response.

Livid at not thrashing a word out of his nemesis, Draco had yelled, "Crucio!" Harry twitched and writhed on the floor, screaming in uncontrollable pain. Smirking and satisfied that the Cruciatus Curse would snatch a response, Draco stopped.

Harry again remained silent.

Then, for the first time in his life, Draco felt shame burning in him, remorse filling him. And he was angry. Angrier than he had ever been. Angry at himself and hating Harry Potter for making him feel. But ever the Death Eater, unwillingly stamped and beaten into him since birth, Draco hid this weakness from the enemy.

"You're no fun, Potter," spat Draco. "Say what you will and then leave. I am sparing your life this time. But don't expect any leniency on my part when next we meet." Only his eyes, shining with unshed tears, belied his words.

Harry's face remained impassive. Sprawled weak on the floor, Harry had said, "There is another way, Draco. Where there was death there can be life, where there was hate there can be love, where there was despair there can be hope. It is not too late for you. And you know that." Harry wiped his own blood from his cheek, gave Draco one last piercing look and Disapparated.

Harry lowered his wand, though his eyes flashed green in his sleep-tousled face. Draco took this as an invitation to enter. And he did. He walked towards Harry until they stood not two feet apart. They stared at one another for what seemed like hours.

"I've come to talk," Draco began, repeating Harry's own words that fateful night. Harry's gaze flicked to Draco's left forearm, where the Dark Mark was etched irrevocably on the pale skin there underneath the black cloak. Then Harry looked back up into the other man's troubled, doubting and hopeful eyes.

"It's never too late. And you know that."