Surrender

Surrender

Harry soared over the Quidditch fields, feeling an unstoppable rush as the crisp November wind rushed past him, pulling his hair back and stinging his eyes. Up here in the air was when he felt the safest; somehow, having both feet pinned to the ground by a cumbersome law of nature didn’t lend him any security. The only safety was in freedom, and the only freedom was in flying.

'Oy, Harry,' called out a voice from somewhere below him. Harry turned his Firebolt around, although not without some hesitation—he had been having a bad day and wanted to enjoy himself.

'Harry,' Ron yelled, 'Come down, we’re waiting for you, we don't have the field for much longer.' Harry looked down to the ground where five figures in billowing crimson robes stood or sat, presumably waiting for him to return. With a sigh he swooped down to them.

As he landed by his fellow Quidditch team members, he felt a familiar weight settle on his shoulders. He turned to look at the snowy owl that had just landed on him and smiled. 'Hedwig, you have a letter for me?' he said quietly to the bird, gently pulling a missive from the owl's beak. Hedwig ruffled her feathers, lightly pecked at Harry’s ear, and flew off again. Harry glanced over at the team and said, 'Warm up a bit or something. I'll be there in a moment.' He walked over to a bench and sat down, Ron beside him.

'Who's it from?' Ron asked curiously.

'Dunno,' Harry replied, glancing at the letter. 'It doesn't say anything on the envelope.' He ripped it open and drew out a piece of parchment. He raised his eyebrows upon reading it, glanced up furtively to see that no one was nearby, and handed it to Ron.

Harry Potter. Beware. You have escaped me thus far, but your luck is running out very quickly. Read this carefully. Your life may depend upon it.

You have two choices, Harry Potter, as you always have had. Thus far, however, you have taken the foolish one. Perhaps now you shall reconsider. One choice is to fight me, as you have done. The other is to join me. You must know by now that you are a very powerful wizard. Most of this power came from me in the tragic incident that occurred some 14 years ago when part of my power was transferred to you. Together, we would have immense strength—enough to overcome those too weak to seek power as I have done. However, I am still far stronger than you, and I can crush you without a second thought. You think you are brave, Harry Potter, but are you brave enough to join me? Do not mistake stupidity for bravery; and if you do not come to me, your actions will be stupid. If you do not, those closest to you will die.

As will you.

So choose wisely, Harry Potter. Do you want to live or die? Shall your parents have died in vain? Your decision should be clear, but given your foolishness in the past, you might need some time to realise that your one true path lies with me.

Harry glanced at Ron, who stared back at him. 'Could be a prank, for all we know,' Harry said, shrugging and looking off toward the field.

'Is that what you think?' Ron asked. Harry averted his gaze. 'Harry...is there something you know about that I don't?'

Harry choked down the reply Ron practically asked for, as this didn't seem like a good time for it. Instead, he shook his head, plucked the parchment from Ron’s hands, stuffed it in a pocket, and tramped off towards the others.

*************

Harry, Hermione, and Ron sat in a far corner of the Gryffindor common room. The fire from the hearth threw Harry's face into a stark contrast of light and shadows. His eyes looked gaunt and hollow, the lines on his face deeply etched.

Harry sighed. He simply couldn't concentrate on the Transfiguration homework that sat before him. He had been staring at a blank sheet of parchment for a long time, and the ink on his quill had long since dried. Finally, he threw his quill down in exasperation and stood up.

'Harry?' Hermione asked apprehensively. 'Everything all right?'

'No, everything is not all right. Everything has never been all right. Although maybe that slipped past you, since you weren't the one getting death threats.'

Ron's head jerked up, but rather than staring at Harry, his gaze went to Hermione, whose eyes were fixed on Harry in consternation. She stood up slowly, cautiously. 'Harry...'

Harry grabbed the piece of parchment from his pocket and shoved it at Hermione. As she read it, her eyes widened, perhaps with fear, perhaps with surprise. 'That's the first one where the writer claims to be Voldemort,' Harry growled. 'The other ones don't go that far, but they're all basically the same.'

'How many have you got so far?' Hermione whispered.

'Probably around thirty. A few every week. But this is the first one I've got via owl.'

'How'd you get the others?' Ron asked.

'Always on my pillow.'

'You never told...' Hermione started in a pained voice.

'No, why would I? This is my problem. I don't want to involve anyone else in it; it could get messy. You've been with me in everything for the past four years and you've come out whole, but last year - after what happened to - ' He stopped, not wanting to go on. Cedric Diggory's death had left a deep wound within him that had not yet healed. Over the summer, before Professor Dumbledore had given the Weasleys permission to house Harry, he had sat alone for long hours brooding over the events, playing them over and over in his head. Ron and Hermione - especially Hermione, Harry thought - were extremely worried about him; he often seemed depressed, and this was not the way they remembered Harry to be. Harry had always been so ready to smile, and nothing had ever dampened his spirits for long. He never spoke of it, but they knew that his experience at the end of the last school year had never stopped haunting him.

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances, wondering if there was a tactful way to approach the situation.

'Harry...'

'He'd probably never been in any danger before...'

'I mean, think about it...'

'If it had been either of us, we would've moved or something...'

A silent explosion seemed to take place. 'Moved.' Harry's voice was ice-cold, but so quiet that they could barely hear it. 'You would have moved. Do you think that would have saved your life? Don't be so daft; if you could just move, wizards wouldn't die with Avada Kedavra - they're not all stupid. You can't just move. You would have died, and a great deal of good that would've done everyone. No, I don't want either of you involved in anything anymore. It's too dangerous. I never really understood it before, but now... after... well, it’s sunk in now. Just... don't, okay? This is my fight. Let me fight it and just concentrate on staying alive.' Harry grabbed his books and went up the stairs to his dormitory.

As he turned the knob, he heard a scuffling inside. He looked about curiously as he stepped in, but the room seemed empty. On his pillow, however, lay a bit of parchment with three simple words written on it:

Have you decided?

*************

The next day was even worse than the previous one. In the morning a pot of ink burst, splattering scarlet all over the carefully-written report he had just completed and sending shards of glass at his face and hands. He escaped with only a few scratches, but he had to rewrite the report, and this did not put him in a good mood.

Later in the day, as he walked down the halls, a suit of armour dropped its axe in Harry’s direction, missing him by hardly an inch.

Further on, a staircase decided to move just as Harry was about to step on it. It’s not supposed to dothat, he thought angrily as he looked about for another staircase to climb down.

In Potions, down in the cold dungeons, as Harry and Seamus worked from the same cauldron to brew up a powerful sleeping draught, the cauldron’s tripod suddenly disappeared. The cauldron veered madly and would have tipped its contents all over Harry had Professor Snape not caught it with his wand in time. While Harry was relieved at having escaped the possibility of growing foot-long ears, Snape did not look at all happy and subtracted ten points from Gryffindor for Harry’s 'carelessness'.

'Harry,' Hermione whispered to him as they and Ron walked toward the Great Hall for supper, 'D'you think that—someone—is trying to carry out the death threats?'

'No, Hermione, I thought axes normally fell on people. It's funny, I used to think you were smart. Wonder where I ever got an idea like that...?'

Hermione gave a small gasp, and then fled from them, running quickly out of sight.

'Harry, leave her alone,' Ron said wearily. Harry stopped walking and stared. 'You're always so touchy now, what's wrong with you?' he continued. 'Hermione was just trying to help. Stop blowing her off like that. I think you're forgetting what it would be like without her.'

'I'm... I'm forgetting... I'm forgetting what it would be like to be without her? I'm doing this to protect her!' Harry shouted.

'And a good job of it you're doing, too,' Ron said, nodding. He walked away in the direction Hermione had taken, leaving Harry standing stunned in the corridor.

*************

'Hermione?' Harry tried tentatively, knocking on the door of the girls' dormitory. Parvati Patil stared suspiciously at him as she tried to get into the dormitory without letting him in with her. She didn't succeed.

Harry pushed past her and into the room. Hermione's face was buried in a pillow, and from time to time her body shook.

'Parvati, can you leave, please?' Harry asked.

Parvati's jaw fell open. 'You... want me...'

'Yes, please.'

'But... but this is my dor...'

'Yes, I know, but I need it for a moment.'

After gaping for a moment, Parvati turned away petulantly, muttering under her breath.

Harry walked to Hermione’s bed and stood awkwardly beside it. 'Hermione?' He edged over and kneeled down, his face nearly level with hers. 'Hermione... I'm sorry.'

He wished she would look up. He knew she would know he was truly sorry if she saw his face.

'Hermione, please.... I didn't mean... it's just...' He sighed. 'It's just that I've been having a really bad time. You know, between death threats and attempts on my life, that sort of thing... And other things have been weighing down on me too. It's just... I want to protect you, really. Voldemort has promised on more than one occasion to hurt those I hold closest to me, and you know you're one of them. And... I don't want him to hurt you.'

Hermione bolted up. 'Oh, so instead you do it for him?' Her face was streaked with tears and her eyes were red and blotchy.

'Hermione...'

'No, Harry. Ever since school started this year, you've been awful. You don't talk, you don't have any fun, any... adventures, you don't... you don't laugh. I can't remember the last time I heard you laugh this year. We've faced everything together, you said so yourself. Let us face it together again. Wherever one of us is weak, another is strong. Three is a strong number, Harry; one is weak. Can't you... won't you understand?' she ended imploringly. Harry bit his lip. She let her entreaty pass. 'Harry... do you at least have any idea who's been sending these notes? I hardly think Voldemort can creep into your dormitory and leave you a note.' A sudden thought struck her as Harry shook his head. 'Harry... do you think... could it be Malfoy?'

She thought she must be imagining things, because the strangest look fleeted through Harry's face. He shuddered and replied, 'No. Not... Malfoy.'

Hermione was startled by his vehemence, but thought it best to drop it. She was glad Harry wasn’t angry with her right now, and she wanted to keep it this way... at least for the moment.

Harry, however, felt the need to explain himself. 'I mean, how would—how would Malfoy get into the Gryffindor tower?' He suddenly sprang up, looking about wildly. 'That reminds me... I have somewhere to be...'

He strode off quickly without a backward glance. If he had looked back, he would have seen someone hit Hermione with a Petrificus Totalus and tie her up.

*************

The next morning Harry and Ron sat eating in the Great Hall. After some time, Harry asked Parvati, who was giggling loudly with Lavender, 'Have you seen Hermione?'

The two girls burst into a fresh and even louder fit of giggles. Harry flushed slightly and looked at Ron, who shrugged. He looked back at Parvati. 'So...?'

'Not since last night,' she replied suggestively, working very hard to suppress her laughter.

'So... erm... when you woke up she wasn't there?'

'She wasn't there when I went to sleep either!' She could hold out no more; she began laughing again.

Harry had begun to get irritated. 'Well then, where was she?'

The laughter stopped quite suddenly.

'Wait... what? She wasn't with you?'

Harry frowned, trying to figure out what she was implying. Ron, beside him, gave a brief snort of laughter. As Harry finally understood what she was insinuating, his face turned a very brilliant shade of red. 'No!' he cried in protest, absolutely mortified. 'No, she wasn't! So where is she?'

Parvati and Lavender looked guiltily at each other. Harry felt a wave of panic flooding him. He stood up very abruptly, his chair clattering to the ground behind him. He didn't notice. He dimly heard someone say his name but he didn’t turn around.

He ran to the Gryffindor tower up to the girl’s dormitory and forced it open with a quick Alohomora. Nothing.

He leaned heavily against the door, his breath shallow. Wearily, he pulled himself up and dragged himself fearfully to his own dormitory. As he had expected, there was a note on his pillow.

Strike One.

*************

'All right there, Harry?' Seamus called to Harry cheerfully. He had come up to the dormitory after breakfast to grab a book and had come upon Harry sitting dejectedly on the edge of his bed and Ron doing likewise on his. 'Ron?'

Neither boy looked up. After an awkward pause, Seamus continued, 'So, I'll... erm... see you in Herbology then, shall I?' As no one responded, he said, 'Right then,' and left them, leaving the door open behind him.

'Ron. What am I going to do?' Harry asked.

Ron looked up. 'What are you going to do?' His voice escalated. 'What are you going to do? Why is this always about you? Maybe there are people who care as much as you, have you ever thought of that? Maybe there are people who care more than you!'

Harry stared in surprise. 'Ron... what's wrong with you?'

Ron choked. 'Wh... what...' He sprang up. 'I loved her, that's what's wrong with me! And now she's gone! All because of some stupid scar some bloody lunatic gave you fifteen years ago...'

Ron couldn't go on. Harry listened in shock, his breath bated. 'Ron...? I... I didn't know...'

'Yes. Yes, I know you didn't know. You don't know anything. You don't get anything. If you did, then you wouldn't have let her get taken!'

'What did you want me to do?' Harry returned, his voice equally as loud now. 'Did you want me to stand by her every minute of the day?'

'If that’s what it took!' Both boys breathed heavily, glaring at each other from less than a foot away.

After a moment, Harry said quietly, 'Then why didn't you?' He turned away from Ron and left the room.

He did still care very much about Ron, and he would never have wished upon him what now befell him. Another curse cast, another hostage taken, and another note left on the pillow.

*************

Harry was miserable all day. He knew it was his fault that Hermione had been…captured. And he knew this affected not only him, but also Ron—perhaps more so. And now he was alone until he could find Hermione. He thought hard all day but nothing came to mind. He couldn’t simply go off to look for Voldemort and hope that he had Hermione pinned to his side.

As he sat alone in the Great Hall, wondering if he ought to go to Ron and talk to him, a strange dark black owl swooped down on him, dropping a package that fell neatly into his lap.

'Harry, what've you got there?' Dean Thomas asked him, trying to peer over his shoulder.

Harry jumped up, not wanting anyone to see what the missive said. 'I... erm... I have to go...' he muttered indistinctly.

As he was leaving, Parvati confronted him. 'Have you... found her yet?'

Harry stared. 'No.'

'Do you know where she is?'

He hesitated. 'I...'

Parvati shook her head. 'All right. It's okay. I'm sorry.' After a moment she added, 'Good luck.'

Harry fled from the Great Hall, hoping to read the letter in his dormitory, and hoping further that Ron had forgiven him. Before he could reach the Gryffindor tower, however, he ran into Draco Malfoy.

'Watch it, Potter,' Draco drawled, arching one eyebrow carefully. 'What's wrong?'

Harry glared at him, then grabbed his hand and began dragging him off to the trophy room.

'I'd really like to eat before we duel,' Draco protested mildly.

'We're not going to duel today, Malfoy,' Harry replied curtly. Since the beginning of the school year, Harry and Draco had been duelling together every Saturday evening. That summer, before Harry had gone to live with the Weasleys, Draco had shown up on the doorstep of 4 Privet Drive to speak with him. When Uncle Vernon had tried to stop him, he had whipped out his wand and threatened to turn him and his family into ferrets. 'Although,' he had added, eyeing him up, 'maybe your spines might've cracked from your bulk... ferrets are such slight creatures, you know.' Terrified, Uncle Vernon had let Draco in.

Harry had been extremely wary of Draco. One's archenemies do not normally visit for social calls over the summer. However, Draco had come not to fight with him, but to warn him.

'Potter, I don't like you,' he had begun, speaking quickly, 'as I'm sure you might’ve figured out over these past few years, but I don't especially want you dead,' he had said abruptly. 'For one thing, whose life would I make miserable?' he had added, almost as an afterthought. Shaking his head, he had continued, 'Anyway, my father... he's a Death Eater, you know... he's planning to kill you. Well... not him, personally... but them. The Dark Lord. And I know you've been lucky so far and you've managed to evade him, but sometime soon your sheer dumb luck is going to run out, and you're far too stupid to actually get away from him with your own skill...'

'Ahem.'

'...So that's why I'm here.'

'To insult me?'

'No, you pillock, to save you.'

'Ah. By insulting me?'

'I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer.'

'You just d...'

'Anyway, the first thing you'll need to do is put up stronger wards. Oh, I know there are already wards up - there must be, Dumbledore may be a Muggle-lover but he's not daft - but they're not strong enough, if I can just walk in like that. Weren't you going to move in with the Weasels or something? I don't know if they've got wards up.'

'The Weasleys?' Harry had replied a little coldly. 'Yes, when Dumbledore says I can go, I'm going. But the thing I don't understand is... why are you trying to save me?'

Draco had stopped and stared in disbelief. 'Potter, I knew you were thick, but I never knew how far your idiocy extended. What have I been talking to, a brick wall?'

Harry had chosen to ignore this. 'I heard you saying that you didn't want me killed, but it seems to me—I mean, the son of perhaps the most prominent Death Eater...'

He had stopped at the look on Draco's face. Draco had jerked up violently at the mention of his father, and he had gone even paler than usual. 'What makes you think, Potter,' he had said slowly, 'that I would follow in my father's footsteps?' Harry had frowned. Draco had continued, 'Let me tell you a secret, Potter: I hate my father. He has made my life a living hell. I will never... never... be a Death Eater like him.'

Harry had been stunned. Not being sure of what to say, he had waited until the moment and the tension had gone away, and Draco had resumed his list, somewhat subdued. 'So. First priority: wards. Next: you need to learn how to fight. You're going to be up against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, you know you are... it's practically part of you, it’s almost your purpose in life...'

'Thank you.'

'...And it's your own fight, so you'll probably be alone. So you'd best start preparing, he’s not going to cut you slack because you're not ready to face him. You need to learn how to duel. Don’t try to mention that little bout with Lockhart, that doesn't count, he was a fool who could hardly tell one end of his wand from the other. And this is where I can help you most. I happen to know how to duel, and I shall teach you.'

Harry had gaped slightly at his complete self-assurance. 'When... where... how?'

'Oh, I suppose it shall have to be at Hogwarts. We can't very well practice here, or else we'll both be expelled... oh wait, you might not be, as you're The Boy Who Lived, but as I'm not thusly privileged, I doubt I'd be able to stay. As to where... I'm sure we can find a room somewhere in the castle... it's rather a big building, you know. And how... what do you mean, how? We’ll use our wands and shoot spells at each other, even you ought to have been able to grasp that. If I’m lucky I'll even get to maim you or something.'

'Ah yes, because that would benefit me so much when I'm trying to fight Voldemort.'

'Don't try to be funny, Potter, it doesn't suit you.'

And so they had decided to meet every Saturday evening in the trophy room to help Harry learn how to duel.

At first, the duelling sessions were very tense—neither boy liked the other, and they would have been only too happy to hurt each other. Eventually, however, they seemed to resign themselves to each other’s company, and even to have come to some sort of silent understanding of friendship. Their public façades had not fallen and they insulted each other as much as ever, but as the months slipped by they also began to trust each other, and each told the other things they would never have told anyone else. They knew that not a word they said would ever leave the trophy room, and each had in the other a silent confidant. It was a very odd relationship, but a very close one as well.

'Why aren't we duelling tonight, pray tell?' Draco finally ventured when they were in the trophy room. He leaned with his back against a glass case, his arms crossed over his chest, Harry pacing pensively before him.

Harry suddenly stopped and took the newest package from his pocket. He went over to Draco and opened it. From it fell a missive and a little box. He opened the letter and read it for the first time:

Do you want them? I have them. They are being hurt, Harry Potter. Every moment that you delay, the worse I hurt them. I am waiting for you, Harry Potter. When you are ready, you will come to me. The object in the box is a Portkey; when you have given up, as I know you must, it will bring you to me.

And you have one chance left.

'What’s all this, then?' Draco asked, frowning, having read the letter from over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry's hand was shaking so much he could hardly hold the piece of parchment. ' ...They?' he quavered. 'Oh no...' He quickly filled Draco in on the recent events while running up toward the Gryffindor tower, Draco in his wake. He rushed up to his dormitory, hardly letting Draco appraise the unfamiliar surroundings, and stopped suddenly at the door.

'What's up now, Potter?' Draco panted.

'I don't want to go look,' Harry said breathlessly.

'Look at what...?'

'On... on the pillow. There must be a note there.'

Draco strode over to it. 'Yes, there is. It just says 'Strike Two'.' He looked up. 'Does that mean something to you?'

Harry felt his legs suddenly give way. 'Yes, it does,' he replied. 'It means he really has taken Ron.'

Draco scrutinised him. 'Do you think... maybe it’s time to touch that Portkey?'

'I don't know,' Harry whispered. 'What d'you think? Am I ready?'

Draco regarded Harry gravely. 'I think so. And... I don't think you have much of a choice.' After a moment, he added, 'I'll come with you.'

'No!' Harry said, panicking. 'No, please don't. I... I... I lost both of them,' he added more quietly. 'I don't want to... to lose you too.'

'You can't go alone.'

'You told me it was my own fight, remember? You told me I'd have to go alone!'

'Harry.' Harry looked up, surprised to hear Draco call him by his first name. 'Let me go with you. If you go alone, it'll be as good as saying you've given up. And you don’t give up... do you?' he ended sharply.

Harry buried his face in his hands for a moment before looking up and saying tiredly, 'No. No, I don't give up. We'll go together. In the trophy room at midnight?'

Draco nodded. As he turned to leave, he added, 'Oh... and I'm sorry.'

*************

Harry was thankful that Hermione and Ron had been missing during the weekend rather than the school week. He did not want his professors to get involved in this. He had grown up his whole life knowing not to depend on adults; the Dursleys would never have helped him, and would only have used his weakness against him, and the Muggle schoolteachers that had been around during his most critical younger years had never liked him enough to care. He was always the loner in the strange clothes and broken glasses; he wasn’t the kind of boy they wanted to trust and pay attention to. So he had grown up with the idea that if anything had to be done, he had to do it himself. He was still alone. He had friends now, but when it all came down to it, there was only so much they could do. They didn’t have the power for change that the adults did. He was grateful, therefore, in some twisted way, that the professors had not noticed the absence of the two students. This way, he could handle it and they would never have to know. When he brought his friends back, safe and very much alive, they wouldn't inundate him with questions and make him pull up painful memories, memories that he wanted nothing more than to lose forever.

He frowned. Something felt... wrong. Surely it wasn't so odd that Voldemort had picked a weekend to play his little game? And yet...

And yet it was. Perhaps Voldemort lay ready for him. Perhaps he knew that Harry would act immediately upon the loss of his two friends, and he had planned it out to end on the weekend so that Harry’s presence would not be missed. Hermione and Ron, missing them was one thing. Missing The Boy Who Lived... that was another. Or... another thought crossed his mind. Someone from the inside...? It made sense, in some convoluted way. The letters on the pillow—how could anyone else get in? And perhaps they told Voldemort that no one would be missed on a weekend? He shook his head, as if to free himself of the thought. I'm in Gryffindor, he told himself. Gryffindors don’t do this sort of thing. I doubt a single Gryffindor in the history of the House has ever gone bad. Besides, Voldemort's not stupid. He doesn't need someone to tell him that no one would be missed on a weekend. He went to Hogwarts. He would know.

For the rest of the evening, he paced agitatedly in the Common room and then lay restlessly in his bed. At last, at five minutes before midnight, he slipped out of the Gryffindor tower, the box with the Portkey in hand, and went toward the trophy room with his Invisibility Cloak draped over him. Finally, Draco arrived as well, slightly out of breath.

'Bloody cat,' he muttered. 'Next time, Potter, you're going to come get me and then we'll travel under that bleeding invisibility cloak of yours together.'

Harry shook his head slightly, then picked up the box, which he had placed on a nearby desk. He opened the box and looked at the Portkey.

It was a lightning bolt made of silver.

'You nervous, Potter?' Draco asked. Harry nodded. 'So am I,' Draco said quietly.

Harry covered them both with the Invisibility Cloak. At precisely the same moment, they grasped the lightning bolt, and Harry felt the usual jerk in his navel as the Portkey transported them to Voldemort.

*************

Harry groaned and turned over. His body ached from impact with the cold, hard ground. He looked around; he seemed to be in some sort of building. He saw that he was lying on a stone floor with high stone walls around them. The only windows were set into the wall high above, and a corridor led away from the room.

'Where are we?' a weary voice asked from beside him. Draco lay in even worse condition than Harry; he had landed face first, and his nose looked broken and his lip was cut. They both sat up painfully. Draco gingerly touched his lip and inspected the crimson blood on his finger. 'Damn it. I hate Portkeys.' A little more hesitantly, he touched his nose and winced.

'Can I try to fix it?' Harry asked, pulling out his wand. The lip healed easily enough, but the broken nose was well beyond Harry's elementary knowledge. All he could do was cast some pain-relieving charms.

'Thanks,' Draco said, trying to stand up stiffly. As he did so, he noticed Harry’s Invisibility Cloak lying a short distance from Harry, and said, “Harry, don't you think it's best that we put on your...'

'Too late.' A high-pitched voice broke Draco's words. Harry and Draco spun around to the voice to find...

'Wormtail,' Harry said resignedly. 'Should've known we'd be dealing with little minions. It's always you. Doesn't Voldemort have anyone better to use?'

'What parent would name their child Wormtail?' Draco intoned under his breath.

'His parents didn't call him that, you sod...'

'Ah.'

'Voldemort does have someone better,' a clear, sharp voice cut in. 'Himself.'

'You idiot, Potter, why'd you bring the blasted Cloak if you weren't planning on using it?' Draco said angrily.

'That would not,' Voldemort said coldly, 'have done you the slightest bit of good. Do not think I remade myself to conform to human obstacles. By the way, young Master Malfoy, so good to see you. Your father was so worried you were leaving us. But it seems that you have succeeded in bringing the great Harry Potter to me, so you must have remembered where your loyalties lie.'

Harry stood stricken, wanting not to believe Voldemort's words. Draco looked livid. 'My father. Don't bring my father into this. I did not choose my father, Voldemort, nor do I choose you. I know where my loyalties lie.'

'Then why, Draco Malfoy, have you come?'

'Where are they?' Harry interrupted. After the initial flood of relief from Draco's words, he had remembered that Hermione and Ron where somewhere here.

'Have you decided?'

'I have. Where are they?'

'And?'

'And what? Where are they?'

'And will you succumb to me?'

'Where are they?'

'I am waiting, Harry Potter, for an answer.'

Draco had been mouthing something furiously to Harry for the last few moments but Harry had been too focused on Voldemort to realise. Draco gave up trying and said aloud, 'So, Voldemort, how did you get those notes to Harry?'

Voldemort turned, startled, almost as though he had forgotten Draco's presence. 'The notes? Ah. On the pillow, I believe they were. I had some inside help for that. Would you care to know who it was?' Voldemort strode over to Wormtail and grasped the skull tattooed onto his forearm. 'It will take some time, as he will not be able to Apparate from Hogwarts. We shall wait.' Harry glanced nervously at Draco, who seemed to mouth out, 'At least this is buying us time.'

After some minutes had passed, they heard a noise in the outer corridor. 'You called, Master?' said a voice as the head accompanying it poked itself into the room. Harry and Draco caught their breath sharply.

'Hello, Seamus Finnigan. Tell these two young men what you have done for me concerning Harry Potter.'

Seamus turned to look at Harry. 'Ah, you here? Well, you had to succumb sooner or later, right? Yes, it was me leaving those lovely little letters for you. Did you like them?'

Draco made an almost imperceptible move towards Seamus, but Harry reached out and grabbed his arm. 'No, not yet,' he hissed. To Seamus, he said coldly, trying not to let his voice waver with the frantic fear that rose in him, 'All right, Finnigan. You had us fooled. So where are they? Hermione and Ron? Take me to them.'

Seamus raised his eyebrows and looked at Voldemort.

'They do not know yet,' the Dark Lord replied. 'Lead them.'

Seamus took Harry and Draco, followed by Wormtail and Voldemort, through the corridor and adjoining room, up a thin, twisting flight of stairs, and into a small, dark room at the top. 'Lumos,' he murmured, holding his wand out. 'There they are, Harry.' He pointed to the ground where two inert figures lay sprawled.

It took Harry a moment to register what he was seeing. When he finally did, an inexorable wave of pain he had never felt before inundated him. He wasn’t sure whether to cry or scream; he tried to do both and choked. He fell to his knees above the mangled bodies and stopped thinking altogether. Draco knelt beside him, trying to calm him. Draco had never loved Hermione or Ron, yet he was still distraught over their death; he could hardly even imagine what Harry must be going through. Perhaps he would never admit that he loved Harry, but it cut him to see Harry hurt, and his anger at Voldemort mounted. Harry had become completely unresponsive and remained sobbing on the ground.

Draco leapt up. 'Right, this has gone on far enough.'

Voldemort looked mildly astonished. 'A Slytherin enraged over the death of two Gryffindors? I never thought I'd see the day.'

'You ought not have!' Draco shouted. 'You ought to have died years and years ago, before you could’ve destroyed all those who were so much better than you!' He knew that what he was about to do was insane, foolish, completely futile, but it hardly mattered anymore. Pulling out his wand, he pointed it at Voldemort. 'Avada Kedav...'

'Expelliarmus!' cried a voice from behind Voldemort, snatching the wand from Draco’s grip and making it fly through the air to Seamus' feet. Seamus picked it up and handed it to the Dark Lord.

'Daft little boy,' Voldemort said, 'that was stupid. It takes more to a curse than muttering some words and waving about a wand. Let me show you how it's really done.' He pointed the wand slowly at Draco, then seemed to reconsider and aimed it at Harry instead. Draco realised what Voldemort was doing and looked at Harry, who was completely oblivious to everything happening around him. As Voldemort began the spell, Draco made a quick decision which he knew he would not have been able to adhere to had he thought about it more. Just as the spell was cast, Draco lunged and shoved Harry out of the way. The beam of green light hit Draco instead of Harry.

At last, Harry began to come out of his stupor. He looked up from the ground and saw Draco lying where he himself had been moments ago. 'Oh god...' he whispered. 'Oh no, he didn't, no, he didn't! Did you kill him too? Did you kill Draco too? Is this it?' he shrieked, jerking up to his feet.

'Strike three,' Voldemort said quietly. 'Actually, I was going to kill you. I thought you must be a hopeless case. The late Master Malfoy simply got in the way.'

'Got in the way, he got in the way, did he, he got in the way and now he’s dead too! Don’'t you understand, this isn't a game, it’s their life!'

'Oh, I understand that perfectly, Harry Potter,' the Dark Lord replied. 'Do you?'

In that moment, something snapped inside of him. He wasn't supposed to be trying to rescue people; he was supposed to be rescued. He was really only a child; he wasn't a hero. And he didn't want this anymore. His life wasn't meant to lead to this; he wasn’t living simply so that he could defeat Voldemort... or if he was, he didn't want to live anymore. Suddenly, it all fell into place. When Cedric had died, he had realised that it was serious. It was real. And he wasn’t ready for it.

'I ask you again,' Voldemort continued, 'will you surrender?'

Harry stumbled forward and fell to his knees at the Dark Lord's feet.

'Yes.'