Halo

Halo

She was there when he fell asleep, her arms a shield to protect him from the stark reality that sometimes pressed in at night.

He didn't dream much anymore--not the real kind of dreaming that he used to do before it happened. When he did dream, the dreams were either the bad or the worse. The bad ones were the nightmares of Voldemort and his father and the Dementors swooping in on him. The worst ones were the ones where everything was sunshine and happiness and completely ordinary, as ordinary as the wizarding world got. Then he would wake up and remember that she was dead.

That didn't happen much anymore. He was slowly losing the ability to really sleep. Hollows appeared under his eyes. His body wouldn't obey him although his mind was as sharp as ever. And he dreamed--the other kind of dreaming, the kind that was real without being real.

Sometimes he wondered what would have happened had he chosen another path. Sometimes he wondered if Ginny would still be alive.

It was in the early hours of night that Draco Malfoy lay in the worn-out old camp bed and waited for the half-sleep to steal in on him... the greyish fog through which he felt her presence.

It was at this time that he was most vulnerable, having cast away the shell he wore during the day but not yet being shielded by her soft arms around him.

The shell didn't protect him anymore--it only dulled the impact of the darts of poisonous hate that the Weasleys sent after him. They blamed him completely for her death. Not that it was unfair. He had killed her, he knew. It was just that all that was standing between him and insanity were her arms around him each night.

"Voldemort's moving fast. God, if he had to have faced this before--" Harry glanced at Draco.

The other young man looked back with a steely gaze. "Before what?"

"If we were forced to deal with Voldemort," said Harry slowly, "while he still had Lucius, we would be utterly crushed."

"But that was still before we lost some of our own," said Ron with a scowl. "The balance is still the same. They lose some, we lose more."

Hermione looked up from the map on the table. "She wouldn't have been a deciding factor in the battle, Ron. Let it go."

"Is that all you think about?" Ron shot back. "Maps and atlases and field reports and probability and goddamn numbers! I lost my sister, Hermione!"

She stared back coldly at him, though Draco could see the hurt and fear that he had also long hidden behind his own mask. "I lost my father," she said in clipped, precise tones.

"It's not the same."

"Why? Because he was a Muggle? He doesn't matter just because he couldn't hold some idiot wand and mumble a bunch of silly words?"

"He doesn't mean that," said Harry hastily.

"How do you know what I mean?" Ron snapped.

Hermione bristled. "Don't you dare say anything like that again."

"Or what?" Ron jeered. "You'll tell on me to Harry?"

"The point is," said Harry loudly, "we owe it to Malfoy that we can face the Death Eater army at all."

Hermione dipped her head graciously toward him. "Thank you."

"Yeah, thanks for killing Lucius and his cadre of Death Eaters," said Ron sourly. "Only, next time, try to save Ginny, not just your own arse." Harry shot a look at him. Ron ignored his best friend.

Hermione tapped her fingernails against the table. "If only there were more of us," she sighed. "Most people don't like to associate themselves with neither the Order of the Phoenix or the Death Eaters. Sometimes I feel like an extremity."

"We are an extremity," said Draco.

"But we're the right extremity," said Harry.

Draco made a noncommittal grunt.

"We are right," said Ron assuredly. "It's just you who puts our goals above other people."

Harry quickly looked down at the map. "Ron, it was an accident. We don't hold him responsible for Ginny's death."

But Draco knew that all of them secretly felt that he was responsible. And it was truly his fault. No one could absolve him from it.

"How's the Pandora Project going?" asked Harry, changing the subject.

"Tonks and Lupin are working on it with Moody right now," said Hermione.

Harry was silent. "If only Dumbledore was here."

"Fucking natural death," Ron growled. "Mark that as one person in this war that Malfoy didn't kill."

"There's a problem," said Hermione hesitantly. "About Pandora. For it to work... we need someone to activate it."

Ron made an impatient noise. "So? I could do it. You could do it. Harry could do it."

"Yes, but the activator will be wiped out. At the least their magic will be completely destroyed."

They were silent. "It's not a bloody activator," muttered Ron. "It's a bloody Opener."

"We don't do suicide missions," said Harry.

"It won't be suicide if I do it," said Draco in a low voice. "It'll be justice."

Ron wheeled in on him, eyes blazing. "Don't you dare try to act sorry! Don't you dare! You never knew her, you never loved her, and she never loved you! She hated you, Malfoy! And I'll always hate you."

"There are some things," said Draco through clenched teeth, "that you'll never know. Some things that died with Ginny, and will now die with me too." He turned to Hermione. "What do I have to do?"

"Bloody hell, we don't want you to do this!" Harry exploded.

Draco's eyes were grim, and perhaps a little mad. "Well. I want to."

Sleep began to cloud in on the edges of his universe. And then she was near him, her arms stretching out for him.

They floated in and out of white silver liquid light. Ivory roses twined around them, a flurry of silken petals falling like they might have in a dream that had died such a long time ago.

"No," whispered Ginny. "Not long."

"To me," he sighed. "At least only to me."

She smelled of honeysuckle. She was his shield, his sanity, his Ginny.

Then morning crept upon them, the first ultramarine light of dawn tinting the sky. Draco sighed and got up, ready to put the shell back on.

She was still there.

"Oh God," he said, stunned. "Why--"

She smiled sadly. "Today is the launching of Pandora. And you, Draco, are going to be the martyr of wizarding Britain. Why?"

"I can't live without you," he said flatly.

"I'm right here."

Draco drew a sharp breath. "You're dead!"

"Some things never change. I'll always love you."

"And some things do." He twisted his mouth wryly and pulled on his trousers. "Once upon a time, I dared to dream that we would grow old together. Have children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I could have taught them to walk, to run, to cast their first charm. I could have taken them up on my broom and showed them the world. You could have baked them cookies and healed their cuts and scrapes. I could have lived happily ever after with you, Ginny."

She looked down, and tucked a loose wisp of red hair behind her ear. "We could have told them stories. Of their brave Uncle Harry, the Boy Who Lived. And Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, who saved the wizarding world. And their brave daddy who chose the right side."

Draco held his shirt in trembling hands. "You mean their stupid daddy who killed their beautiful mama."

Her eyes were serious. "You didn't kill me."

"You're dead, aren't you?" He pulled arms through the sleeves violently and began to do the shirt up, yanking at the buttons savagely.

"But you didn't kill me," said Ginny softly. "I chose that path. Draco, live."

He looked up and held her golden brown eyes in his steady gaze. "I want to be with you."

"Don't be stupid."

"You don't want me."

"Do you think I want you dead, Draco? I want the best for you."

"There's nothing for me in life. My father is dead. I killed him myself. My mother was arrested and accidentally killed by this side. All the people I once knew are either dead or among those who I'm going to kill in a few hours. Your friends hate me for killing you. I've never believed in sin and all that atonement shit, but there's something horribly wrong with killing someone you love."

"It always comes back to that, doesn't it? When will you understand...?"

His face twisted with anguish. "I want you, Ginny. I want you so badly that I dream of you every night; that I am seeing you right now; that I hallucinate how you look, smell, taste, and feel when I don't have the strength to try and be sane. Strange, isn't it. That a hallucination, that a ghost of a dream is all that's keeping me from going utterly mad."

"Not quite a ghost of a dream. A dream of a ghost."

"Whatever." He began to tug on his boots.

"Draco, I will always love you. Isn't that what matters?"

"Fat lot of good that did," he said bitterly. "Can't I love you in death as well?"

"We're not Romeo and Juliet," said Ginny Weasley. "We never were."

"No," he said. "We're Draco and Ginny."

"Draco and Ginny." She looked thoughtful.

He gave a hollow laugh. "Biggest fuck-up of the century."

"Please, listen to me." She took his hand. "Few choices are ours to make. You didn't kill me, Draco. I chose that path, and here I am."

He looked into her eyes, and what he saw was an endless pool of golden liquid light spilling out and drowning him in utter love. "I don't deserve you..." he whispered, squeezing her hand.

"I don't deserve you."

He could feel the guilt and hurt and suffering that he had built up to support what was left of him during those last few months--he could feel it all crumble into the ashes of burnt bones and an uneven circle of amber beads and droplets of molten gold against the charred scraps of her clothing... for months he had agonized over why he had chosen to use that Incendium spell when he knew that she was right beside him. And all that was left was the bracelet he had given her for her birthday.

He could feel the dam of tears that had held for over fifteen years break apart and flood every part of his being with sensation. What Lucius had twisted and broken inside of him was healed and fixed. What had been instilled was taken out. Ginny had always saved him. And he had failed to save her.

"But that doesn't matter," she whispered.

"All I can do is die for you."

She pressed his hand against her face and kissed it. "I would do it again, Draco. Some things are more important than an individual life."

"Like now."

"You have a choice, Draco. There are others that can be found to open Pandora's Box."

"But I want to do this," he said. "Please, Ginny."

She was silent. Then, "Come to me, Draco. Soon."

"I--" The tent flap opened and Hermione came in.

"Who were you talking to?"

"Ginny. She was... just right here." He stared at the empty camp bed, mildly confused but otherwise unruffled.

Hermione gave him a funny look. "Just don't tell Ron. That would be a little too much for him."

"Oh," said Draco cheerfully. "Don't mind me. I'm just going mad. And as for Ron, I don't think I have to worry about him. Not after today."

Hermione fidgeted. "Draco, do you really want to do this?"

His answer was sharp and abrupt. "Yes."

She twisted her fingers together nervously. "Well... what... really went on between you two?"

His eyes were hard and cold, but the bright silver ice was thin, floating on an ocean of despair. "Between me and who?"

"You and Ginny." Hermione reached up to fiddle with her hair, but six months ago she had shorn it until only half an inch of brown fuzz remained. Six months ago, when Ginny Weasley had died. It had grown a bit, but not enough so that she could distract her hands now.

A pause. Eventually, Draco spoke in a slow, uncertain voice. "We loved each other. We hid it. The war broke out. She died."

"Not exactly Romeo and Juliet," Hermione remarked.

Draco flinched. She was not a cruel person; things had changed since Ginny's death. She had been too young, too innocent, too bright and happy. Rays of sunshine do not die. The worst had been brought out in everyone. And when Hermione's father followed only weeks later, people saw the bitter, acid side to the scrupulous, talented Hermione Granger. "No," he said finally. "For one thing, I'm still alive." He flashed a brittle smile. "But not for long."

"Right," said Hermione. "Okay." She paused. "I can't believe none of us noticed... that you loved each other."

"I don't mind," said Draco lightly. "This will be over soon."

Her eyes flicked about the scattered belongings in his tent. "You don't want to clean up or something? I mean... you're going to die."

He looked blank. "No point in it. And I hate cleaning."

"Insane," she stated flatly, and left.

"Mostly," Draco agreed to the empty air.

***

The sun was getting higher when Draco Apparated into the Death Eater camp with a box underneath his arm and modest black robes over his modest white shirt and charcoal trousers.

No one noticed anything unusual. After all, Moody and Lupin had done a magnificent job of hacking into the wards, and the Polyjuice worked beautifully. It was a new kind, adapted by Hermione. When the sentries checked for Polyjuice, they didn't find it. The potion was impervious to all the methods of detecting the notorious tool of subterfuge.

Draco found his way to the center of the camp and set the heavy metal box on the ground. No one cared. And even if there were those that did, soon their opinion wouldn't matter anyway.

The signal was Fawkes. The phoenix was sent into the sky, a fireball of gold and red against the pale bluish white of the morning.

The Death Eaters stirred nervously, but did not suspect that the young man squatting by the box of shiny blue-black metal was about to end the war once and for all.

Draco pulled out his wand and pointed it at Pandora's Box. "Alohomora."

The lid had barely opened a crack when the entire box exploded, shards of blue-black metal flying into his face.

The concept of Pandora's Box was simple. There were natural forces that fed off spiritual energies like thoughts, memories, and even magic. The Dementors fed upon souls. Much lesser forces hung around the air, unconscious beings that survived on magic. Some were noted for being especially attracted to the Dark Arts.

By trapping so many leeches in a box of special design and releasing them in a relatively small area, the Death Eaters would be fatally crippled by the very magic they had used to bring themselves this far.

The only problem that had presented itself to the Pandora team was that the Opener would be the first to be affected--either stripped of the inherent magic within, or simply killed.

Draco knew which fate was his. The Dark Arts ran too deeply in the Malfoy family for any negotiation here. It felt strange, now that death was here. He had not hesitated even to open the goddamn box; but in the brief second of eternity as he lay bleeding from the sharp pieces of metal, feeling the magic he had never really given a thought to draining swiftly out of him, he couldn't help but regret only a little.

But there was no other way. There could never be another way...

"Oh, Draco," said Ginny tearfully. "You stubborn git."

"Hello, Ginny," he said vaguely. "Am I dead yet?"

"No. Not quite."

"Oh. Damn."

She sniffed and laid her white cheek against his chest, a light and comforting weight on his slowly failing heart. "You can be so stupid at times."

"Oh come now, Ginny. I just died for you."

"Will die," she corrected. "No need to be so conceited about it."

"I can't believe this," grumbled Draco. "I'm having a goddamn conversation about technicalities with a ghost while dying." In the background, fire and magic and darkness raged as the Order of the Phoenix overwhelmed the last of the Death Eaters.

She lifted herself up from against him, looking stern. "I'm only dead, I'm no ghost."

He blinked. "You've got a halo, you know."

"Do I?" A soft, golden light was bathing her red hair, radiating like a burnished copper sun.

Draco sighed, suddenly very, very weary.

"Ginny--just hold me."

She nodded and wrapped her arms around him, eyes intent on his face.

After a while, he said, "I've gone mad."

"Yes."

"Then you aren't real."

"I am," she said reassuringly.

"But--"

"This is no time for technicalities."

Draco opened his mouth to make a sarcastic comment, but the darkness was swooping in and stilling his throat.

Ginny smiled, glowing in his dimming vision. "Come, Draco. I'll always love you."

"Me too," he said as Death came and cut him away. He took her hand. "So now what?"

She leaned against his shoulder. "We die happily ever after." And they were gone.

Back in the waking world, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter bent over Draco's body to carry him back to their camp. Harry noted an orange gleam at the dead man's wrist behind the slashed and ripped sleeve. As they rolled up the sleeve with grim faces, they found a bracelet of shining amber beads threaded onto a length of charmed string. As Hermione lifted it into the light of the noon sun, they cast a soft golden halo on Draco's pale, smiling face.

END