Goodnight, Sweet Prince

The bright green eyes opened at last and gazed around the room. It was well furnished with wall hangings in dark colors and a thick carpet which seemed to swallow all noise in the room. The furniture was sparse, but what there was of it was expensive looking: a mahogany desk with some papers on it, a carved chair in front of the desk, a more comfortable looking chair across from him, and the chair which he was sitting on. He could tell that the chair he was on was comfortable, nicely upholstered and soft, but he couldn't see it. He just couldn't summon up the will power to look down.

The reason for his lack of will was the young man sitting in the chair across from him.

Draco Malfoy, the bright haired and dark eyed young man who had played such an important role in his life till now, was sitting there, gazing levelly at him, no emotion showing in his dark gray eyes.

#Gods,# the thought floated across Harry's mind. #He looks as tired of all of this as I am.#

The two antagonists stared at each other from across a space all of ten feet wide. They had been at odds for so very long, ever since they had first known met. When Harry had first met Draco in Madam Malkin's he had thought the other boy snobbish and frightfully stuck up, but when Harry had turned down Draco's offer of friendship, snubbed him for Ron Weasley, their fates had been sealed. From then on they had been at odds, always fighting, always bickering. When one saw the other they could not avoid a nasty word, and when the words weren't enough the fights progressed to spells.

But never to fists.

Both boys had gone out of their ways to avoid touching.

They had been fighting now for almost nine years - seven at Hogwarts and two since leaving. It had been two years since the fateful day the leaving ceremony turned into a riot. Two years since Harry received proof that Draco had joined the Death Eaters, since the forces of Voldemort attacked the the school and killed, among others, Ron's little sister, Ginny.

It had been a very long nine years.

#I'm so very tired of this.# The new thought progressed slowly through Harry's sluggish brain. #Maybe I ought to just let him . . . #

***

"You're so tired of all this, aren't you, Potter?" Draco's clear voice dropped into the silent room, echoing the other man's thoughts. "Tired of the fights - the wins and the losses. Tired of Voldemort. Tired of being the Boy Who Lived, the Boy Who's Going to Save Us All."

Draco stood up and walked slowly around Harry's chair, never pulling his dark eyes away from the other boy. His steps made no sound in the room and Harry could hear nothing except his own heart-beat, perfectly steady and calm.

"You're so tired you will sit there and just let me do this, won't you?" Draco circled back in front of the other boy and pulled out a small silver dagger, unadorned by any marks or symbols.

***

#Tired? Yes, I'm tired, but that doesn't explain why. . .#

***

"Why can't you move?" Draco's sincere question once again echoed Harry's thoughts and disturbed the quiet of the room. "I've placed you under the Imperius curse, yes, but that's never stopped you before. Would you like to know what's different this time?"

The blond again began to circle Harry's chair, this time talking so the other man could keep track of him.

"Every other time some one has tried to curse you this way they have made the most normal mistake in the world. They have tried to force the great Harry Potter. And you can't have that, can you?" Draco returned to stand in front of Harry and looked deep into the green eyes. "No one is allowed to tell you what to do, are they, Harry? No one gets to order, or command, or even suggest that you do anything. Any motion you make must be of your own volition."

And now Draco leaned down and whispered into Harry's ear. "And that hasn't changed. No one will make you do anything in here, Harry. No one will order, command, or even suggest anything to you. You have complete control over yourself, all you have to do is get up out of the chair."

***

And now Harry thought about it.

He could feel the disarming floating sensation that came with the Imperius curse. Could feel the lightness, the calmness. Could feel how the lack of orders gave him nothing to fight against.

And he could feel how it didn't matter.

He could get up from the chair anytime he chose.

***

"All you have to do is get up out of the chair," Draco repeated. "Just stand up. Or remain sitting. Sit there and enjoy the feeling. I do know what it feels like, you know. That pleasant floating, that utter disassociation." Draco smiled at his adversary. "All you have to do is get up ... or sit there. And all I have to do is this."

The blond reached down with the small dagger and dragged it lightly across Harry's cheek. Harry could feel the blood seeping out of the cut, see it running down the dagger and wetting the blond's fingers, and saw Draco look up from the knife to meet Harry's level gaze. Draco brought his hand up to his face and turned it, watching how the light in the room played over it, how it shone off of the silver of the knife and the deep red of Harry's blood.

"It's beautiful, isn't it, Harry?" the other man's light voice fell into the silence, disturbing it not at all. "There is blood and pain, and yet, there is also freedom and release. The blood is released from you, flows down your cheek, wets my knife. It does all this work, and all you have to do is sit there and let it happen."

This time when Draco's eyes met Harry's there was a strange light in them. "Harry, you really are the Hamlet of the wizarding world, aren't you. Your father was betrayed by one he thought of as family, your mother taken away from you in that same betrayal. The one who took them both now seeks to take everything else from you. But the true tragedy of Hamlet is how the poor prince loses his sense of self in the search for revenge, and you've done that too, haven't you, Harry?

"You've given up everything for this fight and, more than that, this fight has taken everything from you. You no longer know why you fight, and that is why you just sit there. You could get up. You know it and I know it. And we both know how this will end. Either you get up and defeat me, and we both know you will, or you sit there and I kill you. Again, we both know that is how it will go. We both know that those are the end results because we will both allow the situation to go in the direction it must. Just as we always have."

And now Draco knelt before Harry as though in supplication, although they both knew he would ask for nothing from the other.

"If you are Hamlet, dear Harry, who does that make me?" Draco's eyes burned, the truth of the question and his own loss of identity shining from within. "Am I your Laertes? Doomed to slay you and achieve forgiveness from you before I draw my last breath?" And now Draco leaned forward once again, bringing the two closer together than they had ever been in the nine years they had known each other. "Or am I your Ophelia, to pine for your loss and lose my sanity and my life for want of your love?"

Draco's voice now dropped even lower as the hand holding the dagger raised. "Finite Incantum," he whispered, allowing the spell to fall away from Harry, into that same silence which accepted his words.

Draco leaned forward, closing the last inch between the two, and placed a chaste kiss on Harry's lips. He leaned back and their eyes met as his dagger swung forward and plunged deep into Harry's chest, delivering the death blow.

"Good night, sweet Harry," Draco intoned. "And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."