Metamorous

Chapter 12 - Regret

Malfoy Manor. Wow. Just... wow. I mean... wow. Like, huge wow, and fancy wow, and Draco is even richer than I thought wow. Speechless, I turn to Draco, who is watching me sardonically, eyebrow raised.

"Oh, just... shut up."

"Was I saying anything?"

"You were going to!"

"So now you're claiming to be psychic?"

"If I was psychic I could have foreseen this whole mess."

"That would have been useful, eh?" But then we wouldn't have been stuck together. We would have plodded cheerfully further down the path of blind hatred and not shagging each other silly. Potential death... falling in love with Draco... imminent doom... falling in love with Draco... At this point, there isn't a clear winner.

~~~~~~~

"Hello Baldwin."

"Good afternoon, Master Draco. Your father requests your presence in the Blue Room."

"All right. Thank you."

"You have a butler?" Harry hisses as I lead him down the hallway.

I shrug. "Yeah. He sort of runs the house for Father. He's also a bit of a sneak as well. Watch what you do around him."

"Thanks for the warning. And why would wizards need a butler anyway? Why does anyone need a butler?"

"Prestige. Status icon. You know. It makes us seem better than we are." Oops. "I meant..."

Harry snickers. "Oh, I see."

"Idiot."

It wasn't really all that funny, but I think that was the only time we ever laughed in that house.

~~~~~~~

Draco leads me through the house slowly. He's very quiet now, even more so that usual. At least he's passed the giddy-adrenaline stage, thank God. The house, though. I guess I see what he means about it being creepy.

You know in Muggle cartoons where the lost person wonders through the hallways of this old, deserted mansion while the eyes of the paintings watch them and the suits of armor move behind their backs? That's what it felt like. I have goosebumps all over my body. I mean, it is a magically household, so the portraits do move, but there's still something very... very odd about this house. And it's not my imagination. It's not, and it can't be. I'm like a divining rod for evil and scary magical things and I think I just hit the jackpot here. I just hope that everything works out okay. I hope that we get out of this alive, preferably sane and with all our limbs. That's really all I'm asking for. Not that much, is it?

Draco turns around and pulls on my hand. "In here. He's waiting." For some reason that sounded particularly ominous.

~~~~~~~

"Draco. I trust you're well?"

"I'm fine Father. I can see you're well." And he is. White-blonde hair perfectly combed, robes impeccably immaculate. He's perfectly at ease in this backdrop of oriental rugs and thousand year old books. He is well. He always is. Somehow he always seem to manage. I'm still not sure if that drives me crazy or if I just envy it. "Harry? Come here, Harry. I trust you've all ready met my father, Lucius Malfoy. This is, of course, Harry Potter."

"Charmed."

~~~~~~~

Tense moment. Draco's father. Lucius Malfoy. We hate each other. Loathe each other. Abhor each other. Despise, detest, abominate. I'll try to be polite.

"Nice to see you again."

"Under far better circumstances this time," he says quietly. Oh? As in I'm right where you want me, those kinds of circumstances? A sort of silence falls over us. Three seconds, four tops, but it's long enough to give me even more heebie-jeebies than before.

"Draco, why don't you take Harry to your room? The rest of the day is yours, though your mother would like to see you."

"Of course Father. I'll stop by her rooms and have a chat with her." Eep. Can you say, dysfunctional family relationship?

~~~~~~~

"We'll be having a guest for dinner tomorrow." Three guesses for who that is "Be sure to be ready."

"Of course, Father." Do you really expect anything else? Do you even expect me to say anything else? If I said 'no, Father', his world would probably fall down around his ears. Don't know what he'd do. "Come, Harry," I say haughtily, playing the part to the hilt. "My room is this way." As he follows me up the stairs I can only hope that this works. Both our lives depend on it.

~~~~~~~

Once we reach Draco's room, we just collapse. Simply collapse. I pull him tightly to me. What must this be like, knowing you're betraying your father and turning your home into a battleground? Betraying everything you once stood for. I want to comfort him. So I will. The only way I know how. Or at least the only way I know he'll accept.

"Do you want to...?"

"Yeah."

I don't know if we moved fast or if we moved slow. I can't remember much of anything. He needed me. I was there for him. And as I lie here afterwards, Draco's head on my chest, fingers entwined with mine, I can't quite wrap my mind around this. Around maybe dying. Me, I can see it all too clearly. But Draco? Dead? I... he's too alive to be dead. Stupid thing to say, but you have to see him. Look at him right now. So alive. Gleaming silver eyes, chest moving slowly up and down. He's still awake I think. I don't really think either of us will be getting much sleep tonight. Too much thinking. Too much static in our heads.

I spend too much time thinking about him. Nearly every moment. When I'm with him, when I'm not with him. When I hated him, when I loved him. The simple fact is he is something. And he makes me something. And what that something is...I may never know. But it is. It just exists. And it counts for something. Somehow.

Jesus. I'm not making sense anymore. Or rather, I'm making sense to myself, but I can't put it into words. I don't know. I can't even tell why I don't know. Sleep. For God's sake, Harry, just get some fucking sleep.

Draco clings to me tightly, his head resting under my chin, knees tucked up and resting on the side of my thigh. We lie tangled up in the sheets. The light in the window is fading, and soon it will be dark. Time doesn't seem to exist, but at the same time I know that it's working against us. But we'll get through this, get through it the same way we've gotten through everything. Then this stupid charade will all be over. Whether we drop the charade part or drop the whole thing, I...I suppose that's up to him.

~~~~~~~

I am really, really trying not to think that this is 'the last time'. This is not the last time Harry will hold me, Harry will kiss me, Harry and I will sleep together. This isn't the last time I'll feel the smoothness of his skin or the silkiness of his hair. No, it's not the last time. It's not the last time until it's too late to tell it's the last time. So please, Harry, never let anything be the last time.

~~~~~~

When I woke up in the morning, the only thing I could see was Draco. I can't stay the whole night with him at school most times, yet every time I have he never once turned away from me. More often than not, in fact, I wind up in his arms with my face buried in his neck or chest. Like he's protecting me while I sleep. Never once have I had a nightmare when I'm with him. Not once. And even if I was blind to everything else, that should tell me something. And it does.

We could get up and practice casting our spells. Make sure we're ready, go over the plan again, but the truth is we're doing this or we're not. Getting up and getting all worked up about it won't help. It's already almost noon, I think. At least that's my guess from the way the sunlight is streaming in through the window. God.

I look back down at Draco and am mildly surprised to find him staring back. I bend down to kiss him, not really meaning to start anything but then desperately needing to. Desperately needing him.

~~~~~~~

We're teenagers. We're happy, we get horny. We're depressed, we get horny. We're sad, we're horny. We're scared out of our fucking minds, you guessed it, we're horny. At least there is some sense of normality attached to all this.

Not a bad way to spend your last day on earth. Or it wouldn't be, if everything didn't seem so fucking fatalistic. But all I can do is think, defiantly, that this isn't the last time either.

~~~~~~~

I think I spent a couple of hours staring at the wall today.

I mean, the more I tried to do something, the more my mind shut down. Draco and I started to play chess, and I think it was three o'clock before we even moved a piece. By five o'clock I had moved three of my pawns and one of my knights. After that we gave up and just lay back down on the bed.

Now it's seven. Time for dinner. And after dinner is Voldemort. Which is really one hell of a desert course.

~~~~~~~

Dinner's over. And I didn't realize I was eating. I barely remember leaving the bedroom.

Harry is waiting in the side parlor and Father has pulled me into his study, no doubt for some last minute instructions. I look around at the costly furniture, rich and decadent but not tacky. It screams money and prestige and 'pure blood;' for the first time in my life I find myself resenting it. Hating it even, because it's part of the reason I'm here. Part of the reason my father's here.

"Draco?"

"Yes, Father?"

"I'm sure there is no need to remind you exactly how important a night this is. Both for you, and for me. For our family. For Our Lord." He drums his fingers on the table, his only apparent sign of nervousness. Or maybe just boredom. "And I am sure you know what to expect."

"Yes."

He smiled briefly, eyes sparkling for the smallest of moments with emotion. I'm floored because, frankly, it's not something I see very often.

He turns and heads for the door, leaving me rooted to the spot with shock. Then, to compound upon that, he pauses at the door and looks back.

"I am very proud of you Draco. Very proud."

Oh bugger.

~~~~~~~

I'm still running my fingers nervously over the mantelpiece when Draco walks in the door. He glances quickly over the room before flopping limply down in an armchair, looking completely desolate.

"Draco?"

"He told me he was proud of me."

Oh bugger.

I take a small step towards him, hand coming out to rest tentatively on his shoulder. He doesn't notice.

"It's just..." he whispers. "I've been waiting my whole life for him to say those words."

"Shit," I swear softly. Draco loves his father. He does. I've known that, ever since that first conversation in the library. "You want to quit? There's still time..." Dumbledore gave us an out from the very beginning, and we all know we could quit at any time.

"No." He shakes his head. "Voldemort's down there, Harry. It's now or maybe never."

True enough. And all the more depressing for it.

~~~~~~~

He told me he was proud of me. My father. From him, that's the most amazing thing in the world. And I think Harry knows how I feel, because I know he would give anything for his father to be able to say those exact same words to him.

It's perverse, really. My father's proud of me for supposedly tricking someone into loving me, and bringing them home to kill. And the really perverse thing is, it still means something.

But I can't quit now. Harry asked, he gave me an out, but I can't. It's not right, and it makes all this work worth nothing. There's a chance to kill Voldemort. We know he's down there. Actually know. It's not some circumspect rumor. We're here to kill him, and that's what we'll do.

So Harry and I stare at the small door on the right that we're waiting to open. It will lead down to the cellar. I've only been down there a few times, under Father's strict supervision. This might be quite a bit different.

Briefly, I wonder if now is the time to tell Harry how I feel. We might die after all. And I should - I've got to tell him after this anyway. So why not now? Why not tell him what he means to me?

Harry. The bane of my existence. My reason for existence. He's always been the focus of my life. Always. Even when it wasn't in a good way. Of course now it is in a good way and... and everything couldn't be more messed up. It's three fucking words. You know? And I can't say them. I can't even tell Harry I like him, for Gods' sake. Can't get past telling him he's gorgeous. Talk about problems.

The real problem with this, I think, is that it started out physical. And then we didn't say where it could go. If it could go anywhere. Is this a one-shot deal? Am I going to be the high school sweetheart everyone leaves behind? Am I going to become a fond memory? A less than fond memory?

Argh. Pessimism. I try to give myself a pep talk and end up talking myself down. Just... shut up, brain.

~~~~~~~

What is with the silence? I mean, normally when a silence is this uncomfortable, I start to babble just so I have something to do. But this... it's like stone. Heavy. Choking. I can't think of a thing to say.

Maybe because this is the moment of truth. The moment where all the what-ifs and should-haves and maybes coming rushing at you all at once. Should I tell Draco? I think... I want... but no. No. It's stupid. For one, that's practically suicide right there. I mean, if I tell him something like that, he'll be completely freaked and once we went it there it would be like the magical equivalent of shooting ourselves in the foot. Yeah. So I won't for practical reasons. Two, I don't feel like it. Not now. Maybe not ever. It's not something I can tell him.

Harry Potter, you are a coward.

~~~~~~~

Maybe...

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I..."

There's a tap at the door. The signal for us to go in. I take a deep breath. No time to tell him now. Let's just consider it fate. Karma. Destiny. Kismet.

Sorry. When I'm stressed my vocabulary tends to become a bit more effusive. Profuse. Unrestra... Sorry. Again.

"What were you going to say?"

"Be careful."

"You too."

~~~~~~~

Draco opens the door and I follow him through. Nothing too weird yet. A dark, dank spiral staircase. I don't see anyone around; God knows where that knock came from. We walk down and down and down, around and around and around. Makes me dizzy, though I feel almost strangely detached from my body. But then, we reach the bottom of the stairs and I slam back into it. There he is. Voldemort.

~~~~~~~

Harry walks out in front of me, his eyes briefly scanning the room before coming to rest on Voldemort. And... wow. Creepy. I mean, this room is really creepy. Stone walls that are slimy to the touch, flickering torches and metal grates scattered here and there. Other metal... things. I don't really want to worry about their uses right now, but it seems some Muggle ideas are not above the Death Eaters. Tortures, apparently. I don't know what I expected when I came down here, but it can't have been much creepier than this. There's... there's a smell. Dusty, yeah. A sort of sour, moldy tang. But something... else. You know what? I don't want to know. I could make a guess, and it would probably be right, but I just don't want to think about it more than I have to.

The Death Eaters stand in a half circle behind Voldemort, black hoods pulled far over their faces. As if they didn't all know each other. Ruddy hell. Voldemort's stupidity reaches new heights. Or lows, rather. An tall figure stands on his right side. Father.

I wince. Damn it. Back to Voldemort. Focus on Voldemort. And the cringing shape that clings to his left...

"Wormtail." I hear the hiss escape from Harry's lips and poke him in the back of the neck. Shut up!

As we get closer to the dais my heart beats faster and faster. I hope to God Voldemort doesn't do anything to Harry. Or worse, make me do something to Harry. I stop a few feet away from where Voldemort sits and pray fervently that lying about my missing homework and bullshitting my way through Potions exams has given me enough practice to lie to the one person who knows falsehoods better than anyone else.

~~~~~~~

Right there. He. Is. Right. There. You have no idea how hard it is for me not to reach for my wand right now. No idea. The only thing that stops me is that I know it wouldn't work. Provided no one blew me away before I did kill Voldemort, they certainly would be able to after. And my dying would leave Draco to fend for himself.

Draco bows. "My Lord."

Voldemort nods. At least his looks have improved since I last saw him; apparently the white skin and red eyes were not permanent. His pupils still have a reddish sheen, but his skin is natural enough, if a little pale. His hair is dark with a few silver threads at the temples. Your average forty, fifty year-old man. Who tried to kill me. Who killed my parents. Who killed Sirius. And God knows how many more.

"Draco Malfoy. You have him under your control?"

"Completely."

"Prove it."

"What would you have him do?"

C'mon, c'mon. You fucker. You stupid, pompous bastard. You're dead.

Profanity! inner-Hermione screeches. No idea why she's in my head right now. Certainly isn't helping.

Voldemort narrows his eyes. "First, have him show some respect."

"Down on your knees."

I get down. Draco's hand rests on the back of my neck, and he moves his finger slowly up and down. He's kind of petting me. Weird. Soothing. Comforting. Takes away the chill that was in his voice a moment ago.

"He'll do whatever I tell him to."

"Whatever you tell him to," Voldemort echoes faintly. "He is beautiful, is he not?"

The hand on the back of my neck stops moving. "He is."

"Beautiful... powerful... He was almost a Slytherin. Did you know that, Mr. Malfoy? How could he not have been, a Parseltongue like he is? Oh, he's a true snake, in every aspect. Harry..." he hisses. "Look at me, Harry."

"Look at him."

I look. Directly into his face. The faces of the Death Eaters that surround him are shadowed, but the look on his is quite clear. Hate. And admiration.

"Ah, yes. You even look as me now. As I had looked at one point. I wonder sometimes, Harry, whether you can be killed. That scar on your forehead is unassuming. But it means so much to me. I marked you... I changed you... One might say I made you." He turns slightly, and looks at Draco. To his credit, he doesn't flinch. "Have you used him Mr. Malfoy? Used him well, and hard?"

"He's been on his knees, against the wall, shoved onto the floor. I've used him." Draco reaches down and moves a piece of hair from behind my ear. "Hard. Long. Whenever, wherever. His friends have abandoned him, his House ignored him. He's groveled, he's begged. And still he wants more. He is mine, my Lord, and as such he is yours." My skin's crawling. Damn. Convincing. Slightly true. And very creepy for it. But I know that it's just an act. Draco won't sell me out. Even if it started like that... he won't. I have to believe in him. I have to believe that he won't. God, how could he? I know he won't.

"Good." There are murmurs of assent from the Death Eaters. "You have his wand?"

"He does. But he won't even move unless I tell him to."

"Take his wand from him."

"Harry, give me your wand." As I reach into my pocket, Voldemort's eyes narrow. My grip is so tight my knuckles are turning white. Hand shaking slightly, I pull it out and hand it to Draco. Draco holds it up slightly, dark brown wood gleaming even in the dim light. The Death Eaters relax a bit. A few laugh, and it sends chills up my spine. Is that the Slytherin patented laugh, or something? Voldemort sits back in his chair, satisfied.

"Completely under your control. Completely under my control."

I hate you.

I slide my other hand into my pocket. Thank you Fred, thank you George. Thank you for inventing fake wands that look just like the real thing, guaranteed to fool even the evilest of dark lords, but especially the stupid, pompous ones that render themselves complete idiots. Thank you Voldemort, for being said idiot. And thank you Draco, for being here. For everything. Hope we make it out alive.

"Detrimentus!"

~~~~~~~

A shielding spell surrounds Harry and me. It won't stay for long, and it won't stop the Unspeakables, but it's better than nothing. More importantly, it's the sign for the Order to burst in. Hell, you didn't think we were doing this without backup, were you?

Dumbledore leads them, his normally vague expression filled with purpose and power. Such power. Gods, I knew he was powerful but this... this is amazing. He's glowing, practically glowing with it. Amazing. Gods.

Hell breaks loose. This is... chaos. That's all there is to describe it. Complete and total chaos. Hours and hours of planning about who would come in at what entrance and which way they would sweep and what spells they would use, and it all looks like a hopeless muddle. And Harry and I are stuck in the middle. We're back to back, the safest way to be since everyone is coming at us all at once. The Death Eaters will want personal revenge. I've no doubt even my father bears me ill will at this point. Especially my father. Though actually, in his own twisted way... he might be even more proud. I betrayed him. I fooled him. I'm Judas. He's a Slytherin. And he might be Slytherin enough to be proud of the Machiavellian quality of the whole thing.

"Melismus!"

"Where is he?"

Voldemort. "Your left!"

"Stupefy!"

"Contracorpus!" A Death Eater slams into the wall. Ha.

"Shit. Where'd he go?"

"He couldn't have Disapparated." You can't in this room. "He's around somewhere."

"Goddamn it!"

Black robes swirling everywhere. Flashes of light and sparks, the scents of burning flesh and wood and the musk that can only be described as magic. Adrenaline. So much of it my hands are shaking, my heart is pounding in my ears, my stomach feels like it's trying to claw it's way out of my body. Harry and I are outnumbered right here, outnumbered and outgunned. We know only the simplest of battle spells and we're trying to fight men and women who have made it their life's mission to master the worst of what magic has to offer. We must be insane. Harry's back feels solid against mine, and his hand brushes my hand. Yes, we must be insane. But we're doing it anyway.

"Fuck!"

"Voldemort."

There he is. Harry turns and faces him. No! No Harry, don't face him! He'll blow you away! Jesus, are you insane?

They both raise their wands, twin looks of determination on both their faces. Wha-?

"Avada Kedavra!"

Who said it? Harry? Voldemort? The both of them? Would there be a huge sense of fucking irony if each of them killed each other? I didn't know Harry could even use that spell. Harry...!

Something slams into me, and everything slows as I fall. Before I hit the floor I watch Voldemort's frail form crumple to the ground. Harry... I can't see him. He's next to me. Behind me. Where is he? Is he all right? Something...

"Harry..."

~~~~~~~

Fuck. My head's spinning. Double vision, I'm bleeding somewhere... my arm? No, my shoulder. Draco. Where's Draco?

"Voldemort is dead!" Someone's overjoyed voice rings out through the room. All the Order members smile. On some it's grim, filled with long awaited satisfaction, while on others a happy one. Me? I'm not smiling at all.

Where's Draco?

Funny. I've been waiting for this moment for most of my life, and now I couldn't care less. All I want is to see if Draco's all right.

There. Shit. You better be playing some horrible joke on me. I swear to God, Draco, you better be faking this... Oh. Oh thank God. He's breathing. He's breathing, he's not dead, he's just lying there... There's a cut on his head... I've got to find a Mediwizard. Everything... the room... the Order...

And I see something out of the corner of my eye. Someone, actually. Rushing towards me. And there's no doubt it's a Death Eater. Still in ceremonial black robe, wand outstretched towards me...

What to do? What to... spell. A spell. God, something's wrong with me. I can't think anymore. Spell. What's the last one you used...?

"Avada Kedavra!"

Lucius Malfoy tumbles to the ground. Dead.