Ashes to Ashes

Ashes to Ashes

Part One

The Unmaking

II

After we've calmed down sufficiently we make our way back to the Grand Hall. The ceiling is a very light pink with the light of the dawning sun. Uncle Severus was right. It is a beautiful sunrise. I wish I had been able to see it properly but boyfriend-duty calls.

"Where's Harry?" Ron asks. I don't know why he thinks I'd know. It's another matter that I do know, but why should I?

"He's talking to my father," I reply.

"He's been hanging around your father a lot lately," says Ron pensively.

"So?" This comes out more fractious than I intended. I love Ron, I really do, but when he starts to think he either comes out with ridiculously complicated scenarios or he won't get the point at all. I don't begrudge him for it. I actually think it's rather sweet. I can't help being nauseatingly mushy, I'm in love - but right now I'm not in the mood to listen to another one of his conspiracy theories.

"Nothing," he says in the faraway voice that means the wheels of his mind are turning. "Drey, you don't suppose Harry fancies your Dad?"

Gah! This is exactly the sort of thing that I mean! Of all the outrageously, outlandish absurdities in the world he has to pick that one. Hmm, I think all the three adjectives I just used mean the same thing. I do that when I'm flustered.

Ron laughs while I finish spluttering indignantly.

"No, I do not suppose Harry fancies my Dad! My father fancies my mother, thank you very much! I do not want a step-father and even if I did Potter would be the last person on my list with the exception of Longbottom!"

"Calm down," says Ron. "It was only a- what do you call it - hypothetical question."

"If you must know they're talking about curses." That reminds me. I want to know what all the secrecy was about. If there's one person who can tell me it's -

"Granger!" I exclaim as she approaches us. "What does the fido curse do?"

"The what?" she says in a long-suffering why-must-I-deal-with-this-moron tone. "For Merlin's sake at least learn to pronounce your curses right if you can't perform them."

I'm tempted to tell her where she can stick her condescending attitude but Ron thinks a lot of her and I really want to know what Dad and Potter were talking about out there.

"Um, not fido... fendo... feido - something like that."

"Fiendo?" she asks sceptically.

"That's the one, yeah fiendo."

She frowns. "That would translate to 'the making'. There's no such curse as the making curse."

Oh yeah, smarty-pants? Then how come two of the most important wizards in this war were whispering about it? Oh wait there was more. "It was the non-fiendo. I remember now."

"Non-fiendo?" asks Ron. "That would mean not making and frankly Drey, you are not making any sense." He grins at his little joke. I don't find it funny at all and glare at him. He ignores me and looks at Granger expectantly.

"A better way of saying it could be unmaking," I say pointedly.

"I've never heard of it," Granger says dismissively. "It doesn't exist."

"Just because you haven't heard of something doesn't mean it doesn't exist," I say nastily.

"I suggest you get your facts right. If it existed I would have heard of it," she says superciliously. "You must have overheard wrong."

Damn! Does everyone know about my eavesdropping habit? I try not to, but - alright I don't try not to at all. But to have her pointing it out is especially peeving. From what Ron tell me of their early years at Hogwarts, they listened more at doors and under that blasted invisibility cloak than they did in class. I'm itching to tell the jumped up little Mudblood to go bugger off but I hold my tongue and say nothing. Actually, I bite it.

All those who were outside are slowly returning back inside the hall. Dad and Potter walk in, still deep in conversation. They're headed to where we are standing but I'm not sure that they've noticed

"All you have to do is mark out your target and stay focused," Dad's saying to Potter. "You've got three battle-groups which are to make sure that you have a clear line of attack and your own group should be able to cover. It's only a matter of waiting for the opportune moment and then - 'zap'."

We are divided into several small groups that we call battle groups. Granger once started to explain that in the Muggle world we'd be called platoons and squadrons and regiments and that their way is much more organised. However since most of the group leaders are pure-blood or have little knowledge of the Muggle defence system she found it too exhausting trying to explain how the whole thing works to us and gave up on it. We're segregated as per our strengths and our ability to work together. I mean it would be pretty silly to put my dad and Ron's in the same battle group. They'd murder each other instead of the enemy.

I'm in Potter's group with Ron and a few others. We've trained together all this year and were given duelling lessons together our last year of school. We work well together as a team and we're quite formidable in battle. I don't know how we'd have gotten along if we hadn't been flung together by the War. I try not to get any closer to my group-mates than I have to. It makes it all the easier to carry on if one of them falls. No prizes for guessing who's in charge of our group.

"Easier said than done," Potter mutters.

Dad nods curtly at him. "Good luck, Harry. You'll need it," he says and abruptly turns around and walks away over to rejoin the members of his own group.

"Ron, I need you to take command of our battle group," says Potter.

"What?" gasps Ron. "You're telling me now, when they're almost on our heads? I thought you said that you'd be doing it."

"I did," says Potter testily. "But now I've changed my mind. If you don't want to then Malfoy can do it."

I gape at him. Who the devil does he think he is? "Huh?" I say - which isn't really the scathingly witty retort that I had in mind.

I'm sure that Potter tries to be a fair leader - but he always assumes that he can change all our pre-planned strategies at the last minute to suit himself. It's extra-ordinarily annoying.

"No wait -" says Ron hurriedly. "I didn't -"

"Right, Malfoy. You're in charge," Potter carries on regardless. "I want you to cover my back."

Right. When do we ever do anything else apart from cover his back? It'll be Group one we need you to target the vampires, Group seventeen you'll be covering the far left and Group thirteen (that's us) cover Harry's back. Bleh! Why don't they just call us the PPP - Protect Potter Platoon?

"Now hang on," I say angrily. "Are you going to tell us what brought on this change of mind? You can't just expect us to drop everything and blindly follow whatever whim has taken hold of you. You can't just switch command like that."

"Then perhaps you'd like to take out Voldemort for me then," Potter snaps heatedly and I try not to flinch at the name. "I'll only get one shot at this and I can't afford to screw it up. I can't handle watching out for you lot on top of that, got it?"

None of us say anything. Granger looks away. It's so easy to forget that the Boy who Lived has to go on living if we're to win this war. It's either him or the Dark Lord. At first when I heard the prophecy I thought - so what? Didn't he realize that he would have to kill you-know-who someday? It's practically a given thing. What's the big deal? It wasn't until a good deal later that I realized just how big a deal it was. How do you suppose a fifteen year old orphan, who's never been a boy and who has just lost the one semblance of a parent that he's ever had, feels when he hears that the fate of the world rests upon his skinny shoulders?

You and I can't even begin to comprehend the enormity of the situation. I may be scared shitless over what I have to do next but at least I'm here because I want to be. I can give it my all and fight 'till I drop, run away and hide like a little newborn pony or hang around and monitor the body count if I choose to do so. He doesn't have that luxury.

Even my father and the other converts, who have been granted their freedom on the basis that they fight on our side, were asked if they would battle today or not. I think Dumbledore said, "I do not ask you to fight this last battle of the Light..." or words to that effect before going all motivational on us again.

I don't think anyone has ever asked him if this is what he wants to be doing. He's had his entire life mapped out for him before he was even born. What is it like to be the chosen one? What is it like to be the predestined saviour of the Wizarding world? What is like to have the most powerful Dark wizard in over a thousand years mark you down as his rightful prey?

I think in some ways it's rather comforting to be insignificant. To know that while I live I may be a valuable player in this field, but my death will not really make a huge difference. No one except those who are my own will be affected if I am slain in battle. He cannot even die with the knowledge that he did his best. If he dies he fails us all. It's terrifying enough to give me sleepless nights, so I have no idea what it does to him.

He holds our fate in his hands. The fact that it's Potter could almost make me scream. That this scrawny, reckless, big-headed, hot tempered, impulsive idiot is to be the knight in shining armour for our kind makes me want to howl at the wrongness of it all. He just isn't prophecy material. He isn't especially striking or imposing or commanding. He's just so damned ordinary and Mugglish that at first you don't even realize that he's a wizard. You'd never believe how powerful he is unless you actually see him in action.

Potter goes stiff and his pupil's dilate. They become two wide, gaping black holes behind his glasses. A thin, extremely bright green rim is all that's left of his irises.

Just as suddenly they contract again and he looks round at us with his familiar emerald pools.

"They're here," he says softly. "They've come."¹

Oh fuck!

Potter rubs absently at the lightening bolt over his forehead. "I'd better go and tell Professor Dumbledore," he says calmly and then walks off, presumably to find the barmy old coot.

He doesn't seem unduly perturbed about this. He speaks as if he's merely announcing that Aunt Edna is coming to tea or the time of day. Perhaps I was wrong in assuming that he feels distressed or distraught over his predicament. He seems indubitably tranquil. Perhaps it's a relief that this moment has finally come. No matter how this battle ends for him it will all be over. The rest of us lesser mortals however are not so lucky. We are all staring at each other too numb to move. I'm consumed with an all-compassing fear that's far too great to even think of trying to put down in words. My insides feel as if they've been turned to lead.

"The enemy is approaching," booms the magically enhanced voice of Dumbledore which is now several times louder than normal. "Please form your battle-groups and assume your positions. The time has come."

...the walrus said, "to talk of other things."

² The things that pop into my mind at times of stress never fail to amaze me. Why I'm thinking of a Muggle nonsense poem I have no idea. I start to giggle manically. Ron looks at me with avid horror. Poor baby! He must think I've lost my mind.

"Draco?"

"Love you," I say giddily. "Hang on two secs. I need my mum."

I stagger off blindly to look for her.

She's talking to my Dad and they're strangely detached from the rest of the hustling crowd.

"Mum!" I say frantically barging in on them and then I hug her fiercely. This feels exactly like when I was leaving for Hogwarts for the first time when I was eleven. I don't tell her that I'm terrified out of my skin. I don't tell her that I love her because I don't need to. She knows. The same way as she slipped my old stuffed dragon into my trunk eight years ago because she knew that I would regret leaving him behind. I still have that dragon. It sits on my chest of drawers at home. Its fur has faded from moss green to mint green and a lot of it has rubbed off and one of its eyes has fallen off but I love that dragon possibly even more than my broomstick. After all, you can't cuddle a broomstick at night when you feel lonely and homesick. I wonder whether I'll ever have children of my own and if they'll have toys like Jasper that they can't bear to give up. Somehow this seems like a good omen and I straighten up and grin at my parents.

"See you afterwards at the victory party," I say.

Mum smiles. "See you there."

Dad nods at me and then on impulse crushes me into a strong embrace. He lets go and pats me on the shoulder. "Make sure that Potter gets a good target on the Dark Lord," he says. "And if you have to duck to avoid a curse don't lean on your left side."

I nod at him. "Yeah, I know."

He glares at Tonks who's standing behind us watching with a rather wistful expression on her face. "For the love of God change your hair to some less conspicuous colour, child. You're going to stand out like a beacon!"

She looks touched at his concern and opens her mouth to say something but before she can Professor Snape touches Dad's elbow. "It's time, Lucius."

We all go to rejoin our battle groups. We don't look back. Ron grabs my hand as soon as I'm back by his side. Potter is nowhere to be seen.

We file out of the hall and assemble outside below the steps leading up to the main door.

Dumbledore comes out and Potter's with him staring out into the distance. Everyone looks at him expectantly. I suppose they would want him to speak word of encouragement to us all. I wonder why they don't just leave the poor sod alone. He's the one in need of encouragement.

He's taken his wand out and is twirling it idly in his fingers. Dumbledore clears his throat.

"Huh?" he says "Oh yeah. Let's get 'em."

He trots down the steps and comes over to Ron and me and the rest of our group. Everyone's applauding like he's just delivered the ultimate speech of the century. Why do I get the feeling that 'Let's get 'em' is going to become the closing remark of every speech delivered by any successful politician if we win?

"Well," says Dumbledore, his voice rising above the din of the crowd. "You heard the boy. What are we waiting for? For Hogwarts, for the Order and for every institution of the Light! Let's get 'em!"

See, I told you so.

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

As far as battles go this one is rather mundane. The history books are going to be calling it the definitive epic battle that was both terrible and horrific and which thousands of lives were lost.

Ha! There aren't even a thousand people to start with and as for an epic - it's more a confused noise!

And I'm supposed to be in charge! Bleh! I fall to the ground to avoid an incoming curse. Whew that was close!

"Alright! Fall to the left," I yell, jumping to my feet. "Potter, do you know where you're headed?"

He ducks to avoid a curse aimed at him. "Far left," he bellows. "I need to get to the far left."

I glance over to where he's indicated and I see him. The sight never fails to turn my blood to ice. He's hideous. Bleached skull with those truly horrible eyes. I take a deep breath and shout to the rest of the group. "Come on people! We're headed to the far left" I always say people - never men; the weaslet is in the group and you never know when she might go all feminist on you.

Okay, I take it all back... this is anything but mundane! I barely have time to think before -

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!" I'm about two seconds late in casting the protective shield around myself so the force of the spell sends me crashing to the ground - my weight falling on my left side! Pain shoots up my bad leg.

On the plus side I do have my wand.

"Stupefy!" I scream at the Death Eater, I can't tell who it is because of the mask. He wasn't expecting me to be able to attack so the spell takes him by surprise and he keels over stunned.

I try to get up but my leg gives way. My battle group has already moved away. He who falls behind is left behind. That's the rule. They're rapidly approaching you-know-who and - Potter's right side is completely exposed!

For Merlin's sake is no one in charge?

I see a Death Eater approaching him and pull myself to my feet frantically. At this range I won't be able to get a direct hit but if I can just distract him.

"Impedimenta!" I scream. The curse doesn't hit the Death Eater but he'll have felt the draft and - oh yes - he's turning.

"Expelliarmus!"

Before I have time to react, the spell slams into me, knocking the wand out of my hand. It also lifts me a few feet into the air and I land - again - on my bad leg. Oh God! It feels as if the bone just splintered into several pieces. I know that nothing of the sort has happened but - oh god - it hurts so badly!

The Death Eater approaches slowly - obviously taking his time, enjoying watching me writhe in agony. I twist around crazily trying to locate my wand. It's just out of my reach.

"Poor widdle Dwakie... all alone and helpless," Oh no! It's her! "Does he want his Auntie Bella to take care of him?"

So this is where it ends, does it? I refuse to look at her. I will not let her have the satisfaction of seeing how terrified I am.

"It's time for you to die, nephew!"

My heart;s pounding so loud I can barely hear anything else. I close my eyes tight. I'm not brave enough to watch her cast the curse that will kill me.

"Avada Kadavra"

Thump!

Huh! That was a man's voice. A voice that sounds extremely familiar... and I'm still alive!!

I open my eyes to see my father standing over me with a very annoyed expression on his face... but he isn't looking at me. I follow his line of vision and I see Bellatrix Lestrange's lifeless form lying on the ground next to me. Her mask askew, he eyes are open and staring, her face contorted into a sneer.

Someone pulls me to my feet, roughly. I turn my head to see Professor Snape at my side. "I'll get him out of here," he shouts over the clamour of battle.

My father nods and turns away to fight another Death Eater. Uncle Severus hands me my wand. "Keep a good hold of this," he says. "No more fighting for you today."

Before I can protest a horrible blood-curdling scream fills the air. As one the entire battlefield turns to the source of the noise to see Potter and the Dark Lord at the very edge of the grounds close to the forbidden forest.

The Dark Lord seems to be alight with purple flames. The magical fire's consuming him and he's screaming with agony. He falls and suddenly there's a blinding flash of light from where he collapses.

Uncle Severus lets go of me and grabs his left forearm in pain. He groans and across the battlefield I can see my father and all of the other Death Eaters, past and present, doing the same.

After a minute he straightens up and draws his sleeve up. "It's gone," he says, his voice faint with wonder. "The mark's disappeared."

I'm flooded with relief so great that I couldn't possibly describe it in words, not even if I used up an entire dictionary.

It's finally over.

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

Alright Draco, just calm down - you know that your father's alright, so that's a plus. Mum's probably gone to have a shower or powder her nose or something - you know her. And Ron's - well he must be fine - he'll be checking out his family first - you know how many of them there are. Everybody's going to be fine.

Oh there's Dad! One down two more to locate. What has he got his hair in a ponytail for?

"Dad!" I yell to catch his attention. He turns around and looks relieved.

"Draco!" he says and comes up to me in a few quick strides and hugs me tight. He lets go just as suddenly.

"Where's Mum?"

There's something dreadful in his face. And now as I look at him properly I realize how haggard he looks - as if he's aged ten years.

"What?" I say shrilly. "What's the matter?"

"She's fine," he says looking away. "They've just taken her to St. Mungo's for a little spell damage."

St. Mungos? That means that her injuries were too serious to be seen to here. "Dad!" I say fearfully. "She - she's not -"

"I said she's fine," he says harshly. Then he softens a little. "Look, I'll just go find that cousin of yours and make sure that she has suffered no lasting damage other than the kind she chooses to inflict upon herself. Then we'll go see your mother. We can get you checked up and all."

I nod. "Don't wander off," he says and goes presumably to look for Tonks.

Don't wander off.

How old does he think I am? Six?

Oh God! What's happened to Mum? No! Don't think of it... look for Ron instead. Ron!

I look frantically round the field, but I can't see him anywhere. I spot Potter a few meters away and I limp over to him.

He looks rather dazed. His eyes are strangely blank -almost dead.

"He's gone," he says softly. "He's just gone."

If I didn't know him better I'd say he was quite upset about it. He's probably just in shock.

"Yes, Potter he's gone. He isn't ever coming back. Well done," I say very slowly and clearly as if to a very small child. "Have you seen Ron?"

"Ron?" he asks puzzled. "He's here, somewhere," he waves his hand vaguely in the air. Well even I know that! I need to know if he's alright!

"He isn't coming back," says Potter. I start and gasp at him and then I realized that he's still talking about He-who-has-just-been-liquidated.

"Potter, are you alright?" I ask, wondering (not for the first time) if he is completely sane.

He shakes his head a couple of times, rather like a dog trying to get a fly out of its ear.

"It's just odd," he says. "He's gone."

I have no time to stand here and try and shake some sense into this idiot. I need to find Ron! I leave him to his lunacy and walk off down the field.

Ow! My leg is killing me. I'm going to have to show it to my healer when I get out of here.

I see something moving on the floor some way around where the Dark Lord fell and I hurry over as fast as the splintering pain in my leg allows.

There's someone with black hair lying face down on the ground. From what I can tell, it's male. They moan softly and move uneasily. Yep, definitely male.

Probably just regaining consciousness. I squat down, trying to keep my weight off my left leg and turn him over.

Shit! It's just a kid. He's barely fifteen years old, at the most sixteen. I thought they had cleared out all the students two weeks ago. I suppose one stowaway out of three hundred isn't bad. I wonder if he was on their side. Maybe that's how we missed him. I've never seen him before, which isn't saying much. If he snuck away to participate in this battle he could very well be a Gryffindor.

He opens his eyes and squints at me. Merlin! They're just like Potter's! This kid could be his younger brother, they look so alike.

He's terribly confused. He looks as if he has no idea what he's doing here. It's possible he's confunded, or he could be suffering from short-term memory loss. I grab him by his shoulders and hoist him to his feet.

He's lighter than I expected. He'd be my height if he was standing straight; as it is he's awfully unsteady on his feet and it's all I can do to keep him from falling back where I first found him.

"Easy kid, I've got you," I say, hoping he doesn't decide to pass out again - or worse, throw up on me. He's looking rather green.

"Ca - Caelestis³?" he says shakily.

"No, sorry. I'm Draco. What's your name?"

Caelestis. That's odd. Caelestis was my grandfather's name. I start to steer him towards where there are people equipped to deal with this. If nothing else Pomfrey will be able to check him for internal bleeding and curse effects

He stares at me and trips over his robe. It's much too long for him and it slips off one shoulder as I help him sit up. His eyelids fall shut and he tries to lie down again.

"Hey," I shout in his ear shaking him roughly by the shoulder. "Come on! You have to stay awake."

He looks at me blearily with pain filled, bewildered eyes. "What's your name?" I ask again.

He thinks about this for a few seconds and then sits up straighter. "Tom," he says firmly. Then he smiles at me proudly like he's just said something exceedingly clever

"That's great. Well Tom, do you think that you can walk."

He nods uncertainly and I help him to his feet.

"Caelestis," he says with conviction as I half lead - half drag him towards the makeshift camp they're starting to set up to treat the more serious curse victims.

Why does this boy keep calling me that? Who is he? Some sort of time traveller pulled here from fifty years ago through a portal that Potter managed to open when he blasted the Dark Lord? Gah! I'm beginning to sound like Ron.

He's having trouble staying upright with his robe tripping him up all the time. Where the hell has this kid come from? With what he's wearing he can't possibly have meant to be in the battle. He looks for all the world like a little boy who's decided to play dress-up in his father's or elder brother's robes, especially in the light of the extremely gormless expression he's got on.

He suddenly whimpers in pain and falls - on me. My knees buckle and we both crash to the ground.

At least it's close enough to the first aid tent.

"Hey!" I bellow. "I could use a little help here."

Pomfrey and Pince hurry over and conjure up stretchers. I start to protest that I'll be fine as soon as they get this kid off me but I find myself levitating in the air alongside him. Oh well, might as well enjoy the ride.

I take a couple of painkillers and tell the nurse in no unclear terms that I am going off again. Potter comes crashing along from somewhere - and I do mean crashing. He's sprinting like a long-distance runner in view of the finishing line. He drops down where Pomfrey is trying to get the kid to drink a disgusting looking potion. He keeps pushing it away.

Potter stares at the boy bringing his face a few millimeters away from his as if he can't believe that he's real. The boy stares back bemusedly. He reaches out and touches the boy's cheek gently; the boy flinches and pushes his hand away.

"There you are Harry!" gushes Ron's mum, who has materialized from somewhere. "Oh my dear boy, what are you doing?"

There's a sharp intake of breath and I turn around to see Dumbledore and McGonagall staring at the kid as if he's the Dark Lord himself. Dumbledore moves very slowly, as if he's approaching a dangerous beast and draws Potter away from the boy. Then he signals to several other people, my father included and they start to whisper and hiss, with much waving of hands and turning around and glancing furtively at the kid, who's still bedazzled and is still resisting Pomfrey's efforts to feed him the potion. Personally I don't blame him. I wouldn't drink that either.

But who is he?

Whoever it is he's obviously important enough to bring all these people away from their activities and stand around discussing him.

I march up to Potter, who has detached himself from the small cluster of haranguing wizards and witches.

"Who is he?" I snap jerking my thumb in the kid's direction.

"That's Tom," he says with a very small smile. "He hasn't gone after all."

Huh? Looks like Tom isn't the only one in la-la land.

"Potter," I say. "What. Is. Going. On?"

There's someone handing out water. I grab a glass and throw the contents into Potter's face. I've always wanted to do that.

"Thanks," he says shaking the water out of his hair. "I needed that."

"Anytime. So who's the kid?"

He frowns. "Tom Riddle."

"And who is he supposed to be when he's at home?"

He stares at me. "I thought Ron told you about the Chamber of Secrets?"

He did but what has that got to do with anything? Hang on - hold your hippogriffs - Tom Riddle!

"He's that Tom Riddle?" I gasp. "He's the Dark Lord?"

"Hmm," says Potter. "Oh by the way Ron was looking for you. He seemed upset about something."

Ron! That means he's alright! Oh thank Merlin!

"Draco!" There he is!! He runs over and oh God it's so good to feel his arms around me. I never want to let go. He tilts my chin up and kisses me hard and it's like coming home.

"DRACO!"

"RON!"

We draw apart hurriedly. Our fathers are staring at us and well, they look as if they're about to spontaneously combust.

Oh fuck!

We're doomed!