A Far, Far Better Thing

"Wait here," Draco whispered to the man beside him who had a hooded robe covering his face. The short man nodded and stepped to the side as the fair-haired youth unlocked the door to a small, grimy cell and slipped inside.

On the floor in the corner was Harry Potter, his robes torn and dirty, his hands and face covered in cuts, blood and caking mud. He looked up at the new arrival in hope, then turned away in disgust at who he saw.

"Come to gloat?" he asked flatly.

"No," his enemy answered as he walked over to the prone figure. "Far from it."

Harry glanced up at him in surprise. "What else would you be doing? Wanted to say your last good-byes?"

"Something like that." The new Death Eater knelt next to the Boy Who Lived, glad that his captors hadn't thought to chain him up to the wall. His startling grey eyes caught the other boy's now dull green ones.

"Well get them over with. I want to at least spend my last few hours peacefully," Harry snapped.

"Don't worry, you will. Just not now."

"What?" Harry sat up in shock, staring at him. "You can't be serious! You hate me."

Draco gave him a small, amused smile. "Stand up."

"Why?"

"Just humor me."

Harry tentatively obeyed, eyeing the other boy warily. "Even if I do get out of here I have nowhere to go. He'll find me sooner or later and kill me anyway."

Draco just smiled at him. He patted a rather large flask at his hip. "Don't worry about it. When you get out of here keep a low profile. Don't let any possible spies see you."

"What good will that do? When they come here they'll know I escaped anyway."

"No, they're going to execute you today, Harry Potter. And they'll be happy with that."

Harry's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "But..."

"Goodbye, Harry, and sweet dreams. Stupefy!"

Draco caught the boy's inert form and lowered it gently to the floor. He looked down at him closely for a moment before taking one hair and dropping it into his flask. He took a large swig of the Polyjuice Potion, almost immediately, painfully turning into the boy he was trying to save. He removed their outer robes and such, exchanging them between the two of them. As an after thought he took of Harry's glasses, placing them on his nose. The Death Eaters would wonder what happened to them if he didn't die with them on.

When all was ready he dragged the body to the door and his waiting accomplice. After patting the pocket one last time to make sure his letter was still there he opened the cell door and handed Harry over.

"Keep him safe, Pettigrew," he warned the small, balding man.

"I will, sir. I owe him my life. This will make up for that debt?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. But may I ask one thing? Why are you doing this?"

"Because I have to. He will go on and do many good things, even as he has always done. I have done nothing but ill. This is by far the best thing I have done in my life. I hope he will remember me like that. Now go, and be careful."

Peter picked up Harry's unconscious body, draping it across his arms, nodded at Draco and walked away. The Malfoy watched him for a moment then sighed and closed the door in front of him, locking him within the cell in Harry's place.

"A far, far better thing," he said to himself and the prison walls. He looked out the small window at the dark night outside. At dawn we will take him... and at last Harry Potter will die.

* * * *

Harry woke to the sound of a man's voice. "Enervate!" Suddenly plunged into consciousness he looked up at the solemn face of Professor Dumbledore. The stars shown brightly behind him, for all the darkness, and he found himself dumbfounded.

"How did I get here?" he whispered.

"Peter Pettigrew brought you. He has paid his life debt."

Memory poured back to him. "Malfoy!" he exclaimed, sitting up. Only then did he realize he was no longer in his own robes. His hands felt the smooth material as he looked down at it. The clothes of a Death Eater were draped over his small form. His hand encountered a bulge in a pocket. Slipping it out he saw a letter. With shaking hands he unfolded it and Dumbledore took a respectful step backwards.

Dear Harry Potter,

Right now you are probably at Hogwarts under the starlight and I am in your prison cell, looking like you. The one thing I fear and at the same time hope for in all this is that I will remain looking like you after I die. It would keep you safe for them to believe they had actually killed you but then there would be nothing left of me except what is in your minds. That is not a promising outlook. Do you remember what I told you before my father took me out of school? I said that the difference between us was that you would die readily for a cause while I would only give my life for something very important to me and even then I would do so only after much thought. Well, I have thought long and hard and have come to a conclusion. My life is nothing, worthless. I will no longer be part of their plans. I will not help them kill anymore. My first, last and only stand will be this. They will not kill you. When the sun rises today I will be dragged from your prison and brought in your place before the Dark Lord. When he kills me you will be free and so will I. So when I die today it will not only be for a cause, but a person. It will be for you, my enemy and opposite in everything I've done. The sun will rise and I will be gone. I always knew the day would come when the sun would rise and I would not see it, but I didn't realize it would be this soon. Keep the world safe, Harry. Don't let anyone see you, or this will be in vain. Make it worth it and live. And please... remember me.

Forever yours,

Draco Malfoy

Harry stared at the letter for a long time, one hand over his mouth. He looked up at the lightening horizon and one tear flowed down his cheek. The sun would soon rise.

He stood there watching the bright globe creeping slowly upwards, turning the sky into a dark shade of blue and overshadowing the stars with its brilliance. The last star faded into nothing just as the sun completely cleared the tree line. Harry stared into it, blinding himself. It burned but he didn't look away.

A soft breeze grabbed his robes, pulling them backwards and to the side. A lock of hair fell in front of his eyes. He didn't move.

As he stared he saw, or thought he saw, burning within the sun, a face; silvery hair glowing, grey eyes flaming, and a large smile, reassuring him. But in a moment it was gone. He blinked but it didn't reappear. His scar gave a faint twinge. And he knew... Draco was dead.

* * * *

Many years later, after Harry had led his sneak attack on Voldemort and succeeded in killing him, the old Death Eaters muttered to themselves that they should have known. Potter wouldn't have gone to his death with a confident, peaceful smile. He would have glared and been defiant. He wouldn't have knelt passively. He wouldn't have gazed up at the rising sun with the look of a divine prophet. But that was what he did.

As Voldemort approached him and made his whole, long speech he stared at the sun rising. He looked almost happy to be there. Even when the wand was raised in front of his face, he didn't so much as twitch. And when the words were spoken and he was washed in green light, his last thought, the last image that ran through his head, was a remembrance of Harry's emerald green eyes and how they would continue to shine because of him. He had done the best thing he could with his life. He had saved the Boy Who Lived from death.

The body was buried, still to all appearances as Harry Potter. The grave was marked with a boulder. In the years to come many people would visit it to give thanks to this fallen hero. But no one came as often as Harry did. Every morning he could be seen sitting there, watching the sunrise for the boy who would never again see it, and remembering.

'It is a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest I go to than I have ever known.'