The Girl in the Tower

The Girl in the Tower

Chapter Twenty-eight: Live Forever

~

"Sara!" Harry bellowed as she unpacked a few things in the upstairs bedroom of the house. "SARA!"

"What?!" she yelled down, exasperated. "I could use a hand with some of this stuff, you know!"

"The TV doesn't work!"

"Why are you watching TV? We're unpacking, in case you forgot! Or should I say I'm unpacking anyway."

"I can't believe this! It's brand new!"

Hermione cleared her throat in the doorway, her arms laden with boxes. "Dumbledore put wards on the house last night."

"So what?"

"So your Muggle electronics aren't going to work. Too much magic in the air."

Ron appeared beside her, his arms full as well. "Terrible luck, mate. You'll have to return it."

Harry ignored this and went to the bottom of the little tower that housed their bedroom and yelled up the stairs. "Dumbledore made your stereo work! What spell did he use? We can do it to the TV."

"He didn't make it work. At least not the way Muggles intended it to work and I can't get a radio signal on it at all. Your TV is much more complicated. It wouldn't help."

"But they're showing a Monty Python marathon!"

"Well you're going to have to miss it! Now would you please come up here and lend a hand?"

Hermione stepped forward and dumped her burden into Harry's arms. "On second thought." She gave him a disapproving glare. "I'll help Sara. You help Ron carry all this stuff in."

"Er... ok," he said, struggling to get a better grip on the heavy boxes. "I'll just run these upstairs, then."

* * *

Draco didn't wait for the door to open; he just got out of the limo and stepped onto the walk. There was his grimy, almost pretty breakfast date, shivering in the cold morning mist, her face wrought with exhaustion as she huddled in the very doorway where they had met. She smiled the second she saw him and stood.

"Am I late?" he asked, wondering that she was already waiting for him with the sun barely breaking through the clouds, casting a thin liquid light through the fog.

"Of course not. It's just that you never said what time and I didn't want to miss you."

"Oh." Draco blinked. It had never occurred to him to give her a time. "Well where is your jumper? It's cold this morning."

"Oh, that." She sniffled. "I traded it when the weather got warm, figured I could pick up another one before the start of winter. I forget how cold London can be in the night." She sniffled again and Draco stepped aside the door, gesturing for her to get inside. "Too bad it couldn't be August forever." She sneezed and he gave her his fine linen handkerchief. Christina smiled, sniffled, and thanked him before taking it and sliding across the soft leather seat.

Draco mumbled. "It's still July."

"Is it? Wow, you have a bar!"

"Yes," Draco replied. There was a substantial bar in his limo, but he had no use for it himself. He rarely drank, mostly when he went to Slytherin Spirits or the Velvet Underground and then it was just for show. He would often nurse the same drink all night. Then there was an occasional glass of wine with dinner but, really, he'd rather have Butter Beer and, once in a while, a tequila daiquiri as he floated in the pool with the warm summer sun melting his drink. In fact, the last time he'd really tied one on was when he'd shared his father's Scotch on Potter's eighteenth birthday. Now Potter was about to turn twenty.

The car circled the small city block, turned right, and headed back up the hill. Its passengers rocked back in their seats as the driver gunned the engine to make the climb.

"You look tired," she observed, her voice softening with genuine concern. "I hope you didn't trouble yourself just for me."

"It's no trouble. Just a... a difficult night. I couldn't sleep." Draco looked down at his hands and admired his immaculate fingernails in an awkward silence heavy with thoughts of Sara.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

Draco raised his eyes to hers, the shade of brown he'd always loved, full of kindness and sincerity. Full of compassion. "Yes," he whispered, pain surging through him as he saw an image of Sara in his mind, standing in her elegant party dress, whitish-gold hair spilling over her shoulders as she pressed against the window, love and sadness tracing her countenance.

"You can tell me if you want. I don't look like much, but I'm a good listener."

The car pulled through the gate at the top of the hill and slowed as they approached the house. Draco smiled, but said nothing more.

* * *

"Ginny, won't you please just listen?" Harry shouted, arms rigid at his sides, hands splayed in frustration.

"Listen to what?" Ginny shouted back, pacing the floor as Harry stood still, her long ginger hair tossed over one shoulder, her brow creased with anger. "I've heard enough of your explanations and rationalizations. I'm sick of it!"

"Ginny, I kissed you because I love you, not because I wanted you to hate me forever!!"

"I don't hate you. I'm just tired of being hurt by you, it never stops! Now you expect me to be friends with little miss perfect who ditched you for two whole years? I would rather burn in hell for all eternity than watch you marry the likes of Sara Lemke!"

"Why do you always have to be like this? Ginny, you're punishing me for having the wrong feelings!"

"Oh shut-up, Harry!" Ginny shouted half-heartedly and turned her back, staring into the crowded far corner of the Burrow's large family room.

"I was confused," Harry admitted. "And Ginny, you're beautiful. How could I not be confused when it comes to you?"

She turned to face him, tears in her eyes, but none yet fallen. "You think I'm beautiful?"

"Are you serious? Ginny, half of Hogwarts thinks you're beautiful. No." A small smile touched his lips. "All of Hogwarts. Especially me."

She finally smiled, unable to hold her anger. "I hate you, Harry Potter."

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned with apology.

* * *

"I have to clean up." Draco sighed. "I'll show you to one of the guest rooms. You can shower if you'd like and I'm sure I have some clothes that you would find comfortable. I can have my staff wash yours while we eat."

Christina's face lit up. "Are you sure it wouldn't be imposing?"

"If it was, I wouldn't offer."

Christina quickened her pace and practically raced Draco down the corridor to the guest quarters. He stopped at the door of the largest and nicest room and swung it open for her.

"There's a robe or two in the closet. If you need anything at all, ring the bell by the bed. My staff will attend to you."

Christina stepped into the doorway, then stopped and turned back to look him in the eye with a flood of gratitude. "Thank you, Draco. Thank you a thousand times over."

Draco pushed his hair back with splayed fingers and then clasped his hands elegantly in front - the way a dignitary would - but really it was a nervous habit he'd picked up to hide his discomfort. To keep from fidgeting. He didn't know what to say. "I'll see you downstairs," he managed and hurried away down the hall.

Draco found Nigel hovering about at the bottom of the stairs, pretending to straighten a vase that wasn't crooked.

"Go wash her clothes. Check the sizes she wears and send for some new outfits. Comfortable Muggle stuff. Get her some make-up and all that other nonsense girls need. Don't forget footwear. And a good warm jumper. Green or black."

Nigel gave Draco a curt nod and hurried away - to find female staff, Draco assumed. He traveled down the long halls to his room, feeling strange and out of sorts, but with new purpose.

* * *

Sara sat at a table, her arms limp at her sides, her eyes fixed on the orb. A new darkness bloomed inside her as she considered the meaning of having seen something for the second time. Was it a warning? Was the moment upon her? Sara wished she'd seen more. It was only a flash in slow motion. She stood in the open somewhere, looking at Draco as he had been last night, sullen, with long hair. She got the impression they'd just broken a heartfelt embrace, as a flood of emotion tore though her when the image came to life. Draco's eyes fell closed and he blurred with movement as the orb faded to darkness.

Sara wanted to know more. The hairs stood on the back of her neck as the images flashed again and again across her mind. Only, the more she pondered it, the less sense it seemed to make. Was Draco in trouble? Was something going to happen to him? Or would she spend months thinking the moment was right around the corner until it drove her mad?

Sara couldn't help fearing for Draco. He had seemed different last night and there was a sadness in his eyes and in his mental voice, a sadness she remembered from the night his mother was killed. Something was bothering him and it was no trivial thing. It was huge. True, he was trapped in a life he had sworn to denounce, but there was more to it than that. It could be any of a dozen things - or none of them. Sara was sure something bad would happen to Draco and soon, but what could she do? She knew nothing, the orb would reveal nothing further, and so she sat at the table, helpless.

* * *

"I can't remember the last time I was so full!" Christina smiled, clothed in a dark green polo shirt that went nearly to her knees and a pair of jeans that bordered on comical. She'd rolled them down at the waist, rolled them up at the ankles, but they were still enormous. After all, Draco was nearly six feet tall and she barely made five-six. His thick white gym socks hung off the end of her toes and flapped when she walked like cotton swim fins.

Draco gave her a genuine smile. She was actually pretty, now that the grime had been washed from her face and her dirty clothes replaced with clean ones. Her freshly shampooed, chestnut hair was long and lustrous, badly maintained though it was. Even now, it was still a little damp at the ends but, without the blue string to hold it back, she was barely recognizable as the girl he'd met last night. She smiled at him in gratitude, laying her immaculate napkin on the table beside her empty plate. "How can I ever thank you for such a wonderful meal?"

"You don't need to thank me." Draco smiled. "Your company was thanks enough. I don't have many visitors and I don't usually like the ones I do have."

"Why?" she asked, surprised. "Who wouldn't want to visit you? I mean, you're so nice!"

"Not everyone thinks so." He grinned. "Most people think I'm... well... I don't know what they think I am, but they don't trust it. They think I'm the ghost of someone else. Someone whose likeness I bear."

"To hell with them." Christina's eyes turned angry. "They don't know you. From what I've seen, you're far more decent than most. In fact, I don't deserve the incredible breakfast I've had - and at such an elegant table might I add - simply for finding you a phone directory. I owed you as much for the pizza." She found Draco's handkerchief just in time to catch a powerful double sneeze.

"You're sick."

"It's just a cold." She smiled, uncomfortable with his concern and shrugged her shoulders. "It'll go away." Again she wiped her nose and tucked the linen square back into her pocket. "I should probably get going. I've taken up enough of your time already."

"And where will you go?"

Christina said nothing, not wanting to admit that she had no home to go to.

"I insist you stay. At least until you're feeling better. We could go to one of those Muggle movies later."

"I've imposed enough already. Besides, I've had worse and survived." She tried to smile, but Draco wasn't convinced.

"So my company doesn't suit you?" He was no good at this. Trying to politely insist someone remain in his home and his frustration was apparent. His whole life, all he'd done was demand what he wanted and in the bluntest of terms. Now, here he was, trying to talk a destitute into hanging out with him. For a moment, he thought maybe he'd lost his mind.

"Of course it does! But you must understand. I won't take advantage of your generosity."

"Why not?" Draco's brow creased and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you prefer the filthy, disease ridden streets? I can help you after all. Give you a place to stay and anything at all you want to eat. Or are you above help?"

"Oh, don't be upset!" Christina exclaimed. "Draco, I meant no disrespect and no offense! I got myself into this situation, after all. It's no one's responsibility to get me out of it 'cept my own."

"It's rude to refuse a hospitable invitation, but suit yourself." Draco was alarmed to find himself upset by the idea of her leaving so soon. "I'm not going to ask you twice, but the offer stands. You'll find I've taken the liberty of arranging for a few things I thought you might need. Take them with you when you go. My driver will be waiting when you're ready." With this, Draco shoved back his chair and stalked off to his bedroom.

Christina sat in silent shock. What just happened? Everything was going so well, they'd laughed over a huge breakfast, prepared by an excellent chef, and she'd thanked him over a second cup of tea. She'd stayed a good long time already and didn't want to wear out her welcome. She liked Draco, even though they lived in opposite worlds, she felt she'd found a friend in the strangest of places and now she'd gone and screwed it all up. But what had she said to get him so upset? He'd asked her to stay and she'd politely declined. That was all.

A hand touched her shoulder and Christina started, her head spun around, expecting to see his beautiful white hair and his kind blue-grey eyes. Instead she found a tall, gaunt man in his fifties hunched over her shoulder. The eyes she met were beady and hawk-like, the hair short and silver-black. Nigel.

There were tears standing in her eyes and he smiled with reassurance. "Come, Miss Safford. You have done nothing wrong."

She accepted his hand and stood. He pushed in her chair and she followed him out. He remained silent as they climbed the stairs to the second floor.

"I didn't mean to upset him. Just please tell him that for me."
"I will deliver any message you desire, but I was hoping you might decide to say it in person."

"I don't want to annoy him, sir. The message will do."

"Your room, miss." He opened the door and stepped aside. "Please consider the master's invitation."

"Thank you." She stepped through.

"If you still wish to leave the premises, just ring when you're ready and the car will be waiting."

"No need." She tried to smile. "I can see myself back down the hill."

"As you wish." He bowed with grace, which was surprising due to his awkward height and thin frame. "Good day, Miss Safford."

"Good day, Nigel."

He smiled as he closed the door in silence. The man never made a sound.

Christina sighed as she looked at the bed, upon which were several outfits, new undergarments, and a warm, fuzzy green jumper. All with shoes to match. She felt the fabrics, all of which were exquisite, even the jeans. They were expensive. Everything was. Her conscious demanded she accept nothing more from Draco Malfoy but, in the end, it was her need that won out. The very idea of clean clothes, comfortable shoes, and socks! Oh, how she wanted the socks. It had been months since her last pair had finally fallen apart and, now that she had some on her feet, big as they were, the thought of taking them off and leaving was the last thing she could see herself doing! Yet, leaving with a bag full of expensive gifts from someone she had offended was the wrong thing to do. She would take only what she could no longer do without.

Her own jeans and t-shirt were clean and folded, stacked in a nearby chair. These she carried into the dressing room, along with clean undergarments and one pair of socks. It was here she discovered a plethora of cosmetics, skin care products, cleansers, powders and perfumes. Everything a girl would want in her dressing room. Draco had gone through so much trouble - and she had insulted him by refusing to stay. She knew he was lonely, he'd said as much, but she didn't belong here, even though every fiber of her being cried out for her to stay. Christina folded Draco's comfortable clothes, piled them up, and frowned as she slid into her tattered old rags, dirt stained and full of holes. They were crisp and pressed and smelled of fresh lavender.

Guilt stabbed her as she pulled the new socks over her well-scrubbed feet and slipped back into her ragged old tennis shoes. They had also been cleaned, the laces new, and a good effort had been made to mend them.

With a last look in the mirror, Christina brushed out her long hair, which, just a few hours ago, had been an unmanageable tangle of greasy snarls. Now it was shiny with expensive rinses, but the ends were ragged and broken. It still looked ratty and awful, like the rest of her. She braided it and tied the end with her old snippet of blue yarn. The braid, she hoped, would keep the tangles away the longest.

Draco's clothes were set in a tidy pile on the chair. She found she was ready to go - as ready as she would ever be - and Christina looked out the window at the heavy afternoon drizzle, dreading the thought of venturing out into the grayness and chill. She gave the heavy green jumper one last longing gaze.

Tearing her eyes away, Christina made for the door and sneezed three times on the way. There were tissues in the dressing room and, as she tossed one in the trash, she thought of the one thing she had to keep.

Slipping her hand gingerly into the pocket of Draco's neatly folded jeans, Christina found the square of heavy, monogrammed linen. This she stuffed in her own pocket and hurried out into the rain, refusing the offered umbrella, letting it soak her through and drip like cold fingers across her skin. She had never felt so dejected, so alone.

* * *

The night seeped in; splashing the walls with the ink of shadow and Draco lit no candles. Instead, he'd instructed Nigel to leave his heavy black drapes open and now, in the darkness, the moon shone through just a little, often disappearing behind silver-rimmed, blue-black clouds. If not for the blaze in the fireplace, he wouldn't be able to see at all, though the fire cast very little light itself.

Finally, he rose from the cool of his sheets and went to the small vial that sat alone on a mahogany tabletop. With a sigh, he held his salvation in his hands yet again, wishing he knew how to pray. Or to whom.

In the past twenty-four hours, he had seen Sara through a plate of glass as he trespassed and heard first hand that she was withdrawing from him forever. Marrying Potter and forsaking the love that Draco himself had promised her once in an old neglected classroom years ago. He still meant it, every word, but to have her offer only friendship hardened him a little, and reminded him of all the hurt she had caused him since their first fateful meeting.

Then there was the fact that Lucius Malfoy's blood was on her hands. Did it matter? When it came right down to it? Did it really?

Christina weighed heavy on his heart as well. He couldn't stop thinking about her, cold, sick and alone someplace where there were no walls of protection, no warmth or nourishment. Even she had cast him off, and he really didn't blame her. It was a hard thing to keep in mind, but not everyone wanted to be dazzled by his wealth. After all, genuine sincerity could not be bought and wasn't that what he'd tried to do today? Give her everything she needed so she might think him a most agreeable and generous savior?

Draco slipped the vial into his pocket and dropped onto the sofa before the fire, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on interlaced fingers, both thumbs pressed into the flesh underneath, holding together a countenance of profound contemplation. As always, his thoughts turned to Potter, who, at this very second, was probably sharing an intimate moment with the love of Draco's life. Maybe trying on wedding bands, or sitting around a table with Granger and The Weasel, laughing over a game of Exploding Snap with his real friends. At least the ones he cared about. Draco knew without doubt that if Ron or Hermione were forced to bear the Dark Mark, Voldemort would already be defeated.

Harry would not rescue him. Two years he'd waited without hope of escaping the Dark Lord. And, in that time, Draco's suffering had been immeasurable. The physical and mental torture. Strange potions that bent the mind and opened it to suggestion. Forever wanting to give up and give in. He heard the word Crucio in all his dark and frightened dreams. He risked time in the catacombs every day to spare the people who had turned their backs on him a thousand times over. But, the truth of it was, he still wanted to spare them. His hand found his pocket and he touched the vial.

Draco stood in a moment's decision and leapt out the window, throwing himself over his shiny new Nimbus.

* * *

Sara crept through the dark cottage and, gingerly sliding a heavy wooden chair across the polished floor, she sat down and removed the Orb of Arassel from her finger. She placed the ring on the table and whispered the spell into the darkness.

Something was bothering her, keeping her from sleep while Harry snored beside her. It was Draco, she was sure of it but, when she reached out to him over the distance, she met with only a dark collage of half-formed thoughts and confusion. Right off, she'd thought he was asleep and dreaming but something told her he wasn't. His father was heavy on his mind.

Sara jumped as a great dark ball of fury descended before her eyes and went to strike out at it, then realized what it was. A bird. A bloody great black bird. She gasped, recognizing the raven, even in the dark as it came to rest atop the orb. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither moving, the raven with its beady black bird eyes fixed on Sara and she with one hand clutching the Fortificus Charm.

"Your master is no more and you bear no letter. Who sends you?"

The raven said nothing.

"I can only guess - since there is now only one Malfoy remaining - but why do you come to me empty?"

Silence.

"Is Draco in trouble?"

The bird squawked and erupted in a flutter of wings. It pecked at the orb with its shiny black beak and Sara understood what it wanted her to do.

The raven settled on her shoulder and Sara's hands shook as they hovered around the crystal ball, her breath short and full of fear.

"Show me Draco."

* * *

He hadn't stepped through these doors in many months and Draco was struck by how cold and silent it was. The vast chamber into which he walked was black as night could be, though he knew the way blind and set off to find what he'd come to see.

Once in the main corridor, the sconces burst to life as he neared and Draco padded across the marble floor on his whisper-soft Italian shoes, his heart racing, his every nerve alive and his breath coming shallow, jagged, and terrified.

Finally, he stood before a painting, covered in heavy black cloth for more than two years now and Draco's hand trembled as he wrapped his fingers around the dusty velvet. He hesitated, and then pulled the shroud aside, stumbling over his own feet in his hurry to back away from it. The familiar drawl of a sinister little chuckle sent icy prickles down his spine.

"Draco." His father smiled. "I knew you'd turn up here eventually."

The color drained from his face as Draco stared at the painted image of Lucius Malfoy, dumb, unable to respond.

"You came for a reason, now, didn't you? What is it?" he purred in his same smooth, rolling voice.

Draco tried to answer, stuttering, and with his eyes wide. Strange emotions rushed through him in a mad frenzy to crowd each other out. At last, his anger surged and he thrust up his sleeve and pointed his wand at the flesh there. "Morsmordre," he whispered and refrained from wincing as the icy-hot burn of the Dark Mark appeared on his arm as if Voldemort himself was calling.

"I see." Lucius smirked, even more handsome in his portrait than in real life, though the artist who'd rendered it was truly gifted. The image was so accurate it was almost... creepy.

"Does this please you, Father?"

"I think you already know how I feel about that. I see you came around in the end. I always knew you'd see the error of your ways."

"This was forced on me! Do you see the life you've made for me? Hatred and misery? Loneliness? Is this what you wanted for your only son?" Draco's anger seethed, though he remained composed and spoke in a low, even tone. "I despise you for what you've done to me! You're dead and I still can't escape your cursed name! All I've seen are the errors of your ways."

"Now now, Draco. Without my name, you'd be no one. Did my legacy deprive you of wealth and power?"

"No."

"Then what are you carrying on about? You were always a difficult child, Draco, always wanting something more than what you were given."

Draco fell back against the wall with a resigned thump. "Perhaps you gave me the wrong things."

Lucius rolled his eyes to gaze with impatience at the top of his frame and sighed, exasperated. "Draco, whatever do you want? You can't expect me to listen to this nonsense of yours much longer. I have many other portraits in which to appear, though the fact seems to have slipped your mind, rife with self-pity though it is."

"Do you want vengeance, Father?" Draco slid down the wall to sit on the floor and hugged his knees to his chest. A grown man, but feeling like a very small boy as he gazed up at the painting with a tremble in his lip, his face creased with pain and anguish.

"Vengeance," Lucius let the word roll off his tongue. "I suppose you'd think I would." He sighed, straightened his sleeves, and looked back to Draco. "I've always been a sore loser. However, I was outsmarted and, surprisingly, never saw it coming."

"So you hold no fault with Sara?"

"Let me pass on a bit of wisdom I was given as a young man, from Dumbledore actually. The wisest thing the man's ever said."

"What was it?"

"All things come full circle. Sara will suffer in time. Mark my words. She will suffer. And, when it's too late, she'll understand why." Lucius smiled in a moment of secret pleasure.

Draco stood, the heavy black cloth held in his hands. "I'll see you in hell, Father."

* * *

Harry awoke deep in the midnight hour from a strange dream he could hardly remember. It was about Draco, but the dusty remnants were slipping away. He wondered why it had left him so anxious and full of dread, long after the dream had faded from memory.

Sara was gone, as she often was late at night. It was nothing new for him to wake and find her standing barefoot on the edge of the cliff, her arms raised to the sky and the wind blowing her lustrous midnight cloak out behind her. Her haunting dream-like voice caressed the air as she spoke a rhythmic, elegant old language to summon her favorite element and the surf crashed in furious answer far beneath her. Tonight, though, it was pouring rain as it had been all day, so he doubted Sara had ventured out of the cottage. He would wait awhile. Maybe she was visiting with Nikolae, who sometimes slept in the warded room at the end of the underground labyrinth and would spend a few hours with Sara before going to London or Manchester to hunt. Or, perhaps, she'd gone out to the sofa to watch the storm as the moon painted the room with pale blue-gray streaks of liquid shadow.

Sara was often restless these days, with all the planning, the arrangements, furnishing the new house, plus the impossible task of finding the perfect wedding dress. Sara was run ragged, but had a hard time winding down it seemed. There was more to it, though. A new sadness had darkened her eyes since the day Malfoy stood her up.

Harry had a feeling that something was building between Sara and Draco. Something he knew nothing about. She was dying to see Malfoy, this he knew for certain, and he'd seen Malfoy's inner turmoil first hand, though long ago. Their strange friendship was torn down the middle and neither knew how to proceed. They both longed for the closeness they'd once shared as friends - or whatever it was they were - but so much had happened that recapturing the past was no longer possible. The old innocence was snuffed out, scrambled and lost, with only the sad ghost of memory to fill the void. In Harry's opinion, the only choices Draco and Sara now had were to become little more than acquaintances, stopping for a polite Hello, how are you? when they passed in the street - or to be closer than they had ever been before. Harry pulled the soft comforter up to his chin and rolled onto his side, staring out at the rain-drenched night.

He had never stopped feeling threatened by Malfoy when it came to Sara. He was still insanely jealous to this day. It was something he hadn't been able to shake off, even though he knew where he stood with both of them and where they stood with each other. Neither had ever tried to hide their true feelings from Harry, always being up-front and truthful when confronted. Not once had Draco ever denied that he was completely in love with Sara, one time even admitting that he planned to marry her someday. Of course, that conversation had not gone well and they'd ended up in the hospital wing, but it didn't deter Draco from being brutally honest at all times.

Harry could sense that Sara was near him, a strange intelligence he did not understand, but also that she was troubled. Then again, he got that feeling often in the night, when her mind wasn't whirling with wedding plans and happiness. At night was when the real Sara came to surface, when she wandered from their bed while the world slept, alone and full of private contemplation. The darkness that remained inside her festered and pushed away her daytime contentment. The shadows would never fade it seemed and Harry again thought that she had stayed away for far too long. The despair that once resided in her, that had pushed her to the very threshold of total and irreversible apathy, had wrought its mark into her very essence.

A floorboard creaked in the hall. Harry shut his eyes and feigned sleep. He was dismayed when the insistent image of Draco Malfoy rose into his mind's eye, accompanied by that same feeling of dread - and urgency.

* * *

Draco stepped into the small lavatory off his father's study, not bothering to close the door behind him. He stopped before the mirror, fixed on the wall above the basin. The vial he set on the back of the sink.

He had been miserable many times in the past, but had never felt as wretched as he did tonight. Shunned by everyone he knew, Harry, Christina, his father's portrait, everyone that mattered, life had little meaning. Especially when it came to Sara. True, she had pleaded for him to see her but, even if he did, she would hug him and peck his cheek, and then she would go ahead with her plans to marry Potter. These weren't valid reasons for suicide, as Draco had no real wish to die, but when it came down to this or Voldemort's orders, it was an easy choice to make.

Draco brushed his hair to perfection, smoothed his eyebrows, and straightened his clothes before collecting the vial and removing the stopper. He emptied it into his mouth without hesitation.

It tasted horrible. Like sewage and rotten meat mixed with heating fuel. It was the vilest foulness imaginable and he retched even before it hit the back of his throat. Draco collapsed over the sink, vomiting away his salvation. Dejected, he rinsed his mouth and went out to the sofa. The fire was warm and he was sweating, but the way the heat radiated over him was a welcome embrace.

He had read in a book once about a girl named Ophelia who drowned herself and the whole thing was rather romantic, but Draco could never do such a thing. Just the thought of having his body found all pale and bloated gave him the creeps.

Then there was Juliet, who thrust a dagger into her own heart upon finding her Romeo was dead. Again, very tragic, romantic, until he considered the great pool of blood that would soak his clothes and would, by the time he was discovered, harden into a great stinking puddle of sticky crimson gore.

Then there was the favorite at Azkaban, which was hanging oneself. Draco pictured himself strung up from the chandelier, his head lobbing comically to one side, eyes bulging; tongue flopped out of his mouth. He cringed and tried to shake the image out of his head. None of these things would do. He should have saved some of the poison. Mixed it in a heavy Burgundy or a strong Merlot. Now he was left with nothing but his wand.

His wand! Why hadn't he thought of it before? Of course! It was so obvious that it had never even occurred to him.

Drawing his wand, Draco ensured that the note he was leaving, instructions for after he was gone, was in plain site on the stand beside him, leaned back into the sofa, and pointed the wand at his chest. His eyes squeezed shut, his heart racing; he took a deep breath and spoke.

"Avada Kedavra."

Not much happened. He was hit with something, a bolt of pain ripped through his body, but dissipated in a moment of terror. He was still very much alive.

Draco dropped his wand on the rug, let his head fall unceremoniously into his hands, and broke into violent sobs, something he had never experienced, even as a small child. The emotions raged within him, building into a torrent of fear, helpless desperation, and just plain brokenness. It was becoming clear to him that he would have to do what the Dark Lord had commanded him to do. It was that or fall victim to Voldemort's promise.

* * *

"Harry!" Sara whispered in the darkness.

There was urgency and fear in the way she gently shook his shoulder. He "awoke" at once. "Are you ok?" he asked, going for his glasses as he sat up, already knowing that, whatever it was, it had to do with Malfoy. He slipped them over his ears and noticed the giant crow on her shoulder. "It's that blackbird from the pensieve!"

"This is a raven. Harry, Draco needs help. Get dressed. Hurry up."

She didn't wait to hear his reply, but crossed the room to a locked box she kept on the bureau. "I saw him in the orb, just after the raven arrived. It came on its own I think, and tried to tell me Draco was in trouble."

"What'd he do this time?"

"He drank poison." She turned, met his eyes and trembled with worry. "Only it didn't take. Then he turned his wand on himself and spoke the Killing Curse. I didn't see how it ended, but I sense he's alive." Her eyes fell closed and Harry could see she was making a commendable effort not to cry. When she opened them again she handed a small black box to Harry, a silver serpent adorning the lid. "That will take you directly to Malfoy Manor, to the room where you'll find Draco. Now go! Hurry!"

Harry flipped open the Portkey but, before he touched it, his eyes landed on Sara. She was trembling, her hands clasped, nervous, and pressed against her chin. He put his arms around her. "I promise, he'll be all right." He stroked her hair. "Draco's too stubborn to die."

"Bring him back if you have to."

Harry gave her a reassuring smile and touched the key.

* * *

Harry's heart sank. Draco was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, crying, with his long white hair all aglow in the light of the fire and spilling down to hide his face. Draco hadn't noticed Harry come into the room and now he stood there, stone-faced and uncertain, wondering what to do.

When he finally found his voice it was quiet and small, apologetic. "Bad night, Malfoy?"

Draco quieted at once, turned his face away and withdrew a square of linen from his pocket. He wiped his eyes, discrete. "I bet you think this is real funny, don't you Potter?"

"Not at all."

"So what are you doing here if you didn't come to say I told you so? You were right, Potter, that night on the roof. I should have accepted your offer. I had no idea it would turn out the way it has."

Harry sat down on the couch beside Draco and sighed. "I came because I had a dream about you; that you were in some kind of trouble. Then Sara saw it in the orb."

"And she sent you instead of coming here herself I suppose."

"She said you didn't want to see her."

"She was right."

Harry's voice fell to a whisper. "Why did you drink poison, Draco?"

Draco gave a tremendous sigh and fell back into the cushions. "Because we all have to make sacrifices. Because you never did what I asked you to do. Not that I blame you, Potter. I mean, it is a rather tall order, but it's come to its climax and I can't do what he wants anymore. Stealing books was one thing, but this is beyond comprehension."

"What is it? What has he asked you to do?"

"You know I can't tell you. All I can say is that I had to make a choice between two things of equal importance. I did that, but I can't live with the consequences, Potter, I'm not my father."

"I know you're not."

"At least if he tried to curse himself he wouldn't screw it up."

"Draco, there's nothing wrong with your ability. It didn't work because you didn't really want it to."

"Well of course I didn't want it to work! I'm not a head case, Potter." He sniffled as he watched the flames.

"Perhaps Madam Pomfrey-"

"I'm fine!"

"You don't look fine."

"You wouldn't either, if you knew tonight was your last chance for salvation, that the end of life as you knew it was imminent." Draco stood and walked to the few bottles of liquor on a shelf nearest the windows. "And who shows up but Harry Potter? Heroic rescuer, legend in his own time. The Boy Who Wins."

"No more rivalries, Draco. Its just life we're dealing with."

"And some life it is! You're one to talk. I hear there's soon to be a Mrs. Potter."

"Is that why you won't see her? I wish you would. She's miserable about it."

"That's not why."

"So you're not going to tell me?" Harry rose and went to where Draco was pouring drinks. "Perhaps, if she knew your reasons-"

Draco slammed the bottle down. "I don't want to talk about Sara!"

"What do you want to talk about?" Harry took his drink and leaned against the wall with it. "I'm not here to get you upset. I'm here because I thought you might need a friend."

"Bullshit, Potter! If we were friends, then where have you been for two years? Why am I still a Death Eater? If my last name was Weasley things would be different, that's for sure! You never had any intensions of getting me out of this!"

"Is that what you think?" Harry raised his eyebrows in questioning. "And what do you mean where have I been? You told me not to contact you! I haven't told you anything so that there was nothing for Voldemort to get out of you. We've been working with The Order of the Phoenix and a few others, formulating a plan all this time. One doesn't just call the Dark Lord out blind."

"You've run out of time. It's days now, maybe even less."

"We're almost ready," Harry said with grave expression. "Stall."

"I've been stalling for weeks." Draco lowered his eyes. "It's over. I have run out of options." He went to the sofa and got his wand from the floor. This he handed to Harry. "Kill me."

Harry looked at Draco and saw he was serious. "I can see Sara now. 'Yeah, he was fine when I got there, but then I killed him.' She'd hit me with lightning until I was fried."

"Just close your eyes and do it. It's the only way." Draco squeezed his eyes shut and waited.

"I will NOT kill you. Not today anyway." Draco looked at Harry - and what Harry saw in Draco's ice-blue eyes made him hesitate.

"If you don't, you'll wish you had."

"We all have choices, Malfoy. I'm making mine. Let's see how you handle things."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Draco said, but there was no humor in it. He raised his glass and touched it to Harry's. "To what we used to be."

* * *

Draco scanned the roof of the pizza shop and the surrounding block, dressed in a warm black cloak that blended with the night. He landed with stealth and without a sound in a shadowy corner of the roof.

He found Christina semiconscious behind a small lean-to of cardboard and scraps of aluminum siding, asleep in a crevice beneath the ventilation ducts. Her clothes were damp, the breath rattled in and out of her lungs and she coughed every few seconds. The old boxes she slept on were wet with the day's rain. She wore a short-sleeved cotton shirt with nothing over it to keep out the cold. She didn't seem to realize he was talking to her, calling her name. She only moaned with exhaustion in response. He felt her head. She was burning with fever.

Lifting her in his arms, Draco mounted his broom and wrapped his cloak tight around her before heading for home.

Nigel opened the door to the same guest room Christina had used earlier in the day. Draco carried her in and laid her on the bed. The two middle-aged witches who did the cleaning bustled into the room. Nigel selected a flannel nightgown from the cache of things they'd purchased for her and laid it across the foot. It was tasteful and looked warm, which pleased Draco a great deal. He was just about to leave so the maids, (whose names he often forgot,) could change Christina's clothes, when he noticed her feet. She was wearing thick, new, white cotton socks. He thought she'd left without taking anything at all. But she did. She'd taken one pair of socks. Draco did not understand why this affected him the way it did. It pulled at something inside him, twisted his emotions. He turned and left the room.

There was a great blaze in the fireplace and his bed was already turned down. He longed to climb into it, but had a feeling it was going to be a very long night. It was rounding on the one o'clock hour already. Tossing some powder into fire, Draco leaned forward and stuck his head into the flames.

"Professor!" he called and was surprised when Snape appeared a moment later.

"Draco!" Snape seemed shocked - and delighted - to see his favorite student in his fireplace at one in the morning.

"Why aren't you in bed?" Draco wondered.

"Because I'm not tired."

"Why not?"

"Did you really stick your head in the fire only to inquire after my sleeping habits?"

"No, since you ask. I need your help. Someone is sick. I need a potion."

"So bring him here and let Madam Pomfrey have a look at him."

"I can't." Draco hesitated. "She... she's a Muggle, sir."

Snape was stunned to silence. He simply knelt on the floor and stared at Draco's green head.

"She's really sick. She won't answer me, unless you count incoherent mumbling. She has a cold or something."

"Not likely." Snape got to his feet. "Pneumonia would be my first guess. I'll fly into Hogsmeade and Apparate to London. I shouldn't be ten minutes."

"Thank you, sir. I'll be awaiting you."

* * *

Draco was stunned when Snape walked in, trailing a broom behind him. His hair was longer, but now had a rather flattering and definitive cut and it looked well taken care of. Shiny, clean - and sun streaked. His clothes were rumpled, but expensive, all in black. He was tan, and wearing a long black leather cloak. He looked like a badass with money.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice and at this late hour, Professor." Draco didn't smile as he stood in the atrium, feet together, hands clasped before him.

He stood pin straight, but not stiff, and Snape knew Draco had been forced to maintain this proper gentleman's stance since he'd learned to walk. Snape's past with Lucius afforded him a view of Draco few others had and seeing his elegant pose in his elegant house only drew from Snape his greatest sympathy. Such finesse gave Draco a respectable air and a commanding presence but, to Severus, it was a remnant of a joyless childhood. What Snape didn't know was that Draco clasped his hands so tightly that his knuckles were white with worry.

"May I take your cloak?" Draco made no attempt to move and, before he'd finished speaking, Nigel was helping Snape out of it. "I like it by the way. It suits you well. Have you been shopping, Professor?"

Nigel hung the cloak in a closet and stood in silence behind Snape, awaiting his broom.

"A gift from Sara. She said she saw it in Italy and knew I had to have it." Snape smiled. "I myself have never given much thought to frivolous attire, but I do rather like it."

"Sara has always had fine taste." Draco tried to grin and failed. "Except in her choice of husbands."

"She's not married yet, Draco. There's still time for you to change her mind."

"Don't you know Sara at all? There is no changing her mind. Besides, I know when to give up."

"One should never give up in the eleventh hour." Snape untied a heavy case from his broom and handed the latter to Nigel. "After all, someone needs to put Potter in his place." He turned with the case in his hands. "Now, where is the Muggle?"

"Follow me." Draco led the way up the stairs as Snape's last comment resonated in his mind. Put Potter in his place. He thought; if Snape knew what was to come, he'd take it back.

"She's in here."

Snape made his diagnosis within minutes and started rummaging around in his case, taking out stoppered bottles and one vial of what appeared to be dust. "She has pneumonia, as I suspected. It's a good thing you came to me, Draco. This girl is very ill."

"Will she be all right?" Draco hovered at her bedside, watching the Potions Master with too much curiosity.

"She will, but it will take a few days." Snape measured out a dose of three different mixtures and turned toward the head of the bed. "Sit her up."

Draco climbed onto the covers and pulled her up to rest against him, cradled in his arm. "Christina," he whispered. "Drink this. It will make you better."

"Draco..." Her head rolled to the side and pressed against his chest. His heart started hammering and he brushed the hair from her face, realized what he was doing, and stopped. He took the potion and put it to her lips.

"Drink, Christina. Professor Snape brought you some medicine. You'll be well soon, I give you my word."

Snape watched Draco with profound curiosity. It was odd to see the image of Lucius Malfoy holding a sick Muggle with fear and concern in his cold, uncaring eyes. One thing came clear in that moment. Draco was nothing like his father.

Draco eased the girl back down on the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She shivered with fever.

"Professor? Could you stay with her a while?" He pulled up his sleeve to display the emerging Dark Mark and was quick to recover it. "I have to go."

They shared a silent, but meaningful exchange and then Snape nodded, solemn and with dark acceptance.

"Don't let anything happen to her. And don't let her leave."

Draco vanished.

* * *

It was night when Draco awoke in the grass outside his house. The stars blinked above him in a cloudless sky. A soft breeze rustled the leaves and brushed his skin, but he took no comfort in it. There was no relief anymore. Not in anything.

He managed to pull himself up, though he stumbled and moved too slowly as he made his way in and crawled up the stairs to his room. Snape met him in the hallway and Draco held the wall to keep from falling.

"Draco!" Snape called out. "What happened? Do I have to remind you that you left on a Sunday?"

"What day is it?" Draco asked, his voice dry and hoarse.

Snape's expression turned concerned. "It's Friday."

"Friday," Draco said to himself. "I thought it was longer that that." He pushed off the wall and staggered into his room, shut the door, and collapsed onto his bed.

Snape hammered on the door.

"Draco!" he demanded through the polished wood. "Open this door! You've been injured, and you smell like a mountain troll. Why haven't you changed clothes in all this time? Answer me! Where were you? What happened?"

Draco hadn't the energy to answer. He could only lie there, thinking about his time deep in the catacombs, in a place where even the darkest of creatures feared to dwell. He thought about what he'd learned there. That there was no hope left for him. No promise of redemption or solace. He no longer belonged to himself.

At last, he had given up.

Snape let his hand fall to his side and, in the quiet, he could hear crying coming from the other side of the door. The same horrible, wretched sound he'd heard from Sara in the past, the sort of sound that could only come from the totality of complete emotional devastation. He prepared to let himself in, thought better of it, and went to find Christina.

* * *

Moonlight shone through a long bank of windows and Draco awoke from a troubled sleep. He guessed he'd only slept for about an hour and didn't feel much better for it, though a strange calm had come over him. He felt numb, detached, and accepting of his fate. Tomorrow, he would follow Voldemort's order and, after that, he would submit to the Dark Lord completely, for there were no other roads left to follow.

The shower helped to revive him, but not enough to matter. He took no pleasure in the flow of warm water as he normally would and went about washing away the grime of the catacombs with little thought. Draco's entire body pained him, inside and out, and he felt as if he'd been within an inch of death. Perhaps he had, over and over again.

What he did take comfort in was his pajamas, cool and soft against his skin in the warmth of the room. He stoked the fire with his wand, prodding it, charming it higher and higher until there was a roaring blaze in the fireplace. Then he went to a box he had hidden in the bureau and removed a tiny ring, alive with diamonds that shone with dramatic lavender brilliance. It was something he hadn't looked at in a long time. It was not in his manner to torture himself with tangible memories, but now he put the little ring around his neck with Sara's Amidon and this also comforted him. The gold chain slipped back under his shirt an he pressed the ring and the amulet close against him, letting his eyes slip closed to savor the warm familiarity of them.

He needed her now, so much he couldn't comprehend the depth of it. And he needed Potter, too. He would never say so aloud, but the night Harry had come to him, the night he'd tried to swallow poison, was the best night he'd had in years. He felt relief with Potter's presence. He felt safe, as though Voldemort couldn't get to him while in Harry's company. The immense vulnerability he lived with everyday just evaporated with the weight of his burden and he felt real again, part of something more profound and integral than this evil, loathsome existence. He'd felt alive with renewed hope and he hated Harry for it. There were plans being laid, not just by Harry and his idiot friends, but also by an order of powerful wizards, headed by Dumbledore and all primed for an imminent war. One that was to start soon after Harry and Sara's wedding. That was just over 2 weeks, so close he could almost taste his freedom, but it wasn't soon enough. He had his orders, and twenty-four hours to carry them out.

There was a soft knock at the door. It opened a crack and then Christina leaned her head in with a reluctant smile. "Draco! Severus said you were back. I hope I'm not disturbing you."

To Draco, her smile was like a ray of light. "Come in," he said. "Forgive me if I remain where I am."

"Don't trouble yourself." She closed the door and hurried over to the other side of the bed, which Draco was facing. "May I?"

"Certainly."

She climbed onto the coverlet. "You were gone so long! We were worried, everyone was."

Draco would have blushed if he had any color left in his face. "I was worried about you, too, actually." He managed a small smile. "What were you thinking? You left the jumper and decided to spend the night in the cold and the rain when you had a mansion at your disposal? I hate to say it, but you suck at decision making."

Christina laughed and he noticed how different she looked. "You got your hair cut. And you're looking a little healthier."

"Yes, Charles has been taking very good care of me."

"Who in Merlin's name is Charles?"

"Your cook."

Draco considered this for a moment and found he had no idea what the man's name was. "Oh."

Christina's eyes settled on the frame that had adorned Draco's bedside since Hogwarts. "Your sister?"

Draco brought the picture forward with aching arms. His face darkened as he looked at it. "No."

"She's beautiful. Stunning, actually." Christina took the heavy frame from his hand.

"That she is." He sighed.

"Is she your wife?" she asked with a note of trepidation.

"We were once friends," he answered. "She killed my father."

Christina was dumbstruck, stuttering over a reply that never came.

"She had cause, of course, but she had other options. She never discussed it with me. I would have done it for her if she'd asked me."

"I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter anymore." Draco took the frame and placed it back where it was, carefully arranging it for the perfect vantage point.

"Why do you keep it there if you don't mind me asking, if it brings about such painful memories?"

"Because the night that picture was taken was the happiest night of my life."

"You were in love with her."

Draco grew quiet for a moment, wondering why he felt such a desire to answer her questions, to brush aside the cobwebs and let all the bats out of the attic. She was a homeless Muggle he'd found on the street. He hardly knew her at all, but he found he wanted to tell Christina even more than she wanted to know. "There are no words to describe how I felt about Sara. I loved her the way people love each other in Shakespeare's books. It consumed me completely; day and night I thought of Sara. Everything reminded me of her."

"But she didn't return your feelings?"

"Actually, she did. Not completely, but Sara became my closest friend. She was the first person to ever really get to know me. She was able to reach me on a deeper level. Yes, she did love me."

"What happened?"

"She was in love with someone else."

She reached across the bed to take his hand. "If it's any consolation, I've always believed that everything happens for a reason."

Struck by the gesture, Draco smiled and wrapped his fingers around hers. It had been so long since another human being had affectionately touched him; he'd almost forgotten how nice it could be. "A wise man once said, 'all things come full circle. I hope you're both right." He sighed. "Christina? I know this is going to sound crazy, but would you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

"Of course I will." She gave him a concerned smile. "I can see you're upset about something."

"I wish I could tell you everything."

She put out the candle and climbed under the blankets.

"But, even if I did, it wouldn't change anything."

"What do you mean?"

"I have to do something tomorrow, something unimaginable. I've tried to get out of it, but it's no use. I may or may not come back, so I wanted you to know that you can stay here as long as you'd like. I want you to. Not out of charity but because, after tomorrow, you'll be the only friend I have."

"What do you mean you might not come back? It's none of my business, but where are you going?"

"Probably straight to hell."

"Draco, you're shaking."

"I've never been so scared in my life."

Christina moved across the bed and wrapped her arms around him in the darkness. Draco melted into the embrace, as all his pent up emotion flooded him and he clung to her as she brushed her fingers through his hair in a soothing rhythm.

"Whatever you do," she whispered. "I'll never judge you."

* * *

Harry awoke to the bright morning sunshine with an anxiety that ate at him. He'd dreamt again of Malfoy, though Sara was humming away in the shower instead of running for the orb, which put him at ease. She always seemed to know what Draco was feeling. Still, something lingered and it finally drove him out of bed. His mind's eye landed on a little gold box in the shape of a clam.

"Come, Hedwig!" he said and hurried to the house next door in his pajamas and barefoot, the owl looking strange riding along on his shoulder. Harry was walking too fast, but had to fight the urge to run. The master suite seemed miles away and Harry picked up the pace. Finally, he was standing in front of the shelf.

He carried the item to the desk and wrote a quick note.

Malfoy,
Something told me you needed this.
H.P.

Making sure the lid was closed tight; Harry packed it in a small shipping carton, enclosed the letter, and watched as Hedwig flew off with it. "Hurry!" he told her. "Fly like the wind and don't stop for anything!"

Harry found Sara dressed for the day and looking radiant when he reentered the cottage with his hair standing up straight on one side and his nightclothes all askew.

Sara was in a splendid mood and smiled when she saw him. "Happy birthday, Harry!"

"Thanks!"

"I've started the breakfast and Ron and Hermione should be here any minute."

"Where are you going?"

"To pick up my wedding dress." She grinned. "And we need a few last minute things for your party. Want anything from Diagon Alley?"

"Can't you go later?"

"I won't be long and I don't want to stick the two of them with setting up while I'm out shopping. It's best to go now, even if I miss breakfast."

"All right then." He smiled. "I'll see you soon."

He kissed her and she threw her arms around his neck. "I can't believe you're twenty! It's seems like yesterday that we were in school and here we are, grown-ups already."

"We have the rest of our lives ahead of us, Sara. This is just the beginning." Dread struck him like a bolt of lightning and his face turned suddenly pale.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." He tried to smile. "You can't miss my birthday, so hurry back, okay?"

Sara smiled with reassurance. "I will, Harry. I promise."

He smiled and waved as she disappeared through the door, stopping to blow him a kiss from the front step. Then she was gone.

Harry returned to the kitchen to tend to his birthday breakfast with trembling hands.

* * *

Christina slept like an angel, with her soft sable hair slipping down the pillows behind her, lost in a sea of black silk sheets and blankets. Her knees were bent as she lay on her side facing his half of the bed, her hand curled under her chin. Draco bent and kissed her cheek before Hedwig flew in through the window.

Draco thought Harry must have lost his mind, sending his owl straight to Draco's house and carrying a package no less! Was Potter trying to get him a month in the catacombs? He opened it, careful not to wake Christina with the chaos of crinkling paper.

Draco,
Something told me you needed this.
H.P.

It was his memory. The little pensieve he'd left with Harry the very night he'd become a Death Eater. He'd forgotten all about it and now here it was on this strangest of days. Something more to torment him - or maybe comfort him - in his time of trial. After only a moment's hesitation, he pulled his wand from the pocket of his jeans and returned the mist it to its rightful place.

A quick glance at his watch told Draco that time was running short and he had to be on his way or risk missing Voldemort's deadline. He would be followed every step of the way, of this he was certain and, if it appeared he was slacking, then back to catacombs he would go for a little reminder of duty. He couldn't even bear the thought of it. Never, in the year he had spent in the dark depths, had it been so cruel or so constant as it had this past week. Voldemort had become so relentless with his 'lessons' that Draco was sure he wouldn't make it through another round with his sanity intact. He thought of Neville Longbottom's parents, tortured to madness by Death Eaters, and longed for such a release. If he were mad, he could spend his days at St. Mungo's instead of under Voldemort's boot.

Letting himself out of the room in silence, Draco made his way down to the car, which was waiting as he'd requested. He sat in the back with the partition raised, alone with his thoughts. He saw himself dancing with Sara, and then sitting on a bench in the frozen night, looking at her, kissing her for real. Not the little friendly kisses she'd given him on occasion, but the kind of kiss that made the world go away. He'd loved her so completely then, and still did to this very day.

Diagon Alley was only a ten minute ride from home and he instructed the driver to wait with the motor running before disappearing into The Leaky Cauldron. There were a few people inside, most eating breakfast at out of the way tables and Draco ignored all of them. He kept his eyes on the back wall and went straight to the entrance to Diagon Alley.

He wasn't surprised to see the streets jammed with wizards on a sunny, warm Saturday morning, bustling about, shopping in groups or wandering alone. He waded into their midst, passing unnoticed in jeans and a dark green cotton shirt. His walk down the hill that night had taught him not to dress for business (which was the way he always dressed) if he wanted to slip by, unseen, to blend with everyone else. He wasn't in the mood to talk to old acquaintances of his father's or friends from school. He just needed another vial of poison and then he could get out of there.

And that's when it happened. Right there on the crowded walk, along the crowded street, someone grabbed his arm and swung him around. It was Sara.

"Draco!" she beamed. "I saw you pass and I just had to see you!"

Draco stood in dumb shock, not knowing what to say and taken so off guard that he only stuttered. It had been such a long time since they'd stood face to face and he was overcome with emotion. He smiled, awkward. "Sara," he finally managed.

"You look absolutely miserable! Won't you talk to me about it?" she urged, concern in her pretty violet-blue eyes. "Look, I know you've been avoiding me, but here we are. Now you can tell me why."

"I'm a Death Eater, Sara. You know I wanted to see you, but it would have been better if you had never come back. I never wanted you to see this side of me."

"Harry told me everything, you know. Whatever it is you have to do, Draco, we all know it's against your will."

"I truly hope so." He lifted one aching arm and ran his fingers through her beautiful long hair, and then pressed his hand against her face for the last time.

Sara's voice was a whisper. "Draco, you look like you're about to cry."

"I feel like crying." He pulled her closer and kissed her, not with physical passion, but from the heart and Sara knew the difference. She did not pull away. It was real, and tinged with finality.

Finally, he wrapped her in a tight embrace. His eyes slipped closed, savoring the nearness of her, the smell of her perfume, the sensation of her breath on his skin, the feel of her arms around him.

"Draco. Let me help you."

"There is no help for me." He kissed her hair. "Just know that what I do today I do out of cowardice and fear. Always remember that I love you more than you could ever know." He glanced into the crowd and found at least two of Voldemort's spies watching him. "Sara, I'll love you until the day I die."

"I love you, too! Draco... Merlins, Draco! This is the moment I saw in the orb."

Tears stood in his eyes as he drew his wand. "Avada Kedavra," he whispered as his eyes slipped shut and the tears fell. He did not look at her, only turned away as quick as he could and hurried away, hearing the soft gasp of her falling to the ground.

Behind him, he heard the cries of passers-by, calling for help and Draco walked faster, wiping his face with his hands. He was still holding his wand and shoved it back in his pocket. He wanted to run away, not just out of Diagon Alley, but clean out of London, through the tunnel and across half of Europe. He couldn't bring himself to look back at the ring of concerned wizards he knew would be standing around her body.

Setting his sights straight at the ground, Draco hurried back to his car and choked out one request for his driver. "Take me home."

* * *

- 405 -