Irredeemable

"Potter!" Draco cried, launching himself at the werewolf bent over the boy. He immediately began firing off a large number of hexes, which the wolf responded, running away with its bushy tail in between its legs. The damage had still been done, however.

He lay moaning on the ground, all too aware of the vicious werewolf bite that stung and roared with fire every time he tried to take a breath. Draco swore violently and ripped a long strip off the bottom of his designer cloak, tying it tightly around the wound on Harry's shoulder to form a makeshift bandage.

"Come on, Potter, don't die on me!" he commanded roughly, intently watching the pale face. Eventually the emerald eyes opened and though they were clowith pain, they were at least aware. Draco heaved a sigh of relief.

"Alright, Potter?" he asked. Harry managed to nod, but the effort sent a fresh wave of pain streaking through his entire body. His back spasmed he began to tremble slightly. "It's okay, Potter, I'm going to get you out of here. I'll take you someplace safe, where you can heal."

"I... don't....want to go... to ... Vold...Voldemort," Harry gasped, struggling away as Malfoy tried to help him into a sitting position.

"Would you rather stay in the forest and die? Or worse yet, be found by Dumbledore? They were planning to send you to Azkaban, Potter, in case you didn't know. Now I risked plenty just getting you out of there, and you're going to cooperate now."

"I'm afraid we don't have a choice, Potter," Draco said. "He's the only one who can help you."

"F... fine," Harry assented, though reluctantly.

"Good," Draco responded. "This'll be easier on you then. Grab on." He pulled a watch, obviously a portkey, from his pocket. Harry clumsily put a few fingers on the smooth surface but they slid off. "For Merlin's sake," Draco said, irritated. He wrapped Harry's fingers around the small watch and then enveloped Harry's hand in his own. "Don't get used to this," he warned, though not as harshly as he had originally intended. Harry's hand radiated a feverish warmth; he needed a Healer immediately.

Harry was thrashing underneath the silk seats, muttering occasionally in his sleep. Draco watched him with solemn silver eyes, brows drawn loosely together in concern. Harry's face was scrunched into an expression of pain and suffering, one which made him look years younger than he actually was.

It wasn't right, Draco thought indignantly, that any one person should be as tortured as Harry was. Although the short boy did his best to hide it, Draco could tell that he was tormented by a past that he could not escape. Unfortunately, some of the pain had been caused by him when they were foolish schoolboys at Hogwarts. He had done his best to make it up to Harry since their reconciliation, but he was afraid he would always feel guilty.

Tenhe traced the line of Harry's jaw. At the gentle touch Harry relaxed, instinctively moving closer to Draco. Draco combed his fingers through Harry's long silky locks. Harry's sleep deepened until he did not make so much as the slightest whimper.

Harry's entire life had been one set of unfortunate circumstances leading to other equally unfortunate occurrences. Harry held so much pain inside that it was a miracle he was still able to function normally.

It was that strength that had first attracted Draco to Harry. He had always seen the Boy-Who-Lived as a pampered and spoiled brat who could not stand up against anything. After he had brought Harry to Voldemort, however, the other boy's true resilience had begun to show. Draco had never before met anyone as competent as Harry.

Harry stirred underneath his gentle caresses, eyes opening sleepily. He smiled blearily, appearing almost angelic. Draco kissed the top of his head softly, wrapping his arms protectively around the smaller boy.

"I had a dream about when you rescued me," Harry informed him.

Draco remembered his wild crash through the Forbidden Forest in an attempt to keep up with Harry. "I'm so sorry about your bite, it's all my fault, I should've been there sooner-"

"Shh," Harry soothed, squeezing Draco's shoulder. "It's not your fault at all. I was running away from you. And you did, after all, save my life. I can't thank you enough for that."

"You're welcome," Draco responded. "How are you feeling?"

Harry slowly rotated the shoulder that had been shot. "Good as new," he smiled. Suddenly, his Dark Mark began to burn slightly. "We're being summoned," he said, although Draco surely knew it as well. They got dressed in ton robes quickly, Apparating to Voldemort's throne room to save time.

As they were already within the Dark Lord's stronghold and did not have to excuse themselves from other company, they were among the first to arrive. Harry settled down on his small throne, Draco sitting on the floor in front of him with his head leaning back into Harry's lap.

They watched as the other, lesser Death Eaters began to trickle in until the throne room was filled with them. When all had arrived, Voldemort began to speak. "My spies bring me excellent news," he stated, voice carrying over the assembled crowd. "Fudge is dead. Apparently he was too frightened of us to dare facing us; he committed suicide last night.

A few Death Eaters, the smell of cheap fire whiskey rank on their breath, broke into raucous cheers. "Silence!" Voldemort hissed. "Fudge was an idiot. We still have the rest of the Ministry to deal with, as well as Dumbledore and his ridiculous Order of the Phoenix." The Death Eaters sobered quickly.

"We must begin our attack on the Ministry immediately. Harry and Draco will plan and lead the attack. You will follow their orders precisely." The Death Eaters all understood the implied threat: crossing Harry or Draco would be the same as trying to cross Voldemort.

"That is all. You are dismissed." The Death Eaters disappeared quickly, eager to escape. It was a rare occasion that they were summoned without a single person being placed under the Cruciatus curse and none of them were keen to see how well the slender hair holding them above the flame could hold by tugging on it.

"I hope that you are recovered?" Voldemort asked of Harry. Harry nodded, thanking his master for providing the Healers. "I expect the attack to occur in one week. You, however, will not go."

"But, Master-"

"Do you doubt me?" Voldemort roared. Harry flinched and bowed.

"No, master."

"Good. I can not risk both you and Draco at the same time, not yet. As it is the Ministry we are attacking, there will be a much greater risk than any of our previous attacks. Do not fear, my young snake, you will have your own fun that night."

"What is your bidding?"

"You will appear in Hogsmeade while the older students are on their excursion there. I'm sure you will have no trouble finding a few of your old friends to 'play' with." Voldemort cackled eerily.

"As you wish."

"In the meantime, work with Draco on coordinating the attack. Succeed, and you will both be lavishly rewarded. But if you should fail..." Voldemort left the threat hanging with narrowed eyes.

"We won't fail," Draco answered confidently.

"See to it that you don't."

Time was running out and Albus Dumbledore knew it. In a way it was like trying to hold water in your hands; the harder you tried, the quicker it splattered on the ground, useless. Time, though, was much more important than water. If they weren't given the time to prepare for the final battle, they wouldn't ever have to worry about finding water to drink or food to eat again.

The news of Cornelius Fudge's suicide was like a death toll, although not entirely unexpected. The Death Eaters had been strangely quiet since their victory in Diagon Alley and Dumbledore it could only mean that they were planning an even bigger attack, this time on the Ministry.

The problem was that he had no idea when the attack would occur. Moreover, he had little real power to do anything about it.

The Order of the Phoenix may have been the sole thing able to combat Voldemort and his Death Eater's hit and run strategies, but even so they were an unsanctioned organization. There was only so much that could be accomplished through the use of carefully placed spies in the Ministry.

The Aurors themselves should have been a great asset, but their numbers had been severely depleted over the course of the war. The Ministry would be lucky to have more than fifty fighting for them, and half of those were still wet-behind-the-ears trainees

"Harry, my dear boy," Dumbledore lamented quietly. "Why did you have to turn to the darkness?" Just like the numerous previous times he had pondered the question, no answer was forthcoming. "Was it something that I did?"

Harry's face floated before him, lips drawn downward into an accusing, baleful glare. The emerald eyes were cold and hard, bereft of the sparkle that came from joy they had always held before. The mark of the silver serpent stood out in sharp contrast to his pale cheek. Dumbledore leaned back and closed his eyes, brow furrowed in misery.

Always before there had been some small hope, some glimmer that there was a chance, however slim, that the darkness could be beaten back. The prophecy had been that ray of hope that encouraged him throughout the first war almost two decades ago. Now, however, the prophecy had shown that itself false, and no new heroes were forthcoming. There was no tiny Harry Potter to stop the rise of the Dark Lord this time, and even if one did appear, Voldemort was prepared for it. He had learned his lesson well; this time someone would be there to take the Death Eaters in a firm, iron grip until Voldemort's ld be returned to a new body.

And that someone was Harry Potter.

A large wooden table in Harry's and Draco's room had papers strewn about it wildly. Together, the two were intently studying a magical map of the Ministry of Magic. Their heads lightly touched one another as they pointed out possible methods of entry.

"The problem is that they know we're coming. I mean, it's obvious that they're our next target. So we don't have surprise on our side."

"If I show up in Hogsmeade before the attack starts, however, then they'll probably send at least a dozen Aurors my way. That'll help not only catch them off guard, but it will also deplete the number of men they have available. But that still doesn't explain what we'll do for the main attack."

"There's two ways to go about it, I guess. Either a full-on frontal assault, or a small strategic attack team that could cripple the Ministry from the inside and then leave it open to the other Death Eaters."

"How many men do we have inside the Ministry right now? There's at least, what, five in every department?"

Draco nodded, "Something like that."

"We can use them to start the attack on the inside. That'll distract the Aurors quickly enough. Then we can bring in the rest of the troops from the outside."

"Two-pronged attack. It should work. The death toll will certainly be much lower this way, and it will be easier. It's a good thing that after this we won't have to worry aboutnistry exposing our spies as we will run the Ministry."

"And we can use that to our advantage." Harry grinned and Draco grinned right back. The two had discovered that they worked well together, bouncing ideas of the other and becoming far more productive as a unit than they could be separately. "If only I could be there to see it." Harry's voice was oddly wistful.

"I'll make sure to take pictures," Draco remarked dryly, causing both boys to laugh. "Besides, you'll be having fun in Hogsmeade. And after we take the Ministry it will only be a matter of weeks before we are ready to take on Hogwarts. Even Voldemort himself will be there for that attack."

"I suppose you're right," Harry consented. "Still, after all the trouble the Ministry's caused me, it would be nice to have some first-hand revenge."

"I'll makhat not a single one of those foolish Ministry officials survives. I'll kill them all myself if I have to," Draco promised.

"Aww," Harry whined, a mock look of disappointment on his face, "can't you bring back just a couple for me to torture?"

"Excellent!" Ron said, pointing to the notice posted in the common room. "Hogsmeade weekend on Saturday! I'm glad they decided not to cancel them."

Hermione nodded, paying attention with only half her mind. "We could use the break. We've been spending so much time studying lately-"

Ron interrupted, "What's this? Even Hermione thinks we've been spending too much time studying? I can't believe it!" He hooted with laughter. Hermione swatted his arm.

"For your information, I do have a life beyond academics."

"Really?" Ron asked with a suggestive grin on his face. "Then what are you doing tonight?"

"Studying," came the succinct reply.

Ron groaned. "I think you just missed my point entirely."

"I understood your point well enough, Ronald Weasley. But if you think I'm going to spend my evening snogging with you when their is a Transfiguration test tomorrow-"

"How 'bout you study for five minutes and then snog for ten?"

In spite of herself, Hermione laughed. "You never give up, do you?"

"Nope," Ron answered with a roguish grin.

"After I'm done studying, then maybe..." she conceded with a grin. "We can grab the invisibility cloak and-" Ron's smile faded instantly to be replaced with a look of stony anger. "Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry, I forgot!"

"It's alright, Hermione," he answered through clenched teeth. "It's not your fault. It's his." However, the mood in the room darkened and refused to brighten again that night.

Fred and George Weasley counted themselves lucky; they were still alive. Diagon Alley, and their small store along with it, was in the hands of the Death Eaters. The twins had fought valiantly, but had both been dropped by stunning spells early in the battle, when it still appeared as if their side might be able to hold out.

The twins were dirty and bruised, their faces smeared with soot they had received as they had helped to evacuate the younger children through the Floo network. They were crowded into a secure holding cell along with fifty or other victims of the Diagon Alley attack, all of them in about the same state as Fred and George.

A few stared about blankly at the Death Eaters taunting them from their secure positions out of the reach of the prisoner's groping hands, almost as if they could not believe what had happened. In a way, George agreed with them; this all did seem surreal.

None of the people talked, except to mutter scant words of comfort to the young children. The reassurances, as good as the intentions of those who delivered them were, meant nothing when the adult's voice shook in terror and they souns if they could not even convince themselves that they would be safe.

After at least a day of squatting uncomfortably on the cold stone floor, Death Eaters came and removed all the children. Some of the parents fought, biting and shrieking and kicking, but they were quickly subdued by judicious use of the Death Eaters' wands.

The adults waited in trepidation, fully aware that the best fate awaiting them was death.

"Move!" one of the Death Eaters commanded suddenly, opening the jail cell and herding the prisoners through long twisted corridors like they were a herd of hippogriffs. The Death Eaters hexed those who stumbled or hesitated from fatigue and lack of adequate nutrition, cackling maniacally as they did so.

George snarled at them, which earned him a mild pain curse that sent him crashing forward into the ancient man in front of him. He cursed loudly and helped the man uglaring at the Death Eaters.

None of the prisoners were prepared for what awaited them at the end of their long walk. They were ushered into Voldemort's throne room and brought face to face with Voldemort himself.

The Dark Lord was lounging comfortably on his throne, a sly, serpentine smile upon his chalk-white face. Another figure was seated in a smaller throne to Voldemort's left, though the hood of their red robe was drawn up and the face hidden. Draco Malfoy sat in front of the smaller throne, eyeing the prisoners with equal amounts of disgust and exhilaration.

"Where are our children?" a man with a very prominent chin demanded.

"You can relax. They are being well taken care of by most loyal Death Eaters and will be instructed on how they will fit into my new order." Voldemort smirked at the outraged faces of the prisoners. "Your children are now mi I shall do with them as I see fit."

"You can't brainwash them!" a distraught mother screeched, throwing herself at the Dark Lord. The figure on the smaller throne raised his right hand and she stopped mid-lunge, mouth hanging open in shock.

"You will not touch Lord Voldemort," the man on the throne informed her gravely. George thought that the voice sounded almost familiar. The man made another gesture and the woman was thrown back, this time screaming in pain as she was held under the Cruciatus curse.

Voldemort raised one eyebrow as the woman's shrieks faded to dry sobs of pain. "Would any one else like to add anything?" he taunted cruelly. The prisoners said nothing though George noticed plenty of clenched fists. At his side, Fred was watching the Dark Lord intently, hate evident in his dark eyes.

Voldemort turned to the man at his side. &q there any you know?" The figure stood up gracefully and pushed back his hood. George gasped in spite of himself. Staring calmly at the prisoners was the face of Harry Potter, but this was not the same innocent boy that George remembered. Instead, his face was jaded and cruel.

Harry began to prowl among the prisoners, examining each person carefully. Most of the witches and wizards recognized the Boy-Who-Lived and choked on stunned exclamations of dismay and disbelief.

Harry halted in front of the twins. "Fred, George," he greeted, sounding for all the world as if they were just passing on the street, "it's wonderful to see you again."

"I wish I could say the same," Fred growled, glaring at Harry.

Harry just grinned and for a second George could see the boy that he used to be beneath the icy exterior. The moment passed quickly, though, and he t confronting his one-time friend.

"Now the question is what to do with you," Harry thought aloud, tapping one finger against his lips thoughtfully. "After all, I haven't seen you in such a long time. We really must have a nice long chat."

"We don't converse with traitorous bastards like you," George ground out slowly.

"That's really too bad for you then. But I think I'll let my master decide to do with you." Harry whirled around and if George could have sworn that Potter almost skipped back to his throne. Malfoy, still seated on the dais, gazed at them coolly, but his eyes flickered with sadistic amusement.

"As you can see, you fools," Voldemort began, addressing the gathered crowd of prisoners. "Even the Boy-Who-Lived, your precious saviour, has joined me. You hhope." He paused to let this sink in. "And so I offer you the ultimatum; join me or die."

Figuring that he was as good as dead anyway, George commented sarcastically, "Isn't that a bit cliched?"

"Do not mock the Dark Lord!" Harry roared, springing to his feet and whipping out his wand. "Crucio!" George collapsed in pain, his entire body raging with flames that seemed to burn and freeze simultaneously.

"Stop it!" Fred shouted, coming to his twin's defense. He made a wild grab for Harry, almost loosing his balance. He regained his footing quickly and punched Potter squarely in the face. His knuckles felt the satisfying crunch of cartilage and bone tearing into each other.

"You will not touch Harry!" Draco bellowed as he too pulled out his wand. Within seconds both twins were writhing on the ground, clutching theirs the pain increased. Every time they took a shallow breath it was as if their lungs would burst and their throats explode from the sheer torturous fire that raced through their body.

"Enough!" the Dark Lord called after several minutes that felt like days. Potter and Malfoy obeyed his command instantly, like the well-trained dogs they were. Harry touched his nose gingerly, and his hand came away bloody. Except for grimacing a bit in disgust, however, he ignored the pain.

"My offer is still open to all of you except for those two Muggle-lovers. Consider it carefully."

"We'll never join you!" a voice called out firmly, and was soon joined by a clamor of others. "We'd rather die!" they shouted, voices rising to make a noisy din. "Go ahead and kill us."

"If you would martyr yourselves, by all means, do not let me deter you. ou die, however, I will take away the small comfort that you are dying for a cause. Soon their will be no one left for your deaths to inspire." The crowd shuffled uneasily but no one changed their mind. "Very well."

Voldemort waved his hand, and instantly the Death Eaters lining the room sent Avada Kedavra after Avada Kedavra spinning into the thick mass of prisoners. One by one they all fell until they were nothing more than a pile of corpses.

The cadavers were quickly disposed of before the bodies even had a chance to cool. Fred and George were left alone and vulnerable in the middle of the floor. Slowly they helped each other into low crouches, but they could not manage to stand.

"Your defiance has cost you a quick and merciful death," Voldemort informed them. "But do not fear, you will join your friends soon enough. Harry, see to it."

&q pleasure, my lord," Harry responded, rising and bowing.

George looked up at Harry who towered above him. "I hope that when you die there will be no one to cry over your rotting corpse. You'll be picked apart by vultures and immortalized in history as the worst kind of turncoat and villain there ever was."

"You forget," Harry said silkily, "that the history books are never written by the losers."

"We won't lose to you," Fred joined in, voice blazing with rebellion as red hot as his hair. "The Darkness can never vanquish the Light."

"Well, we'll have our go at it. In any event, you won't be around to see how it all turns out."

Harry stumbled as he was roughly shoved into the cell, cradling his left forearm protectively. The Dark Mark stood out boldly against his pale skin, the edges crisp and burnt. His entire arm ached fiercely and the area around the Mark was puffy and red.

"Why me?" he wailed silently. "Why couldn't Voldemort just have gone after Neville instead? Why did he have to pick me?"

For the first time in his entire life he felt like crying and then collapsing and refusing to continue any further. Even over the summers when he had been abused by the Dursleys, even immediately after Sirius' death he wanted to live at the very least. Now he was considering quitting completely.

What use was he to anyone, stuck here in this inescapable jail cell where no one could find him? He did not have his wand and even the protection that came from his mother's sacrifice had left him. He had no one to turn to and nothing to look for.