Irredeemable

"Come to gloat, Malfoy?" Harry asked bitterly as the slim blonde slipped into his dungeon cell. "You've been waiting for this day for a long time, haven't you? Harry Potter, locked up in chains and vilified to the point where even his best friends hate him."

Malfoy just stood there, gazing at the stiff body of the other boy with his cool silver eyes before responding. "I didn't come here to gloat." His voice wavered a bit as if he really was not certain why he had come.

"Sure you didn't. What do you want to call it then? Look, Malfoy, I've put up with enough in the past couple weeks that I don't need you compounding the problem. Why don't you just leave and revel in your victory somewhere else?"

"I didn't come here to gloat, Potter, I came here to free you." Draco's expression and tone were serious, but Harry burst out laughing all the same.

"Malfoy, do you really expect me to believe that? You can't possibly be here to free me."

"Just like Dumbledore would never turn his back on the little Gryffindor hero?" Draco pointed out shrewdly. Harry clamped his mouth shut tightly. "Look, Potter, I'm not relishing the task either, but that's what I've been ordered to do."

"Ordered? Who ordered it?" Harry narrowed his eyes in concentration. "No one wants me free."

"The Dark Lord, of course, you Gryffindor idiot." Malfoy rolled his eyes, an odd gesture on the normally self-possessed young man.

"Please. Voldemort doesn't want to free me, he wants to kill me."

"Look, Potter, the reasons weren't explained to me at the time. All I know is that I'm supposed to free you and take you to Voldemort. That's it, but it's enough for me." Malfoy crossed his arms at his chest and shifted his weight irritably. "Are you going to cooperate or not? I am trying to help you!"

"I'd rather stay here and rot than go with Death Eater scum like you!" Harry claimed boldly.

"From what I hear," Malfoy calmly remarked with a satisfied smirk, "you're the one with the Dark Mark."

"Why you little bastard!" Harry raged. "I should-"

"Have you forgotten that you're tied up in that chair and you have no wand? You can't do anything to me, Potter. Now I'm going to untie you and remove the magic surrounding you, and then we're going to take this portkey to the Dark Lord's palace. And you're going to behave or I'll hex you so hard you won't remember your own thrice-blasted name."

"Fine," Harry assented grudgingly, though his eyes shone with a sly light.

Draco magicked the ropes away and began to disassemble the various charms helping to keep him securely locked in place. As soon as they were gone, Malfoy offered a hand to help Harry up. Harry took it, using his slight weight to throw Malfoy to the ground. Without looking back, he set off running.

Harry smirked from behind his protective shield, watching as the professors threw curse after curse at the glowing, iridescent force field. However, instead of weakening the shield as they should have done, the magical energy of the spells was merely channeled to make the shield that more powerful.

"Stop!" Dumbledore ordered curtly. The professors stopped their hexes instantly but did not lower their wands. "There has to be some other way to break it!"

"You can have fun trying, Dumbledore," Harry taunted, eyes half-lidded and body comfortably positioned, almost as if he were draped on the air itself. "Nothing yet has been shown to break that shield."

"Everything, and everyone, has its weakness," Dumbledore responded levelly, eyeing Harry calmly.

"And I suppose you think you know mine?" Harry asked, laughing at his former mentor. "Let me assure you, Headmaster, you know nothing about me." Dumbledore raised a single eyebrow in challenge. "I, on the other hand, know plenty about you. For example, the only reason you are engaging me in this lovely conversation is you think it will distract me enough to lower my guard."

Dumbledore fought not to gape at the young wizard. The Harry he had known did not pick up on minute things like that; he was guided by his feelings instead of his mind. This new Harry, this unknown force, however, surveyed everything critically.

"So just what do you think you know about me, Dumbledore?" Harry wondered with a smile on his face, an expression that uncomfortably reminded Dumbledore of a young Tom Riddle. "Please, I'd just love to know."

"Must we play these mind games, Harry?" Dumbledore demanded.

"Oh, but of course. After all, you had plenty of time to poke and prod me while I was a student at your school. Now it's my turn to have a spot of fun."

"If you insist." Dumbledore bowed slightly, but their was no respect in the gesture. "First off, you believe that you are beyond caring about anything anymore."

"I wouldn't say that. I care about a great many things, but none of them have anything to do with you. I suppose you think that all Death Eaters are heartless bastards. If that's the case, where did all their children come from? Just because a person opposes what mortals term 'the good side' does not mean that they are immediately stripped of all compassion."

"An interesting observation, my boy-"

"I am not your boy any longer. I was your pawn, your marionette, for long enough. I'm my own person now."

"You serve Voldemort," Dumbledore spat.

"Yes. I do. But I am still my own person. I was not forced to give my allegiance to Voldemort; it was my choice. Therefore I still remain myself and I belong only to myself... and one other." Even though Draco was not here he did not want to offend him.

"And who is this other?"

"If you know me so well, why don't you tell me?" Harry challenged, eyes lighting up with merriment.

Draco had to give the Death Eaters their due credit. After only a half hour of intense fighting the majority of the Ministry of Magic was theirs. Only a few pockets of resistance, mainly in the Department of Law Enforcement, remained. Draco walked through the familiar corridor, remembering the first time his father had brought him here.

He was a small, bright-eyed boy of five, solemn and regal as befitted the Malfoy name. He hurried to keep up with his father and struggle at the same time to maintain a stately gait. He stared in wonder at the dozens of witches and wizards around him, watching eagerly as they went about their business with hardly a glance at the well-dressed boy.

"Do all these people work here?" he asked breathlessly, quite taken away by the marvel.

"Of course," his father said, frowning slightly. "The magical community is no small, insignificant thing, Draco. It needs many people to keep it working."

"It's amazing," he noted. To him, the statues and murals of witches in wizards in various situations of unity seemed larger than life and quite fantastic.

"It is merely a bureaucratic operation," his father scolded, scorn seeping into his deep voice. He stopped and pulled Draco to him, kneeling down to look into his son's eyes. "Understand this, Draco: the Ministry is made up of nothing more than petty politicians and Muggle-loving fools who are more interested in playing with their toys than in seeing to the survival of the Wizarding world. Someday, you'll help to change all that."

Draco nodded, but he was still awestruck.

Draco forced his mind away from those memories, instead concentrating on his father who now stood beside him, although this time their situations were somewhat reversed.

"I must say, Draco, that you did a fine job of it," Lucius Malfoy commented lightly, a faint note of surprise in his voice.

"Did you doubt that I could, father?" he queried coldly. Ever since he had been promoted and joined together with Harry, his father had been distant, even bitter. Draco was intelligent enough to realise that his father had seen him only as a way to earn favour with the Dark Lord. Now that Harry, along with Draco, had taken over his father's place, Lucius was hard to deal with.

"Some of the men were questioning whether or not an unproven boy not even old enough to have graduated from Hogwarts could succeed in planning and leading such a momentous attack." Lucius spoke slowly and emphasized his words so that it appeared as if Lucius had nothing to do with the talk. Draco suspected otherwise.

"I'm sure you had nothing to do with this, of course. The Dark Lord would be displeased to hear that his choice of leaders is distrusted."

"Of course," Lucius agreed slyly with narrowed eyes.

Draco turned away from his father and set off towards the center of the Ministry, crimson robes billowing behind him. His mind wandered as he passed monotonous stone walls. The only way he could tell that he was moving at all was because the scorch marks from vagrant spells were in different patterns as he progressed.

He hoped that Harry was alright. He knew, of course, that Harry was perfectly capable of handling himself in almost any situation, but that did not stop him from worrying. Although Harry was magically and physically strong, his emotional side was weakened by years of abuse and betrayal. If Harry ended up seeing Dumbledore, as Draco suspected he might, old wounds might be reopened.

He soon reached one of the Apparation points and proceeded to the Dark Lord's throne room. "The Ministry is yours, Master," he informed Voldemort after bowing.

"Excellent, excellent, my young serpent. You have truly done well. Now nothing stands between us and Hogwarts!"

"Are you growing tired of my little games already Dumbledore? Really, I would have expected more from you," Harry chided harshly, eyes dancing in wicked mirth.

Dumbledore did not answer the question, instead changing the topic. "What would your parents think of you, Harry? Surely they did not want their son to follow the man who murdered them."

"What does it matter what they think? They're dead, and it's no fault of mine. I never knew them. Why should I allow myself to be tied down by what my parents did. I am not my father."

"No," Dumbledore agreed sadly, "you're not James. You had the potential to be even greater than he was, and you just went and threw it all away."

"I didn't threw anything away, you ignorant fool. I seized an opportunity that was presented to me. I have never had cause to regret my decision and I can't foresee that anything would happen that would cause me to in the future."

"Even if you will feel no remorse in this world, Harry, perhaps you will in the next," the elderly wizard pointed out levelly.

"Was that supposed to be a death threat, old man?" Harry wondered, laughing.

"Merely an observation," he stated.

"Well, I'm afraid you'll never find out if your hypothesis is correct or not. I don't plan on dying anytime soon."

"Few people plan for those sorts of things, Harry. Death comes at us as it wills, and there is precious little we can do to stop it."

"As much magic as you may think you know, Dumbledore, you are still a purely Light magic wizard. There are ways, if one has the power and the knowledge of how to cast the rituals. Living forever is a very real possibility."

"One which I'm afraid I can not allow you to fulfill," Dumbledore warned, a dangerous gleam in his blue eyes. "The world would not be safe with you in it for so long. Unless, of course, you agreed to turn yourself in."

Harry cackled, a chortle eerily reminiscent of Voldemort's. "You yourself have told me that I would spend the rest of my days rotting in Azkaban if I did so, and yet you still expect me to turn myself in? What kind of fool do you think I am?"

"Not a fool," Dumbledore disagreed, "but someone who's light has not been totally extinguished, only deeply hidden and disguised. There is hope for you yet."

"And I suppose there's hope for the Voldemort as well?" Sarcasm practically dripped off every word. "If you ever chose to stand up for me, you would be playing the devil's advocate in a very real sense."

"There is even hope for the devil." Dumbledore's voice was firm with a quiet conviction that remained unshattered despite the fact that Harry laughed, guessing the truth, that Dumbledore did not truly believe what he was saying and was merely acting. His eyes, however, dimmed slightly as he realized that the mob of professors were still no closer to breaking Harry's shield.

Draco walked slowly back to his room, muscles sore from the battle. He hoped that things had gone well for Harry, and that whoever he had seen had not said anything too upsetting to Harry. The fools seemed to have no connection between their minds and their mouths, if in fact they had any brains at all, something Draco seriously doubted.

After what seemed like an eternity he finally reached his room. He opened the door, but the room was dark. Perhaps Harry had fallen asleep waiting for him. He waved his wand to light some candles, but a quick scan of the room revealed that it was totally devoid of all human life.

"Where is he? He should be back by now," Draco muttered, exasperated. Extinguishing the candles, he hurried back the way he had come. Voldemort was still in his throne room, watching the torture of a few captured Ministry officials with excited eyes.

"Come to join the fun, my young serpent?" Voldemort asked, beckoning Draco forward when he caught sight of the boy.

"No, my lord, unless it is your desire that I do so."

Voldemort frowned at the uncharacteristic response. "What is troubling you?"

"Harry has yet to return and it is getting late."

Voldemort tapped a finger against his lips thoughtfully. "So it is, so it is. Though I have no doubts that Harry can take care of himself, he is needed for other things. Go and fetch him, Draco. And hurry, for there is much to plan and we must begin immediately.

"Yes, my lord," Draco replied, bowing down formally and Apparating away to the outskirts of Hogsmeade. A light snow was beginning to drift down on the harsh winds, swirling about and making Draco shiver. He wrapped his crimson cloak tightly around him and set off down the deserted streets.

It seemed that everyone had chosen to take refuge inside, and there was no sound to be heard except for the loud clashes of battle in the distance. Every once in a while the air would light up with the blast of some spell.

As Draco neared the center of the village, the din of battle became even more pronounced. Within a few blocks he could see Harry, safely ensconced behind his shield. He was surrounded by almost every professor at Hogwarts and yet none of them seemed to be able to do a thing. Draco smirked. Harry was doing well.

Snape caught sight of Draco and shouted out to warn the others of the new threat. Harry whirled around, momentarily surprised.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at the Ministry?" he asked. "What's happened?"

"The attack is already finished," Draco informed him, enjoying the looks of horror that passed among the staff of Hogwarts. "The Ministry is in our hands now."

"Excellent," Harry said, rubbing his hands together. "The plan worked, then?"

Draco nodded. "Exactly as planned. There is no more need for your diversion."

"But I was having so much fun," Harry pouted.

"A diversion?" Professor McGonagall demanded. "That's all this was, a diversion? You come here and torture your two best friends merely as a diversion. You are sick, Potter, truly sick. Do you think that this war is all a game? You are playing with people's lives here; this isn't some silly Quidditch match!"

"First off, Granger and Weasley are not my two best friends. They turned their backs on me a long time ago, and I see no reason to remain on cordial terms with backstabbers. And of course I realise how much is at stake here; why do you think I agreed to do this in the first place? Trust me, I would much rather be at the Ministry than having to suffer your company. If it helps you any, though, I am under orders not to actually kill anyone."

McGonagall sniffed. "I don't believe that helps at all, Potter."

Harry just shrugged. "I really don't care how you feel about the whole deal, as it makes no difference to me."

"I don't believe you have a soul for the Dementors to take, Potter."

Harry just grinned lopsidedly. "That's all the better for me then, isn't it?" He turned back towards Draco. "I'll be along in just a few moments. Unless, of course, you'd like to help?"

Draco smiled and nodded. "It will be my pleasure." Draco reached into his pocket for his wand.

Ginny Weasley left the small alley behind the one of the houses feeling flustered, her cheeks flaming red. Neville was a good snogger, she thought contentedly for the umpteenth time. Her thoughts dwelled fondly on her boyfriend and their time together. Neville, after several prolonged parting kisses, had left her to pick up a few things for Professor Sprout. They had agreed to meet at the Three Broomsticks, so she headed in that direction.

Suddenly she halted, noticing the empty streets for the first time. It was a Hogsmeade weekend; the cobblestone paths should be bursting with Hogwarts students about their various errands. Cocking her head to one side, she listened intently, hearing the distant sound of spells hitting a shield. Eyes widening in alarm, she burst into a quick sprint towards the battle.

She ground to a halt as soon as she saw the figure of Malfoy in her path. Without a thought in her head she drew her wand, planning to stop the Death Eater before he could hurt anyone else. Watching him intently, she saw him reach inside his dark red cloak for something. Taking careful aim, she fired of the stunning spell, and watched in satisfaction as his blonde head hit the ground with a loud thump.

Harry's face changed as he watched Draco fall limply to the street, his pale, silvery blonde hair rippling around his head like the rays of the weak sun. Light flecks of snow began to cover him where he lay, making him seem almost dead.

His blood boiled in his veins, hissing and steaming and begging for release. His mind shut down as his emotions took over. Looking through the falling snow he focused on the slight form of Ginny Weasley, wand still pointed towards her victim.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, you thrice-cursed wench?" he roared, leaping forward, his shield dissipating into thin air around him. "What did you do to him you filthy little Muggle-loving whore?" Her large eyes widened and she froze in place, mouth agape as if about to utter a response. "You're a lowdown piece of scum, is what you are, attacking him from behind! You're going to pay for this, Weasley!"

"H... Harry," Ginny pleaded weakly. "I... I just stunned him. He's... perfectly fine. Don't do anything to me!" The last bit of control fled from her, leaving her sobbing and wailing as she fell to her knees.

Harry was too caught up in his blind rage to notice the terrified look on her face, too angry to think of the consequences of his actions. "Avada Kedavra!" he screamed, putting all of his hate and fury behind the Unforgivable curse.

The emerald light hit Ginny squarely on the chest and she toppled over, eyes wide and unseeing. Harry panted, gasping for breath in painful gulps that reminded him of how much raw power he had expended in that one spell. Harry hurried over to where Draco had collapsed, checking for a pulse and the slight rising and falling of his chest. Fortunately he found both.

"I'm afraid that this is it, Harry," Dumbledore warned from behind him. Harry had been so intent on assuring himself that Draco was fine that he had not registered the other's movement. "Either you surrender now or we will forcefully take you into custody."

"You got what you wanted Dumbledore," Harry answered bitterly. "Weasley and Granger aren't under the Cruciatus curse anymore. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get Draco to help."

"You can't just Apparate away from us, Harry."

"Watch me."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose at Harry's flat, expressionless tone. "You've mercilessly slaughtered over a score of people today, one of them a completely innocent child. You can not expect us to just let you go."

"I don't care how many people died. They were attacking me. And Ginny was no more innocent than any of the rest of you. She betrayed me as well. And she attacked Draco. She had to die." Harry was shocked that he was bothering to explain himself to Dumbledore of all people, but the words tumbled out of him in a torrent he could not dam. "I'll be punished enough for disobeying Voldemort's direct order as it is, without you doling out penances on top of it. Just go away and leave me alone."

Harry's voice shook and rose in pitch until it became the breathy squeak of a young child. The Dark wizard looked like a broken young child too, one who had dealt with far too much and was on the verge of an emotional breakdown. His emerald eyes were dead and haunted, but they still retained a guarded, suspicious expression.

"I'm sorry about this, my boy, truly I am," Dumbledore apologized. "But it has to be done. For the good of everybody."

"Go away!" Harry shrieked, stumbling to his feet and attempting to flee, dragging Draco's inert form along with him.

"Stupefy!"

Harry's scar prickled uncomfortably and he rubbed it anxiously. Hermione saw the movement and skewered him with her concerned gaze.

"What's the matter, Harry?"

"It's nothing, Hermione. Really, it's not."

"I don't know, Harry. I just have this feeling, you know? Like something big's gonna happen. And you haven't seen You-Know-Who in your dreams for months now. Something's not right."

"You should relax, really," Harry advised, trying to keep the worry out of his own voice. "I've just probably gotten better at Occlumency. That's not a bad thing."

Hermione frowned, brow puckered. "Maybe you shouldn't play today, Harry," she suggested slowly.

"Are you daft?" He rolled his eyes at her stupidity. "Today's the match against Slytherin, and we don't have a reserve Seeker. Without me, Malfoy's going to catch the Snitch, and then where would we be. I can't just not play Quidditch!"

"Alright, alright!" Hermione snapped, then winced at the hurt look on Harry's face. "I'm sorry, it's just... I'm awfully worried about you."

"Don't be," he told her with a half-smile. "I'll be fine. I always have been before."

"I guess," she conceded, though the fear did not leave her eyes. Harry stood up and stretched before reentering the Gryffindor locker rooms where the rest of the team was assembled. Ron caught his eye and gave him a queasy grin and a thumbs up. Harry responded in kind as the team moved out towards the pitch.

Madame Hooch released the Quaffle and the Chasers zoomed off after it. Harry kicked off into the air, eyes already searching for that small hint of gold. He ignored the other team and the shouts of the commentator, trying to focus solely on the Snitch.

After a few minutes he spotted the small golden ball winging low over the pitch and prepared to dive down for it. A lone figure stepping out into the middle of the field distracted him, however. A pale hand snaked out of an inky black robe and snatched the Snitch from mid-air.

"What the...?" Harry muttered, leaning forward on his broom to see what was going on. His stomach dropped as he drew level with the man and found himself staring into a face he had never wished to see again.

"Voldemort!"

"Indeed," the Dark Lord responded. "I believe you were looking for this?" He held out his hand, palm up, towards the young Gryffindor, who stared at confusion at the Snitch struggling there.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Helping you," Voldemort responded calmly. "Now do you want to win the Quidditch game or not?" Harry struggled with his Quidditch robes, trying to reach his wand which was tucked inside the pocket of his jeans. Still attempting to reach his wand, he zoomed off towards the teacher's stands, intent on gathering help.

A white hand caught the twigs of his broom, snapping him backwards. Harry landed painfully on his tail bone. "You can't escape me so easily, boy," Voldemort informed him with a smirk. Harry shivered, watching as Voldemort slowly advanced on him, the entire school watching them with wide eyes.