Gilded Soul

Harry slept in Draco’s arms, their marks pressed tightly together. Draco was nowhere near sleep, however, and he could feel Quill just as restless, pacing back and forth across his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Dumbledore was lying to them. Something about the way he insisted the gilded soul was a weapon, which only Voldemort could use. It filled him full of doubt. He hadn’t shared those feelings with Harry yet. Tomorrow he would see what Harry thought about it.

As he drifted into an uneasy sleep, he felt Quill settle as well, purring against Harry’s phoenix.

--

The air was cooler in the maze than it was in his bedroom snuggled against Harry. He kept looking back and forth waiting for Harry to appear, he had been asleep first after all.

“He’s not coming,” a voice slithered from the shadows.

Draco looked around frantically but no one else was there. A sharp cackle cracked through the air.

“Your precious Gryffindor’s mind is too powerful for me now. He’s able to thwart my attempts at control, but you, my dear boy, are ripe for the picking.” Another sharp laugh cut through Draco like a knife. He was alone, alone in the maze, with Voldemort in his brain.

“Now you’re catching on. I have a proposition for you, Draco. I only hope you do not disappoint me as your father did, or else I may leave you here to rot.”

Draco wanted desperately to be back in Harry’s arms. “Let’s hear it then.”

“Good boy. I see the Gryffindor has taken the fight out of you. Just as well, fighting with me will only get you killed. Look ahead there. Do you see it?”

Draco looked until he spotted the archway, the same as the entrance to the trails. Only this time it was different. The trials were over, and beyond this archway was a golden sunlit meadow. “I see it.”

“In that space is my prize. Bring it to me, and I will let you spend your last measly days on earth with your precious Potter.”

Draco scoffed. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Another sharp laugh echoed in the gloom. “I see you still have a touch of Slytherin left in you after all. Well, I’m a merciful Lord. If you bring me my prize, I will leave you and your lover untouched.” He seemed to spit out the word ‘lover’ like a distasteful food.

“Why should I trust you?”

“It really is your only option,” the voice said.

“Fine,” Draco had no qualms with going along with the plan. He had to get the wand to leave this place, and once he had it he could easily just take it to Harry. A sharp cackle erupted like lightning across the sky and then faded completely.

He was gone. For now.

--

Draco made his way into the meadow. It was beautiful, filled with yellow and pink wildflowers. In the center was a stone dais and he winced, remembering what he saw tied to a similar pedestal not too many nights previous.

This one was ornate, with scrolls and leaves carved into its rough surface. On the pedestal rested a pearly box. It was long and narrow and not very deep and had intricate silver inlays. It was beautiful. Draco stroked the box lovingly. It looked like a family heirloom of some kind, and had the Slytherin coat of arms on its lid.

The box wasn’t locked and opened easily. Draco’s pale fingertips hovered in the opening for a brief moment before tossing the lid back to reveal its contents.

He didn’t know what he had been expecting. The gilded soul sounded like such an awe-inspiring name for an object, for a weapon, as Dumbledore called it. Draco supposed this could be a weapon, but it seemed rather ordinary, silly in fact, to have such a title.

Inside the box, on a velvet liner, sat the object that had caused Dumbledore to create this maze however many years ago.

It was only a wand.

It was a beautifully crafted wand. It was about nine inches long and very thin. It was gold in color and glittered in the sunlight filtering into the meadow. It had ancient runes carved into its face, but it wasn’t at all what he had expected.

He lifted the wand carefully from its encasement and flicked it. The podium, along with the beautiful gilded box exploded in a shattering blast. “Not bad,” Draco muttered to himself. Another flick sent the archway he had walked through crumbling to the ground. No spells uttered, just destruction, unintentional and complete destruction. He was briefly reminded of the prophecy.

He felt the world shift beneath him, and he recognized the feeling as being transported from the maze. He was eager to see Harry, to show him the wand, but something felt off. The piercing laugh returned and Draco felt darkness closing in on him.

--

The room was familiar, but he didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be back with Harry, not here in his father’s study. The thought gave him chills. He whipped around, scanning the room, and found himself alone. Quill was pacing back and forth across his chest, agitated. The study was dark but even though Draco knew his father had been unable to use it for over a year now, it didn’t show any signs of disuse.

A trail of anger and fear trickled along his spine at the thought of that creature using his father’s beloved study. It made him curious as to what other things Voldemort had defiled in his stay at Malfoy Manor. What rooms had he chosen to occupy? Did something like Voldemort even sleep?

Draco’s gaze hovered over the large family portrait over the fireplace. Those were easier times, happier times. Draco shook the memories away, even as he thought it he knew that wasn’t true. He was happier now than ever before. Happier with Harry.

It was hard for him to think, the wand was a heavy weight in his hand, far heavier than anything so slight should be. An idea bombarded him then, and it was all he could do to try and think it through logically instead of running headlong into it.

This wand could kill Voldemort.

It was utter destruction with a single flick; he could blow the creature to pieces. Harry would be furious if he found out what Draco was thinking, but if he could just take care of it, here and now, it would keep Harry out of danger later. Then they could start their life together, a real life made up of mundane problems and arguments as opposed to war and death looming over their heads.

He could picture it clearly after his long talks with Harry about their future. Neither wanted to live in London, so their household would be in the country, maybe even a nice manor outside of Hogsmeade, so that when Harry became the DADA professor at Hogwarts he could just come home instead of staying in the castle. Harry didn’t even know yet that he wanted to be a professor, but Draco could easily see that future for his lover. His kind generous spirit would make it easy to pass down years of knowledge and experience to young students.

They could go to school Quidditch matches dressed in their old house colors and cheering for their old house teams and Draco would make Harry buy him a drink at the Three Broomsticks when Slytherin won. It would be a simple life, free of the frills and responsibilities he had grown up with, and full of the warmth and love that they both lacked growing up.

He could do this thing for Harry, after everything Harry had done for him; the least he could do was kill Voldemort for him. He looked down at the wand in his hand, he had the tool and he would use it.

--

The corridor outside his father’s study was also dark. It was ominously quiet in the Manor, no house elves or Death Eaters roaming around the lavish passageways. He thought first of his mother, he needed to get her out of the manor in case something went wrong, so he padded as quietly as he could up the main staircase.

His mother’s room was on the third floor and in the far east wing of the manor, and couldn’t have been further away from his starting point. It seemed to take ages to reach it, carefully looking around corners and being silent and cautious. In the end he reached her suite without ever coming across another soul. It was easy… too easy.

Draco suddenly realized that he had walked headlong into a trap. Voldemort sent him here from the maze, he knew he was here at the manor and he knew he had the wand. There would be no sneaking up on him, he was probably cackling from somewhere at the prospect of sixteen year old Draco trying to best him.

Draco carefully turned the handle to his mother’s suite and pushed the door open. As expected Voldemort was there, standing behind his mother, his pale disgusting hand wrapped around her throat. Only her eyes betrayed the horrible fear she felt, a Black and a Malfoy, his mother was bred to be cold and emotionless. He hated seeing the fear in her eyes, and even as he looked at her angelic face, he knew her fear was not for herself, it was for her only son.

“Mother,” Draco nodded as if greeting her for tea. He nodded to Voldemort next, hoping to stall things slightly so that he could get a plan together. “Master.” He spoke curtly, but politely, as he would address his father. “I have your prize.” As he said it he extended out his hand, the golden wand resting lightly in his palm.

Voldemort’s eyes went wide upon seeing the wand. He promptly released Narsissa and walked toward it, almost hovering in the air with his cloak billowing behind him like smoke. “I see you came to your senses, perhaps you will live up to my expectations of a Malfoy heir after all.”

He was close now, so close that Draco could smell his musky reptilian scent. He reached his hand forward, nearly touching the tip of the wand and Draco readied himself.

In a swift movement, Draco grasped the wand tightly in his hand and flicked it toward the Dark Lord. He braced himself for the explosion, or whatever else was going to ensue from the wand, but nothing happened. He looked up to find a murderous smile on the Dark Lord’s face, marring his already hideous features. The creature shook his head as if admonishing a small child, clucking his forked tongue in disappointment. “Draco, Draco, did you really think you could kill me with my own wand?” Draco didn’t answer, but he must have looked as puzzled as he felt, because Voldemort continued. “Yes, that’s right, Draco. My wand. Now it’s not the same as what was originally given to me, the one that hold’s the phoenix core, which I hear your dear Gryffindor has the match.” Draco didn’t confirm or deny his suspicions, because he had no idea what core Harry’s wand held, he only knew that he no longer needed it regardless of it’s core.

Voldemort reached out a leathery hand and stroked the back of it across Draco’s cheek, sending a shudder down his spine and making his dragon mark claw against his skin. “You see Draco, this wand is mine, because it contains my soul. That is why Albus hid it away, so that I could never obtain it again, but what he didn’t realize, was that this bit of soul is what kept me from dying those many years ago when my spell backfired.”

Draco knew his mouth was gaping, but he couldn’t seem to find the presence of mind to shut it. His eyes flicked to his mother who looked even more terrified than before. “If it was keeping you from being destroyed, than why wouldn’t you just leave it there?” Draco managed to speak, and he was proud that his voice didn’t betray his terror.

“Ah, good question. I can see your Slytherin mind is not a complete waste after all. Maybe I will find a place for you among my Death Eaters. I would very much enjoy breaking you.” Draco shuddered and that horrid smile reappeared on Voldemort’s face. “This is a concept I am sure a lovely boy such as yourself can understand. I need to reunite with my soul in order to transform my body back to its former glory. It may seem like vanity, but I assure you it is more than that.”

“As Tom Riddle I was attractive and charming, able to manipulate anyone I wished, much like you did with Potter.” Draco winced but Voldemort didn’t seem to notice. “Now, without my soul, I am reduced to this,” he spat, gesturing at his own form. “It’s not without it’s benefits, striking immediate fear in my victims, but it won’t gain me the power that I crave; the power to rule the Ministry and the entire wizarding community. With that power I will be able to obliterate muggles and clean our magical bloodlines.”

“Are you planning to begin with yourself then? Harry tells me your own father was a muggle, not even a half blood,” Draco asked slyly. He didn’t know where the words had come from, and immediately cursed his newly acquired Gryffindor courage. He prepared himself for whatever curse was about to hit him, but it wasn’t a curse, it was Voldemort’s scaly hand slapping across his face.

It stunk like fire, and he could feel the slight trickle of blood seeping down his face from the cut it made. “You shouldn’t take stock in Gryffindor’s Draco, especially not one so high on my list. Your Harry will die and I just might make you watch,” he spat.

With those final words Voldemort grabbed the hand that still held the wand and crushed it beneath his own. Draco hissed as the tiny bones broke and went limp. The Dark Lord easily pried his wand from Draco’s grasp and aimed it at the boy’s chest.

Draco closed his eyes and straightened up, taking a deep breath and prepared for the killing curse. His shoulders squared, he reopened his eyes and glared his silvery orbs against the Dark Lord’s menacing red eyes. Voldemort’s cackling laughter filled the room and he shuddered once again. “Oh, no. You don’t cross me and get off that easily, Draco. Did your father teach you nothing?”

With the wand still raised at his chest he only had a moment to be scared before the curse hit him. “Crucio.” The spell had been hissed and the sparks of power hit Draco across the chest like a freight train. He didn’t know how long he writhed and screamed on the floor, or how long his mother’s cries of agony coupled with his own, before he black out, but one moment he felt as if he were burning from the inside out, and the next moment all was darkness.

--

“Draco!” Harry shouted, bolt upright, grabbing his chest. Ember was crying on his back, as song that was painful desperately sad. A quick scan of the bed and as expected, Draco was missing. “No, “Harry whispered, knowing full well that he was in danger. He could feel it through his mark; he could feel it in his heart. A wave of dread passed over him as the realization of what this meant sunk in.

Somehow Voldemort had Draco.

Author's notes: Everytime you don't review, a faerie loses it's wings...or something to that effect.