Fucking Potter

Author’s Note: All items in bold are direct quotes of dialog take from the book, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Chapter Thirty-One, “The Battle of Hogwarts” by J. K. Rowling. Additionally, ee cummings wrote the poem, “i carry your heart with me”.

Thank you, MystressXOXO, for being a wonderful friend and beta.

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Fucking Potter.

He was absent from school all term, and the day he had finally shown up, his mere presence in the castle caused people to break out into a fight, releasing the ever-increasing tension. Well, fight might be an understatement of the situation. I guess the probable final battle in decades long war between those liberal blood traitors and Mudbloods, and the Dark Lord and his obedient followers would be a tad more accurate.

I’ll be so bloody glad when this is all over. It’s amazing how even a little fucking time has given me so much perspective to see that this war has only been about the life of Harry Fucking Potter. The Dark Lord wants him dead and doesn’t really seem to care about anything else. Why he didn’t ask me to just deliver the boy from the beginning is a question I’ve always wanted answered.

Everyone was called to the Great Hall in the middle of the night, where we all heard the Dark Lord’s command to submit Harry Potter to him. Then that bitch, McGonagall, let Potter escape while she forced us to leave the school grounds. I managed to convince Crabbe and Goyle to stay in the castle with me. The worse part of the fighting was going to take place on the school grounds. If we could find a spot to hide, we’d be able to sit this whole thing out without a scratch. I’ve had enough pain in the last year to satisfy me very much.

The only place I could think of was the Room of Hidden Things. That area has been so busy with bloody Gryffindors for the past few months that I am surprised the Carrows didn’t know about it. I placed a Disillusionment Charm on us and pulled them to follow me. We are almost there, when guess who beats us to the door?

Fucking Potter.

Just like every goddamn Quidditch game I’ve ever played against the bastard, Potter and his two losers beat us to the Room of Hidden Things before we can sneak inside. They’re talking – Potter, Weasel, and the Mudblood – and we overhear something about a diadem, whatever the fuck that is.

Right after they go inside, Crabbe opens his maw. “Look! They’re going into your room, Draco. Maybe we can catch ‘em and give ‘im to the Dark Lord. ‘e’d probably reward us for that,” Crabbe said as he pointed to the door. How did Crabbe learn to plan for something other than food? Couldn’t he have just stayed quiet and shut the fuck up?

Soon after they enter, Potter comes back out escorting his whore, Girl Weasley. I guess she wasn’t good enough to play with them after all. Potter takes a long look at her before he walks back into the room. I fucking hate that cunt.

The Girl Weasley stands there, with the door open, mooning over Potter before she heads out to the battle. Stupid Gryffindors are always getting into the middle of a fight without having the common sense to know when to sit tight and wait things out. How they managed to grow in numbers without being eradicated is anyone’s business. Must be the complete lack of birth control, I suppose.

Goyle grabs the door before it closes and seals itself from the rest of the school. As we enter the room I had once known so well, I couldn’t help but wonder how this night was going to end.

Off to the side, I can hear Potter mumbling to himself. Instinctively I head toward him.

“Somewhere near here,” Harry muttered to himself. “Somewhere… somewhere…”

He’s almost to my cabinet, and I don’t want him to escape, not this time. I end the Disillusionment Charm on us all, and I can’t help but call out to him. “Hold it, Potter.”

Before I can move to him, Crabbe and Goyle step in front of me. I need to control the situation carefully here. These two louts may be thick, but they still have a Slytherin’s perception and their newfound torture abilities. Who would’ve thought that Crabbe and Goyle could learn anything, and by those dullards, the Carrows, no less?

The Carrows. For Death Eaters, they are quite the little guidance counselors, giving young sadists just the right amount of tutelage and encouragement needed to become the full-blown sociopaths they were meant to be. Under their guidance, Crabbe and Goyle really flourished. It seems that there is something those two idiots can do after all. The only problem is that with their growing ability to perform truly cruel curses, combined with their dwindling sense of morality and my family’s lowered status among the Dark Lord’s ranks, I am having more difficulty keeping them under control.

”That’s my wand you’re holding, Potter,” I say before attempting to walk between Crabbe and Goyle to take it.

Potter realizes what I’m about to do and snatches his hand back, pointing my wand at my heart. He should know that’s the one place where he’s already done the most damage. Bastard.

“Not anymore,” Potter panted. “Winners, keepers, Malfoy. Who’s lent you theirs?”

“My mother,” I replied. The bastard laughs at me. I start to think about him being naked and chained in our dungeon at my disposal, but then stop when I realize it’s making me hard. Maybe I’m a good Death Eater after all.

He looks haggard, thinner since the last time I saw him. His eyes are bloodshot and black circles surround them. He’s looking around nervously for someone or something. It must be that diadem thing. I turn to look around to see if I can find it, so many objects, but I have no idea what they are talking about. Potter catches me looking, his eyes widen, and he looks even more nervous, if that’s possible.

“So how come you three aren’t with Voldemort?” he asks, trying to draw my attention back to him. But before I can respond, Crabbe speaks up.

“We’re gonna be rewarded. We ‘ung back, Potter. We decided not to go. Decided to bring you to ‘im.” I kick him in the back of the shins. Don’t ever tell the enemy of your plan, Stupid! I’ll have to remind myself to hex his balls off when this is over.

“Good Plan. So how did you get in here?” Potter asks. He’s trying to buy time for himself and possibly his annoying friends. It won’t help him. The Dark Lord has plans for his death tonight. How can he ever think he’d survive the oncoming slaughter? He’s the sacrificial lamb to be consumed upon the Dark Lord’s alter. How can he know what the Dark Lord is capable of? How can he have seen what I’ve seen?

The way he punishes followers, the way he tortures innocent people, the way he kills. The man has no remorse. I doubt if he has a soul. When you look into those glowing, red eyes, there is nothing but endless flame and fury. It makes some part of me cringe in terror and weep in shame for being devoted to him. Father says the Dark Lord is right and will lead us to a world of pureblood superiority, but at what cost? Will the cost ultimately be the death of Potter? Is one boy’s life worth so much?

“I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year. I know how to get in.” What does he take me for, an idiot? Why does he think so little of me when I’ve sacrificed part of myself to save his life?

“We was hiding in the corridor outside. We can do Diss-lusion Charms now! And then, you turned up right in front of us and said you was looking for a die-dum! What’s a die-dum?” Goyle slurred. He’s drunk again, I’m almost sure of it.

I can hear Weasel calling out to Potter.

“Harry? Are you talking to someone?” the Weasel says from the left. We need to take Potter now, before the others show up. I start to move through the two dullards when everything falls to shit.

Crabbe points his wand in the direction of Weasel’s voice, causing an avalanche to fall on him, but Potter stops it.

“No! If you wreck the room you might bury this diadem thing!” I yell at him, grabbing his arm to stop him from doing it again. The Dark Lord may have use of whatever it is that Potter is looking for. We must have patience and find out what this thing is. He shocks me when he pulls away, but not just with his arm, but his obedience as well.

“What’s that matter? It’s Potter the Dark Lord wants, who cares about a die-dum?”

I turn on him to put him back his place. We cannot kill Potter, we – I have to keep him alive. I need to convince them that this is for the best. I need to spell things out while not giving away anything I feel.

“Potter came in here to get it, so that must mean –“

“’Must mean’? Who cares what you think? I don’t take your orders no more, Draco. You an’ your dad are finished.” He’s made up his mind not to listen to me any more, not to listen to reason.

This has been a long time coming. In that moment, I realize that we are no longer friends. So be it. Let him cast his lot to the four winds and see how long he can survive without my intelligence and intervention.

The Weasel’s voice calls out again, “Harry? What’s going on?”

“Harry?” mimicked Crabbe. “What’s going – no, Potter! Crucio!”

The fiery look in Crabbe’s eyes tells me he’s getting ready to do something horrendously stupid. I must do whatever I can to keep him from killing Potter. It’ll destroy me if you kill him, Vincent. Please! I lunge at him one more time.

“STOP! The Dark Lord wants him alive –” I scream at him, I am desperate to stop him and I hate myself for needing Potter to live. I grab Crabbe’s arm, but he pulls away as he’s screaming at me.

“So? I’m not killing him, am I? But if I can, I will, the Dark Lord wants him dead anyway, what’s the diff – ? … It’s that Mudblood! Avada Kedavra!” Crabbe shouts as I jerk his massive body to me. The movement is just enough that a Stunning Spell sent by the Mudblood barely misses him.

I turn to see the Mudblood lunge out of the way of Crabbe’s deadly curse. The dangerous, manic look in his eyes unnerves me. They burn with an unspeakable, deadly flame. I’ve looked into several psychotic eyes before, and his are no different. They are ignited as he becomes impassioned with the thought of killing, indiscriminately, without any guilt or conscience. It’s terrifying to behold.

A red light shoots past us, and Crabbe knocks me down to avoid it. My mother’s wand rolls under the cabinet as I scramble, trying to retrieve it. Before I can lie on my belly to get it, I glance over to see Crabbe and Goyle aiming their wands to kill Potter. My heart is logged in my throat as I manage to cry out to them.

“Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM!”

I can hear different curses being called out and orders given. I know I am too far away to get to my mother’s wand. She’ll kill me if I don’t return it. Avoiding possible death, I duck down and slip behind the cabinet to avoid getting hexed. This will soon end, just like the war raging outside, and when it does, I’ll come out and make peace with whichever side is victorious. I can always adapt my moral choices to whomever will allow me to live and prosper.

Before I can settle down, I hear Potter yell to his cohorts to run. Then I see it, a great wall of fire like a tidal wave coming at us. Its form changes shape and begins to look like humongous, terrifying magical creatures, burning to kill and destroy. I grab Goyle, who’s just standing there staring at the animated fire, and pull him with me to avoid the deadly flames.

I can hear Crabbe’s fervent voice laughing in background. I know that this is that idiot’s doing. I am going to be immolated for his arrogance and stupidity. Those two traits are the worse combination in a wizard.

Desperately, we try to run, but there is no place to escape. Every space opened, every corner turned only brings us closer to the Fiendfyre that’s circling around us and squeezing in closer to us. The burning bodies from the flamed animals lick at us, lunging and writhing, drawing them closer and closer to us. Their heat is taunting us with the imminent searing pain and death that awaits us. The breathable air is thinning, filling with growing bursts of black smoke, as the greedy beasts consume it all.

There is a mound of wooden detritus in front of me. I know that it’s only food for the flame, but I am so desperate to stay alive. I grab under Goyle’s arms, he’s moaning from when the flame had licked at his flesh, and drag him up the heap of tables and chairs. We are surrounded with no means of escape. He’s heavy, but he slugs along with me. I am frantic and pull at him with all my might to just climb over one more jutting chair or half broken desk. At the top of the heap, I begin turning all around to look for a way out; Goyle slumps to my feet in defeat. Then I see something so horrible and violent, that I know my mind is being seared with its memory as it happens.

Crabbe is still on the floor. He’s wildly looking around for an escape, but from my vantage point, I can see he has nowhere to run. He has become consumed by his own creation. The volatile, red burning demons turn on him as they surround him. He cowers and points his shaking wand at them to try to keep them at bay, but it doesn’t help. One of the beasts reaches out its inferno claw and snatches the now useless stick from him. The ashes of his wand crumble to the ground as if the beast were crushing it within its grasp.

He stares at the result on the floor in complete shock. Then, before he can compose himself, a beast from behind jabs at him with its fiery limbs. He jerks away from the flame, only to be prodded by the other beasts around him. I cannot hear it, but I see him cry out from the burning pain. Faster and faster they go, teasing and jabbing him, sometimes it’s more, like a cruel caress up his backside. He’s weakening, wailing in agony as he collapses to the floor. His body involuntarily curls into the fetal position, and it seems that is the worse thing he could have done.

The flaming beasts appear almost sadistically cognizant. They pause for just a moment; pulling back as if to indicate their withdrawal, they suddenly descend on him. Acting as a pack of wild animals, they feast upon his body. Humors and flesh fly in the air as they steadily engulf him piece by piece. Then it’s over as soon as it had started, and they move away, searching for more prey.

I stare at the now blackened floor in horror. There is nothing left of my friend. I don’t want to die here! There is so much that I still wanted to do, so much I wanted to say. My heart is beating within my throat and I can’t help but cry out in a primal rage at the oncoming flames with my own self-regrets and disappointments.

Then I see something, a movement in the air. Wild hope rises within me, and I look up to see a miracle descending right before my eyes. It seems that even the most ardent and idiotic hero cannot let his schoolboy nemesis die. My heart swells with relief and something more. Something I don’t want to label, but I know what it is. Admiration.

Fucking Potter.

Instinctively, I reach up for him, stretching with all my might. He grabs at my arm, but the sweat, which has been poring out of both of us, proves too much, and our bodies fling back in opposite directions from the frictionless attempt. I can hear the Weasel yelling something, but I cannot understand it. They come in close, him and the Mudblood, and drag Goyle onto the broom with them. As much as they whine for assistance, I do not help them. My eyes are solely on Potter as he circles around once more and dives at my lonely perch.

This time around, I climb onto the broom behind him, my thighs pressed along his; my chest is like a second skin to his back. I turn and lean my face into his spine and listen to his heart pounding through his ribs. He smells of sweat, musk, youth, and pinewoods. Death is all around us, but for the slightest of moments, I know this is where I was meant to be.

I open my eyes, and then I see it.

The door.

“The door, get to the door, the door!” I scream at him. The flames are loud with the sounds of crackles and sizzles from all the hidden things finally being burned in a centuries built pyre. The smoke is black, ashy, and painful to inhale. He’s diving and rolling, trying desperately to avoid being consumed by one of the flaming creatures. We are headed to safety and freedom, but he turns and rushes in the opposite direction. I grab on tighter, terrified.

”What are you doing, what are you doing, the door’s that way!” I cry out, my throat dry and hoarse. Adrenaline has taken the place of my humors as it pumps through my veins.

What the fuck is he doing?! He wants to find the worst part of the flames and throw me into it; I just know it. Is he really as sick as the Dark Lord? Is that why they are at odds, to see who will be at the top of the heap?

We are diving now. He’s reaching out for something, but the smoke is too thick, and I cannot see what it is he’s grabbed.

Mercifully, he turns and attempts to head in the direction of the door again.

The flames are dancing all around us in some sort of ritualistic, religious dance before sacrificing us. They lunge at us, stabbing in all directions, trying desperately to deliver their fatal blow. Potter is flying more out of instinct than ability as he tries to avoid them. Holding onto him as tight as I can, I am scream in terror. This is it, our last moments, and we are going to die together.

There is so much I wanted to tell him, so much I wanted to do. It’s too late now. Things I wanted to say must stay buried deep within.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

We are slammed hard into a wall. I lose my grip on Potter and fall to the floor. We’re breathing clean, pure air. It feels cool and alive as my lungs fill with it. Once again, Potter has been blessed from above to be alive. Only this time, he’s been gracious enough to bring me with him. I want him more now than I ever have before.

Then, I start to look around and take notice. The Battle of Hogwarts is still raging all around us. We have gone from one form of chaos to another. There is nowhere safe to be right now. I look at all of us, wondering what’s going to happen next. Everyone is here except for one. My stomach twists and feels like it’s being wrung dry. I begin to heave from the memory of what’s happened to him.

“C-Crabbe, C-Crabbe…” I croak out.

“He’s dead,” Weasel says. His words are like vipers stinging me. The vision comes before me once again of Crabbe’s death. I want to tell him of what’s happened, but then I see Potter looking around, once again, for something. The words from his mouth deal me a nearly fatal blow of their own.

“Where’s Ginny? She was here. She was supposed to be going back into the Room of Requirement.” Potter looks around in desperation. His eyes finally stop searching as he peers into my soul. His words kill any blossoming hope I had naively placed in his rescue.

He must have wanted to save me just so he could torture me. It seems the thought of flames licking and devouring me alive was not good enough for him. Did he want to be there to watch, to hear my skin sizzle, to inhale that sickening smell of flesh burning?

My death wasn’t a harsh enough delight for him. He must remind me that he will always love another – and never me. Potter has saved me only to discard me as disgusting refuse.

The hope that I had as we escaped from the fire is now burning to ash within me. It is searing and mercilessly consuming my heart.

Fucking Potter.

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