Gilded Soul

Chapter 39 Leading the Lion to Slaughter

Harry stood in Dumbledore’s office staring at a small golden coin. The coin itself was lovely, with its intricately carved lion on the surface, but its significance was far greater than its beauty. The coin was a portkey that would take him to Malfoy Manor, and soon. He was about to set off to meet his possible death, and that felt okay with him, since he wasn’t sure he had anything left to live for.

The betrayal of Draco still stung. Hermione stood beside him, her cool hand trembling in his. He looked into her tear-streaked face and smiled bravely. “It’s okay, Mione. I’ll be okay.”

She sniffed and nodded, but obviously didn’t believe him. His words made her tremble even more and she clutched onto him, unwilling to let go.

Dumbledore seemed to understand the gravity of the situation; he had overheard part of their conversation, and knew about Draco’s true intentions being called into the light. “If you still want to save Draco, you’ll find him in the dungeons. I wish you wouldn’t, because it could compromise your mission there, but I understand if you need to do it.” His voice was breaking even as his face tried not to give away his grief.

Harry nodded. “Thanks, professor. For everything.”

The old wizard shook his head. “No, Harry. It is I who should be thanking you. I only hope my foolishness does not cost you your life. Please be careful, Harry. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but you do still have so much to live for.”

Harry nodded once, curtly, then looked to Hermione. “Thank you for being the cleverest witch of our age, and thank you for being my friend.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead and her whole body shuddered with a sob. “Oh, and tell Ron I’m sorry, will you?”

She nodded, still clinging to his hand. He carefully extricated himself from her grasp and reached for the golden coin on the desk. “I’ll miss you both,” he said before vanishing.

--

The darkness saturated his vision. He could hear no movement besides his own ragged breathing. He worried about his mother, he blacked out before he saw what they did with her. He hoped she would not suffer, though at the moment he feared all he could wish for her was a swift painless death.

It was cold and damp and even in the dark he recognized the smell of the manor dungeons. It was ironic that he would meet his end here, in the bowls of his own home, by the man his father had invited into it.

His entire body ached.

He was chained somehow to the wall, but it wouldn’t have mattered. He doubted he could move even if there was a way to escape.

His chest was almost bare, his shirt had been ripped to shreds by a series of slicing curses, along with his skin. He wondered if it would scar.

He laughed out loud to himself, the noise more of a raspy cough than a chuckle.

It didn’t matter if it would scar, he was bound to die before it would have the chance to heal one way or the other.

He felt the dragon on his chest slither and slink through the cuts. It was healing them, slowly but surely, his bonding with Harry already proving more useful than he had ever thought possible.

Harry.

He made a right mess of that. His headstrong idea of taking on Voldemort alone had gotten him the opposite effect. It seemed that now Harry was in even more danger. The manor was crawling with Death Eaters now, and Voldemort would soon merge with his soul and his power base would be complete. He posed a much larger threat to his precious Gryffindor now.

He kept feeling flickers of emotion from Harry through his mark. He knew the exact moment Harry found him missing, and was both curious and relieved when he didn’t see the Gryffindor come bounding into the manor after him. He was glad someone kept their head about them and didn’t let Harry come save him. It would have only ended badly, and Draco couldn’t bear to watch his love die.

He felt a new sensation in his mark, and he looked down at Quill, even though he couldn’t see him in the dark. It was Harry. Harry was here.

--

He heard the voice before he saw the pale body in the gloom. “Harry, get out of here. It’s a trap.”

The voice cut deep into him and almost made him weep. Draco sounded so broken and frail that Harry momentarily forgot the betrayal. When thoughts of the journal and letter resurfaced, he gritted his teeth. “I’m not here for you, I’m just here for my own conscience. I don’t want to die knowing you were still locked up down here.”

Draco winced at Harry’s biting words. “What’s wrong?”

Harry laughed lowly, and the sound brought tears to Draco’s eyes. “How dare you ask me that? We found your journal; I know it was all a lie. Everything you told me, you were just being a clever little Slytherin.” He was right next to Draco now, his face so close, but he could only see the manic sparkle in his brilliant green eyes. “Well, it should please you to know that I fell for it. The stupid Gryffindor thought he was in love with a Slytherin.”

Draco couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of a way to tell Harry it wasn’t true. “And the letter,” Draco whispered.

With a flick of his hand Harry made the entire room light up. Draco blinked rapidly against the sudden brightness and found that his hands and feet were unbound.

Harry was still leaning over him, the look on his face tortured. “I trust you can find your own way out?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just made a move to leave, but Draco’s weak hand caught his and pulled him back around to face him. Harry’s eyes raked over the Slytherin and he winced at the dried blood marring his perfectly pale skin and caked in his sweaty platinum hair. “Don’t,” Harry hissed.

Draco ignored him and pressed Harry’s hand against his own heart, against their shared mark. “Harry, I love you. You have to believe that.”

Harry tried to pull away and Draco placed his own hand on Harry’s back, pinning him to him, but also touching his phoenix. They both gasped in unison as memories and thoughts and feelings barraged their minds, knocking the wind out of them both.

Harry couldn’t breath as he watched himself through Draco’s eyes. Watched Draco stare at him across a snow-laden field, the obvious yearning plain in his mind. He watched his own reactions to Draco being in the hospital after he rescued him, the confusion and the hope battling for first place in his thoughts. He felt the terror when Harry transformed into a bunny, and then again when he broke his leg, and when he thought Harry would never speak to him again.

He felt every genuine feeling of love, hate, selfishness, lust and fear that Draco had ever felt toward or about him. He understood in a flash the situation behind the letter and that fact that by the time Draco tried to befriend Harry, that he had already disregarded Voldemort’s mission for him during the school year. He knew in that instant that the only reason for his list of ways to befriend him was to keep his own thoughts straight and that he wrote them out, as they happened, not as a master plan before hand.

He also felt the pain of his being beaten by Ron, not only the physical pain, but also the guilt from the result. He had hated to hurt Hermione, even if at the time it wasn’t the most prevalent feeling.

Harry didn’t even know that he was kissing Draco until the boy whimpered in pleasure. He pulled back slightly to look into his burning sliver eyes. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

Draco shrugged elegantly. “The odds were against me, I could see how you would come to that conclusion.” His smile turned stern a moment later. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

Harry laughed, and it was a relieved laugh, his heart was restored. “I love you, Draco Malfoy.”

“I love you too, Harry potter.”

“Well isn’t this just precious,” came a cackling voice fro behind them. “The lamb leading the lion to slaughter. How quaint.”

--

Draco was bone weary, but he knew he had to make his stand with Harry to face Voldemort as one, side by side. This could be the last time he saw his Gryffindor, his phoenix, his Harry. With his assistance, Draco was able to stand and turned with Harry to meet Voldemort’s gaze.

The Dark Lord was flanked by dozens of Death Eaters, come to watch the spectacle. He was no longer the vile loathsome creature he had been when Draco last saw him. He was slightly shorter, with hair almost as dark as Harry’s and hauntingly brilliant blue eyes. His smooth skin was pale and unmarred by the snake like features the former face held.

“I’m too late,” Harry whispered, so that only Draco could hear.

They were sorely outnumbered, and Draco didn’t even have his wand. He latched onto Harry’s hand. “I’m so sorry, this is all my fault…”

Harry looked at him like there was no one else in the room but the two of them. His fears forgotten momentarily as Harry cupped his face in his hand, shushing him gently. “It’s not your fault. This is my destiny. I’ll always love you.” His green eyes flared brightly, and Draco was too late to notice that the flare of green was not from inside Harry’s eyes, but from the killing curse, emanating from Voldemort’s wand.

Draco hadn’t even heard the spell, he didn’t have the time to say his good bye, and now Harry was being ripped from him. “I told you I would make you watch him die, Draco. Watch as the light leaves his eyes,” the voice of Tom Riddle laughed.

And he did, Draco watched as Harry’s eyes went from emerald gemstones to the darkest of green, almost black as the spell hit him square in the back. The light was gone, or at least the light Draco was used to seeing in his lovers eyes was gone, replaced by the light of flames.

Harry blinked, and that was the only indication Draco got that the curse had failed to kill its mark. Harry’s lips curled into a slight smile as he turned around and faced a baffled Voldemort. “Riddle, you should know better than to use that curse on me.” His voice was light and playful, but then changed into a low wild growl, “It’s going to be the death of you.”

Everything around Draco looked fuzzy, as if he were looking at it through thick glass. It was only then that he realized Harry had placed him inside one of his protective bubbles and that he was outside it, attacking Voldemort alone.

Draco wanted desperately to get to him, to touch him, to kiss him one last time before it all went black forever.

He could hear the banter between the Dark Lord and Harry as if listening to it from underwater. Voldemort was unmistakably confused by Harry’s attempts to protect Draco, and the level at which he was capable of doing so.

“You have nothing. You’re just a boy, useless against me. There is nothing you have that I cannot match with something more powerful.” It sounded as if Voldemort was trying to convince himself more than Harry.

“Ah, you see that’s where you’re wrong.” He looked over to Draco, the love of his life, and winked. “I have something to live for,” he whispered. “And… I have this!”

At those final words an eruption burst from Harry’s body, turning the entire dungeon into a raging inferno. Draco looked around him from within his protective bubble, watching as Voldemort, his now mortal body, screamed in agony and writhed in the fire, his golden wand discarded on the ground at his feet.

His cries were soon joined by that of his followers, clutching their faces as their silver masks heated and burned into their flash, their robes catching fire and filling the room with brightly lit, screaming torches.

He could sense the entire Manor was on fire, burning his childhood memories along with it, and he wondered briefly if his mother had felt any pain. Even if his father were ever to get out of prison, he would have nothing to come back to now.

The devastation began to wane and the fires died abruptly as the last Death Eater fell. It had been complete destruction. “Betrayal and death fall in its wake,” he whispered the final line of the prophecy that they had not yet completed.

It was done. It was over.

“Harry, it’s finished!” Draco exclaimed, looking over to where his Gryffindor stood.

Or should have been standing.

The smells of burning hair and flesh filled his nostrils, making him queasy, and he realized he was no longer being protected. Quill was clawing fiercely at his chest and he winced in pain. He rushed the few steps to get to where he had last seen Harry, and there was no one. He looked around and around the blisteringly hot dungeons looking for any sign of him, unaware of the tears streaming down his face, and the faint ‘no, no, no’ escaping his quivering lips.

There was no sign of Harry anywhere.

He looked down, and at his feet, was a pile of ash. ‘No, no, no’

He could no longer stand; he collapsed to his knees, gently reaching out to the ashes in front of him. There was a wand, Harry’s wand, in the debris. A choked sob escaped his lips as he picked it up. Harry didn’t even need a wand, but he often carried it around for appearances. He ran his fingertips up and down the scorched wood, and then placed it back into the ash.

He couldn’t breath.

Harry was gone.

A small flash of gold caught his attention. He looked down to see an unmarred gold coin, half still buried in the ash. He carefully reached for it and saw the gleaming lion face stare back at him defiantly from the coins face. “My Gryffindor,” Draco whimpered as he touched the coin.

He thought he was about to retch, but soon recognized the familiar pull in his navel of a portkey.

--

Draco was still shaking as Dumbledor placed a teacup in his hand. The cup rattled against the saucer like chattering teeth in the cold. He raised it to his lips but didn’t drink; he just let the warm liquid steam over his face. He had told Dumbledore everything, from what happened in the maze, to being tortured, to Harry’s freeing him. He even told him about how their minds linked and images rushed between them, letting Harry understand all that had happened between them in an instant.

“I have already sent the team of Aurors to Malfoy Manor. If everything is as you explained, you will be free to go, but for the time being, I would like you to return to the Room of Requirement.” Dumbledore’s face was kind and soft, but forcefully so, as if he had to work very hard at it. Draco recalled the way his careful face had fallen when Draco relayed what he could articulate about the battle and about Harry.

‘I had given myself away to hope, I sincerely wanted Harry’s powers to be enough to kill Tom Riddle and still keep himself alive,’ was all the old man had said on the matter. A death errand. That’s what it had been.

Draco nodded and let the headmaster lead him from the office and up to the Room of Requirement. Draco walked into the room alone. He stared around at the room he had shared with Harry for so long. It seemed like he had been with Harry for years, had it really only been months? No, that wasn’t true after all, Harry had been a part of his life since he was eleven.

He could feel the Dragon on his chest like a living force, and that presence was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart. If Harry were truly gone, then his mark would fade. He was certain of it.

He stripped his robes and shirt off and stared at the Dragon sleeping peacefully on his chest. He curled up on the bed, facing the place where Harry slept, where he would sleep again, and he wept.

--

He didn’t know how long he had been asleep when he finally woke. He hadn’t even remembered falling asleep. All he knew was that a new smell was interfering with the fragrance of Harry on his pillow.

His eyes snapped open and found a disheveled Hermione sitting on Harry’s side of the bed. “Get off!” Draco shouted, before he even knew what he was saying. Hermione jumped up, her red ringed eyes wide. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry… you startled me,” he apologized. “It’s just that… that’s Harry’s side of the bed.”

Her face softened and she nodded. “Right, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” She shifted awkwardly and Draco nodded to the armchairs. They sat down without a word, each staring into the fire. Hermione broke the silence first.

“So professor Dumbledore told me… everything.” Draco nodded but didn’t say anything. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it…”

“Thanks.”

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. “Listen, I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions about your loyalty to Harry.” Draco only nodded again. He wanted to stop being rude to Hermione. He wanted to be able to answer all her questions, but he just felt so… empty.

“I brought something for you.” Before he even noticed she had gotten up, she came back over and sat down again. She handed him a small golden box, carved with a beautiful intricate phoenix. The initials H. J. P in a scrolling script on the lid. “It’s his…” she couldn’t finish the sentence, choking on her own silent sobs, but she didn’t need to. Draco understood.

These were Harry’s ashes. Harry was gone.

Author's note: sniff. Remeber the faeries. Review