Tradition

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, and all other characters from the popular series are the sole ownership of J.K. Rowling and like all other authors, I\'m merely borrowing them for my own satisfaction. Enjoy.

Tradition is tradition. No family can survive without it, and all the proper ones have a long list. Tradition sets families apart, elevates some over others. It is in the son\'s nature to rebel, and it is the father\'s responsibility to persevere. He must guide his son, with force if necessary. This is why I\'m here tonight. Tradition is what compelled me.

He\'s awfully strong, young Potter, just like his father was. He\'s courageous and noble, and he\'s enchanted my son much in the same fashion his father once did me. It is tradition. Every generation of Malfoy is destined to fall madly in love with their respective Potter equivalent. It has been so for centuries. And for as long, it has been the father\'s duty to save his son from the \"forever\" of Potter love.

My own father forced marriage upon me when he found out about James. I\'d grown to accept it, like my father before me, to raise my own son in preparation. James was never supposed to die. That was never part of the tradition. My soul shattered that night. I\'ve never forgiven my father for taking James from me, much as I don\'t expect Draco to forgive me for taking Harry from him. But he must understand, this is how we\'re meant to be. And by freeing him of Harry, I\'m in fact freeing the rest of my line. For there will be no Potter\'s left afterightight.

Harry is just like his father. He has James\' stubbornness, his pride, his very will to persevere, survive, triumph. But James lost that power, and Harry will too. Not so ironically, at the hands of the same man.

Watching him being tortured, witnessing his defiance, it\'s like making love to James all over again. Harry is strong, like James was strong. He loves with his entire being, like James loved. And as my Lord Voldemort continually mars that flawless honeyed skin, I think of James. They really are exceptionally alike. Not only in character, but in face and physique. When I first saw the boy, my heart jumped within my chest. For one insane moment, I believed I\'d been given another chance. Then he\'d turned those eyes on me, eyes entirely the wrong color. I felt hatred then, as well as anger at myself. What had I been thinking? My James was lost forever.

When I found out about Harry and my Draco, I first applauded how long they\'d managed to keep it from me. Harry\'d managed to lead my son further than even James had managed to lead me. I knew then I had to act quickly. Bait is bait. And I wasn\'t above using my own son to lure his heroic lover. All Potters are selfless. You\'d think by now they\'d learn. But no, they keep coming, and we Malfoys are seduced, courted, loved from afar, until we can no longer bear to be anywhere but in the circle of their arms. Constantly we humiliate ourselves for their attention. We\'ll do anything for them, until our sensible forbearer saves us, rights the relationship, makes it just. And we always come out on top. Our hearts bleeding, but our pride in tact.

It has been nearly an hour, and the boy has yet to make a sound. Frustrated, angry, full of malice and contempt, the Dark Lord raises the sacrificial knife. This is just another ritual. With this he will regain the powers transferred all those nights ago, as well as bleed the boy of his own.

\"Goodbye, Harry Potter.\"

I don\'t want to look. It would be like watching James once more. But I cannear ear my eyes from him, and frozen to my spot, I wait. He in turn, stares up at Voldemort; chin high, in an arrogant snub he\'s probably learned from my son. My eyes fasten on his face to watch it contort in pain. But the knife never makes its mark.

There is an explosion to our left, and many wizards are pouring in through the gap in the wall. It is life or death now. Fight or die. I will not go before I\'ve freed my son.

Through the ensuing chaos, I make my way to the boy, who is watching the battle with an odd calm. It is almost as if he knew, had planned this, expected us. This cannot be so. For my plan was flawless. It was I whom caught him unguarded. I will show him where the love of a Malfoy leads.

He does not flinch. Does not look away. He does not even cry out as I plunge the knife into his chest. But his eyes are hard, full of hate. A look never attractive on a Potter face. With all my might, I drive the blade in, until the hilt makes contact with his breast. As I glare triumphantly, something happens. Blonde whisps are sprouting through the raven tresses. The green of his eyes swirl with silver, and his skin is paling. He doesn\'t relinquish eye contact, and soon it is my son, not Harry, whose face I\'m staring into.

Before my astonishment can register, hands pull at my son, and his head drops to the side. His eyes soften instantaneously and he coughs, leaving a thin trail of blood leaking from his mouth. I need not look to know, but look I do, and find him cradled in the arms of his virtuous Gryffindor lover. Harry is crying, but Draco will have none of it. He tries to raise his hand to comfort, but is too weak. Instead he rolls his head to Harry\'s shoulder. Harry holds him tightly, begging him not to die, apologizing for circumstances he could have never changed and all but chanting, \"I love you.\" Draco closes his eyes and breaths in Harry\'s scent. His body is slacking, and Harry\'s arms are a solid force around him. He drops his head back, and Harry understands. They stare at each other, communicating with their eyes, until Draco ceases to blink. Harry chokes back a sob, and kisses him, coming away with blood staining his lips. Gently he lowers Draco to the ground. He brushes back his hair lovingly and with a deep breath, pulls the knife from his chest. He stares aaco aco for what feels like forever, and I feel more for him, than my own son. He turns and holds it out to me. Beyond comprehension, I take it. Calmly he opens his robes and bares his chest, hands steady as they hold the clothing apart. Realization dawns, and I nod, a smile gracing my face.

No one ever did this for us. Everyday I miss James more, the pain and loss growing with each moment spent without him. It would not be fair for anyone to know such a feeling, least of all my James\' Harry. For love of James. For love of Draco. And yes, even for love of Harry, I plunge the knife into his own chest. His teeth grit as the hilt makes contact with his rib. He sways and drops to his side. His hand reaches for Draco, suddenly too far away. I help him, lifting him and depositing him against my son\'s still warm body. Harry\'s eyes go to Draco\'s face, fist clenching in his robes. Harry\'s wound is closer than my son\'s and in under a minute, he is dead.

I close their eyes, and drape Draco\'s arm over Harry\'s waist. They look so pleasant lyinere ere together, almost as in sleep; the image marred by the large pool of blood accumulating beneath them. With their eyes closed, they are so reminiscent of James and I. And this, their fate, is what I\'d wanted myself. They are together, and not even tradition cannge nge that. The only mn len left, is the single tear still rolling down Harry\'s cheek.