Imperfection

The room was dank, chilly. It was dimly lit by several candles and more than a few torches. It gave off the feeling of being a medieval dungeon, and Draco hated it.

He'd known what he was getting into when he took the Dark Mark onto his arm, had known that he'd be killing and torturing, and maiming, and if he wanted to get back out of it with his sanity in tact he'd have to learn to enjoy it. And he had. He enjoyed every minute of his time away from Voldemort's dungeons, and it didn't matter who he was torturing, so long as it gave him time on his own. News had come back to Voldemort that something monumental had happened, and he'd summoned his Death Eaters to his side to witness it, which was how Draco found himself back in the hated rooms, wearing his hated mask, and looking on as calmly as he could. His mother had turned traitor after his defection to Voldemort, and he was terrified that it was her they'd caught. Most victims weren't brought back alive, and when they were, they were killed shortly there-after.

"Let go of me you sick freak!" The familiar voice rang out clearly in the near silence of the dungeon. Draco blinked towards its source, and saw his father and Rodolphus Lestrange dragging a twisting Harry Potter into the room by his arms. He was flailing and kicking, putting up a decent fight. They'd bound him by magic, however, and he couldn't break out of it. "Oh, Tom. Nice of you to invite me over, I'm afraid I can't stay."

Draco heard gasps around him, scandalized and horrified that someone would talk to their lord like that. Mostly the younger ones like himself; his old school mates. Pansy Parkinson was in here somewhere, as were Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Theodore Nott had been killed in a fight, and Millie Bulstrode had never bothered joining. She and her family had fled to America, and hadn't been heard from since. The biggest surprise to the Death Eaters was Percy Weasley, a Gryffindor through and through, or so they'd thought until he'd not only taken the Mark, but proved himself in raids.

Potter's wandering eyes fell on Percy's unmasked face, and the sneer of hatred was startling. Draco had never seen Potter's face so full of malice.

"Dirty traitor," he hissed, and mumbled something in Parseltongue to which Voldemort chuckled. Potter's eyes snapped onto him as Lucius and Lestrange dumped him at Voldemort's feet. He scrambled up immediately, and was pushed back down.

"Is that any way to behave towards your host?" Voldemort asked, and the sneer was back on Harry's face.

"Forgive my bad manners, Tom, I've not had my tea yet." Voldemort scowled at him, and cast Crucio.

Harry screamed as if his skeleton were being removed from his body bone by bone, and it went on for what seemed like ages. Draco shifted uncomfortably, disliking the sight of his former rival reduced to a gasping heap on the floor. When Voldemort finally called off the curse, Potter spat blood in his face.

As he wiped it off, Draco could see his wand hand twitching with the urge to cast the killing curse.

"I won't kill you, boy," he said frostily. "I will allow you to suffer complete humiliation and degradation, starvation and dehydration, until you cannot bear to take another breath, and then I will force you to breathe until you cannot even manage that, and then your body will be sent in pieces back to that harpy you call McGonnagal."

Fear flickered so quickly in and out of his green eyes that Draco might have missed it if he hadn't been watching so intently.

"Malfoy, take him to bathe and give him something decent to put on. He's stinking up my house." Titters went through the crowd at that, and Draco was started when his father made no move towards him. Belatedly he realized that Voldemort meant for him to take charge of Potter, and he strode forward easily. Grasping Potter's arm like he'd seen Lestrange doing, he was taken aback by how small and light the other boy was. Draco fairly towered over him, and outmassed him by at least twenty pounds. Potter turned a bewildered moss gaze on him, and was finally quiet for a moment. He was still shaking slightly in the aftermath of prolonged Cruciatus, his body convulsing slightly as the nerves recovered, but he had enough control of his motor functions to reach up and pull away the mask.

It shouldn't have hurt, but it did, the look of complete betrayal and loss that crossed Potter's pale face when he realized who held him. "Draco Mal.." he murmured, and then doubled over in Draco's grip, coughing blood onto the floor. Damage he'd obviously taken before coming here, or else Voldemort's Cruciatus was worse than they'd been lead to believe. Draco believed he'd taken damage before-hand, but shoved it from his mind as he dragged the still-coughing boy from the room. He chained Potters wrists to the wall in a spare bathroom, and stripped his clothes from him. Dispassionately, he noted the numerous scars crossing the lithe body, and the bony ribs. He was so skinny that Draco could have counted the bones, and he was faintly disgusted by it.

"What the hell have you been doing with yourself?" he asked rhetorically, and managed to dodge the blood Potter coughed up and spit at him. "You look like hell." Pointing his wand, he doused Potter with cold water, rinsing the dirt and grime off him. Naked, shivering, and half-starved, he looked less like a hero than ever. "If you're any indication, all we'll need to do to win against your precious 'Order' is poke at them with feathers," Draco sneered.

Potter drew in a shuddering gasp. "You think..." he started and his voice was raspy from screaming. "You think your father brought me st..straight here?" Draco frowned.

"What are you saying?" he asked cautiously.

"Lu.. cius...and Rodolf..Rodolphus have had me.... for a little over two weeks," he whispered. Draco realized instantly what this meant. The call had just come in yesterday that someone of great import had been captured. That meant that his father's absence was an act of outright defiance. Potter watched the thoughts play out against his face, and nodded.

"Big trouble," he said, and now his teeth were chattering quietly. Draco noticed that his lips were faintly blue, and suddenly rather wished he'd used hot water.

Why? he asked himself suddenly. Why do I care if he's cold? Why do I care what happened to him before this? He's my enemy! I should hate him. I should want him to suffer. But he couldn't, he realized. He knew too much, had seen too much of the supposed Golden Boy to hate him, just like he couldn't bring himself to order Pansy or Blaise around despite out-ranking them in the Death Eaters. There was too much history there.

Draco left the room for a moment, and when he returned he was carrying a pair of jeans and a Death Eater's robes. He dressed Harry dispassionately, and Potter allowed himself to be dressed. Before undoing the chains, he gave in to a whim, and pressed their lips together. Potter tasted of ice water and blood, an interesting mixture, but not one he wanted to dwell on.

"Die quickly," Draco advised him, before pulling him out of the bathroom and back into the main hall. Voldemort lifted an eyebrow at the robes, but Draco merely shrugged. "It doesn't smell," he offered by way of explanation, and Voldemort grinned at him.

"Good boy, Malfoy." He hated that. It sounded like something you'd say to a dog. He was by no means an equal to the snake-like wizard, but he certainly wasn't at the level of a dog, to be kicked or lead around on a leash.

As he thought about it, though, watching Harry being chained to the floor at Voldemort's feet, that was exactly what they all were. They came for different reasons, power, money, prestige, revenge, but they all stayed from fear.

Like a kicked dog who refused to disobey his master to avoid more kicking.

Of them all, it was Harry alone - tortured, beaten, starving - who managed to withstand the kicking, and stand up to the Master.

Draco hoped passionately that he wasn't jealous.

---

Three days later found them in roughly the same places, minus about fifty of the Death Eaters. Voldemort reclined in the stone chair, with Potter chained at his feet like an exotic pet. Nagini was draped across the chair, hissing quietly at Harry who hissed back every once and a while, much to the amusement of Voldemort. Draco would have given nearly anything to know what they were talking about.

/Would you like to know?/ Voldemort's voice came through the Dark Mark into his head, and Draco remembered that he wasn't enough of an Occlumens to keep it out as Snape had. /Use your Legillmency to see into Potter's mind. He will tell you what they speak of./

"My Lord, it has come to my attention that my father and Lestrange were not entirely truthful with you." Draco ignored the quiet hissing for the moment, and knelt at Voldemort's feet, out of range of Harry's chain. He'd shown yesterday that anyone who got close enough was fair game, and Voldemort had allowed the boy to nearly strangle the unfortunate follower as an example. No one else had dared get that close.

Interested now, Voldemort turned his attention to Draco. "Yes?" he prompted.

Draco tossed his hair out of his face, lowering his hood. "Sources tell me that the capture of Potter occured no less than two weeks prior to his appearance here." He backed up, letting this sink into Voldemort's mind, and used his own to peek into Potters. He dredged up the memory of the conversation with the giant snake, and peeked at it.

*Would you like me to go hunting for you, young Speaker?*

*No thank you, Nagini, I prefer not to eat my food alive.*

*I could kill you something.*

*I prefer it cooked, as well. I don't suppose you could do that?*

*Well... I am sorry I offered you ungrateful brat! See if I ever offer to do something nice for you again!*

When Draco returned his attention to the present, he found Voldemort scowling. "I will punish Lestrange and Malfoy for their... rebellion." His expression turned almost sweet as he gazed at Draco. "You've done well by informing me of this," he said, and Draco smirked.

"You're welcome, Lord." That said, he merged back into the darkness. It had taken him almost three days to work up the courage to face Voldemort alone and talk to him like that, but he was glad he did now. Ironically, the courage came from the knowledge that Harry had done so frequently and loudly. He'd taken up a post in the back of the room, watching Harry fall apart. It pained him to watch the signs of sanity and life slipping away from the once vibrant young man, and he thought often on the kiss he'd bestowed in the bathroom. He still didn't know why he'd done it, but he didn't regret it.

Briefly, he considered where he'd be if Harry had taken his hand of friendship in their first year. Dead, likely, or sitting there next to Harry instead of watching him from the sidelines.

Voldemort was growing bored of having his very own supply of insults sitting next to him, and it was showing. "Harry my boy, today, you will have the greatest honour of dying by my hand at last."

Draco blinked as he heard that, and moved closer.

"Come, Malfoy, and witness my greatest triumph yet." Draco moved closer still, kneeling in front of him to watch. Voldemort dragged Harry's arm up to his lap, and pressed his wand-tip to it. The Dark Mark burned its way onto his skin, and Harry screamed as if he'd ingested acid.

Completely unaware of his own actions, Draco rose, lifted his wand, and murmured the killing curse. Voldemort, distracted by the sight of his Mark on Harry's arm, never saw it coming.

When the former Dark Lord lay slumped across his throne, dead at last, and with Harry gazing at him as if he'd lost his mind, Draco moved up for him, unlocked the chains, and Apparated out with him.

Numbly, he walked straight up to Hogwarts, still holding the feather-light Harry, and announced his deed. He then dropped Harry at McGonnagal's feet and turned to leave.

"The Horcruxes!" Harry shouted, breaking the trance he'd fallen into.

"Destroyed, Potter, one week ago," she informed him, and then Harry lost it. Draco paused outside the door, listening to the recount of what had transpired in the three weeks since his disappearance, culminating in Draco's ruthless murder of the once powerful 'Lord Voldemort'.

The enormity of what he'd actually done started to sink in, and he slid to the floor, his shoulders shaking. McGonagall raced out of the room, intent on chasing after him, and nearly tripped on his foot. "MALFOY!" she all but shrieked. "Where are the rest of the Death Eaters?"

Draco mumbled something that might have been "Wales," before he succumbed to the beckoning darkness.

---

"Wake up, Draco."

A persistent voice was nagging at him, encouraging him to open his eyes, when all he wanted to do was sleep forever. He'd done the unthinkable, and was going to be ostracized and hated for the rest of his existence for it.

"Come on, you stupid poncy git, don't make me dump water on you."

A very familiar persistent voice, sounding much healthier than the last time he'd heard it.

"Potter?" he tried to say. It came out more of, 'poar?'

An excited yelp, and some chattering, and there were more voices. He opened his eyes blearily, blinking around into the bright light of the Hogwarts infirmary.

"I never thought I'd see this place again," he managed, and looked up into a set of sparkling moss green eyes.

"Malfoy, I was worried about you. You've been sleeping for days."

A more irritating voice, Madam Pomfrey, clucking over him. "The magical drain of the killing curse against Voldemort! I'm surprised you managed what you did, young man. You're a hero. All sins have been pardoned, and you're to be awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class for your defeat of the Dark Lord, Tom Riddle and your subsequent rescue of Harry Potter."

Reality crashed down on him in tsunami-sized waves, and he gasped. "Gods and Angels, what the hell have I done?"

Potter seated himself at the edge of the bed, and looked up at the ceiling. Draco noted a bandage around his left arm, and glanced at his own. The Dark Mark grinned luridly back at him, faint but there.

"You're a hero, you know," Potter started. "You did the impossible. Killed him, saved my life, helped round up the remaining death eaters, all on a complete whim, wasn't it? A flight of fancy. A bit like deciding between bacon or sausage for breakfast for you wasn't it?"

"I don't like sausage," Draco said good-naturedly. "I would have picked bacon any day."

Harry grinned at him suddenly, looking healthier than Draco'd seen him in days. "Malfoy, thanks to you, we're free. FREE. Do you know what that means?"

Draco looked at the bandage. He could make out the loop of the snake at the bottom. He looked at his own arm again. "I intend to find out," he said quietly.

-Fin-

Don't ask, I don't know. XDD Did you like it? Reviews are welcome and encouraged!