Seventh Year

Harry is dead. The rebellion that he had joined too late crumbling at his feet at the site of Harry's lifeless body. His eyes, once alight with with the fires of rage or righteousness (or for a brief moment a heated passion), now closed forever. The hands. rough and calloused from hard work but always gentle, now lying limp at his side. Even his hair, always sticking out at the strangest angles like a living thing, untameable, was matted down with the blood and soot of a battle hard fought.

"Not a one of you was in his heart," Voldemort's gaze swept over the crowd of hogwarts student's. "While you cursed my names to the heavens he came to me, begging in a voice so meek." His words fell over his audience with air of disbelief. They had not put their faith in the wrong person. Draco had not.

"Harry Potter is dead. From this day forth, you shall put your faith in me." At that the dark lord put his back to his enemy, no longer a threat, and shouted to his followers, "HARRY POTTER IS DEAD!" It was met with joyous laughter from the deatheaters. He turned back to the students.

"Now is time for you to declare yourself unto me. Come now, join up." His arms were spread wide, arms welcoming and a cold, serpent-y smile on his face. But draco's eyes fell only on the limp body at the feet of the giant groundskeeper. His sight started blurring, but before a tear could be shed, Draco saw it. What could only be called a twitch. He may have imagined it, but Draco had to check. He had to be sure.

"Malfoy," a voice across the way was heard. "Malfoy come over here." His father beckoned from across the way. He had never refused his beckons before. He moved towards them, but his eyes were firmly planted on the once again unmoving form across the way. He was so focused he didn't even register the Dark Lord's embrace until it had completely enveloped him. It smelt of stale parchment and reptile's skin. Draco nearly gagged as he pulled away.

There was plenty of movement afterwards. A stirring speech from Longbottom and a stirring display of swordsmanship that landed a blow right on Nagasi's stupid little head was a great improvement from the years he had spent cowering from Snape. But that was when something even more spectacular happened.

Harry Potter was alive. As soon as Harry was up, Draco was running for the other side, tossing his wand at the wounded saviour. "Potter!" he yelled and Harry made the catch, as draco knew he would. Draco had broken the grasp of his father and mother and now he was going to do what was right. He was going to help Harry Potter. And maybe, if he was in a caring mood, Harry would forgive Draco for some of the horrible mistakes he had made.