Follow-up to The First Year Duel. Set in the future.
What Would Slytherin Harry Do: Draco's Decision
Disclaimer: Not Mine. No Profit. No Shit.
by Big D
(Fifteen Years After The First Year Duel)
"I finally beat you."
Gentle rain fell on a quiet cemetery in northwest Wales. Three gravestones stood side by side: mother, father, and son finally reunited after so many long years apart. A pale, dangerously-thin young man in his mid-twenties stood before them. Lank, prematurely-thinning blond hair was pasted to his scalp by the rain and his hands trembled slightly, a nervous tick that had developed in one far too young for such things.
"So fucking smug, weren't you," Draco sneered. "So god-damned smart. Always with some ridiculous plan." His right hand unconsciously touched the inside of his left forearm. "You got the Dark Lord in the end, didn't you, you bastard? Tricked him/, too. Just like everyone else. Had the whole world right in the palm of your hand after that. But his servants got to you eventually. The only thing I regret is that I wasn't able to see the look on your face when you finally got what you deserved." He smiled. "Doesn't matter, though. I'm alive and you're not. That means /I win."
Draco looked up into the overcast sky and took a deep breath that tasted of freedom, then glared at the tombstone in front of him.
"Rot in Hell, Harry Potter."
Grinning to himself, he turned to leave. Then screamed in utter frustration.
Not ten feet away, leaning against the statue of a massive angel, stood another young man. He was dressed in a long leather coat over a black shirt and trousers, and looked remarkably healthy for a dead person. Vivid green eyes were unadorned by glasses, but Draco had suspected for years that he hadn't really needed them. A tiny smile graced his lips as he watched a dozen emotions flicker across Malfoy's face before the little ponce finally settled on sulky dejection.
"Why are you here, Potter?" Draco whined miserably. "Couldn't you just let me think you were dead, like everyone else? I'd be much happier."
"I realize that, but I want something from you."
A spasm of anger went through the other man. "What could you possibly want?" Malfoy snarled. "I don't have anything left! You killed my father, you..." his face twisted in revulsion, "/debauched/ my mother. You ruined my family name, destroyed our fortune. Forced me into living like a hunted beast, like a bloody /muggle/! I don't even have a fucking wand anymore! I have nothing! You've already taken it all!"
Emerald eyes glimmered. "You still have your health."
Draco's eyes widened in fear and he took several steps back. "You're going to..." He stopped, unable to even finish the sentence.
Harry chuckled. "Of course not."
Draco let out a relieved breath.
"You're going to do it for me."
Malfoy gaped at him. "What are you talking about?" he asked fearfully. Long experience had taught him the fallacy of flat-out saying that Potter was wrong. But he had to be, right?
"I'm moving on." Harry explained, "Putting the life I've led since my parents were murdered aside and trying something different. Something quieter. But first, I need to tie up a few of Harry James Potter's loose ends. And that means... /you/, Draco Ignatius Malfoy, need to die today. And I figured it was only polite to let you do it yourself."
Draco's heart hammered in his chest. He looked around wildly, like a cornered animal searching for escape. What he saw only terrified him that much more. A dozen red-robed Aurors had surrounded the pair, lingering about fifty yards away.
"They've come to take you to Azkaban," Potter said quietly. "Old friends of mine, who know how to keep a secret." He reached into his coat and produced a heavy, snub-nosed revolver, tossing it at Malfoy. He caught it against his body instinctively. "There's one bullet, Iggy. Die as a man, or let the Dementors kiss you and live as a thing. Your choice. It makes no difference to me."
Draco stared at the muggle weapon in his hands, then looked back up at the Aurors, who had begun to walk towards him. In desperation, he tried to Apparate, something he hadn't done in years, only to find that, unsurprisingly, wards had been set up to block him.
"Goodbye, Draco," Potter said, then turned to walk away.
Draco saw his moment of opportunity and took it. He raised the pistol, pointed it directly at the back of Potter's head, and pulled the trigger.
A thunderous explosion, far larger than a simple gunshot, split the air behind Harry, but he didn't so much as flinch. Shrapnel, dirt, and human flesh struck the shield he had raised behind him. Calmly, he reached into his coat and pulled out a very expensive, thin brown cigarette, lit it, and took a long, slow drag. He touched something on his wrist and the approaching Aurors suddenly vanished. After a moment, he turned back to Draco.
There wasn't much left. His upper body had been more or less blown apart, leaving only a pair of legs that still occasionally twitched as nerves misfired in dying muscles. Harry regarded the corpse dispassionately for a moment, then shook his head and walked away.
"Told you not to fuck with me."
AN: This was inspired by the DLP Draco Kill-Off. The rules: 2500 words or less. Must be graphic. Must be funny. And whatever else happens, Draco must die. I figured that anyone could just torture him to death... where's the fun in that? So I had him kill himself. Besides, I dig the idea of a WIP where you get the epilogue four chapters in.