The Truth Will Out

Disclaimer: All characters are © JK Rowling, NOT ME!

Draco had been in a frightened and confusing haze for quite some time, but it all finally hit home when Lord Voldemort died. His body was crumpled on the floor of the Great Hall, people were cheering madly and praising Potter- of course they were praising Potter. Potter the perfect, Potter the Boy who Lived, Potter the Beloved Savior. He snorted in disgust, thinking it entirely ridiculous and unfair that Potter had only been able to defeat the Dark Lord because he’d stolen a wand- his wand. The fact that it had been the Elder Wand made him sick, because he’d lost it- serving Lord Voldemort.

Anger boiled in him as memories resurfaced of the high, clear voice of the Dark Lord as he uttered words of painful significance- to his father. Not to him, it hadn’t ever been to him until his father had gone mongering for glory.

Let Draco do it, he’d said. He is strong enough now, and loyal to you, My Lord. Let him prove his loyalty. His face burned in hot shame and fury as he watched his father from the corner of his eye. Lucius Malfoy was clutching his walking stick, which was now bereft of its wand, his pale hair was a mess and his black robes were sloppy. He was no longer concerned with his own dignity- his Master was dead. Draco knew that he wasn’t taking it too well. A look of manic fury and panic was in his dark eyes, but there was nothing he could do. His mother, on the other hand, sat close to him, no longer concerned with the affairs of the Dark Lord.

You’re afraid, aren’t you, Draco? The cold words were glamoured with false caring. You won’t be able to do it, will you? He had disagreed feebly. If you do not succeed, Draco, I may be forced to punish you and your lying parents. They promised me you would succeed.

He wished he’d never asked how.

There was so much noise in the Great Hall, all the students were cheering for Potter still, the teachers joining them. Everyone was gleeful. He felt that his own chest seemed less heavy, now that the man- thing- that had threatened to kill his parents and had put all of them through such shameful punishment for losing Potter- stupid Potter!- was dead.

Harry Potter was floating along the top of the crowd, along with the witless Longbottom boy, the Mudblood Granger, the stupid Weasley git.

But the angrier he became with them, the more he realized that he couldn’t ever be truly angry with them again. They had saved his life twice through the course of the evening. This he could not deny, despite his best efforts.

Harry Potter saved my life.

He was angrier with himself- how could he have been so weak?

Or was Potter truly great? Every fiber of his being rejected this, yet the truth was undeniable. Potter had survived seven years of attempts on his life by a Wizard who claimed to be the best in the world, had killed him even. He’d run for a year and managed to escape Gringotts’ security, if that story was true, not to mention he’d infiltrated the Ministry, escaped his parents and Bellatrix Lestrange when he was captured, and had been struck by a Killing Curse twice yet had never died.

Potter was great.

He scowled to think of it. True as it seemed, he would not accept it, at least not yet. But there was one thing he knew, after his ponderings, for certain. He was not a Dark Wizard, he had failed almost every test given him not only by his parents but by his Dark Lord, and he had undoubtedly been on the wrong side. Hateful as Potter was, he had been right.

Casting one short, sideways glance at his father, a tiny and crooked smile crossed his face. Lucius Malfoy was not going to be pleased.