Title: Purgare
Author: Constant Vigilance
Status: Fin
Email: tirel@pcnuthut.com

Website: https://www.angelfire.com/tv2/firebird_ascending/
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: None
Spoilers: AU.
Warnings: Angst.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. JKR is God.
Summary: Draco finally figures it out. And it costs him all that he is.
Notes: I’m such a sap. I cried while I was writing it. *rolls eyes*

 

The screams had begun a strange echoing in Draco's ears just moments ago. Even when he tore his eyes away from the bleeding, crying masses…the screams still reverberated through his head. They came from behind him, in front of him, at his flank. They whirled ‘round his head like angry air elementals, stinging his eyes and whipping his hair into a frenzy.

 

As he stared at the chaos before him, he began to feel the familiar detachment beginning again. For weeks, he’d hidden behind that detachment as though it were a physical wall. Muggle torturing at a Dark Revel? Wall. Rounds of cruciatus for Death Eaters who’d displeased their Lord in some manner? Wall. Draco’s own whippings, hexes cast on his unwilling body? Wall. It was a safe place. It was the only thing that kept him sane.

 

He watched as McNair snatched at a fleeing girl; she couldn’t have been more than 14. The former Ministry official wrapped the silken strands around his dragon hide glove and yanked the girl’s head back. Draco could see her mouth moving, pleading, begging…screaming. But her screams merged with all of the others around her and she might as well have had a silencing spell cast upon her.

 

McNair laid the razor sharp edge of his knife against her pale throat. She fell almost abnormally still, wrongly thinking that if she simply cooperated that this would all be over with. In a way, Draco supposed she was correct. It was all over with…for her. McNair drew the blade over the skin, opening a crimson gash in the girl’s unmarked flesh.

 

The older man held the girl’s thrashing body against his own, rocking his hips into hers as her dying twitches brought him to climax. When the girl became dead weight in McNair’s arms, he threw her to the ground and moved on. Draco stared at the motionless creature decorating the ground and wondered, not for the first time, what the hell he was doing here.

 

That thought punched a small hole in his ‘wall’ and, like a dam, the backed up emotions of disgust…of horror…began exerting pressure. He glanced around the battlefield again. Dozens of black clad Death Eaters chased humans down like cattle. Clumps of wand wielding men and women tried to hold off the destructive forces but the Death Eaters, like true predators, picked them off one by one.

 

They targeted the outskirts of those clumps. They targeted the children and single men and women who’d not yet made it to the safety of numbers. Buildings were burning, taking away the shelter of walls and doors to hide behind. Wards were up, preventing apparating. Every place that might have had a floo or an owl coop had gone under fire first. These people were truly alone.

 

Lucius had made sure of that. Draco hadn’t known what kind of gathering they were attacking today, only that it was a private revel that would contain many of their enemies. Destroying every last person who attended would please the Dark Lord immensely and would turn the tide for them in this war. Draco hadn’t asked any further questions.

 

Lately, he was afraid to. Each time he asked a question out loud, ten more came back at him from his subconscious. What are you doing, Dray? Why are you here? Do you really want to be a Death Eater? Do you really want to follow that madman? Do you truly believe his rhetoric anymore? Did you ever? Is the power worth the lives you are required to take? Is anything worth taking the lives of innocents? Does your soul deserve the torture you’re putting it through? Do you have a soul anymore?

 

He’d stopped asking questions when he realized his answers would get him killed, most probably by his own father.

 

As his mind raced in circles, his eyes tore around the madness. When he realized that he could actually name some of the people in attendance, he felt his stomach roll. “Potter, Weasley, Granger, Longbottom, Boot, Lovegood, Abbot, Wood…” he whispered as his eyes lit on each person. Lucius was right. This would be an amazing coup for them if they truly managed to destroy everyone here.

 

And then he gulped, “Pansy? Blaise? …Snape?”

 

In their seventh year, Pansy had turned her back on them. She’d cried and tried to make him understand, but all Draco could see was that she’d thrown their house, her family, her destiny over for that bumbling idiot Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom. Draco had refused to speak to her again, going so far as to make her life miserable enough that Dumbledore made living arrangements available to Pansy far, far away from Slytherin House.

 

Just as soon as Slytherin had settled down again, Blaise raised hell again by announcing his engagement to yet another Gryffindor…Seamus Finnegan. Draco had lost his mind. He didn’t try to understand. He refused to even listen to excuses. He tried to kill his best friend. That was when Snape had been exposed as a spy. By taking direct action against Draco, by saving Blaise Zabini’s life, by supporting the expulsion of Draco Malfoy from Hogwarts…Snape had blown his cover.

 

Draco had willingly gone. He’d lost his best friend, his fiancé and his mentor to those bloody Gryffindors in one fell swoop. There was nothing tying him to Hogwarts any longer. He’d finished the year in Durmstrang, taken his NEWTS and been branded with the Dark Mark as soon as his results were owled to Malfoy Manor.

 

And now, here they were again.

 

Only this time, Draco had absolutely no desire to hurt them. His life had become one long repeat of these screams. The only color he could identify with any certainty any longer was crimson. These days, he saw more dead bodies than he did live ones. The knowledge that the next body he might see could be Blaise or Snape made his eyes sting and his chest tighten.

 

Pansy was back to back with Longbottom, trying to get to the safety of a group containing Lovegood, Granger and Weasley. Blaise and Snape, with the help of Potter, Abbot, Boot and Finnegan were holding off nearly a dozen Death Eaters from reaching a cringing pile of crying children. As he watched, Granger took her eyes off of the Death Eaters in front of her and quickly skimmed the battlefield. He watched as the panic roiled up on her face.

 

She elbowed Weasley and screamed something in his ear. He, too, turned to scan the battle and Draco could see that same panic on his face. “Harry!” he screamed. Draco's eyes moved back to the other group in time to see Potter perform a stunning curse on Crabbe (Draco could tell that bulk anywhere) before craning his head to see Weasley.

 

“What?” He screamed back.

 

“Is Brennon with you?” Weasley bellowed. Potter glanced behind at the pile of children and then shook his head.

 

“No!” he returned and then was forced to break off conversation as a barrage of crucios came his way. Draco turned back to Weasley and noted almost dispassionately that the panic had turned to terror. Pansy and Longbottom had finally made it to the group and Weasley muttered something in Granger’s ear before darting quickly out from the shelter of numbers.

 

Draco watched as various Death Eaters took potshots at the redheaded menace darting from cover to cover. Weasley didn’t seem to pay too much attention to that, absently firing back a spell or two as he moved. His eyes were darting around constantly and the terror began to grow on his face. He yelled that name every few feet or so.

 

“More vermin?” came a voice Draco would recognize should he have one foot in the grave. Of course, that voice would probably have been responsible for putting him there. “Does your family do nothing but breed, you little maggot?” Draco turned slowly to see his father, mask pushed up, glaring furiously at someone to Draco's right.

 

Turning further, he scanned the bodies that were still standing. Seeing no one actually opposing Lucius Malfoy, Draco frowned and looked back at his father. The older Malfoy raised his wand and cast a stinging hex. Draco's frown turned into bewilderment. A stinging hex? In the middle of a bloody battle? A small scream erupted from the direction that the hex went and Draco looked again.

 

Lucius’ opposition stood on his feet, rubbing the flesh where the hex hit…and crying. It took a moment for Draco to wrap his mind around the scene. His father, right hand of the Dark Lord, was attacking…a toddler. The small redheaded boy glared back at his tormenter even as he cried and Draco was transported back to his years in Hogwarts. He knew that glare. He was on the receiving end of that glare more times than he had been able to keep track of.

 

This was Weasley’s child.

 

Weasley and Granger, he supposed, given that the Mudblood was so panicked at his absence. What was it that his redheaded nemesis was racing about calling? Bran—Brent—Brennon! That was it. Brennon. While Draco was lost in thought, Lucius had wasted no time. Several more stinging hexes were sent Brennon’s way, as was a particularly bad case of boils.

 

Draco was partly mortified that his father would focus so intently on defeating a boy who couldn’t be more than three years old and partly sickened that his father was obviously getting as much pleasure out of it as he had the last few adult kills Draco had watched him make. The glee in his father’s eye…the sneer plastered across thin lips…

 

A sharp pang ran through his gut as he remembered those looks whilst he received his own punishment for wrongdoings. Slowly, Draco pushed his Death Eater mask off of his face. He let it fall to the ground and let his cloak fall with it. He couldn’t do this. Not anymore. Maybe he never could. Gripping his wand tightly in his hand, he began pacing towards his sire, prepared to do what he should have done long ago: make his own choice.

 

As he strode that direction, he saw Lucius Malfoy’s wand rise again and begin to glow green. Draco's eyes widened in horror. “No!” he shouted, not noticing that his scream had drawn the attention of several witnesses including Death Eaters and one Ron Weasley. “Father, no!” Lucius seemed lost in almost orgasmic delight as he began to pronounce the phrase that would end the young life of Brennon Weasley.

 

Draco realized in one split second that he would never make it to his father before the older man could cast…but he could make it to the child. Throwing caution and good sense to the wind, he abruptly switched directions and pelted towards the young boy.

 

“Avada Kedavra!“

 

Draco slammed into the child, scooping him into his arms to protect the fragile skin as Draco rolled them over and over to avoid the sizzle and splash of green that hit just where the Weasley child had stood. On the last roll, he brought himself up on his feet and turned to shoot daggers from his grey eyes at his father. “Draco?” Lucius roared angrily. “What in the name of Merlin are you doing, you idiot?”

 

Draco cradled the small body in his arms, shifting it so he could have his wand arm free. “What am I doing, you rotten bastard?” he screeched back. “What the hell are you doing? This is a child, father! An innocent child!”

 

Lucius stared at his son as though the younger Malfoy had lost his mind. Draco nearly snickered. Oh, how right his father was. “What is wrong with you, boy? Did someone cast a befuddlement charm on you?”

 

“A befud—“ Draco choked. “You arrogant fuck.”

 

Lucius frowned. “Draco. Put the vermin down. Go back to the base. You have obviously been infected with something.”

 

Draco couldn’t decide to laugh or cry. “Infected, father?” he spat. “On the contrary. I think I might actually be in the process of purging.”

 

Lucius’ brow wrinkled. “Purging? What—Draco,” he sighed in irritation. “I don’t have time for this. In case you hadn’t noticed, we are in the middle of a pitched battle.”

 

“Battle?” Draco screeched. “You’re not battling! You’re exterminating! You’ve pinned all the fighters in and are chasing fucking children down!” His voice had reached a shrill pitch that caused Lucius to wince slightly.

 

“Draco,” Lucius pasted a soothing smile on his face and began moving toward his son. “My boy, they aren’t children. They are the next generation that will oppose us. If we take the opposition out now, we have less to deal with in the future.” Draco's eyes widened in horror and he began to back away from the insane monster that inhabited his father’s body. Lucius bit his tongue and followed. “Son, I’m protecting your future. I’m protecting the future of your own children.”

 

“No,” Draco whispered, holding Brennon tighter against his chest. “No, no, no.” He held his wand out defensively. “Please, father,” he choked. “Please stay where you are.”

 

Lucius continued to advance, the smile on his face becoming harsher by the moment. “Draco, drop the vermin. Now.” He raised his own wand.

 

“Nonononono…” Draco wasn’t even aware of the keening coming from his throat. Terror suffused every cell in his body as he faced his father down for the first time in his life.

 

“Draco, I’m ordering you to put it down,” Lucius stopped and pointed the wand straight between Brennon’s eyes. Draco watched in dread as the tip of his father’s wand glowed green again. “Now, Draco.”

 

“Avada K—“

 

“Avada Kedavra.”

 

The sound of the body hitting the ground somehow broke through the screams, the shouts, the dying throes of both sides. All eyes turned to witness the tableau.

 

One blonde haired former Slytherin, sprawled across the ground like a broken toy. His wand, dropped at his side. His eternal expression, startled.

 

One blonde haired former Slytherin, standing stiffly with his arm wrapped securely around a small redheaded figure. Hi wand, still pointed at his sire. His expression, defeated.

 

One small redheaded Gryffindor-to-be, clinging tightly to his savior. His arms wrapped around the enemy’s neck. His expression, sorrowful.

 

The silence reigned for half a minute and was broken with a battle cry given by none other than Walden McNair. The former executioner barreled toward Draco with murder in his eyes. Draco watched him advance with a clinical detachment. As the infuriated Death Eater drew closer, Draco gently tugged Brennon’s head down into the folds of his shirt and pointed his wand.

 

No one could mistake the glow at the tip. Not even McNair. He stopped his charge abruptly and stared, openmouthed. Draco smiled painfully. “I just killed my own father, Walden,” he called quietly. “Do you really thing you merit more exception than he?”

A slow shake of the head was his answer.

 

“We’re done here, today,” Draco continued, a bit louder so that all of his compatriots could hear. “We are done.” Once again, the silence lay heavy on the field. The only sounds were the heavy breathing of the combatants and the moans of the injured. Then there was the familiar crackle of a ward going down, followed by the distinctive pop of apparition.

 

Moments later, the field was empty of living Death Eaters. Their dead were left behind like so much garbage. When the last of the pops had died away, Draco disengaged Brennon from his neck and set him on the ground. He pointed the boy in the direction of his mum and dad and then turned away.

 

He could hear the family reunion going on behind him: Granger’s sobs and loud smacking kisses, Weasley’s lower baritone voice asking if the boy was hurt at all. He even caught the sound of Potter’s voice participating in the group love fest. Draco snorted soundlessly. He wasn’t surprised, actually. Who else would the Weasel and the Mudblood ask to godparent their child?

 

Then he heard footsteps approaching him and he sighed. They would arrest him now. Strangely, he was almost looking forward to it. At least this way, he’d find out if he still had his soul…when the Dementors sucked it out of him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he tensed as it forced him to turn around. Not interested in fighting any longer, he went with the pressure of the grip and turned to see bright blue eyes staring curiously into his.

 

“Weasley,” Draco acknowledged him with a nod.

 

A smirk broke over the Weasel’s face. The smirk transfigured into a grin, which moved on into a laugh. Before Draco knew what the hell was happening, Weasley had flung his arms around Draco and pulled him into the tightest, warmest hug the Slytherin had ever experienced. “You saved my son, Ferret,” Draco heard whispered into his neck. “I don’t know why, but you saved him.”

 

He pulled away and Draco felt strangely bereft. Ron smiled again at him and his voice rose so that the others beginning to clump around them could hear. “As my son is to young to adequately understand or perform the functions required of a life-debt, I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, do hereby assume the responsibility of fulfilling a life-debt to Draco Malfoy.”

 

Some of the crowd cheered. Others made noises of concern. Draco just closed his eyes and tried to find his wall again.

 

“Draco?” The mudblood’s voice prodded him from his attempt. He opened his eyes again and looked into her tearful brown gaze. “I don’t understand why you did it. But I’m grateful to you for saving Brennon’s life,” she whispered. He just nodded and turned away. Hands reached out to prevent his escape but they dissolved with a snapped word from the president of his new fan club.

 

He wanted to laugh at the idea of Ron Weasley protecting him. Wanted to tell his father just how far the Gryffindor twit had fallen…but he couldn’t. Because his father was dead. Dead by Draco's hand. Dead for the life of a half-blood child who would more than likely attend the ceremony in which Draco received his Kiss. With a sound not unlike a sob, Draco pulled away from the crowd of enemies and dropped to his knees at his father’s side.

 

The rest of the world slipped away as he settled in next to his sire’s body. He reached forward to arrange his father’s cloak to cover him appropriately. He plucked up the older man’s wand and, after carefully folding his father’s arms across his chest, tucked the wand into his left hand. Not many people knew that Lucius Malfoy was left-handed. Not many people knew that his son was as well.

 

He’d just reached out his hand to smooth the silvery blonde hair away from his father’s face when a tiny hand reached down to do it for him. He looked up in surprise. Brennon Weasley continued to stroke Lucius’ hair for a moment before looking up at Draco. He moved closer, eyeing Draco's own silvery locks and Draco held still as a statue as the Weasley child stroked his hair as well.

 

“Sowft,” he lisped.

 

“Thank you,” Draco replied automatically.

 

Brennon plopped himself down in Draco's lap, ignoring the sharp inhale of his new chair and ignoring the fact that the young man held his arms out to his sides as if afraid to contaminate the young boy. “Bad man,” Brennon continued as he settled in more comfortably.

 

“I know,” Draco whispered, painfully. “But he was my father.”

 

“Fadew? Wike Daddy?”

 

Draco couldn’t help the tiny smile that escaped. Granger must be going mad to have a child that lisped. “Yes, like your daddy.”

 

“Is he seepin?” was the next question.

 

Draco started a bit before he muddled through what Brennon was asking. “No, pet,” he shook his head, feeling the tears stinging his eyes. “He’s not sleeping. He’s dead. I killed him.”

 

“Kiwd-ed him?” Brennon was confused.

 

“Yes, pet,” Draco noted that his throat was becoming noticeably clogged with unshed tears. “I killed him. He’s gone. He won’t ever wake up again.”

 

“Why you kiwd-ed him?”

 

The innocence in that question was Draco's undoing. “I-I…Because he hurt you,” Draco managed to choke out from around the sobs threatening to tear free. “Because he hurt me. Because he destroyed everything he touched. Because I didn’t want to become him. Because…I loved him even though he…he didn’t…I-I couldn’t…I didn’t…”

 

The tears couldn’t be stopped now. They raced down his face, dripping off of his chin. The hitching in his chest was no longer to be denied. The sobs shook his body and he wasn’t even able to gather his strength to run away from the spectacle he knew he was making.

 

And then a tiny hand touched his cheek. He looked up through waterlogged lashes and saw Brennon crying as well. “Don’ cwy, Dwaco,” Brennon snuggled into Draco's chest and the older boy could no more stop himself from wrapping empty arms around the small form than he could stop crying at the moment. “Don’ cwy,” Brennon repeated. “I wuv you.”

 

And Draco sucked up the affection offered to him. Affection that he hadn’t received in more years than he could count. Affection that, strangely enough, came from the very creature that he should have been trying to kill. He closed his thoughts to that idea and just held on. Held on to the only thing in his life that made sense at the moment.

 

He knew that his life had just irrevocably changed. And it wasn’t when he saved an enemy. Or accrued a life debt for it. It wasn’t when he refused his father and turned on his fellow Death Eaters. It wasn’t when he took his father’s life or even when he publicly broke with the Dark Lord.

 

It was when a small boy wrapped his arms around him and said, unconditionally…

 

…‘I love you.’