(Drarry) Faking My Own Death

(CW: (short) description of spiders and blood)

"You hate each other & you love yourselves
It might be heaven & it might be hell
Oh, the things we do
The things we say
Oh, the things we wish we could wash away"

Justice was rarely found in death. Poetic justice, perhaps, but a real sense of justice came only from punishment. If one dies, the punishment lasts only a second, instead of a lifetime. Harry wasn't one to believe in hell. Any real sense of justice had to be achieved here on earth.

Crabbe and Goyle falling to their deaths wasn't justice. It was ironic, on some level. But it wasn't justice. Pansy and Zabini had still fled the scene, unchanged in their outlook on life. Crabbe and Goyle never even got the chance to change. They didn't stick around to get punished for their war crimes.

Harry didn't allow himself to dwell on it. War wasn't the right circumstance to crave for justice. The next death Harry witnessed proved just that. Sometimes, death was just empty and useless. It didn't help their cause, nor did it forsake it. It was just death.

As Draco hoisted him back on his feet, Harry stared in his eyes with a painful pull in his stomach. For all they knew, Draco's father would be next to go. In his visions, Harry felt Voldemort's hatred and bloodlust. Almost like it was his own. Like his own usual, lingering distaste for the Malfoys had taken a new turn when he saw Lucius.

Harry knew Draco was only acting like he didn't give it much thought. Much care, perhaps not, but thoughts seemed to swirl endlessly behind Draco's eyes. There was still so much Harry didn't understand about him yet. So much he wanted to figure out. Yet, from the get-go it had been clear Draco Malfoy had prominent daddy issues. This couldn't be easy news for him to stomach.

Hermione walked in front as the four of them waded through the Hogwarts hallways, jumping into frays just as quickly as they jumped out again. Ron hurried along next to Harry, his eyes scanning him every so often. Draco followed behind. Harry glanced over once, but the boy's tired eyes said enough. Harry didn't feel like bringing up Lucius. No need to get Draco worked up before they knew what the situation was like down at the boathouse.

Right, that was the next destination on their treasure hunt in Hogwarts. The boathouse, a small facility building on the other side of Hogwarts. With Nagini being the last Horcrux, Harry and his friends had to get close to her to kill her, but this wouldn't be easy as she was Voldemort's pet. Their best bet was to kill her while Voldemort was distracted.

As they made their way deeper into the heat of battle, Harry wondered whether Voldemort knew the boathouse hadn't been used for much boating in the past. It was more of a "Kandy and Allie have definitely gone to the boathouse already" kind of thing. Maybe this sort of behaviour was only popularised in the time after Tom Riddle left school, with secret hook ups and horny teens filling the school. Then again, haven't teenagers always been horny, no matter the time period?

Oh no, what if Voldemort was a horny teen once? Yikes.

To be very honest, Harry had seen what Tom Riddle looked like in his better years, and he definitely could have gotten it-

No. Let's not.

"You okay, Harry?" Ron nudged him.

Harry nodded.

In front of him, Hermione peered back a second before tripping over stones rolling into her path. To their right, a wall had exploded into bits and pieces, crackling, rumbling. A student lay on the ground, motionless. Over their body stood a Death Eater, whose eyes glimmered a sick joy. Perking their head up, the Death Eater noticed Harry and his friends.