Disclaimer: The characters within do not belong to me but rather to J.K. Rowling.

Author's Notes: This is supposed to be an internal monologue of a sort. That's why there are no speech marks – speech is in italics. This story is Harry/Draco slash. To anyone who's interested in why I've suddenly started writing so many stories with this pairing – I don't actually know. I can only write the ideas I get. I also suppose that this story could be seen as rather cynical, and I don't know why that is. It features love as – well, you can decide if it's weakness or strength.

Attributions:"Evil succeeds because good men do nothing." – Edmund Burke

"There is such a thing as a man being too proud to fight." – Woodrow Wilson.

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Temptation

I stopped hating him the day I saw him kill for the first time. I'd never thought of him as strong – he was lucky, he was favoured – but I realised then that he was. He had to be, for though killing wasn't in his nature, he managed to bring down a hardened murderer as easy as breathing. Too easily, perhaps. I thought, later, that Snape had given up, surrendered to death, because it was simply too hard to go on living. I didn't understand – still don't – how a man could ever imagine death to be preferable to life.

When he looked at me, I expected him to make me his second kill. But he didn't. He just looked at me and shrugged; said I don't hate you any more, Malfoy. And when he said that, I realised that I'd stopped hating him. I'd just watched him kill – something I couldn't do – and perhaps I should've felt like he was scoring over me, but I didn't.

The next thing he said was Dumbledore wanted to protect you. And I couldn't find my voice, couldn't find the words, so I just nodded my head yes. He said come with me, and I will make you safe. It should've sounded stupid. It should've sounded weak. I should've been disgusted and laughed in his face. But it wasn't like that at all. He looked at me and I realised that we weren't the polar opposites I'd always believed. As if he could see into my head – and I've learnt since that he can do that – he laughed, harshly, and said we are not so different, you and I. And I nodded my head again and left with him. I felt safe. He was a killer, and yet, with him, I felt safe.

Because I was safe. I realised that when he waltzed into headquarters with me in tow, and made two announcements. Snape is dead, he said, his green eyes dulled for a moment in what I was almost sure was grief. This is Draco Malfoy. He's here to stay. Anyone who baits him answers to me. And then he vanished up the stairs – probably to throw up; I've learnt since that he can't ever kill without being sick – and left me among the precious fighters of the Light. No one laid a hand on me. No one said a word. All in awe of him. If he said I was off-limits, they would leave me alone.

And so I didn't hate him any more, though I didn't like feeling as though I should be grateful to him for not killing me. He could've done, and no one would've been any the wiser. No one would've cared. And though, once, I would have loved to paint this as foolish nobility, or arrogance, or wanting to have something to hold over me, this time I didn't. Because for the first time I realised that the war was real, that it was more than children from Slytherin and children from Gryffindor hating each other because they'd been told to. People were dying. It wasn't a schoolboy feud any more, though for all the sense behind it, it might as well have been.

Strange, but I don't remember resenting him for helping me. Anyone else, I would've but him – somehow I didn't mind. He wanted to help me. Always, he wanted to help me. Once, he asked me if I was happy, hidden away from the world in a house frequented by people who had once been my enemies. I laughed at him – not for the first time in my life, though it was the first time that the laugh had been genuine and heartfelt. I said my parents are dead, Potter. There's nothing left in the world outside but death for me, now. He flushed and said he was sorry, and I asked what he was sorry for.

He looked surprised, as if no one ever questioned him. Though if he was half as powerful as he'd seemed when I saw him kill, I didn't blame his people for being somewhat scared of him. His reply was simple: I forgot about your parents. I'm sorry about them. You're more of an orphan than I ever was, now; at least I never knew my parents. You can't miss what you never knew. And then I felt sorry for him, and I said so. That made him angry. He snapped at me. Why? What's so pitiful about me? D'you think I need your pity? I don't need anyone's pity. I don't need anyone.

It made me sad to realise that he was so alone. I know you can manage alone, I told him. I don't feel sorry for you because you think you can manage by yourself. I feel sorry for you because you think you have to. You don't have to be alone.

I'll never forget what he said next. I do, he said, eyes so full of pain that it hurt me to look into them. I can't let anyone close, because if I do, they'll die. There are many people you can talk to who don't believe I have a heart. But I do, and it broke when I heard him say that. To be completely alone is one thing, but he had condemned himself to that fate, steadfastly believing that everything he touched turned to ashes. He really did believe that everyone he loved got killed.

They weren't words I ever thought I'd say, but they left my tongue so easily. There are some things that are worth risking death for. He looked alarmed at that. There are people who would kill to be by your side, to know what you think, what you are. Well, I say I would risk death for the privilege. What say you? He just stared for so long that I thought he had fallen asleep with his eyes open. Potter, I said, impatiently. I've told you, you don't have to be alone. He lowered his eyes. You're selfish, I added, and he looked up, almost angry. I pressed on. Yes, you're selfish. The only reason you don't want people to get close to you is because it would hurt you too much if they died.

He spread his arms wide. What can I say? He asked, helplessly. I don't want another person to die because of me. He looked away from me. I don't want you to die because of me. Believe me, Malfoy – Draco – if you didn't matter, I'd let you stay. If I didn't care, I wouldn't send you away.

It was typical, twisted, Gryffindor logic, and I said so. My foolish lion, I said, mockingly. You cannot escape me that easily. I could not fix upon the hour when it first began, this almost attraction. I didn't realise it for what it was until that moment, when we were so close, and he had just told me that I mattered. Told me that he cared. I was in the middle of it before I'd even realised it had begun. And he looked pleadingly at me, begged me not to close the distance, not to touch his face, not to stare into those soft green eyes, not to kiss him. But he didn't move away and he made no verbal protest. And I ignored the imploring gaze, and did it anyway.

You can't send me away, I said. Unless you want to come with me. I was half-serious. I was fed up with a war that meant nothing to me, and I wanted to get out while I still had a life to lose. The only reason I hadn't left before was Harry, whether I'd admitted that to myself or not. I don't know where I want to go, as long as it's away from here. He smiled indulgently, and I found myself defending my words. I mean it, Harry. It'd be better for both of us away from this War.

He laughed. Who says there's an 'us'? He asked, and I just stared. If we cared about each other, why shouldn't there be an 'us' to think about? Then he shrugged and said I can't go anywhere. Evil succeeds because good people do nothing, remember that, Draco. I felt almost guilty. But then I thought of him, dead on the ground, and my resolve hardened. I would take him away. It became my mission.

But for then, I smiled and said there is such a thing as a man being too proud to fight. And he laughed as though that was witty, when it was nothing but the plain truth. I left the room, only pausing to say remember, you don't owe them anything. Why not let them save their own world? Why should it be your burden alone?

He didn't understand what I was trying to say. I was born to carry this burden, he told me. If you want, you can share it, but you can't take it from me, and you can't persuade me to set it down. He couldn't understand me. He'd been brainwashed, it seemed to me. He'd been schooled to think of himself as some sort of saviour. Someone had twisted his sense of guilt and made him feel as if it was his fault every time someone died, when anyone with any sense would blame the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters. He thought he had to end this war or die trying. And it was then that I resolved to make him see the truth, however long it took.

I let it lie for a while. Slytherins are good at biding their time. The next time I spoke of the matter, we had just gone to bed together for the first time. He was beautifully vulnerable, wound in one of my sheets, all but glowing. I felt almost content. I would have felt completely so had I not been plagued by thoughts of war. Come away with me, Harry, I said, softly. He frowned at me. I didn't care. Come away, and we can always be happy like this. You'll never have to worry that something will happen to me, and I won't be afraid that you'll die.

He seemed sadder, this time. Not so much determined as resigned. I can't, he said. Think of my friends. Think of all the people who'll die without me. Why should I be allowed to escape? He looked torn and guilty. Think of the people who've died. Think of my parents. Think of Cedric. Think of Sirius. How do you think I'll feel if I never avenge them?

I had never thought that his motivation might be vengeance. He'd always seemed too pure for that. Why should it be your duty? I asked, trying to make him see how stupid it all was. You're eighteen! There are so many people out there who are older than you, whose job it is to kill Dark wizards. How is it your responsibility? Your mother died for you, and you survived a deadly curse. That doesn't make you Merlin. That doesn't make you their scapegoat, either.

He sighed. Let's not talk about this now.

Not now, I agreed. But later we will. And later, you'll admit I'm right.

Whatever, Malfoy. He laughed and turned his back on me, and I looped my arms around him from behind, holding him. Because he was precious and yet valued himself so little, and I was afraid. I was no longer so convinced that he would survive long enough for me to persuade him to join me in life. I was afraid that he would die before I could take him with me, to some secret place where the Death Eaters would never find us. If he couldn't join me alive, then I would have to join him dead. Without him, my life would be worth nothing. Dark wizards wanted to kill me, and the only reason the Light left me unscathed was because of him. If I lost him, I lost everything. But that wasn't the reason I cared. I just cared.

I made a breakthrough a few weeks later, and that was when I knew I had him. It was simple as anything, but it required courage, something he'd never lacked, but that I sorely needed. But I knew that if he was with me I would not be afraid. He was always on his guard by then, always heading me off before I could ask again. His resistance was weakening. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought he didn't care, that he didn't want to talk about it because he hated to disappoint me, but that wasn't true. He hated to disappoint himself. He didn't want to say no.

Harry, I said, in my best, pleading voice. He was immediately on his guard, telling me to stop, not to say any more. I disobeyed. This is later. And it's time to admit that I'm right. Let's leave. Come away, and we can be together without the sideways looks, without your so-called friends muttering behind your backs. You can have people who love you, really love you. I had never told him that I loved him. Until that moment, I'd never believed that it was true.

He looked tired and sad. It sounds good, Draco, he admitted. But Voldemort will hunt me down anywhere I go, because of the Prophecy. He believes that I am the only one who can stop him, so he'll try and find me and kill me. Wherever I am, I am not out of his reach.

I smiled a knowing smile. There is a way, I said. You can escape this world forever, and leave Voldemort behind. You can have people who love you. You'll have me, of course – and here I paused to prepare my bombshell – and you'll have Sirius.

Sirius? He stared. It's not possible. Unless… the Veil? There's another world behind it? You die here, and are born somewhere else?

I smiled. That's what the literature says. I saw emotions warring on his face. He was scared. He was tired. He didn't want to fight any more, but he just didn't know how to give up, and wasn't sure if he really wanted to. Wasn't sure if he could. Didn't want to disrespect anyone, or ignore anyone's sacrifices. But I looked at him and realised that he wanted to be loved. And he wanted to be free. He just didn't believe it was possible. Believe, I said. You trust me, don't you?

Yes… But he looked wary. Then, suddenly, he burst out with: I can't do this, Draco! I can't! Don't make me! His eyes froze over into solid ice. I have my duty. I have my promises to fulfil. He fled the room in panic. I watched him go, terrified for him. I knew that he must soon crack, that he would soon surrender to my plan, but I was afraid that he would die before he got that chance. He was always in more danger when he went into battle with his emotions running so high.

My fears were almost realised when he half-dragged himself back to headquarters and collapsed. He was three-quarters dead and they only just saved him. I sat by his bedside, watching him as though he was the only thing in the world. To me, that was almost true. There was a mantra in my head; I chanted over and over please don't die. I prayed to every god I had ever heard of for his recovery, hoping that one of them at least would answer. He didn't die. He didn't wake. I waited. I barely ate. I began to waste away, and no one cared about me. The people began to mutter, wanting to find a new saviour, perhaps one who wasn't mortal and couldn't hurt like this.

Eventually, he woke. The first thing he saw was me, just as I'd wanted it. There were no other people in the room. Did I die? He looked around. No. Back to hell. He smiled at me, sadly. I'm sorry, Draco, he said. I must have frightened you. I shouldn't have run away.

I smiled. No, you shouldn't. I knew it was wrong to exploit his weakness, but I wanted my answer one way or the other. Wanted, really, only what was best for him. And for me, as well, but that was only coincidence. I had to ask the question, the one that had both enticed and terrified him before. The question that had sent him running the last time. The question that would settle both of our fates, for good. I twined my fingers around his. Let's go away from here, Harry. Really away. Come away with me.

And he looked first at our intertwined hands and then up at my eyes. What did he see there? Love? Sincerity? Heartfelt concern? I felt all of those things for him and more, far more than I could ever say. In his eyes I saw resignation. But underneath I saw hope. All right, he said, finally. You win, Draco Malfoy. You win.