Chilled Legacy

Chilled Legacy XVIII

Draco looked up at Harry, then at the sword in his hand.

***

Someone—Harry suspected Seamus—had handed him a sword during the silence.

McGonagall had run to push Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy back from the commotion. They had arrived moments before when Blaise had their son at sword point.
Other than Harry, everyone else had backed away after the explosion, but the Malfoy's pushed forward and the teachers were forced to push them back before anything else set Draco off.

One teacher, Professor Sprout, bolted to fetch Madam Pomfrey. Harry knew trusted Aurors (friends of Moody) would arrive soon, if not wardens of Askaban or expert healers from St. Mungo's to take Draco to solitary confinement.
Maybe both would arrive and then figure out what to do with him.

Other than McGonagall and the teachers she shouted orders to, no one really scattered. McGonagall trusted Harry wouldn't swing. It was either that, or deep down she wanted him to.

The sword in his hand weighed a ton, at least that's what it felt like.
Whatever happened now wouldn't be considered murder to the public, not coming from the Boy Who Lived. They had more than enough eyewitness evidence to tie Draco Malfoy to being the ruler. The boy was a weapon of mass destruction. If he swung like most expected, Harry would break the curse and save the land. They would think him a hero, not a murderer.
But it felt like murder.

"Do it," Draco said, his voice sounding like gravel. He held Luna in his arms, not even noticing the change in attire. His clothes hadn't just frosted over, they were frost. The fabric was made out of what looked like powdered crystals turned to silk, sparkling blue in this sunless atmosphere. Some were threaded together to form subtle snowflake patterns on the barely translucent cape.

Gently, Draco placed Luna's body back on the ground. With a single glance around the frozen land, he bowed his head, waiting for the sword.

The swing never came.

"I won't" Harry said softly. Then, taking in the crowd, "I won't kill him!"

"I said do it dammit!" Draco cried.

Luna's hair was so light it was hard to tell which streaks were turning white anymore. Her lips were already blue.

Harry understood what would happen. If Draco lived, Luna would die. Still, Draco's willingness took him by surprise. He couldn't see himself swinging the sword down on his neck. The only thing he could see was the smiling blond walking down the hall with him, Ron, and Hermione as they chatted away about the latest quidditch article. Something had felt so right and natural about the way he blended with them.
He felt and touched too many things in that moment, but in the end they were all just one. They were all Draco. From the first time he'd extended his hand to offer him a toxic friendship, to the last time he'd reached out for a genuine one. Insults, mocking laughter, genuine compliments, and genuine laughter.

"Maybe you won't." Draco said, shakily standing. "But I know who will."

The crowd backed away further, but Harry didn't.

"What?" Harry asked. He was sure no one here had the guts to raise the sword.

Neville picked up Luna and wrapped her in his coat, carrying her bridal style away from Draco. He eyed the blond, but he didn't look angry or scared like the rest, just confused and worried. Draco didn't dare look at him.

Draco's eyes searched the ground for the bag. With a flick of his hand, it was once again in his grip.

"What are you doing?" Neville asked