Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong solely to J. K. Rowling

Author: skepsis66

THE END OF ALL THINGS

Draco was panting hard as he vaulted over the bodies that lay in his path. He needed to reach Hogwarts, and then everything would be fine. He could see it just ahead – a little over a hundred metres away. His muscles were burning and he desperately needed a drink but he gritted his teeth and ran on. Such weakness would not do.

He cursed as a beam of murky green materialized from the cluster of enemies off to his left. A bone-breaking curse. He dropped and rolled, sending out a nullifying charm from his wand. Draco allowed himself a fleeting sense of satisfaction when he saw their eyes widen in fear when they caught a glimpse of his face. Cowards, the lot of them. Spineless cowards.

His battle-worn cloak billowed around him – gathering night's black shadows as he entered the Void. He opened his eyes behind the terrified defenders and launched a rune-activated stone into the midst of said group. He released the rune and hurled himself to the side, protected by a dead grey tree. An explosion rocked the ground, sending chips of rock and bloody body parts everywhere. He peered around to see yet another smoking crater marking the battlefield, then, smiling grimly, continued to run towards Hogwarts.

Draco could feel cold sweat break out as he ran. There were magics that prevented him from shadow-walking within a fifty metre radius of the stone, so his only option was to present himself as a moving target and hope for the best. There was a fighting line of defenders – the most elite of the Establishment, the collective of the ministry aurors, hitwizards and students alike. That would serve a problem, and the…

A blood-curdling scream alerted him to his comrades in distress. His head whipped around, eyes flashing. They were fighting desperately as a cluster of aurors broke through their ranks and slaughtered all in their paths. Swearing, he quickly formed a dark fire-spell, mouthing the words and drawing on his core. He hurled the spell into the enemy lines. He did not need to watch to know what had happened – they would be incinerated to ashes. He did not stop running.

This was their problem, Draco thought furiously – they didn't have enough Death Eaters. For every wizard they had, the Establishment had five. They had been slowly killed off one by one. It was hopeless! It didn't matter that the vast majority of them were pitiful weaklings – the sheer force of numbers would carry them through.

The only way this would work was if they seized control of Hogwarts. They needed the fortifications – its defences and the power that simmered within its walls that had been discovered soon after the Second Great War had begun. Whoever could harness its power would no doubt win the war.

It had all seemed so glorious, Draco mused darkly as he threw himself to the ground to avoid a hail of banished exploding bullets. Attacking the Establishment, preserving the old ways of the purebloods and regaining the power that was rightfully theirs had seemed like the right thing to do. But he was young and bitter and blinded by rage.

He had told himself time and time again that the reason he joined the War was because of his long-held belief in the cause they were fighting for. Because of his whole-hearted embrace of his heritage and ancestry and power. He told himself that he joined so that the shunned dark families would once again regain their place in wizarding society – that they have justice and harmony that had been lost in times past. But Draco knew that that was not the reason. He was lying to himself.

But he wanted to believe that if he lied to himself enough maybe he could accept this as the truth.

And after so many years, he had almost succeeded. He came so very close to deluding himself. But this was war – a gruesome war that revealed to him the deepest truths about himself, no matter how far they were buried. Draco chuckled bitterly as he dodged the spells that were raging brightly across the night-splashed battlefield and ruthlessly fired back his own. It was fight or die. Kill or be killed – and his inner Demon loved it.

The Demon, as he had christened it, had always been part of him after the Event, ever since she had died – watching and waiting. It would crow in joy as he tore and sundered his enemies. It would hiss and spit, lashing out at anyone who dared to challenge him. The part of him from before would recoil at its hate and Draco did his best to chain the violent creature within him. But with the war, the Caged had broken free.

He had felt horrified, yet wildly elated – despairing, yet triumphant. And it was all because of her…

Draco, distracted, did not have enough time to dodge as a writhing Incendio slammed into his shoulder, throwing him off his feet. He snarled in pain as he threw himself onto his injured shoulder to avoid a flesh-melting curse that immediately followed it. He swore, and willed his magic to re-knit his charred skin.

He glanced around warily to find a swirling grey mist grow to surround him. The cries of battle were fading away as he drew himself painfully to his feet. He scanned the mist and started in surprise when he felt a familiar signature weaved into it. Draco was curious – nobody he knew held that much power, except for Voldy and the Lestranges, who wouldn't attack him, and bleeding bloody Potter who would sooner kill him the first chance he got. And if any other of the enemies had, he was sure the initial attack would have continued. It was almost as if, as if…

He blanched in horror; the crimson blood on his face standing out starkly against his pale complexion. No. No, it couldn't be. He could feel his eyes widen in disbelief. It was impossible! But here was the evidence – the signature, the style of attack. But it…no. She was dead…She was dead! Dead! Gone!

Draco clenched his raw fists as he shook his head. He stumbled backwards against a stone monolith. He wouldn't fall for this, this…trick! It was a sham! Yes, yes… all of it. They were mocking him. They hated him. He knew it. I couldn't possibly be true, it couldn't be…it couldn't!

"You're lying!"

Draco' voice echoed emptily.

"You're lying…you're lying…lying…lying…"

"It's not true!"

"Not true…true…true…"

"Stop it!"

"Stop it. Stop…stop…"

He whirled around desperately. Incoherent. Terrified.

"Curse you!" He whispered as he choked on his tears – shuddering and shaking.

"Curse you… CURSE YOU!"

Draco collapsed to the ground as tremours wracked his thin body. He felt numb. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to turn out this way.

"Draco…"

He could hear her voice. So familiar and compelling…

No, he wouldn't listen. He shook his head. It was all in his mind, all in his mind…

"Draco…"

He could see her face again, in his mind's eye – her fierce golden face. Beautiful beyond all words – shining like the morning star, defying the Gods in battle. His – his… he wanted to viciously whisper. The first time they met, the many times after…

"Hermione…" he murmured, defeated. There was no denying it any longer.

"Draco."

He looked up at her through hollow eyes. His breath caught in his throat. Splattered with streaks of blood, both others and her own, hair wildly threaded with starlight and sweat, war shining in her slanted cinnamon eyes and caked in mud and moonlight she was lovely beyond all comprehension. Time had not diminished her. He could not help but recall the last time he had seen her – in the velvet-lined casket, perfect and chalky white – the day he left the light forever.

Dead? No, not dead. That much could be seen. Draco would have laughed at himself if he did not feel so anguished. Betrayed.

How could he have believed that she – the golden girl of the Golden Trio – would have been killed by such a poison. True, it was deadly if left undiscovered and untreated till the terminal symptoms appeared. True, for such a fast-moving poison, such an event could very well have occurred. But he had forgotten that she was the girl – she was the IT girl. He had forgotten how powerful she, herself was. Precautions would have been taken, the best medi-wizards available summoned to care for her. Whatever they could have done would have been done to save the girl.

But it had all been planned. She was safe against assassination attempts, safe in the shadows created by her 'death', ever ready to take up the mantle of responsibility in the event of her companions' deaths. He was a fool. A talented, wealthy and powerful fool, but a fool nevertheless.

"Draco, I…"

"Why?" he whispered, never looking up.

"What? Draco, don't…"

"Why – why did you do it?"

"I…"

"We were meant to be, Hermione. Didn't you feel it? Don't you remember?" He stood up, words choking in his throat.

"No. No, stop. It wasn't…"

He looked at her with blazing eyes. "I won't stop. – And don't you dare tell me to stop! Don't you see? Are you blind woman! Or do you just want to hide from the truth? Were you too scared to accept it? I loved you, dammit! Every minute – of every hour of every single fucking day!"

She shook her head. "I didn't…"

His eyes flashed. "Of course you didn't mean for it to happen!" Draco laughed bitterly, "but it did! It did happen. You knew it, I knew it. For fuck's sake, everyone knew it! Don't tell me I'm delusional or crazy or mad! Because I don't care!"

He seized her by her shoulders. "Because if I am, then you are too. You are too…"

He looked at her with fevered eyes, "It was you. It was always you. You were driving me insane – every look. And you loved it."

Draco lifted her chin. "You loved it."

Hermione shuddered, then looked up at him in sadness, answering his question silently.

Draco could see the tears on her long sweeping lashes, each perfect blemish on her perfect face. He could smell her – she was so damned close, she was everywhere. Pervading his being, making him senseless with hunger. He had almost wanted her to deny it, so he could go on living as he had. It was a meaningless existence, more dead than alive – he knew it. But it was his.

"Damn you!" Draco hissed hysterically, shaking her, "I have tried so hard, so hard to forget you. Ever since I left this place I have tried to forget you – everything about you. Your eyes, your nose, your lips, your cute little freckles – everything. All the memories, every single one, I tried to bury. But you just. Wouldn't. Go. Away! No matter how I tried! And now you're here standing in front of me just like you did all those years ago. Are you trying to kill me? Are you! Because if you are, it's working."

Hermione wept into his arms and he couldn't take it anymore. He crashed his lips onto hers bruisingly hard. He could feel years of pent-up emotions welling up inside of him as he kissed her with all his might. It was for revenge, initially, but standing here in their smoky shroud, he could not think of anything else he had ever wanted to do. Anything he had ever wanted more. It was if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life... And in a way, he had.

He could taste her salty tears as she kissed him back with a burning intensity. They poured everything into that kiss; the anger, the fear, the desperation – the passion, the hunger, the love. It was a battle – a savage maelstrom of raw emotions.

The magic around them reacted violently to the two, sparking into streams of brilliant emerald green and burnished silver fire that danced wildly around them. It crackled loudly with restrained energy, the display lighting up the whole broken battlefield and the skies above.

Suddenly realizing what she was doing, Hermione ripped her lips away from Draco and pushed him away, hard. She backed away on shaking legs. Draco looked surprised and then hurt before his expression was shuttered and she saw nothing at all except for his fiery silver eyes that seemed to sear a path all the way to her soul.

"I can't…I can't do this. I won't!"

Ugly anger flashed fleetingly across his face as he mercilessly replied. "Why not? Why do you deny this? Why do you deny us? Is it Potter – the 'Chosen One', the Establishment – look at me! Your petty little friends who say they love you one day and stab you in the back the next! Do they mean more to you than us?"

Draco yelled at her before swiftly crossing the distance between them and pinned her against the monolith.

"It's for you, isn't it?" He laughed crazily, "Your dreams of knowledge and power…Your ambition. Tell me if it isn't! How could you do this? How could you! – to me, to us!"

Hermione had her eyes squeezed painfully shut as she openly sobbed. "I had to, I had to... I- I had no choice…"

"That's bullshit! You did have a choice and you abandoned me for your pretty jewels and music and parties! You wanted it, didn't you? Didn't you! Did we really mean so little? Was it all meaningless! Did you really think that such life would make you happy? Did you really think that…"

"Stop! Stop it! I made a mistake, okay! A mistake! I had- I had no choice…I HAD NO CHOICE!" She shouted despairingly, eyes wild.

Draco pressed her even harder into the monolith, his body on her shaking one. "Do you regret it? You should. I really loved you, you know. I hated that I loved you so much. I hated the fact that I couldn't stop looking at you, thinking about you, dreaming about you. I hated and hated and hated, and loved and loved and loved!"

Hermione struggled weakly against his iron grip, causing him only to tighten his hold on her wrists. She winced in pain as he lowered his head to kiss her once more – a violent and violating kiss.

She wrenched her mouth away from his and gasped "You're hurting me, Draco…"

She was cut off again as he pressed his mouth hungrily against hers – unrelenting.

"No! No, mmf… no Draco… Draco, stop it!"

She hurled him away from her and she stumbled to the side as her legs trembled. She saw him coming for her again. Hermione looked up, trying to meet his eyes, and drew in a sharp breath as she realized that he would not stop. That he could not stop. His beautiful silver eyes were tinged with black and brutal desperation. His Demon was coming for her.

She put up her hand defensively and once again backed away towards the giant stone monolith.

"I'll…I'll kill you. Stop there. Stop right there. I'm warning you Draco!"

Even to her ears, her threat sounded weak. Draco laughed madly.

"You wouldn't. You love me. You love me so much that it hurts – doesn't it? It hurts like a thousand knives. It feels like your heart being ripped out of your body and being stolen away. Mine for the rest of your life – for all time. Mine for eternity."

"NO! No, I- I mean it. I'll do it. I will. Stop… Stop!"

Draco – his eyes vicious and smouldering, leaned into her and kissed her neck.

" 'Mione, 'mione, 'mione," he murmured, as he shoved her against the cold stone, "Don't deny it. You want this – you know you do."

Hermione felt weak. It was all a nightmare. A horrible dark dream that never seemed to end. Where would it end? Their tragic story? When did it ever begin? She didn't know – it had just… happened, just like that. She knew she was running out of time. Time to escape, time to live… time to love. She remembered something she had heard her mother say aeons ago, sitting on her bed in their holiday home in France, gently stroking her hair:

Aimer, c'est la moitié de croire – To love is half-way to believing.

But her mother was gone, and so was her father. No more soft words or laughter or steaming hot cocoa by the fireplace to weather the winter. Both dead, with their empty Avada Kedavra eyes buried six-feet under. Unspoken words of love and hate drowning as their lives ebbed away with a soft thud of an arrested heartbeat. Twice uttered and twice died. Two tragic words. Two flashes of eerie green. Then, falling off the edge of oblivion.

And now, to love was half-way to falling… to dying.

So this was it. Hermione felt a wave of anguish crash into her. It was too late for anything to come of this… whatever it was. She hardened her resolve and shoved Draco away – as far away as possible. It had to end here. Today – right now.

She gathered her power and began to chant shakily – heart beating erratically in her chest. Draco faltered, and looked at her in confusion. She did not stop, and soon, she began to glow and a ball of molten silver fire began to form in her hands, wand forgotten.

Draco' eyes widened in recognition. Then terror. Bale-fire!

"No…" he breathed, "No – stop! Hermione! –"

She gasped out a final ominous word and flung the ball towards him before she lost her courage.

She stood transfixed as the bale-fire hit him with a resounding boom and vanished into his body. Draco collapsed onto the ground as he felt the fiery power course through him, racing through his blood-stream. The world seemed to lurch in front of his eyes – a nauseating swirl of black moonlight and silvery darkness. He cried out in pain – he had never before felt such agony. He could feel the fire shredding its way through his body, destroying everything in its path, leaving only biting numbness in its wake.

His throat felt torn and raw from his screams, but all he felt was the cold. It was a final chilling cold – and with it came the knowledge that he was dying. But even after everything, he felt relieved – he couldn't have stopped himself if he had tried. It was the end of their story – the crumbling last stones of the narrow winter's path, bittersweet in a way. It was finally all over.

Draco strained to see through the fog clouding his eyes. He could see her leaning over him – her beautiful tear-streaked face and shadowed eyes etched with despair. She was whispering a name – his name? His name… what was his name?

"Hermione…"

He had never known what to expect when he died. Perhaps he expected to see his life flashing before his eyes, a brilliant white light or an all-consuming darkness.

But he had been wrong. Because in the end, all he could see was her.

A/N: Sigh... I love this story, writing it, reading it. I'm such a hopeless romantic, probably like all you other souls out there reading this. Well, if you liked it, please review. I would be awfully grateful.

A/N 2: Many thanks to mentarisenja, who reminded me about that lovely quote of the magnificent Victor Hugo that I forgot to cite:

Aimer, c'est la moitié de croire – To love is half-way to believing.