SOLITARY CANDLE

October 1998

Groaning, he turned his head and stared into the sky. His neck hurt, his legs hurt. His left arm was smashed under a piece of wall that had been blown off by friend or enemy - it didn't matter. He couldn't feel anything and assumed it was a bag sign. His right arm was fine but the fingers were numb. The pain was everywhere, it consumed him, made him see funny dots in the grey, grey sky. At least he thought it was grey, as it was the logical explanation - it seemed green to Draco in that very moment. He groaned again, hoping to relieve his pain. Nothing changed.

He was young and strong, and a formidable wizard, but he was not lucky this time. It was Weasley - not Ronald, George - who had performed the spell on his legs which had left him paralysed. It was nothing permanent, something to keep him out of battle, something to hold back. He had robbed towards a wall he had considered as safe but then the upper part had been hexed off, right on him. Lucky bastard that he was, he had performed a protection charm but his body was so damaged, it still hit his arm. Badly. Draco groaned a third time and looked around.

There were bodies everywhere, some moving, some not. The fog that had been rising with the arriving day made the whole scene appear picturesque, calm. It was none of it. Shouts and screams, pleas and sobs could be heard everywhere. The dead were moaned, the living healed. Some of them could not be helped as St. Mungo's had been destroyed two months prior, leaving only scattered groups of nurses and healers that sometimes had the courage to help in battle and sometimes less so. Bellatrix had ordered to capture the most gifted healers and put them under the Imperius every few hours to ensure no one attempted an escape. They needed them as badly as the Order.

Draco had never been left behind wounded, and wondered if someone would come and get him before they did, as he stared from the movement of the former battlefield to his destroyed left arm. Never did he shout for help, he was instructed not to.

"Never let them capture you. Die if you must. Die for purity."

These were Bellatrix's words everytime they prepared for battle. He knew she would kill him herself without remorse would he dare to scream now, to raise attention, to risk their hideout. Hot tears formed in his eyes but he tried his best to not lose them by staring back into the sky.

The sounds around him faded, he heard the sounds of people disapparating.

This was it then.

He, and a few others that were still here, wounded, assumed dead maybe, maybe left for good, some mourning, remained.

This was it.

He closed his eyes and stopped bothering about the tears.

.

.

.

"She's here."

Draco kept his eyes firmly shut as he heard the whisper, once, then again, then humming above him. The tranquil, sad post-battle atmosphere had switched and now carried tension. He expected 'her' to be Bellatrix, to finish all the sorry lives that could no longer fight for her cause, and some of their weaker enemies with them. It was her ritual; return to the quarters in the old Parkinson estate, gather, heal, have a few shots of Odgens, count the remaining Death Eaters, return to finish business herself. No one ever accompanied her, but she always returned unharmed, seeming more manic each time, oddly be being calmer and calmer.

Since Potter's and the Dark Lord's death five months ago, the battles betwen Order and Death Eaters had become more frequent, more violent. At least once every few weeks, they lulled each other out of the hiding spots, trying to end things for good. Bellatrix herself had been assumed dead on the very day her beloved master left the world, but she had lived, as did Molly Weasley, who now, wisely, stood out of any battle. Bellatrix had named her her personal nemesis, being fully aware that the fiery matriarch was not her equal, but a fierce mother of many - a power Bellatrix had never known. She feared her for all the right reasons, and so did the Weasley woman.

Draco waited for Bellatrix to find him, to mock him one last time like she always did, before ending things. His mother might be the only reason he was still breathing in this very moment, considering how quickly Bellatrix had ended his father's life after she heard of his lousy action in the Battle of Hogwarts. The thought still scared and scarred him. The image of Lucius's body, with Narcissa screaming his name next to him, would follow him to his own grave. The thought of dying, however, did not scare him any longer. Draco had been on the edge just as many times as everyone else, he had hoped for it maybe more than others. His only wish had always been that it would be swift, not Bellatrix's cruel mockery and torture.

It was time, however.

He really wasn't in any position to change matters now.

He opened his eyes and immersed once more into the sounds arround him, prepared for more screaming.

It never came and Draco grew suspicious.

He turned his gaze from the still green sky and searched the battlefield with all concentration he could muster, considering that his left arm was nothing but splinters and flesh. He wondered if he'd live to feel the pain kicking in and hoped he wouldn't.

Adjusting his sight to the surroundings, he was surprised to see no crazy witch running around killing people, but a smal group of hooded figures, slowly pacing the field, regularly bowing down to bodies, alive or dead, checking on them, communicating softly, their leader remaining vigilant. Had their demeanour not been so calm, he would have assumed them to be Death Eaters but everything was off. Finally, he realised that their robes were not black, but dark blue, and their faces not masked, but veiled.

One of them slowly came closer and Draco was tempted to make himself seen, only his caution held him back. It could always be Bellatrix luring the remaining witches and wizards into something terrifying. Before he fully realised that Bellatrix would never abandon her proud Death Eater behaviour, however, the figure had reached him.

He realised it was the young Weasley woman before he heard her gasp and recognised her voice.

"Quick! This looks bad!"

The person he had assumed to be the leader ran over without fuss.

"What is- oh Merlin."

There was no doubt the second she opened her mouth.

It was Granger.

There was no doubt the second she saw him.

Draco Malfoy was on the brink of death.

He must have rested against the wall that remained destroyed behind him, part of it had collapsed on his arm. His legs wore the trademark shaking of a leg-binding spell performed by one of the Weasley-twins, his head was bleeding.

"Get your mother", she ordered Ginny, who ran away quickly, while Hermione pulled her wand, obviously scaring Draco.

"I won't hurt you. Stay calm, the pain surely will hit you in a second."

She knew he couldn't feel his smashed arm, the pain would have caused him to pass out long ago. He nodded quickly. Hermione took this as a sign to lift the bricks off his body, making sure not to look at him before she carefully placed them a few meters further away. Breathing carefully, she looked on the damage done on Draco's young body.

It was worse than she expected.

His bones were crushed, splinters sticking out everywhere. She could see strings of muscle, pieces of flesh, some bruised skin, luckily also a lot of fabric from his shield robes.

"Don't", she quickly hissed, seeing him turning his face. He stopped in a curious angle and stared at her instead.

"Granger", he rasped. "It fucking hurts. End it now."

Hermione ignored him and fell on her knees instead, hectically examining his arm, hoping for Molly to arrive.

"This looks bad. Do you want me to stun you while we heal it?"

Draco stared at Granger's face, partly to make sure not to look at his arm, partly because he was even more in shock as he thought he could be.

There he was, waiting for death by aunt, when Hermione Granger showed up in front of him, confirming the rumours, bringing even more women than he had heard.

Ever since she disappeared after Potter's death, people had murmured that she kept appearing on battlegrounds just before Bellatrix arrived, healing people, helping them run, often leaving barely anyone for his aunt to kill. And he had heard that others - exclusively women - had joined her silent rebellion against, well, not the Death Eaters, but the fighting in general, sometimes leaving Bellatrix behind with no one to torment in her post-battle-relaxation-killing. He had thought it was bullshit, a myth, raising hope in the members of the Order and some Death Eater, to ensure they would fight despite the rising death tolls.

He was wrong.

"Malfoy! Let me stun you!"

"No", he hissed, not wanting to lose all his senses and wits surrounded by witches that most certainly mourned at least one death he had caused.

She looked at him in bewilderment. "You can't be serious. I'm surprised you haven't passed out from the pain alone, it won't get better."

"Leave my wits to me, Granger", Draco pressed, still being numbed by the pain instead of feeling it completely.

She looked exasperated. "You're a-"

Footsteps made her turn mid-sentence. She saw the once full, now sunken figure of Molly Weasley run towards her and quickly made room close to Draco's damaged arm.

Weasley dropped to her knees as well, gasping at his sight. She didn't hesitate for one second and opened the bag she carried around, reveiling three little bottles and her wand instantly. Draco would have crawled away from his enemy in any other physical state but he felt the pain overwhelming him, the two women slowly became unfocused as he passed out, the last thing on his mind being Granger.

Hermione watched anxiously as Molly applied one cream after the next potion on Malfoy's arm and made him drink some of the skele-gro. She had released his legs from the spell the instance he had passed out, but wanted to wait with his head injury until Molly was done.

"Hermione. This will never heal until that woman comes here", Molly whispered, as if being anxious either Bellatrix or Malfoy could here them. She was scared of saying her name.

"I know", Hermione murmured slowly, being fully aware of the danger Draco was in. Normally, they'd leave the ones still being unconscious behind in a randomly picked forest or clearing, to make sure they could awake in their own time, surrounded by wards. This, however, would need more treatment.

Hermione watched as his bones slowly but steadily fell back into place due to the skele-gro. Molly's want hovered over it at all times, making the process not only more effective but also safer. His bone structure had been downright smashed, making in difficult for the potion to grasp all the different pieces.

"What do you think, Molly, how long will it take?"

The older woman looked at Draco's arm. "Dear, it could be anything between ten minutes and some hours. I'm assuming the shape of the bones will be in order soon, but they still have to mend internally, you know?"

Hermione nodded slowly. Bellatrix could be back every second. A quick glance behind her showed that the rest of the women had finished their work, placing the memory charms on the healed victims of the battles, either instructing them to leave on their own or bringing them to their regeneration spots before returning and gathering some meters away from Hermione, Molly, and Malfoy. Ginny approached them.

"Mum, Hermione. It's getting close. Charlotte has placed the wards but there's not much time left, especially considering that the woman will miss him." She slowly nodded towards Draco. "Everyone else is fine. We were lucky."

Hermione nodded. This was good news - they rarely saved all the survivors.

She didn't talk for some more moments, but her mind had been made up the second Molly mentioned the time span it could take for Draco to heal.

"I will take care of him somewhere else. You go back to the hiding, and stay vigilant. The attacks are getting more frequent and I'm still waiting for Bellatrix to have them look for us. I should be back by tomorrow."

Ginny openly gawked at her. Molly seemed less shocked, but wary.

"Hermione, dear, I would understand if this was for one of ours, but-"

The younger woman shot her a glance. "Molly. The prerequisite for this is saving everyone. I started all this to end the suffering and you were the first one to join in for the exact same reasons. I'm not making any amendments."

"But it's Malfoy!"

Hermione's face turned to Ginny. "I'm aware. I'm aware that he is supposed to be one of the leaders but I'm also aware that he might be the same, freakishly scared boy he was only a year ago. We don't know. And frankly, I don't care."

This shut Ginny. It was true, they had agreed to save anyone, no exceptions, but Bellatrix. However, it was also clear that this would be over as soon as Kingsley and the others killed Bellatrix, so there were no exceptions.

Molly handed Hermione all the bottles she had used on Draco and a quick glance showed the bushy-haired woman that she knew all of them and their usage. It was not a second too early. Charlotte's warning spell went off and the other six women disapparated without a word, leaving behind Ginny, Hermione, and Malfoy.

"Do you think he can apparate?"

Hermione was relieved to hear genuine concern in her friend's voice.

"He has to. Leave now, see you tomorrow. Pay attention to the radio."

The three remaining living people left the field just as Bellatrix and her manic laughter appeared.

The laughter died and turned into raging screams as soon as the woman realised she had once again been robbed all the fun.

Hermione returned to Spinner's End with Malfoy in her arms. It had been her favourite hiding spot ever since Professor Snape had died, leaving the place abandoned and strangely, but truly forgotten by the Death Eaters.

The cold, unwelcoming cellar (for it was not really a dungeon although she was sure a young Snape would have loved it) was her own hideout, nobody knew she was here, not even Ginny.

She carefully left Malfoy on the floor, still unconscious, still hideously wounded by the battle, turning the shelves in the corner into a bed. Even more carefully, she lifted him on the matress, placing the blanket around him and his dirty, ragged robes, making sure the wounded arm was visible so she could treat to it regularly.

"What happened to you, Malfoy?", she muttered exasperated, "What happened to all of us?"

He did not reply, just as she had expected. His eyes were still shut, his body tense from the pain. Quickly, she drew her wand and silently cast the spell Molly had used to quicken and improve the bone growth. The sooner she was able to heal the rest of his arm the better.

Draco awoke to the pressure on his lower belly.

It took him a few seconds to realise that he was alive, rather well, not in pain, not under a curse, and in a cellar. He tried to sit upright only to notice that his body was no longer in ruins, but also still rather battered. He could barely move. A quick glance beyond his shoulders revealed a sleeping Hermione Granger, half seated on the dusty floor, half resting on the bed she had obviosuly transformed as it was cleaner and newer than everything else he could recognise in the barely lit room. Her right arm had left the provisory pillow she had created with the other arm and the masses of her hair, and had fallen on him.

Despite better judgement, Draco tried to move his left arm. Nothing happened.

He cursed.

The sound stirred Granger, and she quickly withdrew her arm, even before she fully awoke seconds later. Draco, still unable to move, stared at her from the awkward, lying angle he was bound to.

"Oh good, you're conscious", Granger whispered. "Let me check your arm."

She hesitated not a second and carefully pulled his arms towards her, examining it.

"I did what I could. Hopefully it will be of use again soon."

"What do you mean?"

Both of them were surprised by how civilly he addressed her.

"Well … the bones are healed and so are the muscles, flesh and skin. But - did you see it?"

He slowly shook his head.

"Uhm … well, to be honest, the most skilled healers would have trouble healing this without complications. And we were on a battlefield."

He just nooded. She looked like she expected him to blame her but he knew exactly in what sort of state he had been before she arrived. He'd be dead by now if it wasn't for Granger and her group of veiled women.

"Well …" She eyed him warily before checking her watch. "It's early afternoon. I'm afraid I'll have to place a memory charm on you to make sure you don't remember meeting me. I'll leave the memories of the battle but also make sure to change your memory so that bloody wall barely hit your wrist and you were able to heal the broken hand yourself and retreat where I'll drop you off just afterwards. Deal?"

He nodded slowly and-

"Okay." She drew her wand.

"Granger, wait!"

The wand stopped mid-way into the movement of the memory charm.

"Promise me to take care. What you're doing is dangerous, Bellatrix will go through the wards you set up sooner or later and-"

He stopped when he saw her smile sadly.

"Malfoy. You're one to talk - you keep sneaking out of your home to attend Order meetings. You're infiltrating the most dangerous witch alive and yet you're…"

She dropped what she was about to say when she looked back up at his face. He knew he looked vulnerable and he couldn't care less. He'd forget it any second now and she was allowed to see his fears. This was war. No one knew if they'd meet again.

The next moment he found himself on a quiet clearing and wondered how he'd ended up there, mindlessly turning his healed wrist.

*** to be continued? ***

This is me, writing all night to have the horrible events of the past day out of my mind while listening to David Bowie's Blackstar. This has been uploaded unbetaed, not even re-read by me, it is just my way of coping with loss. The story has been in my mind for a while though. It is a one shot for now but might turn into something bigger as soon as my other story, The Muggle Incident, is finished. Depends. Let me know if you'd like this to grow.

This story is written in memory of my cat, who will leave too early tomorrow evening, while I'm in another country, feeling trapped and lost. I'll miss you, my best friend, thank you for more than 12 beautiful years. It also goes out to David Bowie, whom I mourn more than I should considering we've never met. Thank you for the perfect album in the right time, and for everything else, and, coincidentally, for inspiring me to my first ever fanfiction so many years ago.