Light Up the Sky

disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, and Yellowcard owns the lyrics to Light Up The Sky. see if you can find the lyrics imbedded in this story. enjoy!

Hermione ran into the Forbidden Forest, throwing herself behind a large clump of bushes and trees. She was panting, tears streaming down her face, sweat dripping off her brow. She wiped her face and brushed her mass of brown hair out of her eyes. She barely had time to recuperate, but in war there was no time for anything.

She leaped out of the bushes, ready to run, when someone suddenly disarmed her. A person in black robes and a mask. A Death eater. Hermione stood her ground, heart pounding wildly.

"You're making a choice to live like this," he told her, and the man pulled off his mask. His white-blonde hair was visible in the darkness, and Hermione scowled.

"Malfoy," she hissed.

"Good to see you've still got your intuition."

"What do you want?"

"To end the war, blatantly," he drawled, then paused. "We already know how it ends tonight."

"We do. But is your ending the same as mine?"

He smirked. "I highly doubt it."

Hermione continued to hold her defensive stance. She knew she was at his mercy, and she hated it.

"You know, I was hoping to find you tonight," he began softly, but the sound of distant footsteps interrupted him. He looked back as the footsteps slowly approached them, then turned back to her. "Look, I don't have much time. Actually, we have no time. I'm going to give you back your wand, okay? Just listen first."

Hermione had started to open her mouth, but she quickly closed it, having no choice but to trust her enemy.

He took a step closer to her. "When I give it back to you, run that way." He pointed to his left. "It's a detour that leads back to the opening."

"Why should I trust you?" she asked, her trepidation growing with her nerves.

He smirked a little. "I knew you'd ask that. I'm prepared." He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a letter. "Tap it three times with your wand and the words will appear. Read it and be safe."

He handed it to her with her wand, then pointed. "Go."

"Why?"

"You'll read it and find out."

"But—"

"You want to get caught by my own people?"

Touched, her eyes began watering. She had to remind herself that this wasn't the time. "Thank you," she said, and he nodded, watching as she ran off.

The battle only lasted for another hour before the Order retreated. It was only a matter of time before the dark side would ambush another area again.

Hermione had almost forgotten about the letter Draco had given her until she had cleaned up and had given care to those who'd needed it. When she started undressing in her own private room a couple hours past midnight, the sealed parchment fell out of her pocket. She was quick to check it for spells or curses, but when it came through clean, she hid it in her bureau and showered and dressed in her pyjamas quickly before climbing into bed and retrieving the letter. Opening it, she tapped it thrice as he'd said, her curious brown eyes scanning the ink-stained parchment.

'Granger,' it read, 'I knew you'd want an explanation if I even meet you tonight, so I've prepared one beforehand, just in case I do meet you during this battle. Don't be shocked about what I'm about to write here, though it may be inevitable. I've decided I can't continue living like this, and its better that you know. Well, here it goes. You have rendered me pretty much incapable of speech. I was rude to you and your friends in the past, but now, in all of the noise I am silence. I can't talk bad about you, nor can I confide in others. With this war going on, I can't trust anyone. My thoughts have been of many things; the war, my duty, and, as stupid as it sounds, my feelings. And not just any feelings, but my feelings towards you. I would explode just to save your life.'

Hermione paused, clutching the parchment in two shaking hands. "Oh my gosh," she whispered before reading on.

'Though it seems like I've had these thoughts since forever, it's been a long journey to realise it. It doesn't do well with each of us being on opposite sides, and I can imagine you hardly believe me. I know we could never work; I mean honestly, could you ever fall for a cad like me? One who doesn't even have the nerve to look you in the eye? And especially during a war, one of which we're on different sides? But let me tell you why I would die for you. The answer is simple; you're you. I'm not about to list all your good qualities to inflate your ego, but you understand. You're the one with those qualities, for goodness sakes. And, God forbid, I admire you.

'I'll leave you with that. I hope to see you again, only in different circumstances. And I don't mean in death. But just know, I would light up the sky for you.'

It wasn't signed; it didn't need to be. She was crying. She had never even imagined someone like him could even possess any feelings let alone romantic ones. But how could she believe him? He was so…so, well, him. He was an arrogant prat who was on the wrong side. The dark side. She had to talk to him. She could convince him to change. If he really liked her that much, admired her that much.

Her door opened, and she crumpled the parchment up into a ball and threw it into the bin. "Hermione?" her best friend called, peeking in.

"Hi Ron," she greeted him, trying to smile.

"You been crying?" He entered and approached her in alarm.

She laughed a little, wiping her face. "Yes, I'm all right. Just…just thinking about things."

"Sad things, from the looks of it. Buck up, 'mione. The war's going to be over soon, I feel it."

"I hope to God you're right, Ron. I really do."

He smiled and kissed her forehead before leaving her. "Just wanted to say goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He smiled and closed the door. When the heavy wooden door shut, she buried herself into her sheets and wept.

She didn't see Draco for four long months.

During that time, she was preparing for battle. She helped plan the defenses, helped with strategies, became capable of easily brewing healing potions, and learned a lot more about survival than she ever would have in Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

The fifth month was the month that the dark side attacked again. May 3. It was in Hogsmeade. The Death eaters were swarming, taking things and trapping people left and right. Hermione had tried to stay in the middle of it all like she always wanted to be. She watched over everyone, taking care of herself and others and helping the civilians escape.

All of a sudden, just as she raised her wand to curse a Death eater's backside, she was snatched into the Three Broomsticks, her scream muffled by a gloved hand. When the person's arms loosened, she turned around and aimed a curse at them, one that they barely dodged.

"Hermione, hold on," the person gasped, pulling off its mask. It was Malfoy, and she almost cried with relief.

"Why did you pull me in here?" she snapped instead, ready to run. He grabbed her hand, holding her back.

"You were about to get yourself killed!" he replied angrily.

"Well that's the bloody point of war, not to get yourself killed. But I can't stay here and be a coward! Now let me go!"

Draco winced, but he didn't let her go. "I can't let you do that."

"Malfoy! Stop being so…insensitive! I can't let my friends die out there! Like you can die for me, I'm going to die for my friends if need be!"

It was dead quiet, and as she realised what she had said, she blushed.

"So you read it, then," he said quietly, and she swallowed.

"Of course I did." She tried to play it off, but her brain was whirring with curiosity. "Did you mean it?"

"Yes," he said, dropping her hand. His grey gaze fell to the floor.

"Malfoy—"

"Do you know how bloody difficult it is to be an occlumens if I have no walls left to put up?" he asked angrily, his eyes not quite reaching hers. "They're all coming down since I found you. Every time I lay down, come to my room from some Death eater meeting or a raid, I just want to be where you are tonight and every night. It's driving me mad, and it's a bloody good thing I slink into the shadows, or I'd be in big trouble with the Dark Lord by now."

"Malfoy, please," Hermione said softly, approaching him. He looked up, his face troubled, his grey eyes stone. "I…I'm sorry you have to feel that way. Especially about me."

He laughed bitterly. "Oh, at least it's you! At least I don't have feelings for any little bint who looks good in a dress and can run around looking adorable. At least it's you."

He wanted her help, she knew it. It was an inadvertent desperate plea for help. Her compassion and pity for him broke through. "Malfoy, come with me, to the Order, to my side."

Draco gave her a funny look. "It's too late for me, Granger. We're two years into this war."

"It's never too late to be good."

"It's always been too late for me."

"Malfoy, please. Come to the Order with me. Please. Why did you join the Death eaters anyway? Because of your father?"

Draco smirked, looking bitter again. "I have to be on the dark side. Always. My father expects it, my family expects it, everyone expects it of me. Especially because I'm a Pure-blood. And I run in the dark looking for some light. But at least in the dark I can hide who I am. In the light, I'll be shamed and everyone will hate me. I'll be rejected again and again."

"But how will we know if we just don't try?" she pleaded.

He clenched his jaw, still not looking at her. "We won't ever know."

"Draco," she begged, now touching his arm. "I know you're not evil. You're not bad like some of those Death eaters. You're not bad at all. There's some good in everybody, and I think there's more good in you than even you know. Just because you took a wrong path in life doesn't mean you can't change. Please, come with me."

Draco suddenly grabbed his mask and put it on and levitated her over the bar, dropping her over the side. Shocked into silence, Hermione hid, afraid of his sudden movements. Just as she bent to hide a little more, she heard him blast tables and chairs into pieces, making chaos just as the doors of the inn were slammed open.

"Malfoy!" a heavy voice hissed.

"Goyle."

"C'mon mate. We need your help out here."

"I'll be there in a minute. Let me deal with this blasted coward first."

"Who you got there?" Goyle asked, tilting his head curiously.

Draco pushed him towards the door. "No one of importance to you," he snapped. His voice was cold. "Get out and leave us. I'll be out in a minute."

The doors slammed again, and Hermione stayed hidden awhile longer until a masked face peeked over the top of the bar. The mask never failed to make her heart palpitate.

"Hermione," he breathed. "The coast's clear."

She tentatively got up and looked around, wand still out. There was a mess everywhere. The wooden tables and chairs were thrown around and, in the corner, a pile of broken wood pieces were piled up. It did look as though someone was under all the wood.

"Draco, please. Please come to the Order," was the first thing out of her mouth.

"Have you ever wanted to fly, Granger? You know, without a broom?" he asked, turning away to look at the door.

"What? Now's not the time for—"

"I did. Riding a broom is the next best thing. But you know what I learned?" He turned to her, his frightening mask of death still on. "No matter how high you go, you'll always come back down, because you're grounded, and you can't suddenly become a bird. I can't change who I am, I can't change my roots. I'll always be Draco Malfoy the Death eater, like you'll always be Hermione Granger, the good and free Muggle-born bird."

"Draco," she pleaded.

"Why do you want me to go the good side anyway?" he snapped, walking away. "You don't care about me. I teased you to tears in school. We're enemies!" He kicked a chair, and Hermione sniffed.

"Draco. Let me help you fly. You know very well that Death eaters are killed by their own master. When he's angry and disappointed in you all, he'll kill off the ones in the shadows, and you'll be doomed 'cause you won't have time to cover your eyes or get your disguise. And the Death eaters, they won't ask you why, they'll just watch you die!"

Draco stiffened, and Hermione went to him, turning him around. She was neurotic. She had to be. But she knew, she knew deep down, that he was good. Inherently good.

"And it's still so hard to be who you are, so you play this part and the show goes on." She touched his shoulder, and he looked down at her. "But you've come this far with a broken heart. You've come this far—"

He ripped off his mask and leaned down to kiss her. After a moment, he dropped the mask to pull her close, and Hermione squeezed his shoulders, allowing him to do so. It was uncomfortable, listening to screams and curses being shot just outside as he kissed her.

Hermione finally pulled away, panting, watching as he cupped her face and leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes shut tight. "Hermione," he breathed, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

"Draco, please," she said for the hundredth time.

"Hermione." It was whispered.

"Yes, Draco," she said, her voice breaking.

"Let me light up the sky."

"What?"

"Let me make this mine."

"Come to the Order," she whispered, and he pulled away, eyes wet.

"You know I can't."

"Malfoy, you can! You aren't like the others."

"I'm more like the others than you think." He let go of her, opting for her hands instead. "But I'll do one thing. Let me light up the sky. Light it up for you."

She understood. "Last chance."

He smiled softly and caressed her cheek. "There never was a chance for me."

He leaned his forehead against hers again, briefly closing his eyes and inhaling before pulling back again and donning his mask.

"Take your people out of battle, and all the civilians. Tell them to retreat. I'll give you fifteen minutes. And when you're on the hill, look back." He smiled. "I'll light up the sky for you."

"Draco," she almost sobbed. She was so grateful. So, so grateful, but sick to her stomach at the same time. She left.

And he was true to his word.

It took around twelve minutes to round everybody up, and many Apparated back to the Burrow. Hermione Apparated to the hill just outside of Hogsmeade, waiting, tears running down her face. And she watched.

Just as the darkness began, so did his spell. And Hogsmeade imploded. The light was the biggest and brightest she had ever seen, and the last she probably would ever see. It lit up the sky so well that it could be seen for miles around.

"Draco," she sobbed. But she turned on the spot, going back home.

He turned out to be the biggest asset to the Order because he had no guilt in mass killing. Especially in killing those who deserved to die. When they searched the area later on, they discovered the paralyzed bodies of Gregory Goyle, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, their parents, and Lucius Malfoy, safe and a mile outside of Hogsmeade.

Then it was the Order's turn to be on the offensive. They attacked and captured the Malfoy Manor a week after the implosion. Voledmort, the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, whatever he was called, was killed at the hand of Harry Potter, the hero in his own tragic story that turned out to be happy in the end.

Once the war was over, Hermione Granger disappeared for a little while. No one knew where she went. There were search parties going on all over the place, but all that she had left was a little note that read, 'You won't find me, so don't try looking. –Hermione'.

Six months later, she returned, and she wouldn't tell a soul where she had been. It took her another six months to tell her best friends, Harry, Ron, and Ginny, where she had run off to. They were the only ones who knew where she had gone during that six month period. And they too wouldn't tell a soul.

Draco was free, left to wander on his own, unable to stay in one area for a long time. He'd stayed in hiding, still in England, for awhile. Six months after the war ended, he'd moved out of the country, changed his surname, and lived life on his own, making new acquaintances here and there. Most of his old mates were in Azkaban, and it wasn't feasible for him to even think of visiting them. They'd be nothing but empty carcasses now, unless they had somehow escaped death as punishment.

As he watched the fireworks in the sky one night by himself, watching as people celebrated the first year anniversary of Voldemort's death, he was reminded of a time before, a year ago, when he still had his pride and wore his mask. A smirk he hadn't worn in a long time came to his face, though faint, and he turned and left for his solitary, humble abode.

Though he was nearly an outcast and a nobody to everyone, he had fulfilled his purpose. She was alive, and he had proven himself, at least in her eyes.

He'd lit the sky for her.