Hmm.
Seems to me that if I owned them, it would not be called fanfiction.
Correct me if I'm wrong.
Draco looked around him, shuddering at the scene of utter chaos before him. Students - people he'd almost lived with for several years - were at the mercy of the Death Eaters, and the Death Eaters - the force he'd yearned to join for several years - cut them down like timber.
Every moment this battle raged he felt guilt. It was his fault that Dumbledore wasn't here to defend his damn school. If he could go back to that tower, he'd take the curse for the old man. At least he wouldn't have to see this destruction, this wave of death override his school. Familiar faces wove in and out of his sight, and he bid each one a silent farewell, certain that they would die. So many faces.
Granger.
He saw her dodge a jinx sent from his own aunt Bellatrix and felt his heart constrict. Her mane of hair, tamed somewhat from the mass of angry curls it had been the last time he'd seen her, whipped through the air. It fell against the green jumper she wore, making him think involuntarily of Christmas, the brown trunk of a tree against the bright green of wrapping paper.
Shaking his head at the absurdity of his thoughts, he glanced to his left. That foul werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, had just gorged himself on the body of a Hufflepuff he recognized. Blood dripped down into the matted beard and the look in the man's eyes was frightening. He swallowed and looked away.
Granger had disappeared from his line of sight. He hesitated, glancing at his aunt again, torn between following her and remaining in the Great Hall. At least he would be safe if he was with Bella, she was under orders to protect him. He knew full well that it was only because the Dark Lord would punish him later, and what fun was punishing a victim who was already in pain?
He skirted the edges of the hall and slid up the marble staircase. As much as he relished being safe, he'd prefer being safe due to his own prowess, rather than his aunt's formidable reputation.
He just caught sight of her ahead of him on the first floor. She'd ducked into a girl's bathroom, presumably to be out of sight, and he made his way toward it. Bodies and debris littered his path, Order members mingling with Death Eaters and pieces of marble. He stepped over a dismembered arm, recoiling when a nudge revealed a black tattoo across the forearm.
He reached the door to the bathroom and hesitated. What was he doing? What would he say? Would she curse him?
He wouldn't put it past her; she was a member of the Order, Dumbledore's Army, the Golden Trio, and Potter's pet Mudblood. She was hunted.
Ah well, he though. If I'm going to die by someone else's hand, I'd rather it be hers than the Dark Lords. At least she's capable of mercy.
He pushed the door open and saw her leaning on the sink, head lowered. With a shock, he remembered that this was almost the exact scene Potter had walked in on the previous year.
"Granger?"
Her head whipped around and her wand hand rose. He quickly put his hands up in surrender, eyeing her closely. She was covered in blood, and he could see drops falling from a cut above her hairline. She was pale, and there were bags under her dull eyes.
"What?" she said wearily. "Gonna turn in the Mudblood and get all the glory for yourself?"
"Not what I had planned," he murmured back. He approached a few feet, his hands still raised. Her wand lowered marginally and she looked back at him suspiciously.
"Then what do you want?" she said shortly. "I don't have much to offer, Malfoy."
Draco just looked at her. The last time he'd actually seen her was at Malfoy Manor, and she'd been tortured by a member of his family. He'd seen how her eyes had gone nearly black with pain, seen her creamy skin marred with cuts and welts, and knew just how her voice sounded when her vocal cords were shot.
She looked little different now. Her face was thinner, gaunter, and her eyes looked haunted. She looked more like a Slytherin than a Gryffindor. The sounds of the battle ranged just behind the wooden door.
"Look, Granger," he said, making a decision on the spur of the moment. "I have some information you might find interesting."
He looked at her expectantly. Her expression never changed.
"I don't know what you and Potter have been up to since last summer. I doubt I ever will."
Again, no change of expression.
"I know you need basilisk venom."
Her eyes narrowed. Her wand raised again, pointing directly at his heart.
"Talk." she said abruptly. "How do you know we need basilisk venom?"
"A discussion between Bella and the Dark Lord." He said calmly, looking into her eyes. "I don't know what for, but they were saying you had no chance of destroying something if you didn't have basilisk venom."
She nodded, eyes still narrowed.
"Do you still need it?"
"Yes."
"I know where you can get it."
"Where?"
"Remember our second year? If I remember correctly, you were petrified. Only three creatures are capable of petrification, and one of them is a -"
"A basilisk," she said slowly.
"And it also occurs to me that Perfect Potter killed something in a certain Chamber," he continued, examining his fingernails.
"Oh my god," she breathed. "I can't believe I didn't think if it."
He smiled at her. Always the smart one. She looked up at him, eyes brightened and determined.
"Malfoy. Thank you." she said firmly, striding toward the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."
"Granger." She halted, looking over her shoulder. "If anyone survives this war, it'd be you. Just kill the bastard, end this goddamned war."
She smirked. "That's the plan, Malfoy, that's the plan."
And he watched her leave the bathroom, strong and purposeful, and he sank to his knees in the bathroom.
And he hoped with every fiber of his being that she won, that the Light triumphed, that good reigned over evil. Because if anyone found out that he'd told her about the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, he could kiss his life goodbye.
Good luck, Granger.