Seven

.

.

.

He drifted in and out of consciousness.

"—the bloody hell was that?"

"I don't know! He just—"

Hands were rough on his tortured body. Harry whimpered.

"He's alive, oh thank god, he's alive."

He felt the coolness of a healing spell being cast on him. Harry jerked out of the witch's arms, tossing his limbs around like a madman, amplifying the pain but he didn't care. Not when—not when—his ears were crying in agony from the sharp screeches that he would later realise came from him—not when

"—loud, shut him—"

"—threatened by something—"

The—the—he tried to convey to them, but no matter what he did, only strangled screams emerged from his throat.

"Fuck! Granger, the rat! You don't think?"

"An Animagus, of course!"

Cursing, groans, banging, stomping, magic…

"Petrificus totalus!"

… …

His arm's being pulled. No, he's being dragged.

"—knew you'd be a fucking deadweight, Potter."

"—breaking through—stall—hurry—"

A sudden jolt. His arms fall uselessly onto the ground. Harry felt as if his eyelids were taped shut. His ears strained to listen but—no, his body was convulsing in—oh, the pain pain pain—

"GRANGER!"

Harry felt his body shutting down.

"LET GO OF HER, FUCKER!"

… …

He opened his eyes—finally—and saw the world on fire. Harry laid stomach down with his arms spread eagle, like someone had been dragging him and abruptly left him and disappeared. Then he remembered—Malfoy's shaky drawl, Hermione's panicked warnings…Malfoy's scream

Something happened.

Harry clawed at the ground and scrambled to his feet, wincing and falling back down several times from the excruciating pain shooting through his entire body; he just wanted to curl up and sleep—sleep it all out, until he can no longer feel anything.

When he finally managed to hurl himself upright, Harry squinted at the flames and changed his previous thought.

Something's happening.

He took a step. Another step. One more.

Instinctively reaching for his back pocket where his wand normally rested, Harry found himself groping his butt and swore; he hadn't had his wand in weeks, was it nearing two months? Unarmed, Harry felt increasingly vulnerable with every step he took. All of his senses were yelling at him to turn around and get the hell out of here but Harry ignored them, remembering, remembering—he shut his eyes, letting a wave of nausea pass, before continuing his slow pace towards the flames and he can hear—

"Crucio!"

The familiar din of battle.

Dark curses, protective charms; they were all being cried out and Harry felt sick to the stomach.

He took another step.

And then he saw.

Hermione's hair seemed to have doubled in size since he last saw her. She stood in the middle of a group of Death Eaters, outnumbered and pushed back, but she held firm and continued to defend herself, prolonging the inevitable. Not far from her was Malfoy, with his shining beacon of what he called hair, in the same position as she was, but with the length of his Muggle weapon which he held in his right hand and his wand, casting spell after spell, in his left, he succeeded in keeping a wider distance between himself and his enemies.

Further back—oh, further back—Harry saw Him. Standing cockily with his pet snake curled around his ankles, Voldemort watched the duel with a maniacal grin on his ugly-as-fuck face.

With a sudden burst of energy Harry didn't know he possessed, he flung himself right into the battle with a cry…

…only to be roughly shoved back.

Harry fell on his bottom, scraping his palms in the process, and immediately shot a glare at his attacker; a glare that fell within a split second when he learnt the identity of the wizard before him, shielding him.

"Harry!" Harry whipped his head around and saw Ron. He can hardly believe his eyes because Ron—Ron's here; he haven't seen his best friend in ages and he's here! "I'm so glad you're alright, mate." Ron was grabbing his hands and Harry can hardly stand because he was in so much shock and just gaping and— "Harry, come on, let's get out of here!"

And then he noticed.

The Order. Tonks, Moody, Kingsley…everyone.

They're here.

They're here.

He stood, gripping onto his best friend's hands, in the middle of a fucking battlefield, with said best friend in hysteria trying to get him to move, why the bloody hell aren't you moving, Harry!

He can't. Can't. He doesn't know what to think. After so long—so long—waiting and waiting and waiting for the Order to find him, to save him, they're finally here. And, and, and—Harry lets go of Ron and stumbled away, to where he last saw Hermione and Dra—Malfoy fighting for their lives.

They're together now; Draco cradling an injured Hermione close to his chest, eyes cold as ice darting back and forth until they lock onto Harry's—stormy grey against bright green, for Merlin knows how long and Harry's breath hitched at the sheer amount of emotions he made out and Draco's wand swung down in an arc and they're gone.

Gone; just like that.

They'd come bursting into his life, or rather, pulling him into theirs, as quick as lightning; so fast Harry couldn't do anything but follow and as quickly as they came, they were gone.

Harry felt clammy hands grabbing onto him again and he turned and it was Ron and he didn't know why he expected to see Hermione's brown eyes light up in delight upon learning something new or even Draco's degrading sneer even though he knows they're gone—he'd seen them disappear…

He didn't get a chance to dwell upon it, as Harry felt a familiar tugging sensation in his belly and he was portkeyed away.

.~.

"Muggleborns, you say?"

"Yes. No. I mean—" Harry stumbled on his words. "…I don't know."

"You don't know?" Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow. With a sigh, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry rummaged through one of his desk drawers and pulled out a jar. "Lemon drops?"

"I—what?" Harry asked, dumbfounded. Dumbledore merely shook the jar in his hand. "Uh, no thanks, sir."

"Now, young Potter, what did you say their names were again?"

"Hermione Granger, and Dra—wait, I never told you their names." Harry stared at Dumbledore's twinkling eyes; eyes that Harry once thought was omniscient, like a God—Harry shook the Muggle thought away. He took a breath. "Hermione Granger, and Draco Malfoy; although they didn't seem to believe that were their true names."

"Draco Malfoy, you say," Dumbledore mused, drawing out the boy's name as if trying to savour the taste of it on his lips. "I did notice a young man who bore a striking resemblance to one escaped Death Eater at that battle, but alas, I was not in a position to have a closer look. Perhaps I should have one from another angle. Harry, may I?"

"What? Oh, um, yes, sir." Harry squeezed his eyes shut, pulling out the memory, focusing on it; not that it was quite that hard, still fresh in his brain, and somehow…the young hero didn't want to forget it, didn't want it to sink down deep into the depths of his mind, sinking, so far down until it disappeared like all other memories after years past. He waited, reliving it, until Dumbledore's voice penetrated through his concentration, signalling its completion.

"If you'll just excuse me for a moment."

Harry nodded, and observed as the old wizard stepped to his pensive and vanished into the memories. He looked down, tapping his fingers on his lap to pass the time, letting a tune flow through his head, and before he knew it, he was humming along.

"Well, that's a Malfoy if I haven't seen one before."

Harry started. "You think so?"

"I know so." Dumbledore was grim as he sank down in his chair.

"But…how? The Malfoys never had a child."

Dumbledore shook his head, much to Harry's surprise. "No, Harry. It is not common knowledge, but the once, around the same time your own parents were blessed with you, the Malfoys had a child. They named him Draco." Harry's eyes bulged out. "Draco Malfoy."

Harry couldn't speak. Pitiful noises making their way up his throat.

"He was a stillborn."

"What?"

Dumbledore stood, and paced around his desk. He stood facing a glass cabinet filled with numerous trophies and medals with his hands behind his back. "It appears, Harry, that what we know are not always what it is." Suddenly, the old wizard spun, clapping his palms together with a grin. "It's getting late, Harry. You ought not to be out in the corridors after curfew. Chop chop, off you go to bed."

"Yes…sir…?"


A/N: This brings the end to this story. There WILL be a sequel. No doubt to that. I know not of the title, neither do I know when it'll be published, but it will come.

I'm sorry if I've disappointed readers with the somewhat lack of DMHG. The sequel would have more. I promise. Like a lot more than this pathetic excuse of slight DMHG. As well as tie loose ends. There are many questions and many answers, indeed.

Maybe just a small spoiler: The sequel will be in Draco's POV. So yes, we'll learn much more of his and Hermione's background / relationship through that.