Disclaimer: All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I make no profit from this story.
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Triggers: language, eventual smut, major character death, torture, war
It Ends Tonight
Part Seven
"... When darkness turns to light
it ends tonight …"
May 1998
Draco stared at the paling face of Ron Weasley, life draining from his body as spurts of blood poured from the gaping gash in his throat.
He dropped to his knees, ripping a strip of fabric from his shirt and pressing it against the man's wound. It saturated completely almost instantly, and he pressed his hands into the blood in an attempt to stop the flow, gagging as it slipped over his fingers, warm as bath water.
Ron was wheezing, gurgling, choking and there was nothing Draco could do to stop his impending demise. He fumbled with his wand, grasping it as best as he could in his soaked palm and cast every healing charm he could remember; the blood refused to slow.
Six years he'd spent in school with the wizard. Draco had been a bully, they'd fought, and he'd tried to make the boy miserable, hurt for being lesser than the Malfoys.
Six years of school yard taunts, and in return, Ronald Weasley - his saint - sacrificed his own life for Draco.
The powerful slicing hex had nearly reached him when he whipped around, wand out, but he hadn't been quick enough. He watched with eyes wide as Ron leapt out of nowhere, shoving the Slytherin out of the way and taking the curse straight on.
Ron nearly landed on top of him, but he rolled away and shot the killing curse at the mangy figure that had tried to attack him.
He watched the body hit the ground before standing on shaky limbs to check out the damage on the fallen Gryffindor.
His face twisted in pain at the sight of blood - always so much blood - and wondered what the bloody fool was thinking.
His eyes clouded over, tears blurring his vision as he held the boy's face in his hands.
"Herm—" he choked, eyes fluttering as he strained to speak. The word was barely audible - the slice in his throat keeping him from speaking - but Draco knew what he was trying to convey.
Hermione.
Of course. Because Ronald Weasley adored the witch - his witch - and he knew that the only reason he'd give his life was for her sake.
It was up to Draco to protect her, and Merlin was he failing now. He couldn't even locate her, and he had no idea what situation she currently found herself in.
"I understand," Draco whispered, the salt of his tears dissolving on his tongue.
The man's eyes seemed to twitch before rolling toward the back of his head. His shallow breathing ceased completely, and Draco knew the vision would haunt him.
He cried unashamedly as he pocketed Ron's wand and wiped the blood of yet another fallen wizard onto the grass.
Three.