~*~ Nine ~*~

The library at Spinner's End was exactly as she remembered it. The sofa still ugly as ever, the books overflowing the tables. It had been next to that coffee table that she'd begun to truly believe that they could win, with the gems of Slytherin's Locket sparkling in the moonlight. Now they were gathered together, taking that final step into the abyss of victory.

Harry perched on the edge of the sofa, his black hair unruly as ever, green eyes flashing. Ron stood further back, away from the parchments spread across the table, maintaining his distance, wary blue eyes tracking Draco's every move. Hermione couldn't fault him. He'd seen less of Draco than Harry, had only Hermione's word and Moody's acceptance to stack his faith upon.

"We need someone to go after Nagini," Draco continued, pacing the opposite side of the room. Harry's eyes sparked, but the blond shook his head. "Not you, Potter. You're the only one who can sense the Horcruxes. If we're going to find the final one that has to be your task."

Harry sighed, a hand tangling in unruly black. "Fine. But it can't be you or Hermione either. It's not like we can have a Death Eater kill his snake and, no offense Hermione, but I don't really see you as a snake slayer."

She rolled her eyes at him, but chose not to comment. She had no desire to be tied down with snake assassination, but for entirely different reasons. "What about Ron?"

"Me?" Ron stared at her, mouth agape.

"Why not you?" she countered. "You found the Sword of Gryffindor; it should be your kill."

His cheeks turned a shade akin to his hair. "But I can't…"

"Do anything useful?" Draco snapped, annoyance coating every word.

Ron looked properly affronted by the question. His blue eyes slid to Harry, but his friend only shrugged. "I don't see why you couldn't, mate."

"Kill the bloody snake?" Ron's voice had taken on a particularly whiny tone, one that did him no favors with the room's current occupants.

"We're going to bloody war tomorrow, Ronald," Hermione groused. "What were you planning on doing? Hiding in a cupboard until it was all over?"

"Of course not!"

"Then why can't you just kill the bloody snake?" It was Harry that spoke now, green eyes charged. "You've always wanted to be a bloody hero and now's your chance."

Ron stared at each of them in turn, finding no quarter. "Fine."

Draco looked ready to incinerate the lot of them. "Thank you, Weaselby."

Neither Hermione nor Harry bothered to correct him. Harry sighed, shifting through the parchment on the table for the hundredth time. "This is all Snape has on the Horcruxes?"

"To my knowledge," Draco replied, sinking into a chair. "All I know is that he's sure the final Horcrux is at Hogwarts, perhaps hidden somewhere besides the room of hidden things."

Harry's expression darkened at the mention of the Room of Requirement. "But we already found the diadem at Hogwarts."

"True," Hermione interjected, "but we don't know if Voldemort himself actually hid it there, or if it ended up there sometime after he created it. There might be another one."

"So what? I just wander the halls waiting for my scar to burst into searing pain?" It sounded ridiculous when Harry said it, but it truly was the best they'd been able to concoct.

Draco shifted, indistinct emotion momentarily warping his refined features. "That's the plan. I don't think it's a grand one, Potter, but it'll have to do."

"Are we really staking the entire war on this Horcrux being at Hogwarts?" There was a dark humor lingering beneath Harry's words, the incredulity they all felt mixed with the absurdity of their solution

"If you have a bucket list of things to do before you die, I'd suggested diving in now. We still have at least twenty hours left before we meet our end." Draco's somber stare belied the wry humor of his words.

All of them shifted uncomfortably. Harry drew the snitch out of his pocket, the gold glinting in the firelight. "I suppose I'll never figure out what he meant by this. It opens at the end? What does that even mean? End of what? The war?"

Draco's silver stare was riveted on the snitch. "You know they have sense memory right, Potter?"

Harry blinked at him. "What?"

"Snitches. They remember touch."

Hermione couldn't see where Draco could possibly be going with his comments, but Harry seemed to understand as he sat back on the couch, brilliant green eyes keener than before.

"As much as I'd love to have a sleepover with you losers, I have some murder and torture to get back to." The statement was spoken with flat affect and Hermione couldn't discern if he was serious or not, but she knew better than to ask. While Draco's appearance had grown healthier in the past few months, the weight of his position still left shadows beneath his eyes and pain gnawing behind silver, visible only in moments when the veneer melted away.

Harry stood, pulling Ron along. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Draco nodded back, silver holding green until Harry and Ron disappeared beyond the library door. Hermione moved until she was standing beside Draco's chair. "What did—"

He was on his feet in an instant, warm lips chasing away the words. Hermione collapsed against him, her hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders. Her mind was a swarm of anticipation, elation and fear tangled together in impenetrable knots. The night before had been an escape, a chance to acknowledge what lay between them. Tonight gave no such accommodation. No matter how he made her senses soar, the anchor of reality dragged her back.

Her hands fisted in his shirt as she backed away, moving just until his lips no longer caressed her own. The heat of him burned into her, a siren call in the desolate night. But the coil of dread in her stomach would not be ignored.

"It's going to be alright." His voice was soft, begging her to agree.

"Can you truly promise that?"

Silver eyes fractured, answer enough. He tore a hand through his hair, tie falling to the floor. She buried her hands in those platinum locks as she pulled him to her, desperation fueling every touch. His breath was thick against her neck, the stutter of his pulse against his throat vibrating her skin. There were no guarantees. Hermione knew better than to trust the confidence that surged, fueled by the simmering coals of her anger. She knew they could arise victorious, but there were an infinite number of snags that could tear it all apart.

How had she let him go, all those other times, knowing the fate to which he walked? She could not drown in him, but neither could she let him walk away into the dark night, let him return to a house of madmen and torture. Their work was finally nearing completion, but they were still so far from their destination, left on a precarious ledge with only the chasm of loss stretching out before them.

She shivered and he pulled her closer, guiding her to the sofa. She sat, memories of another time suffusing her. He'd been a stranger then, a stranger she loved with all the fibers of her being, but a stranger still. And she'd been a child; a girl wanting only to save him, too innocent to understand that none would be spared.

What were they now? A treasonous Death Eater and a woman with too many burdens to bear? The raw burn of her anger was the only string holding her together, not even the realization of his love enough. He'd told Hermione she wouldn't like what he became on the other side, but perhaps he'd been mistaken. It was she who had changed, morphing from an anxious girl to a furious woman, rage her closest companion. She scared herself more often than not, her addiction to the destruction of Riddle's soul spiraling disquiet through her in the silent breaths between all things.

Draco tightened his grip and she let her head drop to rest against his shoulder. They sat together, a torch against the night until dawn unfurled along the horizon and there was no more time for contemplation, only action.