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, smut, major character death, torture, war
It Ends Tonight
Part Eleven
"... When darkness turns to light
it ends tonight …"
May 1998
Draco dodged to the left, quickly tucking into the edge of the Forbidden Forest and began making his way forward as quietly as he could. His eyes were locked straight ahead, where Fenrir Greyback had pinned one of his classmates against the rough bark of a tree.
He was hurting her, that much was clear from the sobs falling from her lips and the blood trailing down her arms where the man's nails had dug into her skin. Draco wished she would slow her cries, knowing full well that the werewolf fed off fear. If he didn't hurry up and get to her, he'd feed off her blood and flesh, too.
It wouldn't be the first time he witnessed the act. Voldemort had a sick habit of giving women to Fenrir like they were dog bones. Countless Muggles, some barely of age, had lost their lives to the merciless creature.
He had a taste for blood, literally.
Draco came to a halt when their eyes locked, Lavender's large as saucers. They were pleading, screaming for him despite her mouth not moving, and he prayed she wouldn't call out, wouldn't blow his cover.
"HEY!"
The shout came from his right, just outside the tree line. Three figures moved into sight, and Draco was torn between running, fighting and saving the girl he never actually liked.
"Oi! You!"
Make a move.
"It's Malfoy," one gruffed.
Shit.
"The Dark Lord wants him dead! Grab him!"
Run!
Draco shot a quick series of stunners in their general direction before sprinting forward. She was screaming again, tears spilling from her eyes, and the last thing Draco would see of Hermione's roommate was the smooth flesh of her throat tearing away in one large, jagged chunk.
He stumbled, dry heaving as Greyback turned over his shoulder to grin at Draco, blood dripping from his chin like liquid rubies.
"Tastes good, boy. I'm off to try a bit of dirty blood next," he taunted. "I've got a good nose for that one, you know. My Lord should have left her for me at the Manor!" He whiffed the air dramatically, practically salivating at the thought.
"Or maybe that delicious Lovegood, eh?" The werewolf didn't wait for a response to his teasing, moving back to the limp, now lifeless form in his arms.
Spells were bouncing off the trees behind him, and Draco dodged once more to the right, rolling out of the forest of horrible things he could never unsee and into the torn up battle field.
Not for the first time that terrible night, Draco thought grimly, there was a very great chance they weren't going to see the light of tomorrow.
None of them.