Chapter Twelve

To The End

It was twelve o' two in the morning; a week later. Everyone had retreated into their rooms for the night, all except Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They remained in the common room, solemnly in the chairs around the roaring fireplace. The ambiance was heavy, akin to what one would expect at the news of a friend's death. In fact, it was very close. They were mourning for many friends that were to die later that morning.

Harry hinted to them to stay afterward, and they brought out their homework as props, but it all laid forgotten on the table. For the first time in her history, Hermione was not going to do her homework. There would be no need to turn it in. The prospect of writing to pretend normalcy was tempting, but the thought of facing the death of people she loved, including Draco, was all too daunting.

"So this is it," Ron commented flatly.

"Dumbledore told me the only Horcrux that is left is Nagini."

"You-Know-Who's snake."

"Yeah. We kill him then we kill Voldemort. That's our goal tomorrow. Unless you'd -"

"No," Hermione and Ron said in unison.

She moved off her chair to sit beside him on the couch, her hand on his, covering the scars, I shall not tell lies. "We're in this together."

"She's right, mate. We decided this years ago. We're together to the end, we will see this through."

Harry leaned his head back, the wand trapped between his fingers and palm. Like Mr. Malfoy, he aged. Tenderly she moved her thumb in circles over his knuckles, keeping the scars covered. It angered her to see them, a reminder of what the Ministry of Magic was capable of.

"Sleep, Harry. You're going to need your rest."

"Yeah, mate, you have an entire world to save today."

They all three laughed, but it was haunted. There was that shadow again, like the one that followed her and Draco. She didn't recognize it to be the same one that clung to her and her friends. It was more of a dark cloud, blackened with its load of rain, ready to storm and lash out.

Discreetly, she felt the jean pocket under her school robes. She felt the stiff crinkle of Draco's last letter. She had sent a reply, but it would be her last too. She would never hear a reply. He was awake himself, losing sleep over the war he would have to fight.

"Is Dumbledore sure he felt it," Ron inquired.

"No, but I am. I felt his anger, I saw him telling his followers."

"Was Malfoy there," Hermione asked before she could stop herself. She was lucky that hearing Malfoy's surname name around had been helpful in her calling him that too.

"I don't know. There was a lot of people."

Her stomach plummeted, but there was no need. She knew he was safe then. There was no accounting for tomorrow. With the crowd of Death Eaters, Voldemort wouldn't have picked up unnecessary details from Draco or his parents. He would be too busy organizing an attack plan or at least she hoped so.

Harry heaved himself up. "Lets go to bed. We have until eight."

"Dumbledore will be moving the young ones out, right?"

"At five. He wants them to have plenty of time to get to safety."

"This is really it," Ron muttered. "Look, if anything happens to me -"

"Don't talk like that."

"I need to say this. If anything happens to me, if we win, don't let mum bury me in that horrid Weasley sweater."

Harry smiled sitting back down beside Hermione. "Your mum can bury me in mine. I don't mind. In fact, that's what I want. I want to be buried with my parents in Gordrics Hallow."

"Hermione? Any requests?"

She teared up. "All that I ask is that..."

"Yes?"

"Give my ring to Terra Hills."

Harry and Ron glimpsed at each other curiously. "You've never mentioned a Terra Hills. Who is she?"

"An old muggle friend."

"Should we write any of this down?"

Hermione leaned on Harry's shoulder, fighting a yawn. "No, lets not. Lets believe that one of us will survive to keep these." Quietly, a tear escaped, rolling down to her chin. She refused to think that they would... She couldn't even finish that thought. No, Harry and Ron would make it, they would live to be old men, even if she wouldn't be old with them. They would be wrinkled, Ron still wearing that burnt orange Chuddly Canon shirt at the Quidditch games, beside Harry who cheered rightfully for the opposite team.

She reminisced the past, her days with her parents, her days with her friends, the adventurers she had that hardly anyone could say they had. She knew how lucky she was to have lived the life she did, to have the priceless family and friends that some never experienced in their lives. She knew what love was, and she had it. She completed much in her life, the concept that she wished to complete more was a minor detail. She couldn't ask for more.

She traced the snake on her ring. There was a reason she told Harry and Ron to give it to Terra Hills, Nott's girlfriend. He was bound to tell her about the magical world, and he would see it when the ring was given to her, he would know what it meant, and he would tell Draco, likely giving it to him. Draco would know what happened if he hadn't then. She truly wanted to be buried with it, as a sign of where her heart was, but she had to give him some kind of sign of what happened to her, and possibly it would be his own keepsake.

They never did go upstairs or fell asleep. The Golden Trio sat there on what could be their last day, watching the embers of the late fire pass on, shrouding them in absolute darkness. The snoring of the accompanying portraits were the only sounds that broke the silence until Dumbledore's voice echoed throughout the castle, in the appropriate grave-tone warning that there was a dire situation, and everyone to meet in the Great Hall.

Ron took Hermione's hand in his calloused one. "To the end."

"To the end," her and Harry agreed before they stood up to fight for their lives.