"We've got to find Ron and Hermione," Harry said, getting unsteadily to his feet.
"We've got to find the Horcrux," Draco corrected, helping him up.
Harry shook his head. "We know where it is, it's just a matter of getting it. I need to know where Ron and Hermione are, and I don't want to be searching for them carrying an evil tiara. At least it's safe."
Draco bit his lip. He had to admit, Harry did have a point.
"Okay," he agreed. "Let's go to the Great Hall—maybe Weasley really had to piss or something. They could have gone there."
Harry looked unconvinced, but nodded anyway.
They weren't there.
Both Harry and Draco scanned the Great Hall, the only ones not listening to Professor McGonagall, but both Ron and Hermione were noticeably absent from the Gryffindor table. The rest of the Weasleys, except for Ginny, were there, listening gravely to McGonagall give information and instructions.
Draco's eyes slid over to the Slytherin table. No one had yet noticed his and Harry's presence, and he found himself wondering which of them hated him.
He doubted Crabbe and Goyle's schoolboy loyalty would hold up in his defense, especially considering his fairly dramatic personality change—and the thought made him feel curiously lonely.
The people he had once felt so welcomed and safe around now made him nervous—scared, even, as he thought back on the violence each of them were capable of.
Still, he thought, looking over some familiar and unfamiliar faces. Slytherin house is capable of such greatness.
Such greatness, really, and Draco knew with an absolute certainty that there were some worthy Slytherins who could put that greatness to the test in the fight against Voldemort.
Emboldened by this thought, he nudged Harry.
"I'm going to round up some Slytherins. Some of them will want to fight, and I doubt they'll be given a fair chance otherwise." Draco said, and Harry looked at him in surprise, but nodded.
"I'll go over to the Gryffindors. See if I can get any more information."
Draco nodded as well and watched him leave, watched heads turn and whispers start as he moved through the people, watched him pay none of it any mind.
He turned again to the Slytherins. Harry's appearance had made some of them look around for anyone else and he realized, with a thrill of uncertainty and fear, that he had caught some of their attention.
He took a deep breath and marched over, ignoring just as Harry had done the whispers and shocked glances his way.
It was so surreal to look out at the students and see his former friends again in such a different context, so jarring to see their once smiling faces looking back at him with expressions ranging from hatred to confusion, and it hit him harder than he would have thought.
The fact that he had defected did not change the fact that he had grown up with these people, had lived with them, had loved them, had stayed with them during summers and had traded secrets, cards and candies on the trains and in their common rooms.
Crabbe and Goyle were looking at him furiously, their eyes clouded with violence and mouths set in matching frowns of abhorrence. Pansy Parkinson was looking at him fearfully, betrayal emanating off of her as she sat staring shamelessly, trembling in her seat.
Blaise Zabini was another kick to the gut, as Draco's eyes met the brown eyes of the boy he once thought he would always love irrevocably. Blaise was staring back unblinkingly, his appraising expression disturbingly familiar. He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.
By way of answer, Draco's gaze flickered from him to Harry, who was standing on the opposite end of the Great Hall, watching Draco anxiously.
Draco nodded once and returned his eyes back to Blaise, who gave no sign that he had understood other than a shift his features, the barest hint of a sad smile on his lips.
Draco pointedly focused instead on McGonagall, who had fallen silent.
"I am so sorry," she was saying. "For you are, most of you, still children. Children I consider myself responsible for. The fact that you must go through all of this…" she choked off, shaking her head briskly and dabbing discreetly at her eyes. "I will never not be sorry."
This was the most emotion that Draco had ever seen expressed by the professor, and the sadness and sincerity in her voice startled him.
"When I give the word," she recovered, drawing herself back up to her full height, "Prefects will organize their Houses as quickly and orderly as possible and head to the evacuation point. It is essential that all are accounted for—you do not want to be responsible for a child left behind."
The words were severe, and the somber atmosphere was changed as Ernie Macmillon stood up and shouted, "And what if we want to stay and fight?"
Some applauded these words, most of them from the Gryffindor table.
Draco looked at his fellow Slytherins, but only a few seemed ready and willing. Pansy was looking at her lap, petrified, and Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles threateningly, still glaring at Draco. Blaise was staring down at the table, looking like he was contemplating whether to have an orange or an apple with his breakfast.
"If you are of age, you may stay," Professor McGonagall answered.
"Are we safe right now?" a little Hufflepuff girl called out, looking around fearfully.
McGonagall hesitated. "We have placed protection over the castle, and through this, we should be able to get you out as safely as possible—"
"I know that you are preparing to fight."
Several people screamed, and Draco couldn't blame them.
The horribly familiar voice of Voldemort was infiltrating the Great Hall, seeping from the walls and the chairs, his high, cold and cruel voice filling the ears and minds of terrified children and adults alike.
"Your efforts are futile," Voldemort said calmly. "You cannot fight me."
For a split second, Draco believed him.
"I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood."
Draco shuddered, nausea rising up and cold sweat forming on his forehead as he saw, quite vividly, Charity Burbage dead and spread out on his dining room table, where he had eaten Christmas Dinner every year since he could remember.
"Give me Harry Potter," Voldemort commanded, and Draco's eyes snapped over to the boy in question, a rush of panic mingling with his fear and trauma. "Give me Harry Potter, and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded."
Draco breathed deeply, rage simmering in his stomach.
Like hell.
"You have until midnight."
Voldemort's voice retracted its shadow and left a deafening silence in its wake, broken only by the whimpers of petrified children or heavy breathing of the adults.
Then, slowly and to Draco's horror, every eye in the room went straight to Harry. Harry backed up as every head turned, every student and teacher and adult focused their attention on him. Draco was shaking his head as Pansy suddenly leapt to her feet, eyes wide and entire body shaking. She raised an arm and cried hysterically, "But he's there! Potter's there! Someone—someone grab him!"
And at the same time the entirety of the Gryffindor table stood in Harry's defense, Draco's vision whitened with fury and he thundered, "NO!"
The attention switched him Harry to him within milliseconds, but Draco paid them no mind.
Pansy was staring at him with that same desperate and fear-filled look in her eyes, chest heaving as her arm slowly lowered.
Draco drew his wand. There were hushed gasps throughout the room.
"If you even try to touch Harry," he threatened, not just to Pansy, but to them all—Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors and staff alike—"I will kill you without hesitation."
Another ringing silence met his words, but soon, to his astonishment, students began to face Pansy as he and the Gryffindors were doing, drawing their wands with him and standing in a silent but powerful defensive force, which seemed to do nothing but make Pansy quake harder.
Had Harry's life not been on the line, Draco probably would have found it in him to pity her, to try and search for an understanding with his former friend, but as the circumstances stood, he could look at her with nothing but contempt.
"Thank you, Miss Parkinson," McGonagall said, officially breaking the silence. Her voice held no semblance of apology or forgiveness, either. "You will leave the Hall first with Mr. Filch. If the rest of your House could follow."
Pansy dashed out after Filch, and the rest of the Slytherins slowly rose from their chairs.
"Wait," Draco called out again, surveying the rest of his House. "Just listen."
McGonagall looked at him curiously, and most of the Slytherin house had frozen in place to listen to him.
"You all know who I am," Draco said, tensing in anticipation as he said so. "I am Draco Malfoy, traitor to the Dark Lord, rescuer of Harry Potter, and true-blooded Slytherin."
There were some scoffs that met his words, and someone spat out "Bloodtraitor!" in a hiss that could rival his Aunt Bellatix.
Others, however, leaned in further, their faces changing from fear and hurt to hope.
"If you want peace in this war," Draco continued, "If you want to be able to live and love and laugh in a world of equality, not superiority, if you want to stay and fight—then come with me. If you want to prove what it means to be a Slytherin—follow me."
The Hall seemed to be holding its breath as the Slytherins stared back at Draco incredulously.
Blaise Zabini was the first to move.
His chair scraped back against the stone floor, the only sound that echoed around the room, as he pushed it back with the back of his knees. Draco stared at him in amazement as Blaise walked slowly to stand next to him, his expression virtually unchanged.
"Draco Malfoy, you're going to be the death of me," he murmured, and Draco felt like laughing hysterically in sheer relief.
"Good," was all Draco said.
Slowly but surely, the Slytherins filtered themselves out. The underage ones walked over to Pansy and Filch, along with Crabbe and Goyle and a few other seventh and sixth years, shooting glares and expressions of distaste or terror back at Blaise and Draco. The rest of them, about fifteen or twenty students, filed slowly towards Draco, some of them smiling gratefully and others staring around the hall challengingly, as if daring someone to comment.
Draco's eyes flitted towards Harry, who was grinning proudly at him from across the Hall. Keeping his eyes locked with Draco's, he slowly raised his hands and started to clap.
One by one, the rest of the Hogwarts students and faculty echoed Harry's sentiment, clapping slowly at first, then increasing in tempo as the Hall seemed to erupt with cheers.
"VERY WELL!" McGonagall shouted, trying to get everyone back under control. They finally calmed, all considerably more emboldened by this show of unity. "Thank you, Slytherin House, for setting an example for us all. Ravenclaws, if you would lead those not fighting tonight out as well."
The four tabled emptied quickly, Draco's group of Slytherins soon joined by perhaps the same amount of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, but the Gryffindors had to be personally facilitated out the door, as most of the House had decided they were staying, regardless of how old they were.
Draco motioned for the Slytherins to follow him over to where Harry had walked past the Gryffindors. They met in the middle of the Hall, and the Slytherins watched their exchange with considerable interest.
"That was fantastic," Harry said, grinning at him again. He seemed to be visibly restraining himself from a more exuberant show of his praise and gratitude, which made Draco smile.
"What about Ron and Hermione?" he asked, eyeing the clan of Weasleys. "Had anyone seen them?"
Harry's smile slipped off his face as he shook his head. "No sign of either of them," he answered. "We have to find them, before all this starts."
Draco nodded and turned back to the Slytherins.
"Thank you all for your courage," he said sincerely. "Go join the others fighting—good luck to all of you."
They all left save Blaise, who remained by Draco's side as he stared at Harry, who stared back uncomfortably.
"Thank you Zabini," Harry said uncertainly. "Your actions are…very appreciated."
Blaise nodded slightly, not looking like he had heard a word Harry had said.
"Draco has been waiting seven years for you," he said, startling both Harry and Draco. "Please make that wait worthwhile."
Harry's mouth fell open as Draco was flooded with humiliation and astonishment, both of them staring after Blaise as he walked away without another word.
"I'm sorry about that," Draco apologized immediately.
Harry shook his head. "I've dragged you into a war," he said hoarsely, and Draco rolled his eyes.
"No, I kidnapped you on an impulse and dragged myself into a war," he corrected. "Don't start with the guilt again. There isn't time—we've got to find Ron and Hermione."
Harry looked at him for a moment before nodding quickly, the two of them rushing out of the Great Hall.
They hadn't been running for ten minutes before the first big shock shook the castle.
Draco and Harry heard it rather than felt it, but they stopped and stuttered in their pace anyway as if the walls of their very corridor had shaken.
It was a rumble like thunder and then a sudden crack of lightning, followed almost immediately by the sound of an explosion.
"Do you think they broke through the barriers?" Draco asked breathlessly, and he saw his fear echoed in Harry's expression.
"They couldn't have," he whispered. "It hasn't been long enough!"
"What if they have?" Draco speculated, fear striking through him. "Harry—I'm sorry, we need to get the Horcrux!"
"But—" Harry protested, looking over his shoulder as if Ron and Hermione would materialize behind him. "Then what? How do we even get rid of it without the Sword? Which is in Hermione's bag, if you remember!"
"Harry, we can find them after!" Draco urged, and if Harry still looked unsure, the second explosion that racked the castle and sounded a lot closer than the first suddenly changed his mind.
He nodded and took off the opposite way, towards the seventh floor. The part of the castle they were in was relatively removed from the rest of it, devoid of any paintings or in-use classrooms.
As they got closer to the heart of the castle, however, signs of war began to appear. Shouts could be heart, directions being barked from professors and Order members, and groups of students sprinted past them, holding armfuls of strange magical objects and talking quickly to each other as they ran.
Even the portraits seemed to be doing their part, from providing moral support to screaming status updates to those passing them, which parts of the castle needed protecting.
They passed a secret passageway, Angelina Johnson standing with Fred and George at its entrance, wands drawn and at the ready.
Another shudder wracked the castle as Harry and Draco sprinted around yet another corner—and almost ran straight into Ron and Hermione.
Draco stumbled backwards, clutching his chest as Harry yelled in shock and relief.
Ron stood with a broomstick under one arm and both he and Hermione carried an armful of curved and yellowing objects that looked suspiciously like—
"Are those fangs?" he asked as Harry shouted, "Where the hell have you been?"
"Chamber of Secrets," Ron answered easily.
Draco blinked.
"Chamber—what?" Harry huffed, his breath coming unsteadily.
"It was Ron's idea!" Hermione answered breathlessly, looking at him adoringly. "He—I said—it was brilliant—"
Draco had never known Hermione to be so inarticulate.
She took a few gulps of air to steady herself, still grinning and clutching Ron.
"I was talking about how we needed a backup way to destroy the Horcruxes, in case the Sword—didn't work out, in case we were separated—and he thought of it all by himself!" she explained, her eyes shining.
"Thought of what?" Harry asked.
Draco made the connection first.
"Basilisk fangs," he said, his eyes falling to the objects in Ron and Hermione's arms.
"Brilliant," Harry said, sounding like someone had just hit him over the head. "So…"
"So we're another Horcrux down," Ron replied, pulling the remains of Hufflepuff's cup from his shirt.
"Brilliant," Harry said again.
Ron grinned—he looked just as pleased with himself as Hermione was of him.
"So what's up?" he asked brightly.
Draco raised his eyebrows.
"A war," he replied, and Ron's face dropped.
"We heard—his—voice," he said darkly. "All the way in the chamber. Hermione reckons it reached Hogsmeade, too, we saw Aberforth and Madame Rosmerta—"
A horrible but distant scream sounded overhead as the ceiling shook, a sound of another explosion racking through the castle.
"We know where the diadem is," Harry said hurriedly.
"It's in the Room of Requirement, in the Room of Hidden Things. Where I was all last year," Draco added.
"Thank God!" Hermione exclaimed, and they all set off at run down a flight of stairs, blocking out the sound of screaming and yelling and fighting coming from the front end of the castle.
"Also—" Harry panted as they ran, "the last Horcrux—it's his snake. Nagini. Saw it in a vision, he's got it protected."
"Perfect," Ron puffed out, sounding grim.
They arrived at the stretch of wall that marked the Room of Requirement, but before Draco could command it into appearing into the Room they wanted, Ron's voice protested sharply.
"Hang on!" he said. "We've forgotten someone!"
"Who?" asked Hermione, immediately looking worried.
"The house-elves! They're in the kitchens!"
"You think we should get them fighting?" Draco asked dubiously.
"No," Ron said seriously. "We need to get them out, tell someone to get them out, we can't ask them to die for us—"
Ron's words were cut off by a clatter of basilisk fangs as Hermione dropped all of them. To Draco's shock, she practically jumped on Ron and kissed him fervently, flinging her arms around his neck.
Harry's eyes widened as Ron dropped his fangs immediately and wrapped his arms around Hermione's petite frame, hugging her against him in what looked like a desperate, bruising kiss.
"Is this the moment?" Harry asked weakly, and Draco had to agree with him.
The pair paid them no mind, however, even as more screams pierced the air and the castle shook around them. Draco had to admit that there was certainly something poetic in the harsh contrast—love and war, inevitably coming together once more. But mostly—
"OI!" Harry shouted. "There's a war going on here!"
At this, Ron and Hermione finally broke apart, dazed and red-faced, breathing heavily and swaying on the spot.
"Now or never, mate," Ron said vaguely, bending down to pick up the basilisk fangs.
"Yeah," Harry said, watching them with a slightly astounded look on his face.
The closest scream yet was what made them all turn around. They rushed to a banister and peered over, gasping in unison at what they saw.
The war had deteriorated greatly even in the minutes that they had been distracted—the castle was continually shaking now, students yelling and gathering and running, teachers trying to find order and preforming still more protective spells.
There were flashes of red and green light coming from the base of it all, and Draco even recognized some of the shouts that he had been hearing for almost two years now—the Death Eaters were now upon them.
"We've got to go," Draco said urgently, dragging Harry away and back towards the wall. "Now."
Harry nodded, looking grave.
Harry, Ron and Hermione waited as Draco paced in front of the wall.
I need the place where everything is hidden, he thought, calmly and clearly, and the door materialized almost instantly for them.
Draco looked at his companions and opened the door, stepping into the room with little hesitation.
The dreadful noise of the battle was sucked out as the door shut behind Ron, who was the last one to enter. They were greeted by a total and old silence instead, the scene laid out in front of them horribly familiar to Draco.
Even though this palace of lost objects, with its books stacked to the ceiling and random objects of students long gone, had been a sort of sanctuary to him all of last year, Draco recalled his visits here with immense shame and fear.
He sensed that he was being watched and turned to find Harry observing him closely, as if Draco was likely to drop dead at any second.
"I'm fine," he said curtly, jerking his head towards a row in between piles of stuff. "I think it's this way, come on."
They all moved silently through the different rows of objects, Draco calling out details as to what the diadem looked like, and what it would be resting on.
Suddenly, the path right in front of him began to look familiar. There, to his left, was the desk he once leaned against, reading a stolen library book by wandlight. In front of him was the largest book Draco had ever seen—half his height and twice his width, its contents filled with what Draco had discovered with surprise to be ancient Chinese magical erotica.
He motioned to Harry, who had been trailing behind him, to follow him more closely. The pair moved through the aisle until Draco finally saw it, holding up a hand to stop Harry.
There was an ugly battered cupboard resting snugly in between towers of books and boxes and on top of it sat a rather ugly bust of a rather ugly warlock wearing a frizzy and moth-eaten wig—but on top of that sat, at last, glinting prettily in the limited light of their wands, Ravenclaw's diadem.
"There it is," Harry breathed behind him, and Draco stretched out an arm.
"Hold it, Potter. And Malfoy."
Dread and exhaustion compelled him to not turn around, to pretend that victory was just a little bit closer than it seemed.
But he recognized the voices and he knew the intent immediately: turning around, he faced Crabbe and Goyle with his coldest expression.
"My old friends," he sneered, automatically adopting a persona he had all but left behind. "How proud of yourselves you must feel."
Both Crabbe and Goyle had their wands drawn and outstretched, Crabbe's directed at Harry and Goyle's at Draco. They wore matching grins of incompetence and evil—perhaps two of the most useless people under Voldemort's command.
But useful enough to catch you here, Draco reminded himself. Deal with them quickly.
"We're not your friends anymore, Malfoy," Crabbe spat, and Goyle scowled and nodded.
"Shame," replied Draco, his eyes narrowing as his anger flared. "I'll miss your stimulating conversation."
Goyle growled, and Crabbe's grip tightened on his wand.
"Why are you here?" Harry asked slowly, watching them carefully. "Why not with Voldemort? Your master?"
Crabbe smirked in a way almost identical to Draco, except the expression was a lot uglier on Crabbe than it ever was on Draco.
"You stupid or something, Potter?" he asked, and Draco barely refrained from snorting. "The Dark Lord is attacking everyone for you. Didn't you hear?"
"But you can't kill me," Harry said warningly. Crabbe rolled his eyes.
"I know that," he said, as if it was a strange thing for Harry to doubt his intelligence. "Don't see why though. Aren't you dead no matter who kills you?"
Draco's eyes darted anxiously to Harry, but his expression hadn't changed.
"I wouldn't kill me," Harry said simply, still with the same hint of warning in his voice.
Crabbe chewed on the inside of his cheek as he considered Harry. Then he swung his wand unexpectedly over to Draco, causing Harry to inhale audibly and Draco himself to flinch.
"Said nothin' bout him, though," Crabbe muttered.
Draco stared at the two wands directed at him, slowly raising his hands.
"Are you sure you don't have alternate orders for me?" he said, casting around wildly.
Goyle blinked in confusion, and Crabbe scowled.
"How'd you get in here, anyway?" Harry interrupted, his attempt to stall perhaps too obvious.
It seemed to work, however, as Crabbe directed his wand back at Harry, who had his own outstretched. The burly boy looked stupidly proud with himself, and he shared a grin with his companion.
"We followed you," he said. "With a Diss-lusion Charm on. You were talking about a die-dum. What's that?"
Before Draco or Harry could respond, Ron's voice cut in, a call heard from the other side of the towering wall of stuff beside them.
"Harry? Malfoy? Are you guys talking to someone?"
In a show of reflex Draco would never have thought possible from him, Crabbe suddenly whipped his arm away from Harry to the wall that separated them and Ron, shouting "Descendo!" as he did so.
Ron yelled as the wall began to crumble, deafening noises echoing around the room as objects crashed down the floor. Hermione screamed from somewhere farther away.
"Ron?!" Harry called wildly, and received an answering moan.
"'M alright…"
"Stop," Draco commanded, not exactly sure what he thought this would accomplish.
"What's going on?!" Ron called.
"Ron! Harry! Draco!" Hermione was yelling, her voice getting nearer.
"I can kill the Mudblood too," Crabbe growled.
Panic welled in Draco's throat and he yelled for Hermione to run at the same time Harry shouted, "Stupefy!"
The jet from Harry's wand missed Crabbe by milliseconds as the boy dropped low, aiming a roared "Crucio!" back at Harry.
Draco dove towards Harry, but he had already flung himself out of the way and the curse hit the stack behind them, throwing many objects in the air—including, Draco noted with a groan—the diadem.
It landed, immediately out of sight, in the new pile of fallen objects. Crabbe seemed a bit surprised at the damage he had inflicted and Draco used this distraction to cast a wordless hex at him, turning and running towards the pile.
"Stupefy!" Hermione's voice cried, and Crabbe and Goyle wheeled around as her Stunning spell whizzed by Goyle's ear.
"Avada Kedavra!" Goyle returned, and Hermione's resulting scream as she crashed into the wall to avoid it was enough to bring Ron into the action.
He roared as he careened around the corner, shooting spells at both Crabbe and Goyle.
Draco finally reached the pile as Harry caught up with him.
"Find the diadem—it's somewhere here—" he instructed, kneeling beside Draco even as he cast his gaze over his shoulder.
Draco looked too—Crabbe and Goyle had taken off after Ron and Hermione, who seemed to be leading them away from Harry and Draco.
"I saw it fall, you go protect them, I'll be fine," Draco promised quickly, clasping one of Harry's hands firmly for a moment.
Harry nodded and tore after Crabbe and Goyle, leaving Draco alone to search for the buried Diadem.
Halfway down the next aisle, Harry immediately knew that something was horribly wrong.
There weren't any jets of light being thrown, no howled hexes or curses, just a strange roaring and a collective screaming. Harry skidded to a stop, looking around. A bright light seemed to be coming somewhere up ahead, flickering and crackling almost like—
"FIRE!" Ron screamed, as he suddenly appeared around the corner at the end of the aisle, dragging Hermione along with him as she fought to keep up with his pace.
Crabbe and Goyle were next, uncertainty and fear painted on their faces as they sprinted, all thoughts of killing Ron or Hermione driven from their mind.
Harry backed up as he comprehended what was happening. A giant fire, roaring and hissing and spitting chased after them, flames licking and billowing up around them. It was obviously enchanted—Harry had never seen fire quite like this.
"RUN, HARRY!" Hermione screamed, and his instincts kicked in.
Draco, get to Draco, tell Draco—his mind repeated Draco's name over and over as Harry tore back the way he had come, sprinting around three aisles to find Draco kneeling in the same position he had left him in.
"DRACO!"
Draco turned around, expression too far away for Harry to make out whether or not he understood what was happening.
"DRACO, YOU HAVE TO RUN! THERE'S A FIRE—WE CAN'T STOP IT!" Harry bellowed, waiting until he saw Draco stand before taking off again.
Harry felt presence on either side of him and could see Ron from his periphery vision. The flames were louder than ever and seemed to be taking form—forms of horrible creatures making horrible sounds, intent on killing them all.
Crabbe and Goyle were noticeably absent. Something about this tingled in the back of Harry's mind even through his panic, but he kept running until he found himself surrounded, both by piles of objects and horrible flames.
He looked around for a solution and realized, at the same moment he said it, what was missing—what was so wrong that Harry could scarcely believe it.
"Where's Draco?" he whispered, even as his heart threatened to stop beating.
Hermione and Ron froze too, looking around wildly. Hermione's hand flew to her mouth and Ron looked frozen for a moment.
"He—he—could have climbed—" Harry was saying, barely noticing now the flames that threatened to end his life compared to the fact that they could have just ended Draco's.
In his dizzying horror, Harry hardly registered Ron pressing something long and wooden into his hand. Only a scream from Hermione as a burning desk fell in front of him made him snap out of it—he looked down to find a heavy and outdated broomstick. Ron had one too—he ran back to Hermione and dragged her on, sitting behind them.
"LOOK FOR HIM, AND GET OUT! I'M TAKING HERMIONE!" he bellowed, and Harry nodded, wiping his paralyzing fear from his mind in order to mount his broom and take off, ascending past the reach of the flames to search desperately for any sign of Draco.
Draco seemed to be split into two forms of his own consciousness. His primary form, the one still processing the situation, was being watched by a second form, who had already accepted what was going to happen and was simply waiting patiently for the first one to catch up.
For example, Draco found he couldn't move, and his secondary consciousness was worried that Draco himself was severely underestimating the situation.
Can't move my legs? I'll just cut my legs off, then, he thought numbly, looking around him in awe.
He was not sure what had happened the moment he had touched the Horcrux, but he had known immediately something was wrong.
After finding it relatively quickly, he reached for it and closed a hand around its cool grasp and felt a shudder of strength go through him—not particularly comforting, he had registered immediately, but he had assumed it was due to the Horcrux's enormous sinister power.
Perhaps this is its defense, Draco thought now. Immobilize those who touch you and you run a lot less of a risk of destruction.
Either way, Draco could not move. Which was a problem, yes, especially with Crabbe and Goyle intent on killing all of them—but no trickier a situation than any that they had succeeded in escaping from before.
That was, of course, before he realized someone had set off Fiendfyre.
He recognized the incantation immediately as either Crabbe or Goyle shouted it—Draco guessed Crabbe—and his insides turned to lead at the immediate screams from Ron and Hermione.
He looked up now, still frozen in place, and saw with a slowly dawning horror the mutated flames rise up in one of the rows beside him. It would reach him in mere minutes.
"DRACO!" Harry's voice screamed, all the way from down the aisle.
As much as he was loathe to admit it, in that moment, Draco nearly called out for his help. He knew Harry would come to his aid without question—but at the same time, he knew that Harry would not leave his side even as the fire consumed them both.
So he simply turned his head, watching as Harry yelled his warning, telling Draco to run.
Draco stood, grateful he could at least die standing instead of awkwardly kneeling in front of dusty cabinets and books. Harry seemed to assume that meant Draco would rush after him, for the boy took off immediately.
And Draco registered for the first real time as Harry sprinted out of sight that he would die where he was standing.
He began to shake, the tremor starting in his hands until it reached his feet.
Damnit, Draco, he reprimanded, as hysterical tears pricked at the back of his eyes. Harry would want you to be stronger.
"Harry wouldn't want me dead," he choked out, tears spilling over his eyes and bile rising up in his throat as his panic swelled to a maximum. The thought of Harry's devastation was second only to Draco dying the first place, and Draco was assaulted by irrational amounts of guilt on top of his fear.
A shout was wrenched from his throat as he was blasted with heat, the walls on either side of him exploding into fire simultaneously. Draco stood, his eyes locked on to the trail of flame rushing and burning towards him—and then stopping.
Draco's heaving breath caught, watching as the flames, instead of reaching him, expanded around a bubble, some sort of force field, that seemed to originate from—
"The Horcrux," Draco whispered in amazement, staring at the diadem in his hands.
He had no idea what was happening. It was almost as if the diadem was trying to protect him—but maybe it was just protecting itself, for if the diadem wanted him alive, it really would be helpful to be able to move.
Either way, Draco recognized quickly that his "protection" wouldn't last. The flames had surrounded the force field by now and the strong and evil magic of it was weakening the fight of the Horcrux.
Draco was still going to die, and this thought repeated itself over and over and over and over in his head until he finally grasped the concept.
I'm going to die.
And then—it's about time. Couldn't be happy for too long, could I?
Please. Please, he begged, to no one in particular, please let him live. Let me die and let him live, let him live let himlivelet—
"DRACO!"
Fuck you.
Draco still looked up and gasped as if Merlin himself was descending upon him, when in reality it was just Harry, once again risking his life on a broom.
He saw Harry hesitate in astonishment when he saw the force field surrounding Draco, but dove into it with pinpoint accuracy, missing the flames entirely.
If anything, Draco knew this was his chance to say goodbye.
"Draco, thank god," Harry gasped, dismounting and rushing up to Draco.
Draco shook his head.
"Harry, I can't move."
Harry stopped and blinked, his gaze traveling over his body once. "What?"
"The Horcrux. It's—it won't let me move. I have to stay here."
"No you don't, that doesn't make sense," Harry blurted immediately, trying to pry the Horcrux from Draco's hands.
It didn't spell Harry into the same position, though, just slipped through Harry's fingers as if it were made of smoke.
Harry stared at it, uncomprehending, and it was with a wrench in his gut that Draco watched Harry come to a full understanding of what was going to happen.
"Dr—Draco," Harry whispered, latching onto his arm. "You're not going to die, let's just think—"
"I am going to die, Potter," Draco said, laughing shortly and shakily. "I am, but that's okay—"
Harry's eyes went wide with horror and desperation. The heat around them, making both of them sweat and almost blister, was suddenly too much to bear.
"No, we have time, you're going to live, you're going to live because I love you and not you too—"
"Just kiss me one last time, please…" Draco murmured, taking Harry's face in his hands. Somehow the Horcrux let him do so—his feet were still rooted to the ground but his hands were mercifully free. At least, he thought that was what was happening. He knew this was it—the Horcrux's shield was weakening, if the loud roar of the flames was anything to go by. With a rush of a dull horror, he realized the fire would close in on them soon…so he stopped Harry's protests, his denial and his pain with his lips, kissing him desperately and lovingly and softly all at once, trying to put all of his feeling into this last kiss than he worried he had in his body.
Harry was sobbing, scrabbling at his arms and chest as he pulled on Draco, trying in vain to pull him away from the Horcrux.
"Draco—please—" he gasped, tightening Draco's shirt in his hands. Draco shook his head, a rueful smile forming on his lips.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and summoned whatever magic he could feel flowing the Horcrux to him to force Harry away, the magic hitting the other boy with a forceful jerk. The loss of contact broke Draco's heart more than Harry's screams and Harry was forced back, flailing wildly for some scrabble to hold onto. Ron descended upon him suddenly, face determined and full of grim understanding, and dragged a shocked and struggling Harry onto his broom. Ron gave Draco one last look, gratitude and regret and pain on his face. Draco nodded once, feeling his resolve flicker as the shield around him faltered.
Draco watched them fly away, Harry's screaming and the cry of his name drowned out by the roar of the flames. The big double doors at the end of the room shut firmly, and Draco was alone, facing his own sacrificial death with a numb acceptance. He realized that was the last time Harry would ever see him—and the last time he would ever see Harry.
And as the shield broke and the flames coursed rapidly around him, on him, in him, he felt no pain.
His last thought was a sudden and blinding vision of light, of Harry, of love, of sacrifice, and of the ultimate price of salvation.
He knew, to the ends of the earth and until the final second of his life, that he would have been willing to pay it again.