I am overwhelmed by your reviews—overwhelmed, and inspired. What would I do without all of you? I hope you take pleasure in this next chapter. For those of you who are enjoying the musical aspect of this story, I encourage you to listen to either "Titanic-Nearer My God to Thee" or "October Sky-Dream of the Boys" when the letter starts (a letter which has been slightly abbreviated from the original). "Dream of the Boys" transitions nicely into the rest of the story, and "Nearer My God to Thee" is just breathtaking. I defy you not to shed tears—I did. And later, the song is "In Noctem" from HBP—and I listened to Mozart's "Lacrimosa." Oh, and I'm doing MOVIEVERSE in here, folks. Because I like it. So you know. Thank you so much, and enjoy.

VVVVVVVVVVV

Home is behind

The world ahead

And there are many paths to tread

Through shadow

To the edge of night

Until the stars are all alight.

Mist and shadow

Cloud and shade

All shall fade.

All

Shall fade…

-Lord of the Rings

VVVV

HERMIONE

Several days passed a little easier after that—doubt and jealousy are terrible, poisonous things, and one never realizes how much they are dragging you down until they are slightly relieved. I had written down in my diary the passages Draco had underlined, so every night before I went to bed, I read them, and they ran through my head before I fell asleep. As long as I had them, I knew I would be able to go on for several weeks without hearing his voice.

If only I'd had that long.

It started out as a recently-typical afternoon. Myself, Padma, Parvati and Ginny sat in a little back room just off the library with Madam Pince, as we discussed the fourth chapter of Pride and Prejudice, and the etiquette of 19th century dancing. As I sat amidst neat stacks of books and short desks, upon a padded stool, my borrowed copy of P&P held in both hands, I suppressed a smile. Madam Pince was listening intently as a bright-eyed Ginny speculated about Mr. Darcy's character, interspersed with Parvati and Padma's questions about class differences. Madam Pince was careful to lead the discussion rather than dictate answers, and she seemed less pinched, less severe than usual—and I found myself wishing that we had a literature class, and that she would teach it.

"Shall we get to chapter ten for next time?" Madam Pince suggested as we all stood up and tucked our stools back in their places. All of us nodded and said yes, and then the other three girls left the room, babbling about how in love they were with Mr. Darcy already, just because he was brooding and tall and quiet, and not at all like the other men in the story. I caught what looked like a smile on Madam Pince's face, but as usual, I could not be sure.

"Thank you, Madam," I said as I started toward the door. "That was…very instructive."

"So glad you thought so, Miss Granger," Pince clipped, straightening an already perfect stack of books. "See you next week."

"Goodbye," I answered, and started out. But I had only passed the Great Warlocks of History section when she caught up to me.

"Miss Granger? Miss Granger, forgive me."

I stopped and turned to see Madam Pince hurrying toward me across the hard floor, her long robes rustling as she held out a black book toward me. I frowned.

"Yes?"

"I was supposed to deliver this book to you today—today and no later—and I nearly forgot," she puffed. "Forgive me. It was reserved for you by Professor Snape."

I swallowed hard, feeling my face go cold, but I nodded, and took it from her.

"Thank you very much."

"You are welcome," she answered, turned, and swished back toward her desk. I instantly ducked into a shadowed portion between the shelves, near a lonesome part of the Restricted Section. I leaned back against the cage and, with trembling hands, put down P&P and took out my wand.

This was a new message—I had not answered Draco's last one for fear of discovery—but this was not Persuasion. It was a different book—and I could not wait to take it all the way to my room. I tapped the front cover with my wand.

"Aparecium."

Then I stuffed my wand back in my pocket and opened the cover. My brow tensed as my eyes fell on the title page.

War Letters: A Collection of Missives Sent from the Great Battlefields

It was a much newer book, so I did not have to be so careful as before, but I still took my time as I flipped the pages, hoping I would not miss the inevitable underlinings.

My hand slowed as I got to page thirty. I let my breath out and did not recover it.

Nothing was underlined. Instead, a bright green bracket indicated that I ought to read an entire letter. And so, with my breathing locked in my chest, and my hands starting to quiver, I began.

"A letter sent from Sullivan Ballou, a soldier in the American Civil War, to his wife Sarah on July 14th, 1861:

"My very dear Sarah:

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more . . ."

I covered my mouth with my hand, and, as my legs went weak, I sank to the floor. But I could not look away from the words—they held me hostage, and each one driving into me with both sweet and bitter pain.

"I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans on the triumph of the Government and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and sufferings of the Revolution. And I am willing—perfectly willing—to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt . . .
Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood, around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me—perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed.

If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.
But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights—amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours—always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again."

I sat in that very place the rest of the day. I did not move, I did not make a single sound. Students walked past me, voices crossed behind me, footsteps clicked and tapped and echoed. I stared at the far wall, the book held limply in my lap. But though the sun came in from a nearby window, and candles lit the aisles, all I saw was darkness.

VVVVVVVVVV

DRACO

"Legilimens!"

The word echoed around inside me as I stared back at the tip of Professor Snape's wand, then past it at his black, narrowed eyes. My frame stiffened slightly, then I breathed in, and out. The spell rattled around like a shout in an empty room. The next moment, a cloud of lies, like black poison, rose up within me. It filled my entire mind, caught the spell as it rang, and silenced it.

Slowly, Snape lowered his wand.

"Very good," he murmured, carefully searching my face. "Most encouraging."

I didn't bother answering him. I just took a short breath and shook myself to dispel that dark cloud. But shreds of it still hung around me, even as I stood near a bright candelabra in Snape's shadowy office.

As Snape turned to a shelf and began tucking small books and pieces of parchment into the folds of his robe, I glanced around at the towering shelves stacked with glittering bottles of potions—a sight that had become as familiar to me as my own common room of late. Probably more so, since I had spent very little time sleeping, and almost all my spare time here, with Professor Snape, perfecting the art of Occlumency.

I had learned a great deal already, from my Aunt Bellatrix, initially for the sake of keeping my assassin's mission a secret from everyone. But now, using what I had already studied—as well as utilizing a great deal of my natural talent, apparently—Professor Snape had honed my skills so finely that he even remarked once that I was the most gifted Occlumen he'd known since himself.

Whether that would be enough was about to be seen.

I shifted my weight, swallowing, trying to breathe evenly and deeply as I waited. Every muscle felt heavy—every breath took effort. Dread sat in the pit of my stomach, where it had made a home. But tonight…Tonight, I couldn't divert my thoughts from it.

I stood on the edge of a precipice—one that I'd been steadily walking toward ever since the moment I was born. I had always sensed that complete darkness, abyss, waited to catch me. But now—now, I looked over the edge, down into that abyss, and a cold wind seemed to hit my face. And the yawning chasm dominated my mind. I drew in a deeper breath, pushing back that slow, strangling sensation. And it almost worked. For I had just one candle, one little light in the midst of this silent black.

I wasn't going alone.

I watched my professor as he turned back to his bottle-covered desk and began to organize it—the bottles clinked as he moved them. I raised a chilled hand to try to massage the tension from the back of my neck, and studied him for what was probably the hundredth time.

I'd known Severus Snape since I was very little. I actually couldn't remember the first time I'd seen him. But he had always seemed dark, forbidding—even more so than some of the other company my parents liked to keep. As a child, he'd scared me. When I'd started school, I'd grown to admire him, and want to be like him—he could so obviously scare the living daylights out of everyone he looked at. I wanted to be that threatening, that powerful, that chilling.

It was only during these past days that I realized that I had been looking at him all wrong.

"Who was she, Professor?" I asked into the silence.

Snape's back went stiff, and his hands stilled on his desk. But I was too tired to be careful, and too taut with grief to be afraid. Besides, I knew him now.

I knew he had a dry, grim sense of humor—one that had often surprised me. I knew that he was unjust with students to maintain his cover. And he was cold to maintain his distance.

And I knew that he was sad. Sad about the scars and shadows in his past. Sad about mistakes, missteps, misspeaks.

Sad about the horrific thing we were going to do.

"What are you talking about?" Snape asked, his tone like the warning growl of a bear. I dropped both hands to my sides and spoke quietly.

"The lady in your head," I answered. "The one with ginger hair—the one you think about. She seems familiar to me."

Snape did not turn around. He did not move. I frowned, absently rubbing the inside of my left arm.

"She reminds me of Potter," I confessed, unable to find a way to say it differently.

Snape was silent for so long, I thought he wasn't going to answer. But then, he took a breath.

"He has her eyes."

I stared at him. But I said nothing.

"Her name was Lily Potter," Snape finally told me, his voice low and even. But when he turned around, what I saw written in his black eyes struck me through the chest. Snape lifted his chin, minutely, and spoke with quiet calm.

"She is the reason for everything." He paused. "At least, for me."

I let out a long, shivering breath, and swallowed.

"I understand," I whispered. For just an instant, Snape's stony visage softened.

"I know."

I tried to swallow—I tried, but a sudden pain attacked the center of my chest, constricting it. My fists closed.

"Dumbledore…" I began, then stopped to control my voice. "Dumbledore is your friend, isn't he?"

Snape's gaze flickered and he raised his eyebrows.

"It depends upon what you mean by 'friend,'" he said flatly.

"You trust him," I clarified. "And he trusts you. He's risked his reputation and his position standing up for you."

"Sometimes, boy," Snape muttered, glancing down to straighten his cuff. "I think that you are trying to make my life more difficult."

I didn't say anything. But I didn't turn from him—I stared at him, waiting. Snape let out a short sigh.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I suppose…he might be called a friend."

The two of us stood there in silence for a long moment. I felt sick, unbalanced—like the ground underneath me was breaking.

"How…" I started, trying to articulate what I meant. "How will you manage?"

Snape's whole frame straightened.

"By remembering that in the end, I was following his orders," he stated. "Not Voldemort's."

My head cleared. My feet rested on solid ground. My brow twisted, but strength entered my chest. Then, Snape reached up, and put his hand to the side of my head—a gesture more gentle than any my father had ever given me. He rested it there for just a moment, then lowered it and leveled his shoulders.

"Come, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "To work."

VVVVVVVVV

DRACO

We swept through the gloomy halls without a light, perfectly in step, like two restless ghosts. The corridors felt cold. The portraits, silent and dark, passed on either side. Snape and I turned one corner, then another—and we stopped before the towering wall that led to my old friend, the Room of Requirement.

My heart went still. My mind stood empty. I glanced at him. He met my eyes.

Then, without a word, he turned and continued down the next corridor—he would spread the command for all students to go to their houses. No one would get caught in the crossfire.

In the Great Hall, somewhere behind me, I heard the choir practicing for their year-end performance. And as I listened to the haunting melody, I closed my eyes, and thought only of what I required.

"Carry my soul into the night
May the stars light my way
I glory in the sight
As darkness takes the day…"

The door appeared. It swung open, away from me. I stepped inside, into the cool blue light, into the dust, into the shadows.

"Ferte in noctem animam meam
Illustrent stellae viam meam
Aspectu illo glorior
Dum capit nox diem…"

I stood amongst the junk and odds-and-ends, before the peaked vanishing cabinet. I braced my feet, and waited.

"Sing a song, a song of life
Lived without regret
Tell the ones, the ones I loved
I never will forget…"

The hinge of the door creaked. A gap opened in the cabinet. Black fog oozed out onto the floor, spreading like ink, its tendrils slithering across the stone. The door opened further. A white hand emerged. I took a deep breath, turned around, and marched to the door of the Room.

I passed through it, pushing it fully open so it could not swing closed. Then, I broke into a swift, breathless run.

"Cantate vitae canticum
Sine dolore actae
Dicite eis quos amabam
Me numquam obliturum…"

I knew the time. I knew the place. The voice of the choir faded behind me as I raced up the stairs—up, up, up the winding steps to the astronomy tower. I had run this staircase many nights in the recent past, making certain that attaining that great height would not leave me winded.

I spun round and round, one hand on the railing, one hand holding my wand, until I reached the wooden catwalks. Still higher I climbed, until I felt the cool night air brush my face.

I passed a concealed presence—not far from me. I didn't even blink. I'd been expecting it.

I knew it was Potter—hiding below the platform upon Dumbledore's instruction—they had just come back from a horrendously-taxing mission. I could feel Potter there almost as if I could see him.

I also knew about him. All about him. In fact, I knew more about him than he did. And, I knew that, if it came to it, I would have to lay down my life to protect him from Lord Voldemort until the proper time came. If I did not, everything I had done and would do to shield Hermione and those she loved would be obliterated. It was the same for Professor Snape, because of his ginger-haired lady.

Ah, how the tables turn when knowledge meets love.

I paced forward through the shadows as the great compass ahead of me cut a line through the moonlight. I slowed.

Dumbledore stood near the railing, his white hair and beard lit by a halo of silvery light. His long robes rustled in the high gusts that whipped around the tower. But somehow, everything seemed deathly quiet.

My eyes found his face. He looked haggard, pale, and very tired.

"Good evening, Draco," he nodded to me. "What brings you here on this fine spring evening?"

I stopped across from him, my wand only held in middle stance.

"I came to see you," I murmured. "Thought you might need some company."

Dumbledore smiled faintly.

"That's very thoughtful of you. Thank you."

Deep down, I shuddered. I tried to hide it from my face, but the wise wizard across from me saw it, and his expression flashed with sympathy.

Sympathy.

For me.

As if I were the one who was about to die.

My lips parted to say something. Dumbledore glanced downward. I closed my mouth. He was reminding me of Potter, who hid below, listening to everything we said. I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes, raging against this blasted, infernal silence that had been forced on me.

I opened my eyes, my brow twisted as I looked at Dumbledore. The sight of him burned my vision—a savage pain ate me up. I lifted my head to helplessly search the roof.

He was my friend.

I had despised him and ridiculed him ever since first year. I'd imitated my father's sneer when I said his name. I'd criticized his methods, his choices for teachers, and his tolerance for Muggle-borns and blood traitors.

And he had saved me. He had extended his hand and offered strength and hope to me when I was clawing at the hem of darkness. He had spent many a tired night of late—nights when he should have been resting—visiting with me after I'd awakened from screaming nightmares, telling me stories of great wizards, keeping me alive with his cryptic sayings, patient smiles and drops of wisdom.

My heart began to beat faster.

Yes, he was my friend. But that friendship hadn't had a chance to build. I had missed out on everything—everything—and now it was too—

A heavy door opened—nearby. My eyes flashed to Dumbledore's face. His gaze sharpened.

"It is time, then."

I gritted my teeth, and tightly nodded.

Resignation settled behind the old wizard's eyes.

"I think it best if I make it easy for you now, rather than later," Dumbledore decided. "We don't want any unnecessary stray sparks." And he held out his wand to the side—purposefully creating an easy target. I lifted my own wand—it felt as if I was lifting the earth.

"Expelliarmus," I whispered.

Light shot from the tip of my wand, and instantly Dumbledore's wand leaped from his hand and clattered to the floor, and hid itself somewhere in a shadow.

"Very good. Very good," Dumbledore praised me. Then, he made a gesture with his fingers as if he was raising something up. I bit the inside of my cheek and obeyed him, elevating my wand to attack position.

I heard footsteps on the stairs. My chest contracted.

"Draco," Dumbledore said quietly. I met his quiet eyes.

"'Promise me you'll always remember:'" he murmured. "'You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.'"

My hand on my wand began to shake. I swallowed hard. And then—

I felt them. Like a Dementor's fingertips, they slipped into the room. I glanced to my left, and my eyes fell on Aunt Bellatrix, Fenrir Greyback, and several other Death Eaters. Bellatrix slowed, and her eyes fixed on Dumbledore in astonishment and quiet glee. I clamped my teeth shut.

"Well!" she exclaimed, hushed. "Look what we have here." She slinked behind me, Greyback beside her. I felt her rest her chin on my right shoulder.

"Well done Draco," she breathed, and made a kissing sound. My left fist clenched so hard I thought it would break.

"Good evening, Bellatrix," Dumbledore greeted her. "I think introductions are in order, don't you?"

"Love to, Albus," she canted her head, then spat the rest. "But I'm afraid we're on a bit of a tight schedule." She grinned at him, waiting. I did not move. She whirled on me.

"Do it!" she commanded, wide-eyed.

"He doesn't have the stomach," Greyback snickered, standing off to my right. He showed me his teeth. "Just like his father."

I felt Bellatrix's eyes on me. I opened the door within me, and filled up my mind with lies.

"Let me finish him in my own way," Greyback suggested.

"No!" Bellatrix shouted. "The Dark Lord was clear—the boy is to do it!" She edged toward me, almost distressed, looking at me earnestly. I did not regard her—I gazed back at Dumbledore, never wavering. I waited. I waited to sense one last, tall presence—to hear one more set of footsteps on the stairs…

"This is your moment," Bellatrix urged me. Her words turned into a howl. "Do it. Go on, Draco! Now!"

"No," a black voice rumbled.

I lowered my wand and turned as that tall, dark presence came up behind me.

Snape glanced at me, his expression shielded. I stepped out of the way.

Again, I saw Dumbledore glance down. Snape did the same.

Harry was just beneath us.

My heart rate skyrocketed. If this did not happen quickly, Potter would try something and get himself—

"Severus," Dumbledore said, calling his friend to look at him. Snape lifted his eyes. My gaze locked on Dumbledore's face—memorizing the kind, brave sadness that the decades had written there.

Bellatrix watched Snape with a look of iron. No one breathed.

Dumbledore spoke one word—straight to Severus Snape.

"Please."

For an instant, no one moved.

Then, like the sweeping wing of a great black crow, Snape struck.

"Avada kedavra."

Blinding green light flashed through the tower. I did not shy away, or hide my eyes. Thunder rolled. Dumbledore's face went blank. He tipped backward. He fell off the tower.

The image branded itself into my memory.

My muscles iced over.

Snape whirled in front of me and grabbed my shoulder, pulling me away, toward the door, toward the stairs.

I heard Bellatrix shriek in delight, heard the air shatter with the roar of the Dark Mark launching into the sky.

We raced down—past Potter—Snape and I always maintaining the head of the line of Death Eaters. We had to hurry—we could not allow for any of the students to muster or there would be blood in the corridors.

As we charged through the Great Hall, Bellatrix jumped up on one of the tables and began smashing the goblets and kicking off the plates, cackling and screaming with joy.

An auror appeared near the front door—he turned, eyes wide.

Snape moved faster than any of the others could—and the auror blasted backward with a nonverbal stupefy. I readied my wand, exactly in step with Snape, sweeping my gaze ahead of us so that I might stun any passer-by before he was killed.

But then I heard Bellatrix stop. I slowed, and turned—

To see her aim her wand and a clawed hand toward the great, beautiful window in the far wall.

No—

She let out an inhuman cry of triumph, then wrenched both hands—

And all the glass burst from the window and smashed through the room, shredding and extinguishing the floating candles, and littering the floor and the tables. A great, icy wind followed, and blasted through my clothes. Bellatrix danced where she stood, giggling, then pranced down off the table and hooked her arm through mine, pulling me along as if we were off to a tea dance. I ground my teeth.

Someday, Aunt…

We met three more people—all aurors—and Snape effortlessly knocked them away. Once we got out on the grounds, Bellatrix let go of me, and we plunged down the hill. The blackness of the forest towered over us.

But I was no longer afraid of dark forests, or the terror waiting amidst their branches.

"How will you manage?"

"By remembering that in the end, I was following his orders—not Voldemort's."

I secured my grip on my wand, lifted my head, and strode headlong straight into the darkness.

"Sing a song, a song of life
Lived without regret
Tell the ones, the ones I loved
I never will forget

Never will forget…"

TO BE CONTINUED

Review! (Oh, and the quote Dumbledore used was by A.A. Milne.)