AN: Muse won't let me rest. Need to finish this fic. Much love to you wonderful people.
Chapter Twenty-Six
After his mate's reassurances dissolved into mist, frantic whoops of jubilee and hurried planning began. Draco stood frozen amidst it all. McGonagall left the room to floo-call someone or the other. Lavender immediately sent her Patronus to trail the wolf's point of origination.
Plans to re-organize their offensive strengthened as Hermione's Patronus spurned them into action.
Draco left them to it and opted to leave the cottage for his pack, though a plucky Gryffindor followed behind him. Lavender Brown had stepped into his de-facto Beta position following Sari's demise. She had been the voice of optimism for his pack while he left to traverse the isle. He respected her for stepping up, and begrudgingly tolerated her presence as of late. Both walked in silence to their makeshift camp on the borders the Cottage's wards.
Still, the pair couldn't be farther from another in terms of disposition. Where he quietly carried his elation within, she was the complete opposite. She bounced every other step and grinned wickedly.
"Can you believe it!? This is bloody amazing!" Lavender whooped loud enough to offend his sensitive hearing.
He leaned away from her, annoyed, but similarly pleased about his mate's impending return. "You've sent her a message back?" he confirmed. "Has she replied?"
The blonde werewolf shook her head. "Not yet, but I'll let you know as soon as I hear from her." She reached out to grab his elbow in enthusiasm. "Hey?" Immediately, she released his arm when he pierced her with a sharp brow. She gave a sheepish smile instead. "She's coming back. You can smile now."
Draco nodded his head to the tents illuminated in the distance. "Go on and tell the others, then. I know you're itching to spread the good news."
Lavender stuck her tongue out at him, but backed away to do so. He watched as she took off, eager to spread the news to their pack. He imagined Zachary and the other younglings would be ecstatic.
Later, he learned from Brown that his mate had been taken to a small village in Northern France, but was gearing to return to Shell Cottage. When he pressed why she couldn't immediately return, Brown shrugged and replied that she'd received a cryptic answer in return. Only after repeated assurances of Hermione's safety and immediate return, did he finally drop it.
The pack's excitement carried throughout the next two days. Even he was not immune from it.
Too restless to sit still, he spent the intervening time walking from tent to tent to check on his pack; ashamedly, he'd been negligent in his responsibility lately. But the restlessness did not abate. The sensation morphed into paranoia as he arose well before daybreak one quiet morning. The ocean skies brightened with the coming sunrise as they usually did... but, his ear caught something.
Where were the seagulls that called in the early morning hours?
Emerging from his tent, Draco peered to the lands, beyond the shore, to the borders of Shell Cottage's wards. The air around the boundary shimmered, once, then again.
"Brown!" Draco called in alarm as the boundary's magic shimmered again. That was no trick of the eye. Someone was trying to dismantle the wards. Draco back-paddled through the tents as his pack slumbered. "Wake up!" he rose the alarm.
Visibly upset from being awakened so early, Lavender jogged to Draco's side. She was about to lay into him when she paused, taking in magical disturbance. Chest heaving with dread, she swore, "Shit! I'll wake the others."
Draco nodded and started yelling for his Council and the strongest among them. "Get them into the Cottage!" he shouted behind her.
Lavender nodded, "I will!" And as quickly as she had arrived, she'd left.
Members of the Order, bleary-eyed from late night meetings, poured out of the Cottage. They grasped the bleakness of the situation as he had and quickly readied themselves for war. Instead of leaving to pursue the enemy, the enemy had found them.
"We've called for aid. They may not make it in time," Shacklebolt informed the group of wizards and werewolves alike.
"How did they find us?!" Arthur gasped in shock.
"It doesn't matter. We'll meet them head-on!" Shacklebolt looked down the line to Draco and his wolves. "Are you ready?"
Draco dipped his head in the affirmative as Bill Weasley ran to the front lines, wand at the ready. "Lavender's gathered the younger ones into the house." Bill looked up as the wards started to show signs of wear. "These are Weasley family blood wards. Strong, but not invincible. They should hold a bit longer."
"After backup arrives, we'll take the first wave. Give you a bit of cover, yeah?" Draco rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension as heads nodded in agreement.
They would not wait long for backup. Witches and wizards arrived via the Cottage's Floo not long after the call went out. Ginny and Molly Weasley moved to stand beside their father and brothers. Hardened remnants of Dumbledore's Army dug their heels in as the family wards shuddered and finally gave away.
They had not been expecting an army waiting on the other side. At the helm, almost gleefully, was the Dark Lord.
Taking his wand out of his chest holster, Draco sneered to his werewolves and those nearby, "Spare none, because they will not return the favor." Others fell in line behind him as he led the first wave into the thick of battle. Supernatural instincts aided his werewolves in dodging the first offensive; what did land, only slowed but did not maim. The first volley he could handle. It was always the drawn out battles that gave him pause.
The Order cast anti-Apparition wards to seal both Dark and Light forces within the confined area, ensuring only one side would leave the field victorious.
The move gave Draco the incentive to open the door to the wolf in his subconscious. A man fought for a cause, or to protect those who could not protect themselves. It was generally accepted that what was done on the battlefield was best left in the dark recesses of the mind.
For a wolf, there was no greater pleasure than the unrestrained hunt.
Draco gave no quarter as he bit, cut down, and slashed any unfortunate soul who got in his way. Blood and flesh stained his face and hair as the blood-lust fueled his inner wolf.
He did not see the fear in his opponents' eyes as his pack collectively cut down their lines. He gave a feral grin as they took the advantage, his sight focused squarely on Voldemort.
Voldemort, however, stood back, as pawns advanced in his name. He gave a sinful smile and nod to where Draco dueled masterfully, as if to concede the werewolf's innate skill on the battlefield. It was why Voldemort had courted them, after all.
But then, Draco was taken aback by an oddly familiar sound. The patter of feet, too large to be a man, scurried towards them. The mysterious sound broke through the line of fallen Death Eaters, as someone screamed, "ACROMANTULAS!"
The Dark Lord's laugh reverberated across the field as the poisonous creatures crawled over the piles of bodies, eager for fresh meat.
"Fall back!" Draco called wildly to those who could hear him.
The dangerous creatures screamed as they faced off against their enemy, easily overtaking any who dared to get in their way.
Draco growled in frustration. Under the light of the full moon, they could have taken them, but as humans, they stood little chance against the magical creatures pumped full of venom. They tried severing spells, charms to ignite and burn, but the creatures steadily advanced, backing the Light closer to the Cottage and the ocean beyond.
Around him, a stench of defeat marked its way through the Light's forces. The Order saw it before when Harry fell at Hogwarts. Shoulders sagged in grief as the Acromantulas tore through their fighters. As it did then, defeat seemed assured now.
Draco closed his eyes in frustration, his soul calling through time and space for the one person he wished to see.
Then, as if Morgana, herself, had heard his plea, Draco's eyes snapped open as a foreign scent invaded his nostrils. Through layers of ozone, smoke, and death, warmth bathed them in good fortune as sunlight broke the clouds.
Wolves of all shapes and colors rushed in from the sidelines. They ran up and in between their lines to launch themselves onto the Acromantulas. Groups of two or three wolves jumped onto the large beasts and methodically took them down, granting the Light the necessary time to regroup.
Then, the sweetest aroma disrupted the salty, sea air and turning to place the scent, Draco nearly crumbled to his knees. Through the smoke and sun, he saw her.
Hermione Granger stood on the edge of battle, dwarfed in an over-sized military jacket that covered her frame. One hand tightly gripped a wand, as the other held her swollen middle. She shouted something he couldn't hear to the men and women who surrounded her, her wand pointed in Voldemort's general direction.
Overcoming the shock, Draco Avada'ed an incoming Death Eater and the fight raged on. The new wolves took down the Acromantulas systematically, as Draco re-grouped his pack and the Order. In tandem, all pushed to where Voldemort waited.
Renewed, he fought harder. Phoenixes, werewolves, and wolves pushed their way forward to finally, finally enact justice.
For the fallen.
For those who would follow behind them.
For the future.
The Order of the Phoenix backed by Draco's pack and the new werewolves turned the tide. The giant snake took on three wolves, but it was quickly overcome. Because of anti-Apparition wards, wolves viciously tore Voldemort's remaining supporters to pieces. If they ran, they found themselves at the wrong end of a Phoenix's wand.
In the end, Draco wasn't sure exactly who finished the Dark Lord off for good. The ground gave a great shake when the powerful wizard was finally extinguished.
He did not see the final blow because Draco had been too busy pushing past the rag-tag throng of celebrants to the only one he had eyes for. It took three strides before he broke out into an all-out run across the battlefield, deathly afraid the vision would fade, as if an evil trick of his mind's eye.
But his mate was walking towards him, one hand awkwardly holding her stomach for balance, as she tried to jog and meet him halfway.
On the edge of the battlefield, he ran to her, a man determined.
Hermione approached with the air of a commander. She was a soldier, no more. His brows lowered in question as he noted the new scent she now carried. "Lavender sent her Patronus," she gave a breathy explanation. "I knew I had to come –"
Rather than letting her finish, he grabbed a hold of luscious curls that had grown in his absence to yank her head back, interrupting the explanation he truthfully did not care for.
She was here.
If he pulled her hair harder than intended, she did not voice offense, as he slanted her head to claim her lips.
Nothing tasted as sweet.
Not the hunt. Not the kill. All paled to match the decadent taste of his mate's lips. Desire bloomed between them as she fell into him, and he to her.
Neither noticed the curious glances from wolves and werewolves alike as hands clutched desperately to the other. It had been too long. Hermione sighed against his mouth, reluctantly pulling back for air.
He pulled away, dazed from the smoky battlefield ... and maybe, something some more. "You're real," he whispered as fingers traced over her face, jaw, and neck, no longer having to rely on memory.
"You do realize I'd come? No matter the circumstance, nothing could keep me away."
With her declaration, he began to worship her: first with a kiss to the forehead, then another to the cheek. He ignored the growing audience and the death littered about them. For she represented the very life he was fighting for. She was his reward for a battle fought since sixteen.
His thumb ran over her cheek, but words would not come. Emotion had rendered him speechless.
"I will always return to you," she swore, lifting his wrist to her mouth. She kissed her mate mark as her eyes fluttered closed in indulgence.
"Lupa," a battle-worn woman approached the pair, wary of him, but respectful of their personal space. "We have vanquished the enemy as you've commanded." The woman eyed Draco wearily, but kept her focus on Hermione.
Hermione smiled from within his protective embrace. "It's alright, Draco," she soothed before replying to the woman, "You were magnificent. Thank you, Sian. Move the injured inside the Cottage. See to the gravest first."
The woman, Sian, placed her fist over her heart, before backing away.
"Lupa?" He tasted the title on his tongue.
Her eyes darkened, as she recalled her earlier vow, "I meant it when I said nothing would keep me from you."
Draco stared at the witch within his arms. "But you are not a werewolf…" Then he felt it. A flare of magic, warm and strong, pulsed from her very skin. It briefly changed the honey color of her irises to a brilliant amber. She smiled as the cinnamon color returned.
Her lips quirked as she explained, "The Loup Garou are picky about who they choose to follow. It took …" she searched for the right word, "convincing for them to follow a witch. But in the end, they found I can be very persuasive. I do not shift as they do, but they are mine all the same."
Smirking, Draco marveled, "In our moment of need, you turn the tide by bringing a pack of your own to battle?" He stared in wonder at his mate, a Lupa, in her own right.
The witch who'd approached him last summer was a gritty, but determined thing. Now, she hummed, content with a quiet power, as she relaxed into his arms. His wolf felt it deep within the seat of his soul. Something within her called to the wolf in him.
In a startling realization, he realized she could command him and his pack, if she so chose.
For she already commanded his heart.
A strong kick to his lower groin stole his thoughts. Brows knitted together, he looked to her burgeoning stomach pressed between them. He did not care if anyone saw him dropping to his knees as he caressed her stomach lovingly. "I did not forget about you either, little ones," he pressed a reverent kiss through the fabric of her shirt.
She raked her nails through his hair as she recited her earlier vow, "I promised you long ago, I would keep them safe. I keep my word."
He looked at her, eyes filled with adoration and pride. His witch, his mate, his Lupa was bloody brilliant. And soon, she would make a brilliant mother to his children. "I can never thank you enough." The words were woefully inadequate. This woman had saved his life. But more that, she had restored his soul. She brought peace by her sheer presence as she pulled him from the ground.
But fate would not grant them a reprieve just yet.
"Victory is ours, my friends!" Shacklebolt whooped as he approached the duo in excitement. "A few Death Eaters have escaped on foot, but if we give chase now, we should be able to track them down. We are close to ending this, once and for all!"
Hermione moved away, though still within earshot, to regroup the Loup Garou. He watched as she came alive, all fire and passion, as she spoke with Sian, the woman from before. She returned, before breathlessly offering, "Sian will lead the pack behind yours. If you leave now, you can find the remaining Death Eaters-"
He waved a hand to cut her off.
Confused, she explained, "I cannot travel with you, but …"
"They can wait, mate," Draco assured as he took in her form. She looked tired, but given as advanced as the pregnancy was, she looked none too worse for wear.
"But the Loup Garou…"
Draco dismissed Shacklebolt without turning. "Ready your party after the injured are situated. We will leave then." For now, he only had eyes for his mate. "There are things we need to discuss first."
Hermione smirked in agreement.
If the fates had seen fit to return her to him, then who was he to let such an opportunity pass? War could wait. For the remainder day, and all days to come, she was his.
an: One more chapter and an epilogue to go.