Author's Note: Thanks for your patience on this one. It's an important one, and it throws you in right away. So deep breaths, everyone…

Chapter 36: The Killing Curse

Fifteen minutes.

Draco's heart began to pound, and his mind narrowed to a single thought. The edges of the parchment slip crumpled in his palm as he thrust it aside. He was at the door before it fluttered to the ground. He shot one last glance at the Cabinet where it loomed high in the center of the room, its shape oddly distorted by the moonlight and shadow, before he pushed outward on the heavy oak.

"Ron!" The cry came from somewhere to his left, and he had just turned toward the source when he heard another shout. His head whipped right.

"Expelliarmus!"

He saw the jet of red light erupt from Githead's wand. It sailed past him, missing by half a foot. His hand flew to the front of his robes, his fingers closing around his wand.

Githead tried again. "Expelliar –"

"Protego!" he yelled, and the shield was strong enough to knock the redhead off his feet.

The next Disarming Spell – Merlin, didn't they know anything else? – came from the person to his left. He turned and recognized Longbottom as he threw up another shield. "Stupefy!" he shouted, tossing a sloppy jet of scarlet light in the other boy's direction. It missed, but Longbottom had to dive to one side to avoid it. And in the few moments when they were both flat on the ground, Draco took off.

He ran, his shoes pounding against the floor as he barreled headlong toward the end of the corridor. What the fuck were they doing here? This had something to do with Potter, he thought furiously, his fingers tightening into a fist around his wand. That complete and utter –

No. He didn't have time for anger now. He forced himself to focus. He couldn't defeat both of them when they were throwing spells at him from either side, but facing them both head on…. He rounded the corner, breathing hard, and waited, jaw set.

"Come on, Neville!" He heard Githead's voice – loud and impatient – and then his footsteps running closer.

"Ron, wait!" Longbottom yelled.

Githead stopped short. "For Merlin's sake, he didn't even hit you!"

"Shove off!" Longbottom grumbled. "It was just him…just Malfoy. Harry said he might be helping Death Eaters get into the castle. It's them we're supposed to be looking out for, not Malfoy on his own."

A pause, then, "Fine," Githead agreed. "You're right. Maybe he even wants us to follow him on a wild goose chase around the castle while Death Eaters come out through –"

Draco didn't wait to hear the rest. He turned and ran. He only had fifteen minutes. He didn't even want to think about what would happen if he wasn't back by the time Bellatrix and the others passed through the Cabinet on their side. The Room of Requirement would be un-formed. They wouldn't have a destination, which meant they would be stuck in the same limbo that had put Montague in the hospital for weeks – if they were lucky. If not, they would just be…gone.

He grit his teeth and pushed himself to a sprint. He took the stairs down to the dungeons two at a time, and when he entered the Common Room, he grabbed the first student he saw. "Where's Zabini?" he snapped. The boy's eyes were wide with shock – they flicked down to where Draco's fingers were fisted in his lapels – but he didn't need to be asked twice. He pointed to the far corner.

Blaise was lounging casually against the sofa back, Pansy on one side and Goyle on the other. Crabbe was babbling at them from an armchair, looking smug and twirling a pouch of something between thumb and forefinger. Blaise's eyebrows went up when he saw Draco striding across the room toward them.

"Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder," Crabbe was saying. "Impossible to see through. Normal lighting spells don't work. I got it off a pair of wizards down Knockturn. They were dangerous, the two of them. They were from –"

"Let me guess," Blaise drawled mockingly. "Peru."

"Exactly," Crabbe continued, obviously oblivious to Blaise's sarcasm. "But I drove a hard bargain, and –"

Draco cut him off. "We need to go," he said shortly, fixing Blaise with a look that he hoped brooked no argument. "Right now."

"No need to be so rude, Draco," Pansy said languidly. She smirked. "He's not your dog, you know."

"Shut up, Parkinson," he hissed. The venom in his voice was nearly palpable. Right now, Parkinson's half-simpering, half-calculating tone was enough to make him hex her. He nearly did.

It was enough to silence her, and it got Blaise off of the sofa. "What's wrong?" he asked as they headed toward the exit.

Draco lowered his voice to a harsh murmur. "I need you to go to the Hospital Wing right now and bring Weasley back here," he said. "You have to –" He paused mid-sentence, mind racing, and turned on his heel.

Blaise raised his arms in confusion. "Malfoy, what –"

Draco grabbed the pouch of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder out of Crabbe's hand, flatly ignoring his protests. He thrust the pouch into his pocket. "You have to keep her here," he continued, returning to Blaise's side, "until it's all over." They crossed the barrier into the green glow of the dungeons.

"Malfoy –"

"Now, Blaise," he snapped impatiently. He didn't have time to explain it over and over again. "Go to the Hospital Wing, bring Ginny to the Common Room, and keep her there until it's over."

"Dammit, Draco," Blaise said sharply, grabbing his arm to stop him short halfway up the staircase. "Until what's over?"

Draco met his eyes, trying to convey some of the urgency of what he was saying. The importance of it. "There will Death Eaters in the castle in –" He glanced at his watch. Shit. "– seven minutes." He started up the stairs again, Blaise at his heels. "You have to get Ginny back to the Common Room. Better yet, bring her to our dormitory. She'll be safe there."

"Bloody hell," Blaise said wonderingly, "you actually –"

Now it was Draco's turn to stop. He gripped Blaise hard by the shoulders. "Make sure she stays in our dormitory," he said, emphasizing every word. "My aunt – that day in the Three Broomsticks – she said the Dark Lord wanted Ginny alive, but she didn't look like she agreed. She said death would have been too kind a punishment. Are you listening, Blaise? My aunt cannot run into her. It's Bellatrix. She might –"

Blaise nodded, then froze, and Draco knew he'd had the exact same thought that Draco had had ten minutes ago. "Sensitivity to dark magic," he said. He met Draco's eyes. "Do you know how bad –"

"No. But Madam Pomfrey said it could last for the rest of her life, and it's only been a week. Being anywhere near a dark curse will probably hurt her. Imagine what will happen if she's hit by one of Bellatrix's."

"Bellatrix does have a reputation for creativity," Blaise said, but there was no humor on his face or in his voice. Not even a twinge. He started up the stairs again, taking them two at a time now. Draco followed.

They raced through the corridors, moving too quickly to speak. "Where are you going?" Blaise asked when Draco broke away.

"I have to get back to the Room," he said shortly. He swallowed, trying to catch his breath, and glanced at his watch again. Four minutes.

"You didn't tell her, did you?" Blaise asked, arching an eyebrow. Before Draco could answer, he let out a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes skyward. His gaze flicked back. "Be careful," he said. His words were clipped and serious, his expression earnest enough to hold Draco still for one extra, precious moment. "I'm not explaining your death to Weasley on top of everything else," he added. He held his glance for one last second, waiting for Draco to nod understanding. And then he was gone.

Draco arrived back at the corner of the leftmost seventh-floor corridor with a minute left. He just hoped to Merlin they hadn't come through early.

"Of all the days to leave –" Githead was complaining.

"It must have been important, Ron," Longbottom replied, "or they wouldn't have left."

The obvious question – who had left? – flitted through his mind, but Draco shook himself. He didn't have time to decipher their conversation, he reminded himself. Instead, he shoved his hand into his pocket, withdrawing a handful of Crabbe's Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder from the pouch inside. He sifted the grains between his fingers. He knew there was probably a fifty percent chance that Crabbe had been completely full of it and that this was just sugar charmed dark. But it was worth a try. He gripped his wand hard in his other hand, just in case.

And then he ran headlong into the corridor. It took Githead and Longbottom a split-second to process his presence, and then he had to dodge a Stunner – apparently they did know something other than the Disarming Spell – from Githead and some jet of purple light he didn't recognize from Longbottom. But a moment later he was upon them, and he threw the Powder hard at the ground between their feet.

They were engulfed in pitch black.

Longbottom let out a panicked shout, and Githead yelled something in response, obviously convinced that his voice must be muffled by the darkness. Draco moved quickly, ducking and dodging, perhaps unnecessarily. They seemed to be too confused to cast any spells. He collided with the wall. He closed his eyes – he couldn't see anything anyway – and focused on what he needed, then walked in quick steps back and forth along the stone.

On his fourth pass, he felt the wood of the door beneath his fingertips. Githead and Longbottom were still yelling to each other behind him as he slipped back into the Room.

The door shut behind him, completely sealing out the chaos of the corridor. He leaned back against it, heart pounding. He shut his eyes once more, trying to slow the hammering in his chest and his breathing.

Finally, he looked up, his gaze focusing immediately on the Cabinet.

Ginny thrust away the thin hospital sheet draped over her body and scrambled from the bed. Immediately, pain knifed through her skull. Her vision swam. She pitched forward, and the floor came up to meet her.

Blaise's arms under her shoulders stopped her short. "Merlin, Weasley," he said. She could feel him shifting his weight, and she knew he was about to lift her into his arms.

She shook him off with a violent movement. "Stop, Zabini," she snapped. There was a sob burning its way up her windpipe. The pain, she thought determinedly, even though she knew it wasn't. A task, Blaise had said. To let his aunt and…others into the school. That's what he's been doing all this time…why he's been acting like such an arse…. Ginny fought to breathe normally past the fire in her throat. The pain, she insisted again. It was just the pain. Even though it felt a lot more like betrayal.

But either way, she was not going to cry. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, and swallowed it down.

She had to force her eyes to focus against the insistent throbbing at the base of her head, but when she looked up, they were dry. "I'm not going back to the Common Room," she ground out between her teeth.

"Yes," Blaise said in the same tone, "you are."

"I'm going to warn Harry," she continued over him, straightening with some difficulty and fixing him with a steely glare that she hoped would cow him into submission.

He was unmoved. Instead, he let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Like hell you are," he replied. "You can barely stand, let alone run around the castle chasing danger-seeking morons."

Something inside her snapped. "Do you have any idea what's about to happen?" she demanded, her voice rising and thinning out. The sob began to work its way back, and she felt her eyes filling. "He's not just letting them in for a fucking tour. They're here to do something, and it's a good bet that killing Harry Potter is on the agenda." She swiped violently at her face with the back of her hand. She knew without a doubt that sounding hysterical was less likely to convince him. In fact, it increased the chances that he would just stun her and carry her back to the dungeons flung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. But she found that she couldn't control the words streaming from her lips, nor the manic bark of laughter that accompanied them. "How long do you think it'll take them to kill him if no one warns him? And how long do you think hiding in your dormitory is going to keep me safe once that happens? How long do you think I'll live once Harry's dead?"

"How long do you think you'll live if you get hit by a curse?" Blaise retorted. She could tell by the thin set of his lips that he was disconcerted by her tone, but he didn't budge. "Sensitivity to dark magic, remember?" He gestured to the scar visible at the top of her t-shirt. "Anyway," he continued, "I don't give a shit about Saint Potter, and neither do the Death Eaters. They're here for Dumbledore, and I think he can bloody well take care of himself, don't you? Or do you actually think –"

"Enough!" she broke in loudly, silencing him. She paused and exhaled heavily, just managing to regain her composure. And then she grabbed her wand from the bedside table and pointed it squarely at his chest. "I'm going to warn them – Dumbledore, Harry, someone," she said, her voice passably low and steady once more. "You can stay here willingly or you can stay here under a Body-Bind. Your choice. And don't even try it," she added, her eyes flicking to where his right hand was wavering by his robes pocket. "You know I can call your bluffs with my eyes closed. You said yourself that being on the receiving end of a curse might kill me. You're not likely to try one."

"Don't be so sure, Weasley," he replied, his voice laced with frustration. But his hand stilled, and in spite of everything, she could just read the barest thread of amused admiration in his expression. There was never anyone more impressed by her nerve than Blaise – not even Draco.

If Blaise had known about what she'd done just before Christmas – about how she'd taken her task to Harry and then to the Order – he probably would have disapproved of her choosing sides. But his disapproval would have come with a grudging laugh and a pat on the back.

Draco hadn't found any of it the least bit amusing. But he had known it was the right thing to do – the only thing to do.

Hadn't he?

He had always known her better than she knew herself. And so he had known, years ago, that she would never be afforded the luxury of neutrality. And he had also known that when she ran out of options, as she must, she would pick Harry's side. "The Dark Lord killed Diggory, Ginny!" he'd said, that summer night two years ago. "You've always been uncomfortable with the blood status line…you're not nearly Slytherin enough for that." She'd nearly hexed him for that last, but he had been right, in the end. She would never be able to forget what Tom had done to Cedric, to her, what he would do to Harry and her family.

And then there had been her task. The image of him standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest flashed across her mind. She could almost hear the harshness of his laughter and the cruelty of his tone. He had been furious at the thought of her trying to seduce information out of Harry. He had wanted her to refuse, been barely civil when he'd thought she wouldn't.

And so she had thought that they had finally, finally come to the same unspoken conclusion. She had to choose, and she had to choose Harry, not just for herself, but for them.

But then she remembered the way his fingers had closed around her wrist like a vice as she murmured the spell to set the Dark Lord's summons alight, and she felt the ice-cold shiver of sudden uncertainty.

Maybe she had misread everything. Maybe he had never wanted her to choose Harry's side at all. Maybe all of the dramatics at the forest's edge had been petty jealousy, and he had wanted her to go through with the task, knowing full well that following the orders of a man who had tortured her and killed her friend would destroy her.

Or maybe he had wanted her to choose Harry's side, but had never meant to be there when she did. Maybe his parents and blood purity and Tom meant more to him than she had ever imagined, and he had willingly placed them on opposite ends of the battlefield, knowing full well that the battle would destroy them.

She didn't know which was worse.

Long minutes – or maybe it was just seconds – passed before he heard a thumping sound from behind the door. A pause, a single heartbeat, and it pushed open from the inside. He straightened, his whole body taut.

Bellatrix emerged, wand held aloft, and Draco felt something shift uncomfortably in his chest. Some small part of him, a part that he hadn't even acknowledged in the rush of the past half hour, had hoped the Death Eaters would fail to arrive. He'd completed the first part of his task. If the others didn't show up, he couldn't be blamed. Maybe that would be enough to place him in the Dark Lord's good graces. Maybe –

His aunt had seen him, and she smiled, showing teeth. "I will admit, Draco darling," she said, her voice dripping with its usual mocking sweetness, "that half of us did not expect you to make it this far."

Draco cleared his throat, determined not to let uncertainty or anxiety filter into his voice. "Making it this far was eminently practical," he said. His words came out stiff and edged, but steady enough. "And you know how attached I am to practicality."

Her smile widened at that. "Indeed."

"To be honest…." another voice began, deeper but equally condescending. Antonin Dolohov stepped into view. Draco's jaw set. It had been Dolohov who had threatened him and Ginny in the woods after the Quidditch World Cup, the summer before his fourth year…Dolohov who would have tortured them too. If Ginny hadn't sent him flying back into a tree. The man hadn't told anyone. Draco would bet everything he owned on it. What Death Eater in his right mind would admit to being bested by a thirteen-year-old blood traitor? The thought of that was almost enough to make Draco smirk, despite everything. Almost. "We were more concerned about your ability than your practicality."

"You're here, aren't you?" he ground out.

"And how many months did that take?" Dolohov replied. "At this rate, Dumbledore might very well die of natural causes before you get to him."

Other figures were emerging from the Cabinet behind him. Draco recognized the Carrow twins' aunt and uncle, Yaxley, and – he shivered despite himself – Fenrir Greyback. Three others that he didn't know followed.

"Why don't you just get out of the way," Dolohov continued. "Let the adults take it from here."

Greyback let out a short bark of laughter, and Draco saw that his teeth were bared in something between a smile and a sneer.

But Bellatrix's smile had vanished. "You would do well to remember why we are here, Dolohov," she said sharply. "It is for Draco to succeed or fail. He is in charge."

She turned to Draco, eyebrows raised, and he nodded. He forced himself to focus on the next – and final – part of his task. "Go back," he said, turning suddenly. He fixed his gaze on Dolohov, taking a small shred of pleasure in giving the man an order. "Bring the Hand of Glory from Borgin's shop. We're going to need it."

"Watch your tone, boy," Dolohov replied, sneering. "I do not take orders from you."

"Ah, that's right," Draco said derisively. "I recall you mentioning something similar…three years ago, was it? I hope your back has healed since then."

"Why, you little –" Dolohov stepped forward, and Draco raised his wand, a curse on his lips.

"Do it," Bellatrix snapped, her eyes fixed on Dolohov and her own wand twitching at her side. "He is in charge. You will regret making me repeat myself again." Dolohov scowled darkly, but after a moment, he stepped back and re-entered the Cabinet.

Bellatrix turned to Draco and smiled broadly once more. "And when he returns, Draco?" she asked, batting her eyes mockingly, "What next?"

"They've gone," Luna said in her usual serene, distant tone. She looked oddly distorted in the glow of the dungeon lamps, her yellow hair lank and sickly bathed in green and her eyes abnormally large in her face under the flickering light.

Ginny shook herself, gritting her teeth. She felt like there was a knife lodged at the base of her head. Every few seconds, a spasm of pain reverberated through her skull, blurring her vision and scattering her thoughts. And she felt the beginnings of a burning sensation beneath her scar, and an increasingly insistent throbbing. She knew that if she looked, the skin would be bright red with irritation. She wasn't supposed to be out of bed.

"We gathered as much when we went to Dumbledore's office and Gryffindor Tower," Blaise replied, his voice lilting with sarcasm, "and they weren't there." He glanced in Ginny's direction and rolled his eyes.

He had insisted on coming with her. When she'd protested, he'd arched an eyebrow at her and told her flatly to fuck off. She knew he wasn't happy about it, just as she knew he'd give her hell when this was all over. For now, Ginny met his eyes and focused hard on keeping the pain from showing on her face. If she started falling apart now, he would re-double his efforts to get her back to the Common Room, where she would be completely and utterly useless.

She forced her thoughts back to the task at hand. Their frantic knocks at the Headmaster's Office had gone unanswered, and a superior Third Year at the Gryffindor Common Room had told them that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had left ages ago. Neville hadn't been there either, and there had been no one else Ginny could trust to give a message to Harry if he returned. And then she had remembered something Snape had said – had it really been just a few hours ago? Now is not the time! I mean no disrespect, Albus, but your timing could not be worse. Draco Malfoy has had free reign for months now….

Snape had known something then, had tried to do exactly what she was doing now – warn Dumbledore. So they had barreled down to the dungeons, only to run nearly headlong into Hermione and Luna.

"Why don't you dispense with the sarcasm and tell us what you're doing here?" Hermione was saying to Blaise. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her cheeks were flushed with obvious dislike.

Blaise smirked and opened his mouth to reply, but Ginny spoke over him. "There's going to be an attack on the castle. Tonight," she said. "They're after Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore…?" Hermione replied.

"When we couldn't find him or Harry, we thought maybe Snape –"

She broke off. Hermione wasn't listening. "Why would he send them after Dumbledore?" she was murmuring, her brow furrowed and her gaze fixed on the ground. "If he can't defeat him, how can he expect a Death Eater to succeed?"

"Hermione," Ginny said sharply, not bothering to hide her impatience. She gripped the older girl hard by the shoulders. The sudden movement sent a spasm of pain to her temples. She grimaced, but managed to grind out another sentence. "We don't have time for this."

Hermione shook herself, nodded. "Dumbledore's not here," she said firmly, "but once the Death Eaters realize that, they're hardly going to pack up and leave. They'll cause whatever damage they can. We have to tell the others."

"Others?"

"Harry and Dumbledore thought something might happen tonight, so there are Order members patrolling the halls. I'm surprised you didn't run into any of them on your way here."

Blaise snorted. "Doesn't say much for their patrols, does it?"

Hermione scowled at him, then turned to Ginny with a look that suggested she wasn't going to dignify that comment with a response. "Do you know how and when they'll get into the castle? Harry thought they might come through the Room of Requirement, though I don't see how –"

"Looks like Scarhead was right," Blaise answered. "For once." Hermione turned back to him, scowling again, and he arched an eyebrow challengingly. "As for when they'll get in," he added, "they're probably here already."

Abruptly, Hermione's expression changed. The blood drained from her cheeks, and her eyes widened with a sudden thought. Ginny's heart began to thump harder in her chest. "What?" she whispered, afraid of the answer.

"Ron and Neville are guarding the Room of Requirement," Hermione replied, meeting her eyes.

They stood there for a long moment, frozen in horror, and then, in the same instant, they both turned and ran for the stairs.

Ginny's body protested immediately, but she forced herself to focus past the pain pounding through her skull and down her sternum. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, up out of the dungeons, along the corridor to the next staircase, up to the second floor landing, then the third…. She ignored Blaise, who was hissing objections at her elbow.

And then, suddenly, two things happened at once.

The corridor was flooded with bright green light. And Ginny's chest was rent with a flash of pain so sharp, so all-consuming that she felt she'd been run through with a blade. Her mind blanked. She saw white. She let out an involuntary cry and stumbled forward, catching herself hard against the corner of a stone column. She registered dimly that the skin of both hands had scraped open; she could feel the wet warmth of blood on her palms.

When she regained her sight, all she could make out was a blur of figures – Hermione and Luna had rushed to the window, and Blaise was at her side, saying something she couldn't quite catch – and white spots. Her eyes turned immediately to the source of the light, and she grit her teeth to focus. The green radiated in through the windows, and high above, at the top of the Astronomy Tower, she could just make out the lower half of a symbol that sent a jolt of panic all the way down to her fingertips. The glittering green leer of skull and a thick serpent slithering from its black maw. The Dark Mark.

She remembered something her dad had told her, years and years ago, in the hushed tones of a man still afraid despite himself. You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters sent the Dark Mark into the sky after they'd killed, wherever they'd killed.

After they'd killed, wherever they'd killed. The Death Eaters were in the castle, and they'd killed someone near the Astronomy Tower. Ron or Neville or – another jolt of panic – Draco. Her mind felt slow, lethargic, and her thoughts were slurring confusedly through the muck. But she managed to hold on to one of them, just barely keeping it from slipping away. Maybe Draco hadn't betrayed her. Maybe he'd warned Dumbledore and Harry and let the Death Eaters into the castle only after the two of them were safely out of reach.

And maybe the Death Eaters had killed him for it.

Sound rushed in again, and she heard Blaise's voice beside her ear. "– back to the Common Room, Weasley," he was saying.

"We have to get to the Tower," she retorted, silencing him with a glare, and she had just shifted to shove him away, when she was rocked by another spasm of pain. This time, she had the distinct feeling of something tearing, something ripping apart along the scar on her chest. Her fingers scrabbled against the stone of the wall as she struggled to stay upright.

"What's happening to her?" Hermione said, eyes wide with terror.

"I have to get her back to the dungeons," Blaise replied, his voice for once devoid of sarcasm. "The curse that hit her – it's made her sensitive to dark magic." He glanced meaningfully out at the Dark Mark. "Morsmordre…."

"And there are probably people dueling," Luna added, "on the upper floors. The Order patrols will have gone to the Tower."

"I'm fine," Ginny said sharply. She straightened with difficulty and managed to cross to the base of the next staircase.

"You're not fine, Weasley!" Blaise snapped. "For fuck's sake, if we go running headlong into the duels up there, you're only going to get worse."

She mustered all of her remaining energy to focus her sluggish mind. "And yet, I'll still be better off than whoever it is they've just killed," she managed. "Which could be my brother, one of my best friends, or -" She broke off. She met his eyes, held his gaze. "I'm going, Blaise," she said firmly. "Please don't make me threaten to hex you again."

She turned away, started upward. He didn't try to stop her, and she exhaled with relief, letting her eyes slide shut for a brief moment. She knew if he'd tried, she wouldn't have had the strength to stop him.

She threw herself down against the wall at the base of the Tower stairs. Beside her, the steps curved upward. Her upturned face was bathed in the green light glowing down on the open tower top and filtering all the way to the floor below. Her breath was coming in short, desperate gasps, and her head was swimming. Every dark spell cast had nearly floored her, and the effects had only become more pronounced as they moved closer to the duels. She tasted blood in her mouth, and she didn't know where it had come from. Maybe she had bitten down too hard on her tongue in her effort to keep from crying out. Maybe it was something worse.

Her scar was burning fiercely beneath her t-shirt, and she thought she felt a warm dampness beginning to coat the fabric. She didn't dare look.

Blaise collapsed beside her. "We lost Granger and Loony in the corridor back there," he said, breathless himself. "Greyback came out of no where and cut them off. I thought I saw one of your brothers, too…has to have been, with that hair."

He squinted down at her, jerked away at her expression. She knew her face must be contorted with pain. She didn't have the strength to mask it, but it hardly mattered now. They couldn't turn back; to get to the Common Room, they would have to go all the way back through the corridors of dueling Order members and Death Eaters.

Her thoughts were half-developed, scattered. She felt dizzy, and the all-too-familiar blackness that meant she might pass out was beginning to pulse at the edges of her vision.

She had caught a fleeting glimpse of Neville two floors down, and Ron in the corridor behind, but there had been no sign of Draco. Her panic had risen so that now it was in her throat, nearly choking her.

Maybe he hadn't betrayed her. Maybe they'd killed him for it.

Her mind was muddy, but she had the horrible, sick feeling that she was grasping at straws.

Dumbledore and Harry would never have agreed to leave. If Draco had warned them in advance, they never would have left the students to fend for themselves. Dumbledore was no coward, and Harry…she knew he would never leave his friends to fight in his stead.

And anyway, how could she hope that he hadn't betrayed her if it meant he might be dead? Surely it was better for him to be safe, even if it meant he had never been what she'd thought.

"– are you waiting for, boy?"

Suddenly, she became aware of voices above them. She didn't know how she'd missed them before, magnified as they were by the open, stone space of the stairwell.

"I told you one of us should've been put in charge," the same voice said. Ginny thought she recognized it from somewhere – it sent a thrill of fear through her – but she couldn't quite place it.

"Quiet," someone else hissed. A woman, this time. The light changed, and Ginny looked up to see the speaker step into view on the landing above. She was swathed in black, but she had removed her mask, which now dangled from her arm, its eye holes eerily empty. Ginny only recognized the face from the Prophet. Draco had talked about his aunt before, but she realized then that she had never seen Bellatrix Lestrange in person.

"Draco," Bellatrix continued. Her tone was suddenly silkier, but it still had a dangerous edge.

"Severus," another voice said softly. Ginny shifted against the wall until she could make out Professor Dumbledore where he was standing at the edge of the tower, his back to the empty night air. His hands were held out beside him in what might have been a placating gesture, his palms up. He held no wand.

A movement, and Ginny could just make out the edge of another black cloak. But it was different than Bellatrix's, and she knew it was Professor Snape.

Bellatrix laughed. "Begging for mercy won't help you now," she crowed. "Your day is done, and you will be a corpse soon enough. Draco," she repeated, making a gesture.

Draco stepped into view.

Ginny's heart began to pound in her ears. He was alive, at least, she realized, feeling relief flood her body. And he looked unharmed. He stood straight as a rod, and his chin was tilted up. The green light highlighted his expression; his lips were set in grim determination.

But why? Determination to do what?

And then Draco raised his wand and pointed it squarely at Dumbledore's chest, and Ginny finally understood.

"Draco, NO –" she began, but Blaise threw a hand over her mouth, muffling her words, and before she could shake him off, it was too late.

"Avada Kedavra!" Draco said, and Ginny just had time to register the jet of green light erupting from his wand and hurtling toward the headmaster before the pain of the curse exploded in her chest. Her scar was searing, burning, ripping open. She felt like she was being torn apart, and the rush of warm liquid that suddenly soaked her t-shirt told her that that wasn't far from the truth. She let out a hoarse cry.

The darkness closed in, pulsed back, closed in again. She could hear Blaise saying something, his voice rising and falling with sudden panic. She heard her name, and his hands were on her shoulders, shaking her. She struggled to stay conscious, but everything was blurring. She couldn't focus. She coughed, tasted blood bubbling out between her lips.

"Ginny!" Blaise's face loomed in front of her. "Ginny," he repeated, and she half-heard the words, half-read them as they left his lips. "Ginny, don't you fucking dare…."

Bellatrix made a gesture, and Dolohov stepped forward to kneel beside Dumbledore's prone body. The headmaster was lying at the edge of the tower, completely still, his left arm hanging out into the open air. Draco noticed for the first time that his right hand was horribly disfigured, black and shriveled. He trained his gaze on that hand, his eyes scanning the ridges and valleys of the puckered of the flesh so that he wouldn't have to look at the professor's face.

The face of the man he had killed.

"Not dead." Dolohov's voice was heavy with contempt.

Draco's head jerked upward.

"What?" Bellatrix demanded.

"I said, old man's not dead."

Bellatrix hesitated, as if unsure what to do, for a few seconds. And then she turned on him, fixing him with a harsh stare. He forced himself not to flinch. "You have to mean it," she ground out. "You have to want him dead."

"He's incapable, Bellatrix," Alecto Carrow said from behind them, not bothering to hide her glee.

"We always knew Malfoys were cowards," her brother Amycus added. There was a titter of laughter.

Draco ignored them. He swallowed down the bile in his throat and stilled the tremor in his hand by gripping his wand with brutal tightness. He turned his gaze. The skin of the headmaster's face was so thin it was nearly transparent, and there were deep-set lines across his forehead and at the corners of his lips. With the lids shut over his bright, dancing eyes, the great Albus Dumbledore looked like nothing more than a tired old man.

Draco's arm felt suddenly like lead. He couldn't lift it, and he knew in that moment that if he tried to speak those six syllables again, he would choke on them. He tried to steel himself, exhaling and allowing himself to shut his eyes for the briefest of moments. One gesture and six syllables. He had done it once. He could do it again. And mean it. He opened his eyes.

"We do not have time for this." Professor Snape stepped in front of him and raised his own wand.

Bellatrix lurched forward. "How dare you presume to –"

"Avada Kedavra," Snape said fiercely, and for the second time in as many minutes, the headmaster was consumed by green light. This time, the force of the curse pushed the body back beneath the rails, and Dumbledore's limp form hurtled over the edge of the Tower and disappeared into the darkness. For an instant, no one spoke. And then Alecto let out a triumphant squeal.

"Come," Snape said darkly, stowing his wand in the folds of his cloak. "It is done." Ignoring Bellatrix's shrieks of rage, he gripped Draco by the shoulder and steered him toward the staircase. Draco did not resist as he was half-pushed down the steps. He heard the others following, the Carrows and Dolohov shouting laughing obscenities and cackling wildly at the dead man's expense.

"There will be Order members," Snape said as they reached the bottom of the staircase. "Prepare yourself." Draco shook himself, grip tightening on his wand once more, stepped out into the open corridor….

And nearly tripped over Blaise.

For a moment, he was too stunned to speak. Blaise was supposed to be safely in the dungeons. He was supposed to be with Ginny. But instead, he was kneeling on the ground, and his hands – his hands were a strange red color and visibly shaking. Their eyes met. Draco saw panic and fear, and then he looked past him, and his eyes focused on Ginny.

He stopped breathing. She was collapsed against the wall, white as a sheet, and the whole front of her shirt was crimson with blood. Her eyes were open, but they were unfocused. He saw blood at the corners of her lips. "Ginny," he managed. He lurched toward her.

Just then, there was a loud sound from his right, and Draco turned instinctively to see a jet of red light hurtling at him from the end of the hall. He threw himself to the floor beside Blaise, heard the hex career off a column a few feet away. He couldn't make out who had cast it; the figure dove back around the corner as Snape sent a curse back down the corridor in response.

Snape. Horror flooded his body as he realized that Snape could not have failed to notice Blaise and Ginny, and that Bellatrix was close behind. At most, they had had a few seconds before she reached the bottom of the staircase….

He turned. "Blaise," he said, "we have to get her out of here! Bellatrix – she's right behind me on the –"

He was cut off by a sudden tightness at his throat. It took him a beat to realize that Snape had grabbed him by the back of his collar and was dragging him upright and forward and away down the corridor. He struggled to free himself, but Snape's grip was strong and unyielding.

Another Order member came around the same corner and sent a curse in their direction. This one had better aim, and Snape had to throw up a shield. As he did so, his fingers loosened, and Draco ducked down, scrambling back along the floor to the base of the staircase. Behind him, he heard Snape send a Stunner down the corridor.

"We leave now," the professor said, turning and hauling Draco up once more, by his arm this time. Draco tried for a hex, but Snape was too close. He couldn't manage the necessary wand movement in the small space between them, and then Snape had reached around to pin his other arm to his side as he pulled him bodily away.

Behind them, he heard Bellatrix let out a loud laugh. His heart sank, and he twisted, trying to see. "Well, isn't this a lovely surprise?" His aunt's voice was high and exultant, but Draco could hear a thread of wildness in it. She was furious that Snape had overridden her in the Tower, and now she was dangerously out of control. "Step aside, boy. A traitor presenting herself on a silver platter is a rare treat, and Merlin knows I deserve to get some enjoyment out of this whole affair."

He heard the deeper tones of Blaise's answer, but the exact words were muffled by a hex hitting the stone directly to his right. From behind, the Carrows and Dolohov, who had just exited the stairwell, sent three simultaneous Unforgivables in response. All three collided with the far wall, scorching black burn marks onto the stone.

Draco and Snape were halfway down the hallway now, but he strained against the professor's iron grip, managed to catch glimpses around his arm. Blaise was standing defiantly, wand in hand. And Bellatrix was laughing again, this time louder, harsher than before. "It seems we have done the impossible," Bellatrix was saying. "Found something that a Zabini cares about more than himself. Your mother will be so disappointed."

She paused, as if considering. "No matter. The slut can make another son easily enough."

And then, with a careless shrug completely at odds with the thrill in her eyes and the savage smile on her lips, she raised her wand and pointed it directly at Blaise's chest. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Draco watched, barely comprehending, as Blaise was engulfed in a green light more terrible than the one shining down from the Dark Mark above. His body jerked violently with the force of the curse, his arms flying forward, then back, suddenly limp as a ragdoll's. And then he fell, crumpling lifelessly against the wall, half on top of Ginny.

Somewhere along the line, she had regained some measure of consciousness, and her eyes were focused now. For an instant, their eyes met, and Draco knew he would never forget the look in the deep brown.

And then Bellatrix shifted, turning her wand on Ginny.

"ENOUGH, BELLATRIX!" Snape bellowed. Bellatrix froze. "The Dark Lord wants her alive. Or was his direct order not direct enough for you?" The threat in Snape's voice was clear.

For a long moment, the two of them – Snape and Bellatrix – stood facing each other across the length of the corridor. Around them, chaos reigned. The Carrows and Dolohov were firing curses toward the Order members waiting around the corner. Furious snarls that could only belong to Greyback echoed from several halls away.

Finally, Bellatrix let out a cry of barely contained frustration. She fixed Ginny with a vicious glare. "Soon enough," she hissed, and then she bounded down the corridor toward them, sending ferocious spells at the Phoenixes beyond.

Draco was pulled into motion once more.

His last thought as they rounded the corner into another chaotic corridor and his two friends were obscured from view was that this – all of this – was impossible. Blaise couldn't be dead.

Because no matter the outcome, the Zabinis never lost.

Author's Note: This was a tough one, guys. I've been pretty darn sick (ugh), this chapter is the longest one thus far, and as you can imagine, I've been dreading that last scene. But I finally got it out, and I hope you enjoyed reading it.

I definitely owe some thank-you's here. First, to all of you for putting up with the long wait. And second, to Mr Norrell for many interesting and helpful discussions that vastly improved the plot of this chapter and that I'm sure will have the same effect on future ones. I am immensely grateful.

Please review!