AN: Thanks to mega700201 and TripleLLL for the reviews; glad you are enjoying! Two more chapters left after this. I've already posted the first chapter in my next story (also Dramione, but much lighter!) That story is already fully written, so I can promise a more regular update than this one has had!
Also, for the last chapter, I would love someone to read over it to make sure I don't totally muck it up. If anyone is interested write a review or send a message?
They brought Charlie's body back with them, after Vanishing Nagini's corpse. Later. Later, they could deal with the grief and the logistics of burial. Later. Later was starting to look miserable no matter which way they looked at it. Draco only hoped the later associated with this side was better than the later of the side he'd betrayed. For now, they'd keep Charlie's body safe and unmolested.
Potter was looking more alive by the time they arrived with the grim update. Potter had cried with Ron at the news; Draco felt like he was intruding, but had nowhere left to go. He hadn't personally known the man, although he'd never forget his grisly death right before his eyes. He settled on comforting Hermione, who was teary-eyed but seemed a bit lost. He supposed it was odd to mourn a man you didn't remember but to whom you'd presumably been close and to see the grief of your two best friends you similarly didn't remember. Merlin, this whole situation was just so bizarre!
Snape pulled them back to the task at hand.
"Let's end this. Then we can bury our dead with the honor they deserve," his voice was rough with unshed tears. Draco realized he had likely taught Charlie and even served with him on the Order.
"Let's end them," Ron agreed with vigor. His face was still a blotchy red.
*** TR ** TR ** TR ***
Showtime. It seemed at once anti-climatic and more intense and scary than anything he'd ever experienced. It was worse than waiting for the Dark Mark. Worse than the jitters before a Quidditch match against Scarhead. At the same time, it was too calm, too banal to be the moments before the battle that would end this war-one way or another.
Draco touched his Dark Mark, summoning the Dark Lord. He was flanked by Hermione, dressed to the nines as a Dark Witch, and Neville Longbottom Polyjuiced as Bellatrix Lestrange. Snape followed closely behind. Ahead of them, Potter and Weasley were bound by invisible cords.
They dawdled outside the ballroom. Pops inside indicated that other Death Eaters had been called; too many. Draco's gut roiled. Hopefully they wouldn't be too outnumbered. They'd find out soon enough. The realization, recalling the good-byes everyone had said before they Polyjuiced and set off, that none of them were really expecting to come out alive, crystallized in his gut. He wanted to go back and say his again. Hermione, I love you, and you've changed me for the better. Snape, thank you for being the Father my own could never be. Potter-you're not as awful as I'd thought. Longbottom, I swear I'm not my aunt. Weasel, I hope you avenge your brother. He hadn't said any of that and now maybe he never would.
Finally, the hissed voice of the Dark Lord bade them enter.
Draco walked into the ballroom, a bound Harry Potter shoved at wandpoint in front of him-all that his father had ever wanted from him. He could have choked on the irony of it.
He forced Potter and Ron to kneel before him, subtly releasing their bindings as he did it.
0 Horcruxes to go. Only 1 Dark Lord, he reminded himself.
And 50 odd Death Eaters.
"My Lord," he bowed. "I have brought you Potter and the youngest Weasley, as requested. My apologies that it had taken me so long." He delivered a scripted description of how he'd caught them, providing cover as Hermione, Snape, and Longbottom quietly (and without moving) used a combination of Sticking Spells and the Body-Bind Curse to freeze the Death Eaters where they stood. Weasel had been the one to think of it; apparently his awful twins had pioneered the combination of the two spells so that frozen victims didn't fall over. The benefit of the long robes and masks was that no-one could even tell much of the room was frozen.
Draco bowed lower, causing the transfigured copy of the Slytherin locket to tumble out of his robe-front.
"What is that?!" the Dark Lord hissed, distracted immediately by the bauble.
"My Lord," Draco offered, his voice shaking, "it appears to be a relic of Salazar Slytherin that Potter was holding. I retrieved it and hoped to present it to you."
He carefully lifted the chain over this head and held it out above him, careful to touch it with his bare hands-a show of its safety. His back was starting to hurt from the elongated bow, but he was proud to say he did not shift. He hoped the trio had incapacitated the rest of the room.
The man who had been Tom Riddle launched himself out of his throne to grab the piece.
Just as Hermione had planned.
The second the half-blood touched the piece-which had been soaked in the poison Snape had returned to them-he let out an unearthly scream and fell to the floor.
*** TR ** TR ** TR ***
This time, there was no pause, no moment of calm before chaos reigned.
The Dark Lord was back on his feet, hissing in pain. The part of Draco's mind that wasn't focused on protective spells noted that Hermione had been right; the Half-Blood was only partly incapacitated.
Potter was now standing, ready to duel. Draco was a little impressed that the boy didn't waste time on fighting words or taunts. He simply cast Expelliarmus with the grace and poise he displayed only while dueling and playing Quidditch.
The Dark Lord blocked it and the two traded spells.
In a book, Draco thought ruefully, the rest of them would stand still, watching transfixed. In reality, the Death Eaters they hadn't frozen started flinging spells, while an enterprising Death Eater realized their compatriots were immobilized and was casting counter spells. He and the others worked to take them down, but one did not become a Death Eater solely based on evil intent; many of them were accomplished duelists. He did note with satisfaction that even Longbottom and Weasley weren't holding back to the nice spells the Order favored; they were playing to survive.
They had taken down ten or so Death Eaters when the doors flung open and another twenty robed, masked figures barged in. Shite, Draco thought.
"Cover me," Hermione asked him. Without waiting, she started casting the Imperius. Draco doubled his efforts; she had trusted him so implicitly to protect her, she hadn't even needed a response. He'd die before betraying that confidence.
A moment later, they saw the fruits of her efforts. Twenty or so Death Eaters turned their wands on their masked brethren and started fighting against their own. Draco felt a fiery pride spark in his chest. Sweet Salazar was she impressive!
If the room had been chaos before, it was pandemonium now. Fighting against their own removed the clarity of purpose the masked horde had previously displayed and the five fighters were able to take down many more. Maybe, just maybe the tide had turned.
He felt Hermione slump against his back and nearly staggered forward. About half of the Death Eaters under her control slipped. Moments later, Neville was hit with a purple spell Draco didn't recognize. His shields and efforts to attack those attacking him and Hermione were faltering. He swore he could feel Hermione's strength flagging as she tried to control the ten or Death Eaters she still Imperiused. But the brief advantage they'd held was quickly disappearing under the weight of spells that bombarded them.
Suddenly, another group appeared in the doorway. Draco was ready to start defending from a new corner, while mentally cursing himself for not properly saying his goodbyes and his apologies when he recognized his mother and the horrifying, unique shade of red hair of the Weasley clan.
The Order had arrived!
