A/N: Hi friends, sorry this took longer than I anticipated. Thank you for all of your lovely comments and reactions to the last chapter, they make my heart so happy to read.

also yes I realize all our faves surviving feels unrealistic but 1-I do not care and 2-we already lost them once so I feel like we've had enough realistic pain, and things are different enough here that it feels more realistic to not kill them

idk people will probs die later but in the meantime

DoM battle culmination—here ya go!

When she comes to, Draco's hand is intertwined with hers.

"Wha—" she blinks, looking around them.

"Hey, calm," he says softly, bringing the hand in his to his lips. "You're okay, but you still have to take it easy for a few days."

"But you can't be seen with me! It's—"

"Fine, Mia, we're in the very back of the hospital wing and Remus has firmly warded it."

Hermione lets out a deep breath. "Oh, that's—that's good. Is everyone okay? Here?"

"Everyone's okay." Tonks's voice says, and Hermione finds the woman in question sitting at her other bedside, hair a soft shade of lavender. "Most of the Order is out doing damage control as we speak."

Hermione reaches for her immediately, eyes alert. "The baby's okay? Narcissa cast a protective charm, but—"

"The little hitchhiker is just fine," Tonks assures her with a small smile. "Minus having me and Percy for parents, of course. Kid's gonna need all the prayers in the world."

Draco laughs, but Hermione's distracted. "Harry's okay, too?"

(Surely, they wouldn't be sitting here cracking jokes if something had happened to her brother.)

"He's just fine," Sirius's voice promises, and she turns her head just enough to see Harry asleep in the bed beside her, Sirius looking exhausted at the side of his bed closest to her. "You saved him, kitten. Although once you're both well again we'll be having a long talk about charging headfirst into danger and learning our magical capacitates, yeah?"

"That—sounds fair," Hermione says.

Sirius gets up, moving slowly to press a kiss to her forehead—and she surprises herself when the motion doesn't terrify her.

"Love you, twerp." He tells her as he pulls away. "If anything happened to you I would find the Resurrection stone itself so I could bring you back and strangle you myself."

(She knows what he's doing, pairing teasing with the affection so it doesn't send her running—it makes her scowl, but she loves him even more for it.)

(She doesn't say it back—isn't there yet, but nods and hugs him again; he knows.)

She falls asleep again shortly thereafter; when she wakes, she and Draco get a moment alone.

He pulls one of her hands into both of his, holding it to his lips like he's still reminding himself that she's there.

(that she's alive.)

They both just look at each other for a moment, drinking one another in.

Hermione sits up straighter, clearing her throat before saying, "I don't want to hear anything about having given you a scare after you threw yourself in front of a curse, Draco. What if the spell had been fatal? You could have been killed!"

Draco doesn't bat an eye. "Better that than to live the rest of my life without you."

Her heart twists. "And yet you think I could bear to do it without you?"

"No, but Harry needs you. You would push through for him."

Hermione squeezes his hand tightly, forcing him to meet her gaze. He's right, but—she can't stand the notion. "Please do not ever, ever put me in a position to have to."

"I won't. I'll be more careful in the future, I promise, Juliet," he says softly, the nickname soothing the ache the topic has caused in her soul. "You were in danger, and he was the one wielding the wand, and I just—reacted."

"I understand," she nods, offering a half-hearted smile. "I'd thank you but I don't want to encourage this behavior in the future."

He rolls his eyes, pulling the hand of hers he clasps to his face and pressing his lips to her wrist.

"Umbridge is gone, by the way—Dumbledore was reinstated via emergency executive order right after we left the Ministry, and McGonagall and Hagrid are both back too."

"Good," Hermione mutters, lip curling with anger. "Although being fired isn't enough—she deserves to be behind bars." She yawns, mumbling, "I'm going to make sure of it."

"If anyone could do it, it's you, love. I'm sure Sirius would be happy to stir up the dramatics to help."

"That's true." Hermione scoots over patting the empty space beside her. "Get up here."

"You're injured, Mia."

"I'm fine, I was just depleted, Madam Pomfrey's only keeping me here as a formality," she insists, eyes pleading. "Besides, the hospital wing is cold. How can I heal without borrowing some of your body heat?"

He glares at her. "Hermione, I am not climbing into your sickbed."

"It's not like I'm trying to seduce you," she scowls, "good Lord, Draco." She hesitates for a moment, and then without meeting his eyes whispers, "I've just been having a lot of nightmares. The potions and the magic depletion are making them—vivid."

(his arms are the only thing that make her feel safe.)

"Oh, Mia," he grimaces, but doesn't bother with platitudes—just acquiesces, gently getting onto the bed and letting her curl against the familiar shape of his body.

"I met your mother," she mumbles into his sweater.

"You did," he nods, despite knowing her eyes are closed.

"She was kind. Although I admit the circumstances were not exactly the way I'd imagined meeting my mother-in-law."

Draco snickers, gently rubbing her back. "Definitely a unique experience. It'll be a fun story at parties, someday."

She hums in agreement, though in this moment nothing's ever felt as far away as such simple concerns as parties, when the war is so tangibly near. "Have you heard any word from her?"

"A letter—brief, though. And in code—she's being watched." His brow creases with concern. "Don't worry about that now, love. Get some rest."

(He's exhausted, as well, having spent the night in the chair beside her bed; they're both asleep before a full minute has passed.)

/

Harry wakes slowly.

He's there with his eyes closed, for a while. He can hear Sirius and Remus whispering back and forth, Ron coming to visit and sounding worried out of his mind, Luna humming or reading poetry next to him.

("I know you can hear me," she whispers, at one point in the dead of night, Sirius's snores audible beside her. "Don't worry so much, Harry. You're just healing. You'll wake up when you're ready.")

He hears Tonks cracking jokes, and Draco's attempts to goad him into waking up—

("Keep it up, Potter, and Slytherin will win the cup for sure—don't you want to get up and prove me wrong?")

Mia's voice joins the fray when she wakes up, though she's still magically, mentally, and physically drained and fades away as she falls back asleep soon after.

Finally he manages to drag his eyelids open; the hospital wing is dim and quiet, and he can clearly see the full moon through the window.

(Remus would've had to leave, then.)

He can hear snoring, and smiles instinctively at the sight of Sirius 's head smushed on the hospital bed, leaning from his seat in an armchair in a way that looks incredibly uncomfortable.

His godfather looks so peaceful, he doesn't want to wake him—

(But if Sirius knew he had been awake without telling him he would definitely be grounded, so.)

"Pads," he whispers, voice breaking from misuse. He repeats it once more, attempting to move a hand to Sirius's shoulder unsuccessfully, but the movement rouses the older man.

Sirius is instantly alert—the mark of a lifetime of trauma—and instantly moves to push Harry's hair out of his face. "Harry. Thank Merlin." He visibly relaxes at the proof that Harry's okay, only now able to believe it despite Madam Pomfrey's assurances. "Are you feeling alright, pup?"

Harry nods, swallowing thickly. "m'mouth's a little dry if there's water around, though."

Sirius grabs a glass off the nightstand, beside a veritable mountain of cards, flowers, and boxes of chocolate.

"What's all that?" Harry squints.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "Get well soon gifts. You're very popular."

"Bet all of them are from the same people who've been calling me nuts and sending hate mail all year," he grumbles, before gulping down the water.

"Probably. Also, all of the chocolate boxes are empty."

Harry laughs despite himself. "Moony and Sof got to them?"

"Yep." Sirius's expression is fond. "She insisted her big brother would want her to have it, and as it was the day of the full moon I didn't have the heart to disagree."

"Don't love chocolate all that much anyway. Or anything that sweet, really."

(after so many years of nothing but the blandest food, often stale—his palate had never been exposed to sweets when it was forming, and now more than a little makes him sick.)

Which Sirius figured out ages ago—the reminder makes him frown. "I know."

Harry clears his throat, moving to sit up. "I heard Mia's voice before—she's okay? And everyone else?"

"Just fine," Sirius promises. "And most of the Death Eaters are in Azkaban, now."

"That's good." Harry yawns, thoughts drifting a million miles away. "He's still out there, though."

"Yes," Sirius admits. "But this was a victory, Harry. Don't let the weight of the war get you down. What you did, making sure he couldn't get the prophecy—" he swallows heavily, jaw clenching, "That was very brave, pup. Dangerous, and I don't want you putting yourself in harm's way like that, but…I'm very proud of you."

Harry bites his lip, holding back tears of exhaustion—the tears that come from being so, so overwhelmed and unsure of oneself. "It didn't feel brave. I—I was terrified. And my friends could've died, because of me."

"Listen to me, pup. Bravery is not the absence of fear—to not be afraid when in danger is stupidity, not some lofty goal of only the most courageous. Fear is normal—fear keeps us on guard, keeps us alive in dangerous situations. I hope that you're never not afraid when your life is on the line."

(Sirius's expression is dark, eyes flickering sadly to Hermione—knows it's an experience they share, one he'd give anything for her not to know.)

He turns back to Harry. "Your friends chose to go with you, because this is their fight too—you didn't drag them into anything they weren't already planning on being in. And you and I both know if Hermione heard you say it she'd tear your head off."

Harry grimaces. "Yeah, she would kill me a little bit."

"Exactly." Sirius grips his shoulders. "You are not the reason your friends could have died—you're the reason they all survived, because you've been teaching them defense all year. You got them all to practice and be at their strongest so that they were ready for the fight."

Harry nods slowly, watery eyes beginning to spill over. He hesitates for a beat before throwing his arms around Sirius tightly.

He lets his godfather bear his weight, rubbing his back gently while he cries—the Harry before Hogwarts never would've believed it.

(it still feels like a dream, sometimes.)

After he pulls back, Sirius gives him a pensive look he can't read. "What?"

Sirius purses his lips, watching him carefully. "Right before you became unconscious…you called me Dad."

Harry feels his cheeks grow warm, and he looks down, unable to meet his eyes. "Oh. I—"

Sirius motions for him to be quiet. "Hey, it's okay. You've nothing to be embarrassed about. I just wanted you to know that—if you did want to call me Dad, that would be okay, yeah?" He swallows—it's nerves, Harry realizes, the kind he hasn't seen since third year when Sirius asked if he wanted to come live with him. "Not that you have to, by any means, because I would never try to replace Prongs, and I hate that we're here without him, but—" he presses one hand to his mouth, squeezing Harry's shoulder with the other. "you're my kid, now. Mine. I love you like I'd love any child of my own." He blows out a deep breath.

Harry wets his lips. "I…" Scratches the back of his neck. "I know he was a good man, and I know he and my mum loved me, and all. But—you're the only dad I've ever known."

Sirius raises a hand to wipe at the tears sliding down his cheeks, before tugging him into another hug, pressing a kiss to his messy hair. "Right, then. Dad it is."

They're quiet for a moment, and then Sirius mutters, "I owe Moony five galleons."

Harry's not yet cleared to leave the Hospital Wing, but their friends come in the evening, while the rest of the school is at the end of term feast and no one else is around.

Pansy and Blaise are on them instantly, while Draco, Ron, and Neville look on amusedly from the chairs they've commandeered.

"I can't believe you left without telling us," Blaise scowls, darkly glaring at them all.

Pansy hops onto Hermione's bed—not moving to hug her or offer condolences, but the other girl knows the physical proximity is her way of showing love.

"The fact that we had to hear about this through gossip is unacceptable," Pansy declares, arms crossed. "Did you ever consider that we might have been able to help? We're in ASA too, and not to brag but Blaise and I are both damn good in a fight."

"I am very aware of that," Harry assures them with a smile.

(They're scolding him, and yet it's on his face how clearly happy it makes him, having friends who care enough to show up when he's ill, to hassle him about not having been with him during important moments.)

"There really wasn't time to get anyone—Draco only ended up coming by luck" Hermione promises.

Ron snorts. "Bad luck, that is, seeing as it meant we had to deal with Umbridge."

"Good riddance," Neville says quietly, earning gasps from the rest of them.

Hermione's eyes are wide. "Not that I don't agree completely, Nev, but I never expected you to say something like that about a teacher."

"Pretty boy's got a dark streak," Pansy says, lips curling into a smirk, voice laced with a sultry tone that would make lesser men blush down to the roots of their hair.

But Neville's not nervous or overwhelmed by the remark—he smiles, looking more flattered than anything. "You think I'm pretty?"

Pansy blinks, stuttering. "I—well—you—"

Mercifully, Ron intercedes, before the attention and uncertainty can make her implode. "With Voldemort's return being public knowledge now, things are going to be different. We need to be more careful than ever."

Draco grimaces, already knowing his father's incarceration just means someone else will be punished in his stead. "Pansy and I especially—no one send any correspondence unless we do first, and don't follow up if we don't reply. Even if it means months of no contact."

They all look to Pansy as though expecting her to argue, but the shake of her head is bleak. "He's right. Merlin only knows who will be around, what we'll be expected to do. Everyone else whose family sided with him last time, too—half our house. It's—" her chuckle is bitter. "We won't be safe till this war ends."

(And it's—something the Gryffindors have never stopped to consider; however terrifying the conflict and the upcoming war, however sinister Order meetings get, their own homes have never been the literal battleground.)

(Harry and Hermione know what it is to be unsafe in one's own home, of course, but the thought a veritable warlord being the one to do so is—a different and unfamiliar awful.)

"We'll get through this," Ron insists, jaw set stubbornly. "It'll suck. But somehow we will make this end."

Hermione meets Harry's eyes, knowing they're both thinking of the horcruxes they've only scratched the surface of learning about—the random objects that must be destroyed for this war to ever truly again.

(The connection between Harry and Voldemort that they still haven't figured out.)

(The prophecy that will somehow shape all of this in ways they've yet to understand.)

"Ron's right," Neville agrees, clapping Draco on the shoulder encouragingly, looking as though he wishes he could physically lend his strength and love as a crutch to lean on. "And whatever else happens, we'll have each other. Even when we can't speak, we all carry pieces of each other in our hearts. We'll always have this to come back to."

They're all quiet for a moment.

Blaise sighs. "Gin would make fun of everyone for being so serious if she were here, to try and lighten the mood. She's going to be pissed she missed it to say bye to Grawp with Luna."

"Eh, I'll fill them in on the train," Ron waves away the concern.

"She'd be right, though," Hermione says thoughtfully. "Everything is about to be dark enough. We don't need to spend our last hours away from it all worrying when we should be enjoying our time together before we're apart for months."

So they do—conversations they've yet to have, chess games, snacks Blaise sneaks from the kitchens. Ginny and Luna eventually join them, livening up the atmosphere even further.

They distract themselves, hold on tight to this precious camaraderie—this bond of friendship so outlandish no one would believe it if they stumbled upon them hidden in their warded corner of the Hospital Wing.

Ginny passes around a bottle of firewhiskey until Madam Pomfrey spots it and scowls at her about being more troublesome and devilish than the twins, to which the redhead responds, "thank you! it's an honor to achieve such a thing," and earns a reluctantly bemused smile from the matron.

It's a beautiful last hurrah, a welcome reprieve from the battle they've just survived—the weight the entire schoolyear has carried.

(But all the while, the knowing hangs over them.)

(This summer everything changes.)

/

He's running on fumes—Dumbledore couldn't know he'd been involved, of course, so he's been claiming a migraine and holed up in the RoR to rest since Harry and Hermione departed a few mornings prior, as soon as Harry was allowed to travel.

And it's—his father has been arrested. For the first time in his life, he doesn't have to worry about what wrath his own blood will carry out.

(Yet he's not naïve enough to believe the summer will be an idyllic one.)

(He's not that lucky. There will be consequences—and his father's not around to bear them.)

He steels himself as the other students begin disembarking from the train; the station is a chaotic mess, what with the recent revelations about Voldemort's confirmed return.

Harry and Hermione had floo'ed home with Sirius and Tonks, so there's none of the usual clamor over Harry—an honest godsend, given the circumstances and the story the media had woven.

"What the hell," Blaise's mutter draws his attention.

"What?"

"Your mother's here."

Draco's eyes rapidly scan the platform, and sure enough, the bright white blonde of her hair is visible where she leans up against a pillar, face expressionless despite the obvious attention her presence garners.

(She's always been the strongest person he's ever known, and she proves it further now, unaffected by the insults and whispers and reporters all around.)

Blaise gives him a close lipped smile of support, perhaps the only person in the world who realizes how significant it is—neither of his parents has ever come themselves to pick him up, Lucius always forbidding such an action so "positively plebian"—there have always been servants and colleagues sent to bring him back to the Manor, conversations empty.

(Whatever else the war is about to bring Draco's way, he's grateful for this moment, at least.)

His mother ignores everyone around them as she hugs him swiftly when he approaches, abandoning the etiquette that defines her for the briefest of moments

He can see all the words she's holding back in public in the set of her shoulders, the water of her eyes—the gratitude that he's safe, the Department of Mysteries, what his father being imprisoned will mean for them in a million ways.

"I love you, little Dragon," she says softly, smoothing a lock of hair back from his face. "Let's go—we have some errands to run before we head to the Manor."

Draco's silent as she magicks his trunk away, because while he's always happy to spend time with his mother—

(there's something more to this, he can sense it.)

Once they're out of King's Cross she apparates them, but his brows pull together when they're not in Diagon Alley. "Mother, what—"

"Not yet," she commands, pulling him down a side street as she transfigures their robes into dress pants.

(The street—it's muggle. They're in the middle of a muggle city.)

She leads him into a café, where he has to do a double take—it's a quaint little shop, with worn couches and faded paint but cheery seeming clientele and a kind-looking barista and the kind of indie music playing that makes it feel like a film.

He thinks he's about as baffled as it's possible for him to be until they approach the counter and the barista beams at them. "Morning, Narcissa! It's good to see you—and this must be the son you've mentioned! Back from boarding school for the summer?"

His eyes are wide as saucers, but his mother smiles back and chatters with the woman for a moment in a familiar way that makes it clear she's here often, ordering them both teas before handing over a familiar looking piece of plastic he's only ever read about. "You have a credit card?" he can't help but ask, stunned.

"Be a bit difficult not to in this day and age, wouldn't it?" the barista chimes in, winking as she hands him his tea. His mother merely tilts her chin, indicating she'll explain in just a moment

They make their way to a small table in the back corner, and it's—somehow his mother seems so at home here, so much more at ease in the muggle shop than he's ever seen her.

He opens and closes his mouth, trying to figure out what to ask first, but settles on just staring at her silently.

Narcissa grimaces. "I know you have a lot of questions, but we're going to have to talk about quite a lot in a very short period of time. The Dark Lord has…taken it upon himself to be our houseguest for the foreseeable future."

Draco tugs at his hair, anxiety rising. "Fuck. Okay. I understand." He lets out a deep breath. "Before we get into it, can you just—why are we here? And you—you come here? Often?"

A devilish grin lights up her face. "I do. Thirty years and no one's figured me out—well, except your Aunt Andy when she followed me once, ages ago. But no one else would ever consider me of all people being in a muggle café to be a possibility, so the thought's never even crossed their minds." She smirks. "I just say I'm doing lunch with other witches in our circle, and if it's ever brought up to them they always confirm the alibi, happy as they are for the status boost of others believing I've brunched with them. Honestly, Draco," she snorts, raising an eyebrow at him. "Pansy's told you plenty about her mother, I'm sure—you think I could stand that odious women as often as I claim to meet up with her?"

An nod of admiration from her son. "Not that I'm ever unimpressed by you, Mother, but I've never been more in awe."

"Thank you, little Dragon," she smiles fondly, with a gentle squeeze of his hand before her expression grows serious. "We need to talk about the Ministry."

His spine straightens, and his face grows wary, unsure of where she's going with this. "What about it? Are you mad at me for going? Because you've always taught me to never allow my friends into a battle alone when I have the ability to help, and—"

"I'm not mad you were there," Narcissa promises. "I'm proud of you for standing with your friends, although I admit I find you doing so in circumstances that would have been especially dire were you found out incredibly stressful."

"Then what—" she gives him a look and he quiets.

A small smile forms on his mother's face—a wistful, hopeful look he can't read until she says. "The Granger girl—she's your soul mate?"

Draco's hand goes to his wand instinctively at the terror, the feeling of danger the comment instills in him.

"Breathe," his mother tells him softly, looking unbothered.

"How do you know?" Draco demands, eyes wide.

She raises her eyebrows at him. "You threw yourself in front of a curse for her, and she attempted to do the same a moment later when she worried I might turn my wand on you. And then, the way she said your name…" Brushing away a tear, her mind goes a million miles away.

(He knows she's thinking of when she and Lucius first met—back when she thought her story could be a happy one.)

(But just because someone is your soul mate doesn't mean they can't hurt you, Narcissa has learned all too well.)

Narcissa clears her throat. "We still have to be quick, but—tell me about her. How you met. What she's like. If you're happy."

Draco sucks in a deep breath—for a myriad of reasons, because everything tied up in Hermione always feels so incredibly beyond words, and because he's yearned to share the other half of his heart with his mother for so long but had never thought he'd be able to.

"We became—allies, and friends shortly thereafter second year. The Chamber was open, and we were both trying to figure out the heir and the monster, and at that point I was under the assumption my soul mate was muggle, as was she, so we were drawn together, and then she was petrified…I was so relieved when she woke up, that it was just different. We became close—as close as I am with Blaise."

His mother makes a noise of understanding under her breath; when he gives her a questioning glance, she says, "I always wondered what had changed. You've hated your father since you were young, of course, but when you came home after that term something about it was…different. Like you would never look at him the same way again; something had pushed you so much further into despising him." Her lips purse proudly. "But he hurt your soul mate—you almost lost her. It's a miracle you've managed to keep from murdering him, after that."

"Thought about it," Draco admits darkly.

(It's the kind of thing he's not proud of but his mother would never judge him for.)

He rubs at his eyes, then continues speaking. "We started seeing each other—romantically, I mean—third year. And then there was some chaos with Sirius and a time-turner and—anyway, that was when we realized that we were soul mates. And when Andy and Sirius found out about us."

Narcissa scowls. "She's always included so much detail about the girl in our correspondence—I assumed it was just because Hermione was like family to her, but all this time it was for my benefit as well. Sneaky bitch."

Draco rolls his eyes at his mother's antics. "After the war is over you can give her shit about it. She and Andy are very close, Dora even more so, and Sirius is...something of an older brother, guardian fusion."

"Guardian? Does she not live with her parents?"

His pulse spikes with anger. "No, they're—" he takes a deep breath, fist clenched with the effort it takes not to break something, "Not in the picture anymore. Good riddance, monsters that they are."

His mother hums. "Ah. So that's why she's close with Sirius." At Draco's confusion, she nods grimly. "Broken butterflies find each other. Trauma knows trauma."

"Hermione always says that," Draco smiles, the thought bittersweet. "When all of this ends—you'll love her, Mother. She is—the most brilliant and thoughtful witch that's ever lived. I don't know what I'd do without her, and she's definitely the only reason Harry's still alive, several hundred times over. Bold and brash, lion that she is, but still clever and snarky enough that most days I'm convinced Pansy and Blaise like her more than they do me."

Narcissa's eyebrows shoot upward. "Not that I wasn't already on board, but anyone who can crack Pansy's shell has my utmost respect."

"Yeah, me too," he laughs fondly. "She's…the circumstances are obviously anything but ideal, what with all the secrecy and sneaking about and me having to act the way I do in public, but…it's perfect, with her."

Narcissa smiles, though her eyes are sad—and he knows, knows she's so glad for his happiness, so heartbroken by the obstacles in his way to peace.

"I look forward to the privilege of knowing her," she promises. Then she sighs, her expression growing serious. "Please tell her to be on guard. The Dark Lord has taken note of her existence."

"What?" All of the blood rushes out of Draco's face, his heart thumping with such force he can see the movement of his chest.

(this—this is his worst nightmare come to pass.)

"Not because of you," Narcissa assures him, squeezing his arm gently. "You've done very well hiding your relationship to her. But everything at the Ministry, and whatever has been happening at Hogwarts this year…it has become clear to him that she is, as you said, the reason Harry is still alive. It's drawn his attention. She's not at the forefront of his mind yet, but…I believe it's only a matter of time until he realizes targeting her will be the boy's undoing. Until then, he'll merely try to compromise her to undermine him."

Draco's breathing is irregular, the very world around him shaking at the revelation.

(everything he's done, everything he and Mia have sacrificed to keep Lucius from finding out about her—)

(and she's in danger anyway.)

"Breathe, darling," his mother commands, meeting his eyes. "She'll be okay—the Order will take precautions for her just as they do Harry, and you'll warn her so she can be on her guard."

"Right. Yeah." He takes a deep breath, hands tugging at the roots of his hair. "I just—nothing can happen to her. She's already been through so much, and if he—" Another breath. "She'll be okay. We'll make sure of it."

Narcissa nods. "Which brings me to the more pressing issue. He has established the Manor as his headquarters, and while he has not explicitly stated that you will be expected to do more in his service, it is inevitable. I suspect he will attempt to make you take the Mark before the summer ends."

Draco's heart twinges at the comment.

His mother's eyes are wrought with pain at the thought, and yet she charges on, wearing a façade of calm and control like armor. "Which is why I want to send you into hiding at Andromeda's."

His head jerks upwards, thinking he must have misheard her. "What?"

"I want to send you away to where you'll be safe from him," she repeats—and though her voice is even, her knuckles are white. "Andy has protective enchantments already, but she'd be ready to put up a Fidelius as well for your safety, and as no one is aware of our still being in contact your location would be especially unexpected. You would have to refrain from returning to Hogwarts—it would simply make you too vulnerable to leave Tonks Manor—but you could always finish your education after the war."

"I can't—he would take it out on you," Draco says, eyes wide.

"I don't care," Narcissa scoffs, not the least bit scared by the prospect. "You would be safe. You would be alive." Her voice breaks on the last word, a brutal honesty that hits him bone deep.

"But who might die in my place? What if the person he sends after Hermione would've been me, but instead is Crabbe, who's all too willing to kill her?" Draco takes a deep, shuddering breath, the lighthearted music almost taunting him in the background. "I can't run when you and everyone else I love is at the heart of danger, and my absence could be the thing that allows you to be harmed. And—I can do more to stop him from the inside."

He doesn't say all the things he wishes he could—about the work he's already done as a covert Order member, the invaluable information he'll be able to pass along if he is pulled even further into Voldemort's circle. About how while the circumstances are awful practically speaking, but from a strategic standpoint is possibly the best thing to have happened. The best thing to give the Order—to give Harry—a shot.

How could he live with himself if he turned away from a potential opportunity to turn the tide of the war?

His life will be at risk, his safety and well-being—but if he doesn't do this, and Voldemort wins, that's how Hermione and so, so many other muggle-borns, muggles, and magical creatures will be forced to live.

(How could he not?)

"I'm sorry, Mother. But I have to do this."

She swallows heavily, expression growing resigned. "I worried you might say that." A shake of her head. "Very well. But you need to be very, very careful, sweetheart. You are about to enter the Colosseum—and you are playing an even more dangerous game."

(And he's not naïve-the odds that Voldemort will kill him are high.)

(But Draco will make sure he takes the bastard down alongside him.)

A/N: chapter title from cruel summer by taylor swift

Y'all I really cried writing the harry/Sirius scene

We made it through another book! I am sometimes overwhelmed by the sheer volume this fic has grown to but I'm so happy for it, and excited for what's to come as we near some of the game-changing events. This means so much to me and I hold the story so close to my heart.

Next chapter will be summer/more eventful—I have some big ideas for hbp and can't wait to see how they turn out

lots of love. thank you always.