Voldemort whispered a spell, and the diary tried to jerk itself out of Neville's white-knuckled hand. He tightened his grip and snapped a counterspell. It wasn't one Draco knew, but the intent was clear. No.

Voldemort stiffened in surprise. He hadn't expected any kind of real resistance and didn't like it. "Where did you learn that?" he asked in a near snarl and fired off another series of curses, one after the other.

"You were a good teacher," Neville said and drew his wand, the diary still in his other hand. He countered each of Voldemort's curses with a matching one of his own as if it were easy. Fireworks flared and died between the pair. A ball of purple flame headed toward Neville only to be wrapped in a dark rain cloud and drowned. A hundred rats boiled out of the floor and began to climb Voldemort's legs. He turned them to dust and they blew away. Draco knew he should join in—should help in some way—but he was afraid to interrupt Neville's concentration. Everyone else must have felt the same way because they all stood in a frozen silence only interrupted by the occasional gasp. Everyone knew Voldemort had been a prodigy. What Neville could do was shocking. And he was doing it, one hand on his wand and one hand on the diary.

The Horcrux.

Hermione reached for his hand, and Draco clasped her fingers in his, holding on against darkness and fire and emptiness. It was all there in the monster in front of them. Draco thought, "We've done this before. And we lost."

That made him tighten his grip on Hermione. She was holding on just as desperately as the battle played out. The two seemed evenly matched, and it was impossible to predict who would win.

Then Neville tossed his wand to Draco.

He reached up and caught it, but inwardly he flinched because this was madness. Without his wand, Neville was helpless. Draco knew Neville could do wandless magic, but levitating a piece of chocolate across the room was one thing. Defeating a monster was another, and Voldemort saw his chance. He laughed with mad, evil delight, and his giggles turned into beetles and roaches and spiders. They flew through the air, and the spectators all ducked. A silver-winged beetle landed on Draco's face, and its feet burned onto his skin as if it were made of acid and fire. He pawed at it, trying to scrape it off. When he focused on the battle again, Voldemort was advancing toward Neville, his hand out and ready to physically grab the diary since magical summoning hadn't worked.

There was no way Neville could hold off Voldemort without a wand, and he didn't even seem to be wholly focused on the monster. He was shouting out curses and counter-curses, but he was fumbling in his pocket, trying to find something.

"The basilisk venom," Hermione breathed out.

As if he were slapped awake, Draco finally started firing off curses. Hermione followed him, then Astoria and Harry and Blaise and every adult in the room, holding Voldemort in place with dozens upon dozens of spells. He countered all of them, but he stopped moving.

Dozens of souls arranged against him, and all they could do was hold him in place. Hope sank and died in Draco's chest.

"You cannot kill me," Voldemort said, and his spells rose up with even more power. A cloud of filth roiled out from his wand, filling the air with the blackest midnight. It oozed. It oiled. It coated everything with fetid, stinking darkness and reached for Neville.

The last Draco could see of him before the darkness swallowed him was Neville dropping to his knees on the floor. This was the end, then. Neville wasn't going to be able to hold on to Voldemort's diary.

A scream came from the cloud around Neville. It was a howl of rage. A tumult of despair. It promised that all was lost. That there was no future and no love in the world. You are too weak this time, a voice whispered in Draco's head. I can see what you did in a time that never was, but that was a level of magic you can't wield in this lifetime. You were great – truly great – but you traded it all for the illusion of love.

Draco stumbled backward and lowered his wand. It couldn't be true, but all joy leeched away from him. The world was nothing but darkness and emptiness. He was alone. He always had been and he always would be. He was a Malfoy, and everyone knew what they'd done in the last war. No one would ever trust them. No one would ever trust him.

Even Harry had turned away from him. Even Harry, who was as much like his brother as anyone could ever be, had come out of the floo and greeted him with a fist. He knew that Draco was worthless. He knew that—

Harry pushed his way to his side and gave him a hard shove. "What the fuck are you doing?" he hissed. "Do you plan to stop fighting because that prick has some kind of fancy black fog with sound effects?"

Draco struggled to hear him over the whispering voice. He wants Hermione for himself. And she'll leave you behind. No one has ever loved you, and no one ever will.

Hermione stopped firing off curses long enough to give him a hard shake. "Draco," she said. "I know it's darkness, and I know… but you have to keep going. We need every wand we have."

He couldn't, though. Not this time. He had before, and what had that gotten him. Nothing, the voice hissed. It got you nothing, and now you will fall and I shall—

Harry reached back and swung a fist at him. Hard. It landed more solidly than anything had in their earlier fight, and Draco reeled away. Curses were still being fired off all around them, and the blackness still surrounded Neville, but the voice in his head was silent.

"You're an arsehole," Draco said to Harry. That had hurt, and what kind of bastard punched someone on his own side during a fight? "What the fuck was that about?"

"It was about snapping you the fuck out of it," Harry said. "You can thank me later, you wanker."

Draco'd thank the bastard by shoving his head into a toilet. But that would have to wait for after. Now, they trained their wands on Voldemort in tandem, working with the same smooth unity that had led them into one scrape after another over the years.

There was another scream from the blackness, and Voldemort answered it with a scream of his own. The fog evaporated. Draco could see Neville again.

He was slumped on the floor, the hand-of-glory he'd stolen from Snape's supply room in one hand. An empty vial of basilisk venom lay on the floor next to him and the smoking, oozing husk of what had once been Lord Voldemort's diary.

Neville's hair was spilling over his face and his eyes were closed. His chest didn't seem to be rising.

Voldemort laughed at the sight. His worthiest foe was down. Maybe he thought he could make another Horcrux. Maybe he thought some scrap of his miserable soul remained in the diary's pages. Either way, he was wrong, and his laughter was cut short as Remus cursed him from one side, and Narcissa Malfoy from the other. It was hard to say which Avada Kedavra struck true. Perhaps they both did. All Draco knew was that Voldemort fell and hit the floor. Mortal again, he died like any other man.

The sounds of curses had rung through the hallway since Voldemort appeared. Draco hadn't known (he had) how loud war was. The silence that came after Voldemort's fall was shocking in comparison.

Neville still wasn't breathing.

Narcissa Malfoy moved first, Molly Weasley right behind her. Between them, they propped Neville's limp body up and poured first one potion into his mouth, then another.

"What's the matter with him?" Astoria asked in a small voice.

"The diary," Hermione said in horror as the two witches began to try charm after spell after countercurse to no effect. Neville stayed pale as death. His chest stayed still. "It was part of Voldemort, and it was teaching him."

Draco took an involuntary step back. That explained why Neville had pulled ahead of the rest of them. Why he could unlock doors charmed shut by Professor Snape himself. Why he knew so many things, why he'd been able to hold his own in a battle against the monster.

Why he'd wanted a Dark artifact.

"He'll be okay though, right?" Pansy asked, and Draco remembered they had dated for a while. She'd kissed Neville, which was sort of like kissing a small part of Voldemort. He shuddered.

"I will get Severus," McGonagall said, which made no sense to Draco at all, but she apparated away right after saying, "Lucius, you were a competent student when you were in my classes. Please find some of that competence now and deal with this."

Draco had never heard 'competent' sound like quite so much of an insult, but his father didn't protest. He gave one last look at his wife and Molly Weasley, now doing some sort of chest compressions on Neville, and began to herd everyone back to what had been the party.

"I was here the whole time," Thoros Nott said out of the blue. "I was fighting against him."

"Yes," said Lucius, though his words had more than a tinge of coldness. "I'm sure the Ministry and the Aurors will want to question everyone here, but it would appear that the only person mad enough to join him this time was poor, unfortunate Peter."

"Quite right," the elder Mr. Crabbe said. "None of us were... we were all against him."

People murmured agreement, and if some of the party guests were tugging their sleeves down over Marks they didn't want anyone to remember, no one commented. The children, save for Neville, were shooed back to the room with the sweets table as Aurors arrived, and after them, McGonagall and Snape.

"Well," Harry said as they stood, glasses of butterbeer in hand.

"Well," Draco echoed.

"Great party, Draco," Daphne said. "Maybe next time you could ask your mother to tighten the guest list a little."

"I thought it was very interesting," Luna said. "I wonder where Neville got the Hand of Glory."

Draco decided that he would keep that to himself.

"I wonder where he got the basilisk venom." Narcissa came gliding in, Molly and Minerva behind her. "Not the sort of thing one normally carries around."

"Is he going to be okay?" Hermione demanded, effectively changing the subject.

Narcissa's face softened a bit as she looked at Hermione. "He's weak," she said. "He poured so much of himself into that diary, it almost killed him, but he's breathing now, and Professor Snape is looking after him."

"I'm sure he loves that," Harry muttered.

"Snape has experience with boys who get tangled up in Horcruxes," Minerva McGonagall said. She eyed Draco and Hermione long enough that Draco began to squirm. "Next time you are interested in independent research, Miss Granger, please clear the topic with me ahead of time. If it is appropriate, I can give you a pass to the Restricted Section of the library."

"I will," Hermione said, but she sounded a bit resentful, and Draco didn't blame her.

"Basilisk venom is not the sort of thing we want students to have," McGonagall said.

"But-"

"However," McGonagall continued as if Hermione had not interrupted you, "since in this one instance, it has proven to be a lucky coincidence that Neville had some on hand and all is well, I will overlook any… over-enthusiasm, shall we say, you might have exhibited in the pursuit of knowledge."

Draco reached over and squeezed Hermione's hand. It wasn't fair. They'd gone and looked for answers and used those answers to get the tools they needed, and it was a good thing too! If Neville hadn't had the basilisk venom, he wouldn't have been able to destroy the diary, and he'd only known about it because of Hermione.

"And, fortunately for you, I have no idea what goes on in Professor Snape's classroom," Professor McGonagall added.

There was a long, painful pause before she added, "Or his supply room."

Draco was sure everyone in the room could hear the gulp as he swallowed.

"Nevertheless," McGonagall, said, "you all acquitted yourselves with remarkable bravery, and I shall award five points to each of your Houses to recognize that."

"Sweet," Harry said.

She gave him a long, quelling look. "Your excellent performance in battle today does not excuse you from the detention you earned via your cheek before you took your potion, Mr. Potter. I have asked Professor Snape if he would be so kind as to supervise it as I have better things to do than keep you in line."

"Great. Can't wait."

Lucius stuck his head in the door. "The Aurors would like to see you both," he said.

Narcissa took a moment to set a hand on Draco's face. Her fingers were trembling, and she wiped a bit of soot from the battle off his cheek. "I love you," she said. "I am very glad you were not hurt."

Harry gave Draco an uncomfortable look before sliding off to stand with Astoria and Blaise. Draco was just as glad. He didn't want Harry to die-the knowledge that in some other reality he had died was terrible-but he didn't want to be all chummy yet either. He'd put how angry he was at Harry aside to help kill Voldemort, but the wanker blamed him and his mum for Sirius' death. He could go fuck himself.

Hermione began to shake, and some part of Draco knew (but how?) that she was crashing after the adrenaline rush of battle. He wrapped his arms around her and held on.

"It was so awful," she whispered.

"It was," Draco agreed. He lay his cheek against her hair. The smoke from battle clung to her with unsettling familiarity, but she was still his Hermione.

"Draco," she said. "We've done that before."

"I know," he said. It was impossible, but it was true. Every step of battle had been like replaying a dream, remembering bits only as they happened again. But the feeling was already fading and all he had left were flashes of her in a burnt wasteland. She'd been crying, and the tears left streaks down the blood and ash on her face. He'd tried to wipe them off, and all it had done was smear the remains of battle and death around.

And then that memory was gone too, and that was left was the girl in his arms, and the knowledge he would do anything to keep her safe. He would walk into darkness and oblivion for her.

And he was pretty sure he had.

"It's over now," he murmured, and the words had the unmistakable taste of truth.

"The party's over?" Neville asked shakily from the door. "But I haven't had any butterbeer yet."

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – Thank you to arleney for beta reading!

If you are reading as this is being posted, now is the time to ask for any particular scenes you would like to see in their 6th or 7th years at Hogwarts, and what elements you crave in a dramione wedding. There are no many story forms where the reader can so directly impact the tale, but a fanfic WIP is one. If there is a thing you love and/or want, don't hesitate to take advantage and tell me!