In advance. I'm sorry. Wars cannot exist without unspeakable lost.

Content warning: Major character death.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.


The little boat hit the dock at the base of the Boathouse, but Hermione was already flying from it. She took the steps up to the entrance courtyard two at a time, the wind propelling her forward as if it knew the importance of her destination.

It felt like only a moment until she rounded the corner, panting, breathless – desperate.

And then he was there. Like he had always been there – waiting for her, wanting her, loving her, his eyes a mirror into the heart that had cracked alongside hers, where they could heal the other's scars as they opened those within themselves.

She could not wait a moment, could not spare a glance at Harry or Ron, or the others. Striding forward, she flung herself into Draco's waiting arms, his hands pulling her face up until he planted his lips firmly on her own.

It was like no time had passed. Like there had been centuries between them. All that could not be said; that mere language could never summarize, was understood between them and their lips.

Was this what it was like to acquiesce with supernatural forces? Was this the feeling you felt when you accepted the inevitable? When you submitted to destiny?

No – not to submit. To fling yourself over the cliff edge into the chasm of the occult.

Their magic was tied. Their lives were connected – invisible string binding them together.

Was this what it was like to find your soulmate?

Because Hermione could not imagine anything more wonderful than this man kissing her with abandon, like she was his last meal on death's row – uncaring of the audience, of the context, of the bloody war hanging over their heads.

There was only him and her.

And forever.

If they so gained it.

In the distance, she heard Harry's voice break out of the silence.

"Uh… is this the moment?" he asked weakly.

After another few seconds, she heard her best friend sigh, frustrated.

"OI! There's a war going on here!"

She pulled back regretfully, her eyes still on Draco's as he ran his fingers down her cheek like she was precious.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she answered, turning to him, his face a brilliant shade of red. "It's just…"

"I know, I know," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Soulmate trite."

"Watch your mouth, Potter," Draco snapped, but the phrase lacked his usual bite. His eyes were still on Hermione when she glanced back him.

However, he was not looking at her face.

His gaze had drifted down to her chest, focused on the sapphire hanging between her breasts.

"You found it," he said quietly, reverently, reaching forward before pausing. His eyes flicked up. "May I?"

She nodded, her chest constricting suddenly as Draco grasped on to the gemstone with his fingers, his thumb brushing over the surface softly.

"I can feel it," he murmured. "That power… that strength. It's… it's all yours isn't it?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's not mine. It's all of ours."

His gaze snapped up. "What do you mean?"

She turned to the others, watching her and Draco with trepidation. She nodded a greeting at her old professors as McGonagall gave her a fond smile. Her eyes landed on Harry, Ron, and Blaise.

"Where's Theo?" she asked, eyebrows scrunching together.

Blaise grimaced. "Daph… she was hit. He took her up to Pomfrey."

Hermione's stomach dropped. "Oh gods, is she alright?"

Draco sighed at her side. "We don't know yet."

There was a pause, the air pregnant with fear.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "We're running out of time. The Order's on its way. Did you get my message, Hermione?"

She nodded. "Of course."

"We destroyed the cup," Ron spoke up, before frowning. "Well, Malfoy did."

"You did?" she gasped, her jaw dropping as she turned back to Draco. "You got it from Gringotts? It's done."

Draco nodded sheepishly, avoiding her eyes. "We rode a dragon…"

"You rode a DRAGON?!"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted. "We can tell you the story later, if we survive. Cup's gone. We still need the snake and Ravenclaw's item. So please, tell us – what's the bloody sapphire? And can it help us win the war?"

Hermione reached down to hold the gem in her palm, squeezing it, as if reminding herself it was there – reassuring herself that she had found it. "It's magic, Harry. It's original magic."

"What?" Harry asked, confused, as Flitwick audibly gasped.

"Morganna Le Fay created magic by uniting the elements," Hermione whispered. "And she put the original essence of magic in the sapphire. She hid it because it… it can't be destroyed. All magic that came after it is diluted. It cannot be mastered."

"It cannot be mastered," Harry whispered, as the others in the group made various exclamations of surprise. "Your mark… the killing curse… when it reversed it…"

"Same idea," Hermione nodded. "Even the killing curse is diluted magic. The sapphire - it reverses all magic cast against it."

She heard Draco gasp beside her. "No fucking wonder Voldemort wanted it."

"Miss Granger," McGonagall started, disbelief evident in her voice. "Do you mean to tell us that you currently have access to primordial magic?"

"I do, Professor," Hermione nodded.

"Holy shit," Blaise whispered. Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but before she got a chance, Harry cried out. She reached for him instinctively, but before she could touch him, his head snapped up and she met his eyes.

She could barely see any green – it was entirely pupils.

"We're running out of time," Harry whispered. "He's coming. He's coming now. We need to find Ravenclaw's item."

McGonagall turned to the other heads. "To the Great Hall! We must evacuate the students."

The professors rushed back into Hogwarts, but Harry cried out.

"Flitwick! Wait!"

The Charms professor turned back as Sprout, McGonagall and Slughorn disappeared into the Entrance Hall.

"Yes, my boy?"

"Professor," Harry breathed. "Please, this is so important. Did Rowena Ravenclaw have any sort of… signature item? Anything at all?"

The small man frowned, his face pensive, and Hermione was unsure whether he was trying to remember or trying to understand why Harry was asking.

"Well," he started slowly. "There is the diadem."

"What's a diadem?"

"It's a crown of sorts," Flitwick explained. "Like a tiara. Apparently, it was imbued with Ravenclaw's wit."

"Professor," Hermione asked, her heart pounding in her chest. "Has anyone seen it? Does anyone know where it is?"

"Goodness me, no! The diadem is stuff of legends, no one has seen it in living memory…"

"Well, we are very invested in stuff of legends over here," Draco interjected. "Describe it. Anything."

Flitwick gaped openly but continued. "There's a model on the statue of Rowena in the Ravenclaw common room. I cannot say for certain if it's accurate, but the model is silver, with a sapphire at the centre…"

Hermione hand instinctively went to the gem hanging on her chest.

There was no such thing as coincidences.

"Harry," she whispered, a crazy, unhinged thought suddenly occurring to her. "Do you think… do you think it's possible that Rowena Ravenclaw was… was actually a Le Fay?"

She said it as a question, and she supposed in a way that it was. But as she asked, she already knew the answer. She knew it as she knew the magic in her veins.

That had once run through Rowena Ravenclaw.

"Oh, Merlin," Harry whispered, his green eyes meeting hers as she recognized realization in them.

She turned to Flitwick, unsure if she would even be able to stand another moment – if her legs would give out beneath her under the weight of her legacy.

"Where's the Grey Lady?"


The group raced through the halls; the echoes of their footsteps lost in the chaos that had descended on the castle the moment they had left the Entrance Hall.

She heard shouts around them.

"Potter! That was Potter!"

"Is that Draco Malfoy?"

"This is it!"

The students were evacuating through the Room of Requirement secret passageway, while the Order Members were scrambling in. They had seen the Weasley Twins enter the Great Hall as McGonagall and the other Professors began planning the defense. From a distance, she had seen Lupin sprinting down a corridor away from them. She had heard Kingsley's voice, shouting orders.

This was it. This was real.

Hermione did not pause in their run, even as her lungs burned and her legs screamed. She knew as she knew everything now – instinctively – that she was right.

Finally, they reached the third-floor corridor, the favourite haunt of Ravenclaw's ghost. It was quiet here – the war had not penetrated her sanctuary yet.

Hermione held her hand up towards the boys – who had followed her willingly and without question.

"Wait here. This… this is a family matter."

No one contradicted her.

She stepped forward into the corridor, hoping and praying that this would work.

"Helena," she spoke out, remembering the chapter on ghosts in Hogwarts: A History. "Helena Ravenclaw. I need… I need to talk to you."

Out of the opposite wall drifted a ghostly figure, consenting to pause. She floated a few inches from the ground, leaving space for where her robes would have once drifted behind her. Hermione supposed she was beautiful, but she also seemed haughty and proud.

When the ghost met her eyes, however, her suspicions were confirmed.

For she saw her own irises reflected back at her – recognizable, even in greyscale.

"You're the Grey Lady?" Hermione asked.

She nodded but did not speak.

"The ghost of Ravenclaw Tower?"

"That is correct."

Her voice was soft, reserved, guarded. All tones that were supremely unhelpful for the current circumstances.

And they simply did not have time for that.

Hermione reached down to her chest with her left hand, lifting the sapphire up while twisting her forearm to reveal the mark.

If ghosts could lose their breath, she was certain Helena would have.

"My name is Hermione Le Fay," she said, her voice shaking. "I am the last descendant of Morganna Le Fay."

"Oh, my," Helena whispered, her eyes wide. "You… the line survived."

She nodded. "We did. After your mum… after you. We did."

Her ghostly eyes flicked to the sapphire. "That is dangerous to have. To wear so openly."

"It was my destiny," she said, the words tasting odd on her tongue. Her, so dismissive of fate, of divination, submitting herself to legends.

Helena shook her head. "It's your destiny to protect it, not to bring it to the middle of a battlefield."

Hermione did not crumble. "To protect the sapphire, we need peace in this world. We need to win this war."

"You are brave, young one," Helena said, a maternal compassion appearing in her eyes. "But this is a difficult path."

"It is. But most paths worth taking are."

"You seek me, on this evening, with the castle under siege. It cannot be merely for a familial connection."

"It's not," she said. "I need to know something. It's important."

The Grey Lady hesitated, but after a moment, she nodded.

"Anything for my kin."

Hermione felt relief was over her. "I'm looking for the diadem – Ravenclaw's diadem."

Helena frowned. "It will not help you…"

"I don't need wit beyond measure," Hermione burst out. "I have power beyond imagination. I don't want to wear it – I need to destroy it."

"Destroy it?" the Grey Lady asked. "For what purpose?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "To end the war."

The ghost paused, as if considering the validity of Hermione's words. Helena's hesitation seemed to last an eternity; Hermione could not breathe the entire time.

But finally, at last, she spoke.

"The last I knew… I had hidden the diadem in Albania. When I stole it from my mother."

Behind her, she heard Harry's voice whisper quietly.

"Albania."

There was no such thing as coincidences.

Hermine stared up at the ghost – at her ancestor. Her heart was pounding in her chest. "You've… you told another student once where it was? A charming student… someone you regretted opening up to."

Helena sighed. "The Le Fay women always have their Merlins – their greatest regrets. And that boy… he was mine."

"You had an Other, didn't you?" Hermione asked, her curiosity besting her.

The Grey Lady nodded slowly. "The Baron… the Baron was mine."

"The Bloody Baron?"

"This is a lesson I hope you never learn," Helena whispered, and Hermione knew these words were only for her. "The Le Fay women are tied to their men eternally – their blood demands it. The men have no such requirement. They can betray you, they can leave you, they can even kill you. If your Other loves you, if he stays by your side, that is by choice. And choice is the only thing more powerful than magic itself."

Hermione couldn't help herself, she turned slightly to meet Draco's eyes, gazing intensely at her – but waiting, as she had asked him to, waiting for her to return.

The openness of his face made her breathless and she knew that Helena was right. Choice was more powerful than blood magic.

And she had chosen this beautiful man.

And she was certain, with permanent resolution, that he had chosen her.

She turned back to the Grey Lady.

"Thank you," she whispered, allowing herself a moment of kinship. "You have… you have saved us all."

Helena Ravenclaw gave her a nod, before turning and drifting back through the wall.

Hermione ran back to the men.

"The Grey Lady hid the diadem in Albania," she burst out. "And told Riddle that. Back when he was… you know, Tom Riddle."

Harry was nodding vigorously, as Hermione watched the gears in his head spin. "And he must've gone and found it after graduation and brought it back to Hogwarts…when…"

He stuttered off for a moment before his eyes flew open.

"The night Dumbledore offered him a job!"

There were no coincidences.

"So where is it?" Blaise demanded, his umber skin sheen, his nervousness breaking through the pores.

Hermione opened her mouth to speculate, to think, to strategize.

But before she could get the words out, a trickle of cold air ran down her spine and an eerie voice filled the air. High – cold – crystal clear.

"I know that you are preparing to fight." Hermione heard screams echo from the distance. "Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill any magical blood."

Blaise scoffed. "You made that clear when you sent your bloody assassins to my house over some trinkets."

Voldemort continued. "Give me Harry Potter." Hermione's eyes met Harry's; her terror reflected in his irises. "And none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded.

"You have until midnight."

The proclamation rang through the air – chilling finality. The group of five stood in silence, the severity of the moment weighing the air down.

"As much as I'd love to turn you in, Potter," Draco drawled after a few seconds. "We still have several hours until midnight. We can find this bloody diadem in that time."

The tension broke, Harry shooting Draco a dirty look, as Blaise rolled his eyes.

"So where is it?" Hermione whispered, the sapphire a thousand pounds pressing against her chest. "Has anyone ever seen something that looked like a tiara?"

Blaise pursed his lips. "I was in the Ravenclaw common room once…"

Draco snorted. "That's a story."

Blaise shot him a look. "And the diadem was just like Flitwick said… a silver thing, sapphire in the centre, the damn wit beyond measure quote. It looked so delicate… just tossed haphazardly on her head, like she was some kind of statue bust."

Hermione felt Draco tense beside her, just as Harry gasped.

The two men – so different, yet similar in strange ways – exchanged a look that could only be described as frustrated realization.

Draco gulped. "We know where the bloody diadem is."


"Is everyone out?" Hermione shouted, as Harry emerged from the Room of Requirement after looking for stragglers.

He nodded, closing the large metal door behind him, as it disintegrated into the wall. Her best friend turned towards Draco.

"You're the one who spent a year inside of it. Can't you summon it in a half second by now?"

Draco ignored the comment, and Hermione watched as he pressed his eyes closed, his lips mouthing the words he was frantically repeating in his mind.

I need the room of hidden things.

And Hogwarts, as always, acquiesced.

The door reappeared in the wall, and the group rushed inside.

The Room of Hidden Things was like nothing Hermione had ever experienced. Heaps and mountains of junk, of objects left haphazardly by Hogwarts students for a millennium. Old, broken furniture, clothing that they had outgrown, cages for pets long gone…

And somewhere, a piece of Voldemort's soul.

Draco looked around; his eyes calculated.

"This way."

None of the group thought twice before following him into the sea of lost trash and treasure. The ease with which Draco navigated the corridors of items made clear to Hermione, in a way it had not been before, just how much time he had spent on his task in sixth year. In this room.

He was all or nothing.

For better and worse.

Deeper and deeper into the labyrinth they went, looking for objects that Draco could recognize and guide them with. Hermione's breath was loud in her ears, and then her very soul seemed to shiver as before them, she heard Draco gasp and point.

There was a blistered old cupboard. And on top of it, a pock-marked stone warlock wearing a study, old wig and what looked like an ancient, discoloured tiara.

The whole group paused, but Hermione could not contain herself. Her feet moved forward of her old accord, until she was reaching out her hand, her fingers wrapping around Ravenclaw's diadem.

Around the horcrux.

"I can't fucking believe it," Harry whispered. "I… this whole time. I fucking… god fuck, I held it in my hands!"

"We have it now," Hermione whispered. "And… we have to destroy it."

"You won't ever get the chance."

The group whipped around as the voice sprung out from within the forest of objects. Hermione gasped as two figures approached them slowly, wands raised. As they came into the light, Draco tensed, his jaw dropping open.

"Crabbe? Goyle?"

The disbelief in his voice was evident, but Hermione could see it with her own eyes. The two bullies, childhood bullies who had once traipsed behind Draco like lapdogs, were now standing before them, murder in their eyes.

"Draco," Goyle said coolly. "Somehow it seems only fitting that it would be us to find you at the end."

Blaise gaped. "The fuck? How'd you all get in here?"

Crabbe gave Blaise a scathing look. "Fuck off, Zabini. The battle's on. The wards have started falling."

"Are you even Death Eaters?"

Why Ron thought this was a helpful comment to make, Hermione could never explain.

Goyle twitched. "We've been joined up since we left school. Been busy."

"Yes," Draco said, his hand inching towards his pocket that held his wand. "But you've never gotten to do anything important before."

A smirk graced Crabbe's face – a terrible expression that shattered any illusion of her childhood bully.

This was a murderer.

"We were important enough to be given the job of dropping your traitor ass in that building in Diagon Alley."

The implication rang through the air, and the memory echoed in Hermione's mind.

Her gut instinct told her to keep going, but something felt off about the entire situation. Could it just be to scare people? Destroy the remaining wands that had been left over?

She was trying to figure that out when she first heard them.

"Drop the traitor here!" a voice shouted from somewhere in front of her.

"Good fucking riddance," another replied.

There was a familiar pop of Apparition.

She had been right. There was someone here.

She snuck forward, avoiding anything that was on fire. When she made it to the back of the store, she saw him.

"Oh Merlin," she whispered.

The shape that was crumpled before her could hardly even be classified as human anymore. So beaten and broken that blood oozed from every inch of the body. She saw cuts and burns on what seemed to be nothing more than a hunk of meat. However, there was one distinguishing feature.

A halo of white-blond hair that she would have recognized anywhere.

She hadn't recognized the voices. It had never really mattered in the aftermath. But now, the link was obvious.

There were never any fucking coincidences.

Draco's wand was raised in an instant, pointing directly at his once friends.

"You always were rat bastards," he seethed.

Crabbe sniggered. "Not your foot soldiers anymore, Draco."

With a whip-like movement, Crabbe pointed his wand at the fifty-foot mountain of old furniture, of broken trunks, of old books and robes and unidentifiable junk and shouted "Descendo!"

The wall began to totter, and Hermione screamed.

"RUN!"

The group took off sprinting, curses flying over their shoulders as innumerable objects crashed to the ground. Hermione saw a jet of scarlet light shoot past Draco by inches.

"Harry!"

"Ron!"

"Blaise!"

"HERMIONE!"

Suddenly from behind them, she felt burning heat. She looked over her shoulder as she ran, to see Crabbe with a maniacal look on his face.

"You should've died in that fire, Malfoy. I have the chance to fix that, here."

Great flames were racing across the floor towards them, as Crabbe seemed to have no control over what he had done. Flames licked up the sides of the junk bulwarks, crumbling to soot at the touch.

"Aguamenti!" Harry bawled, but the jet of water that soared from the tip of his wand evaporated in the air.

The fire began mutating, forming a gigantic pack of fiery beats, flaming serpents, Chimaeras and dragons rose and fell and rose again; and the detritus of centuries on which they were feeding was thrown up in the air into their fanged mouths, tossed high on clawed feet, before being consumed by the inferno.

"It's Fiendfyre!" Blaise screamed. "Get the fuck out!"

No one needed to be told twice. They raced forward through the maze of debris, but the fire seemed uncontainable, space and time could not control it, as it appeared everywhere around them – encircling them in flames. Inescapable heat.

"What can we do?" Ron shouted.

Draco looked around desperately, before reaching forward and grabbing a pair of heavy-looking broomsticks. He threw one to Harry, who mounted it agilely, Ron following him on.

He stepped onto the other, looking frantically behind him. "Hermione! Blaise!"

She did not hesitate. Grabbing at Draco's, she scooted forward until she felt Blaise behind her, his arms around her waist.

They kicked off.

"We need to get out!" bellowed Ron from somewhere above them. The black smoke was a mammoth, forcing itself down her lungs.

"Find the door!" Blaise shouted, as the two broomsticks tried desperately to fly through the smoke. Draco did a hairpin swerve to avoid a fire serpent, and Hermione let go of the diadem at the manoeuvre. And it was flying – higher, until it came down, and thank god she caught it…

"There's the door!" Harry shouted; his voice lost in inferno in front of them. Hermione felt Draco change direction quickly, trying to follow the voice.

But as the broomstick veered, Hermione had the most terrible of feelings.

It was the feeling of hands around her waist becoming less secure. Of fingers losing grip. Of the weight on the broomstick shifting, suddenly lighter, as she the felt clutching at her body completely disappear.

She knew. She knew before she turned. She knew before a ravaged scream ripped from her throat, as she prayed that her desperation alone could reverse the inevitable.

She knew as she knew everything now.

Instinctively.

"BLAISE!"

Three on the broomstick had been too much, and with the final turn, Blaise Zabini … the first Slytherin in Grimmauld Place, the sarcastic companion with a heart of gold…

Blaise Zabini … her friend had been thrown off.

The world slowed. Time seemed to crawl to a stop.

As if the gods were giving her the chance to say goodbye.

Blaise was falling, growing further away as the broomstick flew towards the door. She watched in despair as he screamed, the flames began to lick at his body.

She met his eyes, terror written in the calligraphy of his irises, just as the inferno swallowed him whole.

An anguished wail was torn from her being, from her very core – and she tried to shout, to demand, they had to go back, they had to go get him.

But it was too late.

Sometimes death does not meet you as an old friend.

Sometimes it is vicious; unrepentant, stealing the most beautiful of souls from the earth's surface.

A life string cut too soon.

The broomsticks broke through the door, the group gasping for fresh air, as the Room of Hidden Things disintegrated behind them, the steel slamming into the wall.

As final as the bell tolling.

And Hermione knew –

There was nothing more to be done.

He was gone.