A/N: I can't believe we are getting so close to the end! Only 2 chapters left after this one! Thank you all for being here, whether you've been with me since I began posting back in March, or if you just found this story yesterday, or if you waited until it was complete to read it. I appreciate you taking the time to read my words.
So much love to BiscuitsForPotter and DisenchantedGlow for helping me get this chapter together so quickly. They're the main reason you didn't have to wait extra time for this one. Love you guys!
Without further ado, the battle continues!
Dust and debris from the latest confrontation still surrounded them, refusing to settle on the ground and be forgotten. The coppery scent of blood permeated every breath Draco took as he stood with Bill, George, and Angelina in the entrance hall. As much as Dean deserved to be properly grieved, Draco forced his mind back to the dire present. Granger was still here somewhere, and he had to find her and keep her safe. And as far as he knew, Theo and Dolohov were at large as well. He needed to find them… do whatever it took to stop them once and for all. These tasks needed to be at the forefront of his mind, unclouded by grief or guilt.
"We should help the others in the basement," Angelina suggested, her eyes a bit glassy with shock and grief.
"Basement's clear!" Potter called as he emerged from the stairs coming up from the lower level.
Draco wheeled around, craning his neck to look for Granger. Potter was sporting a black eye and a split lip. Ginny trailed behind him, blood on the leg of her trousers. Molly Weasley and Katie Bell were with them as well, along with a handful of other Order members who had been tasked with sweeping the house.
Bill and Potter exchanged the code words as the group from downstairs approached them. Finnegan and Longbottom were with them, both looking a bit wartorn. Longbottom's face was swollen and purple around one eye and Finnegan had a bit of blood caked on the side of his face, but otherwise they seemed unharmed.
"There's a tunnel down there," Potter said to Bill. "Leads out away from the house, beyond the line of our anti-Apparition wards. We didn't feel comfortable investigating it with just our small team. Malfoy's map spell couldn't find the end of it. For all we know, they could have hundreds down there."
A tunnel. Draco recalled the tunnels beneath Malfoy Manor. There was a deep labyrinth of corridors sprawling out in many directions. Without knowing the way through them, one could easily get lost for days beneath the Manor.
It had happened to him once when he was very small. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and although he'd had fun at first exploring the tunnels, it soon became terrifying as he lost his way. By the time his mother located him within the maze, he'd been crying and screaming for help for over an hour.
The tunnels had been built as a security measure in case the Lord and Lady of the Manor needed to make a quick getaway. Centuries ago, they'd been used primarily to smuggle dark artifacts. Now, there was just an impressive wine cellar and the rest were mostly used as storage.
However, as Draco listened to Bill and Potter mutter to each other, he began to suspect that the tunnels at this particular house may hold something far more sinister than vintage, elf-made wines.
Bill furrowed his brows in thought as he voiced Draco's fears aloud. "Or they could be using it to smuggle the higher ranking Death Eaters out. Could explain why we haven't found Dolohov yet."
"Exactly." Potter nodded. "I put a few detection charms on it so that we would know if anyone tried to come in that way, but I couldn't do much without more time."
From the corner of his eye, Draco saw Bill glance around at the group of people that had amassed in the entrance hall. "We should try to assemble a team to investigate and see where it leads."
As Bill and Potter sussed out details, Draco's eyes never strayed from the top of the basement steps. He watched the line of people ascending with bile in his throat reaching higher and higher with each person who crossed the threshold. When the last one stepped to the top, his stomach twisted.
"Where's Granger?" he asked, cutting off the other conversation.
Possibilities flashed across his mind.
Had she gone downstairs with the others?
Had she been killed?
Was her body lying in a corner somewhere like Dean's was, waiting to be dealt with once the battle was winding down?
The very thought of seeing her lifeless eyes practically sent him spiraling. He gripped his wand tightly in a feeble attempt to get a hold of himself.
Before he was too far gone, Ginny jumped in. "She and Luna went outside."
Outside? Draco turned to look through the windows at the chaos of the battlefield beyond the walls. Explosions and screams assaulted his ears, and his mind conjured a thousand images of a thousand ways that Granger could be in peril. What in Merlin's name possessed her to go outside?
As if sensing his panic, Ginny stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "She was doing what she had to do. As a Healer. She saw red sparks and went to help someone who'd been wounded."
Damn her Gryffindor savior complex. She was going to get herself killed trying to save everyone.
Without waiting for a companion to back him up, Draco turned and bolted for the front door, ignoring Potter's shouts to stay put and not compromise the mission. He wrenched open the heavy, dark wood and took in the scene around him.
Order reinforcements had arrived by the dozens, and although Shacklebolt had advised everyone to stay with their assigned teams, members were scattered about the well-manicured lawn. Several were using the Killing Curse freely now, but most were clearly not as comfortable using the Unforgivables as the Death Eaters were. Green flashes filled the air, paired with Stunning Spells and Petrifying Hexes.
Draco turned his head in every direction, frantically searching for Granger's wild curls.
A pair of Death Eaters spotted him on the front stairs and advanced, wands raised. Draco deflected a blue hex and sent a Stunning Spell in retaliation, hitting one of them. He bounded off the steps to get to a safer location. A Killing Curse narrowly missed him as he threw himself behind one of the stone boars which sat symmetrically on either side of the front stairs.
He lunged out to retaliate, but the Death Eater was already crumbling under the force of two Stunning Spells. Looking to his right, Draco saw Ron and Percy Weasley turning away from the incapacitated man. He nodded in thanks before checking for more enemies.
There was a great deal of fighting happening further across the lawn, but no one nearby. Draco crept out from behind the stone boar and approached the two Weasley men. "Niffler," he hissed, trying to catch their attention as stealthily as possible.
"Hippogriff." Percy straightened his glasses that had fallen askew in the bustle of battle.
"Have either of you seen Granger?"
"Went back into the house, didn't she?" Ron said with a frown, his eyes sweeping across the field.
"I just came from there." Draco shot a glance back at the door as frustration rose within him.
"Well then maybe she's around back."
"No." Percy shook his head. "I think she took one of our injured back to Headquarters."
Draco fought back a growl. The Weasley brothers were absolutely no help to him, either. And frankly, with the chaos surrounding them, either of them could be mistaken.
A pinprick of despair found its way to the back of his mind, but he shoved it as far down as he could manage.
Another explosion across the field had them all jumping and covering their heads. Several trees at the edge of the forest splintered and bowed under the force of the blow. They cracked, falling to the earth with mighty thuds that had people staggering away as fast as they could in their disoriented state.
Things were beginning to fall apart. The house that had been white and pristine earlier today was now darkened by scorch marks. Windows had been shattered and entire rooms had been blasted away, leaving gaping holes in the walls. On the lawn, things were even worse. Bodies littered the field. How many of them were dead or dying, Draco couldn't say. He prayed some were just unconscious as his eyes swept across them, hoping to see a glimpse of brown curls. When he saw none, his heart sank.
But in all this chaos, could he really trust his eyes?
He forced himself to take calming breaths. Panic was the easiest way to make a grave mistake.
He had to stay logical—to focus on where Hermione might be. Headquarters. She could be there. Or perhaps just on the other side of the house.
Those were the places Ron and Percy had mentioned. He could check out back first and then try to go to Headquarters if she wasn't there.
Determined to make his way around the house, Draco moved away from the relative safety he'd found and back into the battle. He ducked as an orange hex whizzed past his head. Wheeling around, he stunned the Death Eater pursuing him and watched the man topple over.
As he stumbled to regain his footing and continue to the back of the house, an uproar of screams made him pause.
A thick, black fog was oozing onto the field from the treeline. Draco's blood ran cold as he recognised the potion vapour that had nearly killed him. Heart immediately pounding wildly, every instinct in his body urged him to flee for his life. His muscles twitched with the desire to run, but he fought against the urge. He'd taken the antidote. But just for good measure, he quickly cast a Bubble Head Charm.
He wasn't alone in doing so. Many Order members and allies quickly cast the charm on themselves and called out for others to do the same as the mist surged forward, enveloping several people into inky darkness.
Some people weren't quick enough, and some of the Order allies who Draco didn't recognise seemed to succumb to the potion's effects. Draco watched, horrified, as a group of no less than ten young witches and wizards disappeared into the fog. Immediately, the all too familiar sounds of choking and gagging filled the air as they gasped for air.
The Order members and allies began to scatter, scrambling to escape the vapour as it spread out across the field. The Death Eaters were unaffected by the mist, and continued to cast hexes and curses at their enemies even as they were enveloped by the black smoke.
Just when Draco was beginning to think that it couldn't get any more horrifying, the fog shifted, billowing out as several figures in black cloaks emerged from within.
Led by Antonin Dolohov.
A jolt of dread ran through Draco at the sight of the man who had molded him into a killer. The last time he'd seen Dolohov, he'd been staring at Draco through thick glass, watching with malice as black smoke choked the life out of him.
The self-appointed High Minister was sweeping across the field with murder in his eyes and a dozen Death Eaters at his back. They seemed nearly impenetrable as they glided over a path of fallen bodies. It was no wonder so many found Dolohov terrifying. His eyes—his terrible, green eyes looked nearly mad as he took in the turmoil before him. For one, brief, horrifying moment, Draco feared that this would be the end of it all—that all would flee in terror.
But then figure in purple robes charged forward. It was Shacklebolt, bloodied and dusty from fighting, and sporting a Bubble Head Charm. Flanking the Minister were Arthur and Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, Lee Jordan, Oliver Wood, and Luna Lovegood.
Draco's heart leapt. Luna had been with Granger. Perhaps Granger wasn't far away.
Dolohov wasted no time in firing a Killing Curse at Shacklebolt, but the Minister was quick, and the spell was easily deflected. The rest of the Death Eaters fanned out, releasing spell after spell, hex after hex at the opposing forces.
The sizzle of dark magic permeated the air as hexes reflected eerily off the black smoke in hues of green, gold, and scarlet.
Draco watched Dolohov, recalling how the High Minister had trained him. He'd been taught how to move in battle, how to wield his wand so that his moves couldn't be predicted, how to cast spells quickly so that they are less likely to be blocked. It was all too familiar. Fear seeped into his bones. That fear, along with rage, drove him forward towards the fighting, towards the mist.
He looked for Theo among Dolohov's men, but his former friend was nowhere to be seen. With Theo still missing, everything felt like a trap.
Where was he?
What was his plan?
Was he lingering in the mist, killing off people one by one? Was he deep underground in the tunnels with an even more destructive plan up his sleeve? Was he nearby at that very moment, disguised or disillusioned and waiting for the perfect moment to strike?
Draco's mind raced with the possibilities. He felt his skin prickle at the idea of being watched—hunted by Theo, the Reaper.
As far as Draco was concerned, the war wouldn't be over until Theo lay dead at his feet. He was too dangerous to be kept alive. But in order to kill Theo, he had to find him first, and that task was proving to be very difficult.
Dolohov and Shacklebolt's duel had drawn the attention of the entire battlefield. Most of the other duels had ceased as people were distracted by the blaze of spells at the center of the lawn, and Draco thought fleetingly of the way everyone had stopped to watch the Dark Lord perish at Hogwarts.
Draco inched closer, prepared to jump in if the Minister looked like he needed assistance. But for now he kept his distance.
Dolohov swung his wand around, conjuring a ribbon of blue flames, which burst outward from him and shot toward Shacklebolt. The Minister used both hands, his brow furrowed in concentration as he deflected the flames. They surged away and bowled over three Death Eaters to his left.
Shacklebolt retaliated, sending a bolt of deep red back at Dolohov. It hit the High Minister, propelling him into the air where the spell encased him. Dolohov's body twisted and contorted, either in incredible pain or to try to escape the spell.
Draco held his breath. Perhaps this would be the end of Dolohov. Bloodlust swirled through his veins as he watched his old mentor writhe in the air, trapped in a cocoon of shimmering red. He wanted Dolohov dead. He didn't care how it happened, but he wanted to watch the life leave him.
Dolohov thrashed, his wand slicing and breaking the spell. He crashed to the ground and barely had a moment to recover before Shacklebolt's Killing Curse came barreling towards him. He rolled out of the way and fired back with a sneer.
The Minister dodged the deadly curse and then flourished his wand like a whip, a dense, black curse escaping from the end and striking Dolohov in the heart.
The High Minister stumbled back, his wand arm dropping limply to his side as the black curse wracked his body. His brow furrowed, his jaw tightened in determination as he fought against the spell. Taking a step forward, Dolohov's legs buckled and he dropped to his knees.
There was sweat on Shacklebolt's brow, but his wand never wavered as his spell weakened Dolohov.
Shoulders slumping, breath ragged, Dolohov sneered at Shacklebolt. With tremendous effort, he lifted his wand, gripping it hard though his arm shook. He aimed at the Minister.
The black spell was released as Dolohov's mouth began to form words, but Shacklebolt never gave his enemy the chance to finish his spell.
"Avada Kedavra!" The Minister's spell was so bright that Draco's eyes burned, but he didn't dare blink or shield his face.
His breath caught in his throat as Dolohov was engulfed in a blaze of green. For a brief moment, Draco was sure that it wouldn't work. Dolohov was far too deadly to be killed.
But then the High Minister's arm dropped, his face went slack, and his body went limp, falling sideways to the ground.
Antonin Dolohov was dead.
The field erupted in a chorus of cheers and outraged cries. People began running about in a flurry of excited or panicked movement, but Draco stood rooted to the spot.
Dolohov was dead.
It felt as though a dragon in his chest had soared into the air. A heavy weight lifted off of him, and he felt as if sunlight was peeking through the cracks in his soul.
Draco was suddenly jostled roughly and wheeled around, brandishing his wand.
Charlie barely slowed down in his pursuit of a Death Eater. He cast a grin over his shoulder. "Sorry, mate!" And then he disappeared into the chaos.
Draco blinked, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings again. Dolohov's death had bolstered the Order's spirits, and it seemed that it had extinguished the Death Eaters'. Most of Dolohov's men were turning on the spot, trying to Disapparate. But the Order had set up Anti-Apparition wards when they arrived, so their efforts were futile. Upon this realisation, many Death Eaters were attempting to make a run for it.
Charlie wasn't the only one grinning. Half the Order was smiling gleefully as they attempted to round up the retreating Death Eaters. The group that had been inside the house was now flooding the battlefield, overwhelming the remaining Death Eaters in sheer numbers.
Snapping into action, Draco stunned a Death Eater sprinting by and then took off after another. A few were still dueling, making their final stand. But they were outnumbered. Within a matter of minutes, the battle was dying down. The last of the Death Eaters had either fled into the forest or been stunned or killed.
They had won.
The battle was ending, and the Order was victorious.
Draco could scarcely believe it. Dolohov was dead. The rest of the surviving Death Eaters had been arrested or had gone into hiding.
He felt elated, relieved, triumphant. And there was only one person he wanted to share that feeling with.
If only he could find her.
He made his way across the battlefield, looking carefully at each person in turn. He saw many stunned or dead Death Eaters. Surely the process of transporting all of them to the Ministry would take hours. There were many wounded from both sides. The most severely injured were receiving help from Madam Pomfrey, who Draco guessed had arrived with Shacklebolt's reinforcements. Others were being transported back to Headquarters.
It was likely that Granger was helping the wounded there, but Draco wanted to check everywhere here before leaving the scene. He continued across the lawn, pausing at the body of a brunette witch a few years older than Granger.
As the minutes passed, he shook away the fear that was creeping into his bones. Granger was alive. She had to be.
"Draco," a small voice called from nearby.
He wheeled around, his heart leaping into his throat.
Luna looked tiny slumped against the external wall of the enormous house. Her leg was twisted oddly and her shoulder was almost certainly out of place.
"Lovegood, you're hurt." Draco hurried to her.
She smiled weakly at him. "I'll be alright. Do you have your Portkey? I used mine earlier to help Padma and it must have fallen through hole in my pocket after I returned."
Draco nodded and reached into his pocket to grasp his wrapped Portkey. But he paused. "Niffler."
Luna grimaced as she tried to sit up straighter. "Hippogriff."
Satisfied, Draco grabbed hold of Luna's uninjured arm and unwrapped his Portkey.
A moment later, Luna and Draco landed in the living room at Headquarters. Immediately, Dawlish and another Auror had their wands trained on them.
"Hinkypunk," Draco and Luna said in unison.
Satisfied, the Aurors lowered their wands, and Draco bent to pick up Luna. He carried her, following the cries of pain coming from the sitting room.
"Minor injuries?" a Healer inquired, hurrying over to them. There was a smear of blood on the young man's right cheek, and his brow was sweaty from hours of frantic Healing.
"Yes," Draco answered. "It doesn't seem to be life threatening. Broken leg maybe, and a dislocated shoulder."
The Healer glanced around. There were at least a dozen people lying on camp beds. "Find an empty bed for her. We have the more serious cases upstairs until we can arrange for transport for them to St. Mungo's.
Another Healer brushed past Draco as he took in the information. "Excuse me," the elderly witch mumbled before leaning over an injured man to tip a potion into his mouth.
Draco walked between the camp beds, careful not to disturb any of their occupants or jostle Luna too much. He found an empty bed and gently lowered Luna onto it.
"You're going to be alright, Luna," Draco assured her.
Luna smiled at him as she rested her head on the pillow. "Thank you, Draco."
"Luna, when was the last time you saw Granger?"
Her brow furrowed thoughtfully for a moment. "We were only together for a few minutes after we left the house. Padma and Parvati were both hurt, but only Padma needed to be brought back. Hermione took care of Parvati there and I brought Padma here. By the time I got back to the battle, Hermione had moved on somewhere else."
"And you haven't seen her since?" Draco frowned.
Luna shook her head. "I'm sure she's fine. You'll find her." Her uninjured arm moved, and a small hand came to rest on his forearm.
Draco blinked, but felt an odd sense of calm wash over him.
"Go on," Luna urged, squeezing his arm gently. "I'm fine."
Draco took his opportunity to leave the room, briefly checking the other camp beds for brown curls. He briefly checked the rest of the downstairs rooms before making his way to the upper level. The air seemed thicker up here. Tense. All of the doors were open, revealing the wounded and dying Order members within. Some were alone and resting, others were being frantically tended to by Healers.
A flash of ginger hair made Draco's feet halt and he entered the room cautiously.
Charlie Weasley lay quite still in the bed, the sheets stained dark red with blood.
Draco's stomach twisted. Not Charlie. Of all the Weasleys, Draco felt the closest to him. A sentimental man might even call them friends.
A Healer approached him.
"What happened to him?" Draco asked.
"Severing hex to the chest," the Healer replied softly. "He lost a lot of blood, but we managed to stop it. He's stable for now."
Draco let out a breath of relief. Perhaps Charlie would live.
"He's next in line to be transported to St. Mungo's as long as we don't get anyone else in with a more dire need," the Healer explained.
Draco frowned, thinking of Charlie brushing past him on the battlefield. That hadn't been very long ago. Somehow he'd managed to get himself injured, treated, and stable in a very short amount of time.
Unless…
"How long has he been here?"
The Healer tilted his head thoughtfully. "He was one of the first brought in. It was quite early. Fifteen or twenty minutes after the assault began."
Fuck.
Theo had been at the battle disguised as Charlie, and Draco had let him slip through his fingers. What if he got to Granger? He could have killed her. Panic began to bloom in Draco's chest. Dolohov was dead, but Theo was still at large. And as long as he breathed, this would never truly be over.
Draco moved quickly out of the room, ignoring the Healer's curious stare.
He had to find someone he could share this information with. Perhaps he could find Shacklebolt or Potter.
After looking about for a moment, Draco settled on Potter. He would be nearly as concerned as Draco about Granger's absence.
Set on his task, he made his way back downstairs. About halfway down the steps,he remembered another reason to seek out Potter. Draco thrust his hands into his pockets in an effort to retrieve the borrowed Invisibility Cloak. If he was going to talk to Potter, he might as well return it while he had the chance.
But as his hand groped around the inside of his pocket blindly, the smooth, almost water-like texture of the cloak was nowhere to be found.
Draco paused at the bottom of the steps and turned out his pocket. The pounding in his heart returned as its contents fell into his hand. It had to be there. Surely. Where could it have gone?
But there was no cloak.
Just the two wrapped Portkeys and a scrap of parchment, rolled up and tied with a bit of twine.
Draco frowned at the latter object. It certainly hadn't been there when he dressed for the day.
Whatever it was, Draco didn't like it. Fear clutched at his heart as he pulled at the twine and slowly unraveled the parchment.
He was met with a short message. Just a few lines covering the parchment in a familiar, slanted script.
I have your Mudblood. You watched her almost die here once. Come alone, or I'll make sure to finish the job this time.
Draco couldn't help the way his hands shook or the tightness in his jaw as he realised just who had left this parchment in his pocket.
Theo.
He had Granger.
Theo had her, and he was going to kill unless he… he…
You watched her almost die here once…
There was only one place Theo could possibly mean.
And it was a place that Draco had hoped to leave behind for good.
And now he would have to return. Alone.
The Manor.
A/N: Updates on Mondays
Next chapter posts September 21st
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