The Beginning of the End
A/N: I'm taking a stab at trying a longer story with an actual plot. Don't know how successful I will be, but I'm gonna try. Wish me luck.
This happens during Harry's 7th year at Hogwarts.
Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling
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"What are you going to do when all this is over?"
Harry quirked an eyebrow at Hermione.
"That's assuming we survive all this," he pointed out.
"Hope springs eternal."
"Optimists have to be careful they don't fall on their faces."
"And pessimists have to remember that life is for the living," she said.
"The living can have it," he finished bitterly. "The dead don't want it."
Hermione was silent, staring at her friend. The war had changed everyone, but Harry still looked like the young boy she had first met on the Hogwarts Express. He was taller, of course, and slender instead of skinny, but his hair still grew in a chaotic tangle and there was something of the wonderment they had all experienced in those first days that lingered around the Boy Who Lived.
Except in his eyes. Those emerald orbs did not sparkle anymore, they watched and calculated. They were not filled with laughter, but with grief and anger. When she looked into Harry's too-old eyes that she could see the full extent of the damage wrought by Voldemort.
"Harry," she said slowly, "if we're not fighting for the living, who are we fighting for?"
He met her eyes, their grief reflecting back.
"For the dead," he said, "so they can rest in peace."
~So many dead. Snape in their 5th year, the Dursley's, too. The only bright spot had been the capture of Pettigrew and the exoneration of Sirius Black. The Creevy brothers and a dozen other muggle-born wizards and witches the summer before their 6th year. That had forced Fudge to admit Voldemort was back. And countless others, a litany of names, killed in the ongoing battle between Harry Potter and the Dark Lord. And then, just last summer....~
"Harry," Hermione's voice broke, "I can't believe that they would want
us to get ourselves killed."
"We'll never know now will we? Thanks to Voldemort and Ron, we'll never know."
Harry stood abruptly and paced the room.
~The Weasleys were dead.~
"Where is he?" Harry growled.
~The Weasleys were dead, struck down by Voldemort.~
"Something's gone wrong," Harry said, peering out a window.
~Voldemort, using information supplied by one of their own, Ron Weasley, Death Eater had killed the Weasleys. The Grangers had been at that party. They had died shortly after of their wounds at St. Mungo's.~
"He should have been here by now. I've got a bad feeling about this, Mione. Get you wand out."
Hermione could feel the hairs on the back of her neck lifting.
With a sudden pop, two figures appeared in the center of the room. One, blond-haired and coldly handsome, was Draco Malfoy. He was supporting a half-conscious Sirius Black.
"We have to get out of here," Draco yelled when he saw them. "They're right behind me."
With a curse, Harry sprinted to help Draco drag Sirius to the Portkey on the table. Hermione stood waiting, wand out. They touched the delicate statue....
Sirius was okay. Madam Pomfrey said he had a concussion, but would be fine. Harry had to keep repeating that to himself. When he had seen Sirius hanging so limp in Draco's arms, his blood had run cold at the idea of adding his godfather's name to the list of dead that waited patiently in his dreams for Voldemort's downfall.
A second year peered through the door, sending him a bright, flashing grin.
"Harry," he piped, "the Headmaster wants to talk to you!"
"Okay, Davie, thanks."
The student scurried away down the hallway, content in the knowledge that the great, infamous Harry Potter would win in the end.
Draco and Hermione were sitting close together on the bench outside Dumbledore's office.
"Harry," Draco said, when he glimpsed him in the corridor.
"Sirius is fine, Draco. Madam Pomfrey says your quick thinking saved his life."
A pale flush worked its way up his skin and he lowered confused eyes to the girl at his side. Draco still wasn't used to the easy acceptance and compliments of new friends he had found.
To give him time to recover, Hermione stood, addressing Harry. "Professor Dumbledore said to come in as soon as you got here."
Dumbledore wasn't alone in his office.
"Remus!"
The tall werewolf bounded out of his chair to meet Harry and Hermione. Malfoy stood back, trying to melt into the shadows, watching the reunion hungrily.
Remus stepped away from his friends and approached the silent boy. Remus stared at him for a long time, his pale, wolfish eyes seeming to stare into Malfoy's soul. Finally, Remus held out one long-fingered hand. Malfoy hesitantly slid his shaking hand into the waiting paw.
"Draco," Remus affirmed quietly, welcoming him fully into Harry Potter's inner circle, breaking the last chains of his past.
Draco felt a grin spread across his face as he met the werewolves' calm eyes. Draco laid his last fears and doubts aside and left the cold behind, joining the group by the fireplace, gratefully accepting a goblet of pumpkin juice and a kiss from Hermione, blushing when he met Dumbledore's twinkling eyes.
"Padfoot? You didn't tell me he was hurt!" Remus growled, half out of his seat.
"He's okay," Harry said, raising his voice to be heard. "Madame Pomfrey said he should be waking up soon."
"That's good, very good." Dumbledore put his goblet on a convenient table and stood, walking to his desk. The others also stood, drifting closer, warily watching the wily old wizard.
"We have a choice," he said quietly, " we can either continue the way we are, fighting little skirmishes, losing good witches and wizards, while not even denting Voldemort. Or," he stared at them one by one; "we can attack him."
They were silent, staring at Dumbledore. They had talked about this in the past, agreed if the opportunity ever came, that an assault on Voldemort himself, while suicidal, was their best chance.
"You've found him," Draco said quietly.
Dumbledore nodded. "I've found him."
A/N: I know this first chapter is kinda awkward, but it'll get better I promise.