Hermione risked a sidelong glance at Harry, standing on her left. The set, determined expression on his face mirrored her own, though of course she could not know that. He was standing, feet apart, cloak thrown back over his shoulders, firing and deflecting spells at lightning speed. A fine sheen of sweat coated his face, and his hair, which usually stood straight up despite the most valiant efforts to tame it, hung damply over his forehead, all but obscuring his narrowed eyes.

Eyes that were blazing with green fire in this, the moment of his destiny.

She wanted desperately to look over at Draco, but she fought down the urge; even the most fleeting glance would require her to turn her head too far. She couldn't afford to look away from Voldemort for even an instant- the risk was too great.

But the barely controlled panic in Ron's voice when she had heard him exclaim "Whoa, Malfoy- Jesus Christ!" a moment ago had struck terror in her heart, and more than anything she wanted to know what the hell was going on back there where the two boys crouched on the floor, just out of her line of vision.

Tears threatened to overflow her eyes as her mind replayed again and again the image of that dagger being plunged into Draco's chest. She blinked them back fiercely; she could not afford blurry vision right now. It could get her killed. So with a mighty effort she pushed Draco from her mind and focused all her attention on Voldemort, while remaining keenly aware of Harry beside her. The time was quickly approaching, she knew instinctually, when Harry would initiate the last phase of the battle.

As if on cue, she became aware of Harry's green gaze on her. She glanced to her left once again, and their eyes met for a fraction of a second; a volume of information was exchanged between the two of them in that brief look. Harry was telling her, without words, that he was ready to lock wands with Voldemort. That meant that she had to temporarily remove herself from the fray.

She took a deep, calming breath, then fired off one final spell. As soon as the words left her lips, she dropped into a crouch so that when Voldemort deflected the spell back at her, it flew harmlessly over her head. Then, before Voldemort could react to this unexpected turn of events, she threw herself behind Harry. She was now out of the battle, and shielded from harm by Harry's body.

This so surprised Voldemort that he stopped altogether for a moment, staring from Harry to Hermione behind him, to Ron to Draco and back to Harry again, as if just realizing that he was down to only one active combatant.

Hermione took advantage of this momentary lull, as Harry and Voldemort stared each other down, to look over at Draco and Ron. Draco was on his knees, leaning forward with his weight supported on his right hand, which was braced on the floor. He held his wand tightly in his left hand, which she saw was scarlet with blood. His head was hanging exhaustedly, and his blood streaked hair fell forward, hiding his face from view. Her stomach flipped over and her heart sank, seeing him like that. Beside him crouched Ron, looking oddly protective of this boy he'd hated for so many years, as though he expected Draco to keel over at any second and was ready to catch him should it come to that.

Ron met her eyes first. The two of them shared a solemn look, then Ron raised his right hand, which held his wand, and thumped his fist against his heart. He mouthed the words, Be Careful. And then, I Love You.

At that moment Draco raised his head and her eyes left Ron's and locked on his. He shot her the faintest ghost of a smile and then, unbelievably, extended his left hand toward her and, while still holding his wand, gave her what was unmistakably a "thumbs up" gesture.

Before she could think of a response, her attention was diverted by Harry, as he said to Voldemort in a deathly calm voice, "Are you ready to finish this? No more taunts, no more games- let's end this now!"

Voldemort's only answer was a furious hiss. Hermione felt a wave of cold, sick déjà vu wash over her; it was the same sound he had made when she had spat in his face, just before he'd slammed her head into the wall.

In the next instant, two voices rang out; one shrill and enraged, the other deep and composed. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" Shouted Harry and Voldemort, wands leveled at each other with deadly intent. And as had happened once years before, the two jets of light that emanated from the opposing wands met between them, forming a bridge of green light that quickly turned to gold. Then, as Hermione watched in amazement, Harry's feet left the floor.

"Hermione, quick," Harry ground out from between clenched teeth- she saw that his whole body was trembling and, as she watched, he brought up his left hand to steady his right, which was shaking dangerously as he fought to maintain the bridge of light- "before our wands isolate us, do it- do it NOW!"

Both combatants were at least two feet off the floor when Hermione stepped out from behind Harry and leveled her wand at Voldemort's chest. His red eyes flicked from Harry to her, and she saw in them the sudden realization that he could not defend himself from her because Harry would not release him from their wandlock. She braced herself.

"Avada Kedavra!" she cried.

Green light shot from her wand and slammed into Voldemort's chest with incredible force. The jolt broke the bridge of light that connected him to Harry, and they both fell back to the floor. Harry managed to land on his feet and steady himself…and, to Hermione's horror, so did Voldemort. She kept her wand trained on him, and pulses of green light emanated from it, hitting him squarely in the chest time and again, yet he wasn't dead. He wasn't even knocked down.

In fact, he threw back his head and laughed. And she felt his high, cold laugh seep under her skin and chill her right down to the bone. This wasn't right. This wasn't right at all. Then he pointed his wand at her.

Before she could succumb completely to the panic that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her, she heard Harry's voice calm in her ear. "It's okay- I expected this. We'll do it together." He leveled his wand at Voldemort again and said "Avada Kedavra," in a quiet, intense voice.

A jet of green light shot from his wand and hit Voldemort in the midsection, abruptly ending his laughter and causing him to stumble back a step and- to Hermione's immense relief- drop his wand to the floor. Still, though, he did not fall. He merely stood there in a halo of pulsing green light, fists clenched, glaring at them, with a grin on his face both malicious and triumphant. "You…cannot…kill…me," he hissed, "pathetic children."

"Harry!" Hermione cried frantically, "what are we going to DO?"

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Draco heard the desperation in Hermione's voice and knew the time had come to act. "Weasley," he gasped, "we have to get up. I need-" God, but this was hard to say- "I need your help."

Without a word, Ron took hold of Draco's arm and draped it over his shoulder, then staggered to his feet, dragging Draco up with him. Draco grunted in pain as the room seemed to tilt dangerously and his vision darkened again- but he fought his way back to full consciousness, muttering to Ron, "Do it- curse him! I- I just need- a minute…to gather my strength."

Ron severely doubted that Draco could gather his strength within a minute's time, or at all for that matter, but he did as the Slytherin instructed; leveled his wand at Voldemort and bellowed, "Avada Kedavra!"

Draco's eyes widened marginally when he saw where Ron's jet of light connected with Voldemort, and once again a ghost of a smile flitted across his face. Ron had aimed his wand squarely at Voldemort's groin. I'll be damned, Draco thought; I have to give the boy some credit- never thought he had it in him.

As for Voldemort, he staggered backward yet again under this new attack, but still remained on his feet. His whole body now glowed intensely green and he no longer laughed, no longer grinned, no longer taunted. He no longer looked triumphant. Although he had long ago taken precautions against death, he was not truly immortal. He could only survive the onslaught of so many killing curses at once. He knew that one more blow would finish him, and he knew that Draco, whose family was, after all, among his trusted inner circle and therefore knew his weaknesses (the better to protect and serve him), would know this too. And so it was to Draco that the Dark Lord addressed his last words.

"My loyal followers will tear you limb from limb, traitor," he screamed, as Draco slowly raised his wand.

"You forget, my Lord," said Draco, his voice pitched low and dripping with sarcasm, "I'm not going to be around long enough for that to happen."

Voldemort's scarlet eyes flashed. "That's right…you're already dead, aren't you- murdered by those you betrayed me for!"

Draco's eyes went to Hermione. "It's worth it," he said flatly. Then, as Voldemort gave a barely human howl of rage and defiance, he braced himself against Ron and cried, "Avada Kedavra!" with all the force he could muster.

Voldemort's howl became a shriek; briefly, the four teens had a glimpse of him standing in the midst of a pulsating green cage of light, his head thrown back and face contorted with outrage at the realization that his life was at an end and he had been bested by four children; a boy who had plagued him since infancy by his very existence, the youngest son of a pureblood family who had lacked the "pride" to join his ranks, a mudblood bitch he had thought he'd broken beyond repair, and one of his own best and brightest young followers turned traitor on him.

Then the Dark Lord collapsed in a flash of brilliant light that was accompanied by a shockwave which sent Harry and Hermione, Ron and Draco sprawling to the floor.

For a long moment, all was silent and still.

Then, slowly, Harry, Ron and Hermione picked themselves up.

Draco did not.

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As Harry advanced warily toward Voldemort's prone form, wand in hand, Hermione flew to where Draco lay sprawled on the floor with Ron bending over him. Even now Draco managed to look nonchalant- almost comfortable, as if he had simply decided to lie down in this particular spot and have a bit of a breather. It wasn't until one got close that his shallow, ragged breathing and strained expression told a different story- that and the blood. The vast quantity of blood.

Throwing herself down beside Ron, Hermione reached out both hands and caressed Draco's face. "No," she murmured; "no, no, no." She leaned close over him. "Draco?" she whispered. He was staring fixedly up at the ceiling, his remarkable, pale eyes distant; unfocused. "Draco," she said more loudly, patting his cheek, "come back. Come on- please. Come back to me." As his eyes slowly focused on her, she smiled through the tears that were beginning to flow. "That's it," she said, "come on now, don't make me slap you again."

Draco smiled briefly at this allusion, and it was a real smile- one that reached his eyes; so rare for him. But it passed quickly, lost in a grimace of pain as he tried to lever himself up on his elbows. God, how he wanted to sit up- he couldn't stand the thought of looking weak in front of Hermione, not to mention Weasley and that bloody bastard Potter- but his body just-wouldn't-obey him, damn it all to hell.

Hermione, seeing something of this struggle in his eyes, moved around behind his head. She threaded her arms under his, locked her hands about his chest, and pulled him backward and up so that he was in a sitting position, his body supported by her own, his head resting back on her chest. "Draco," she said softly, bending and kissing him on top of his fair head, "stay with me now…stay…" He didn't reply. She began stroking one hand through his tangled, bloody hair, and the other found his hand- his left hand, his wand hand, and squeezed. He squeezed back weakly.

Her eyes met Ron's over Draco's head and they shared a bleak, frightened look- they both knew this wasn't good. Ron looked as though he was about to speak, but at that moment Harry's voice came to them from across the room; "He's dead."

Ron and Hermione both turned to look at Harry where he stood over Voldemort- Draco didn't. His eyes had drifted shut. "Dead," Harry said again, flatly, "the bastard's finally dead." He turned and took a few steps toward where his friends huddled on the floor, but then abruptly turned back, his cloak billowing behind him, and quickly re-crossed the distance to where the fallen Dark Lord lay. Without preamble he kicked the body brutally, twice; once in the face and once in the groin, then stood over it breathing hard, face flushed, fists clenched, still trembling with rage and adrenaline.

"Burn in hell," he ground out through clenched teeth, and spat on the body. Then, seizing Voldemort's wand from where it lay beside him, he snapped it with savage force over his knee and hurled the pieces at the wall with an inarticulate cry of rage.

Having finally dispelled his fury, Harry turned his back once and for all on Voldemort, the man responsible for wreaking so much havoc on his young life, and the lives of those around him. He stood still for a moment as his breathing slowly returned to normal, seeming unsure of what to do next. His hands unclenched and he ran them quickly through his unruly black hair, then shook his head and settled his gaze once again on the three people across the room.

He walked toward them slowly- he still seemed to be somewhat in a daze. But when he got to a distance of a few yards, his eyes widened as though he really seemed to see Draco for the first time- really seemed to see and understand the blood- and he broke into a run.

Falling to his knees next to Draco, Harry reached out as if to grip his shoulder, but then pulled his hand back, unsure. "Malfoy…?" He said hesitantly. Draco, eyes still shut, did not respond.

Harry raised his eyes to Hermione's overflowing ones. "Shit," he said softly; "oh shit." Hermione stifled a sob, but didn't speak.

Dropping his gaze back to Draco, Harry was surprised to see ice blue eyes now open and regarding him steadily and coolly. "Malfoy," he said again, in a strangled sort of voice.

"Hey…Potter," Draco said, and winced. Talking hurt. Hell, breathing hurt.

"Jesus Christ, Malfoy, I'm sorry," Harry said hoarsely. "I thought- aww shit, I thought-"

"I bloody well know what you thought," Draco cut him off, then added a word that sounded suspiciously like "wanker." They both lapsed into silence for a moment.

Surprisingly, it was Draco who spoke next. "Listen- Potter…s'all right," he muttered thickly. "If our roles were reversed…I'd've done th'same. Anyway-" he paused and grimaced- "s'better this way. What do I have- ungh- to go back to? Word gets out about this…parents'll disown me…Slytherins hate me…Death Eaters…hunt me down. All that shit…I don't need."

Abruptly, he turned his head to the side and, to everyone's horror, spat a large quantity of blood on the floor. He regarded it for a moment with a sort of detached interest before turning back to Harry. Hermione made a small, miserable sound and her arms tightened about him convulsively. She felt him squeeze her hand again.

"Just…uhm…take care of Granger, okay?" he said, his voice now barely more than a whisper. "And tell my father…" Here he paused. His eyes drifted shut again as he thought about his last message to his family. He had been going to ask Potter to tell his father he died in Voldemort's service, defending him to the last, so as to uphold the family honor. And yet… When his eyes opened again, they were blazing with a fierce light of defiance. "Tell him I'll see him in hell."

Potter's face began to waver in front of him, as though he were looking up from underwater. He blinked and his eyes narrowed, trying to keep Potter in focus, but it was a losing battle. He finally submitted to the exhaustion that was overwhelming him and allowed his eyes to close, seemingly of their own accord. Instantly a peaceful feeling washed over him; probably, he thought wryly, as a result of no longer forcing himself to stare up at Potter's ugly mug.

The pain that had been white-hot in his chest began to fade, replaced by a dark, floaty sort of feeling. He settled back more deeply against Hermione- he could feel her chest rising and falling, could feel the steady beat of her heart in her breast beneath his head. A bittersweet smile touched the corners of his mouth as he imagined all the lovely things he'd never get to do to that breast.

The panicky voices of the three Gryffindors had faded to a steady, low background noise- he could no longer understand what they were saying, nor did he want to. It was enough to hear the soothing murmur of Hermione's voice above his head; he didn't need to know her words. Nothing she was saying to Potter or Weasley could be as important, anyway, as the sound of her heart beating, so loud in his ears. Just so long as that heart kept beating strong, he thought drowsily, as the darkness settled more heavily around him, what did it really matter that his own was slowing down? No big deal, really….a small price to pay for the privilege of lying here enclosed in her arms, knowing she was out of danger, safe and well- sad, maybe, but that would pass- he sincerely doubted that anyone, even Hermione, would mourn him for long.

With a last, monumental effort to squeeze her hand, he gave himself over the darkness, and felt himself begin to drift away…