Having made a conscious decision to let the darkness carry him away, Draco was rather less than thrilled to find himself being pulled upward once again, toward light, toward life, toward PAIN, by a pair of hands gripping his shoulders tightly and a voice talking urgently, incessantly in his ear- not Hermione's soft, lilting voice either, but that voice that grated on him above all others, had done so for six long years now- Potter.

Miserable bastard stabbed me, he thought foggily, and even now he won't let me have any peace!

Then, on top of everything, he felt Hermione withdraw her hand from his. A desperate, aching sense of loss accompanied this realization. He tried to find her hand again, but in the next instant something cold and hard was being pressed into his palm, his fingers being forcibly wrapped around it. As he gripped it, he recognized what it was without needing to open his eyes; his wand. And that voice- that unrelenting voice-

"Malfoy…Malfoy. MALFOY."

"Potter. What. Hell. You want. Now." He gasped, reluctantly forcing his eyes open.

The blur of white face, green eyes and black hair that hovered over him spoke again, loudly, enunciating slowly and clearly as though speaking to a small and not overly bright child. "Malfoy. Summon. Your. Broom."

It took a long time for Draco to process the words, then to make the connection between the words and the fact that he was now holding his wand, and finally to understand what it was that Potter intended him to do. Only- he couldn't imagine-

"Why…?"

"Because Dumbledore can fix this," came Harry's voice impatiently. "He saved Hermione- he can save you! But we need to get you back to school, and for that we need your broom. So Malfoy. Summon. Your. Broom."

"Oh," Draco whispered as he thought this over, and then; "Fuck off, Potter." He heard incoherent spluttering from above.

When Harry actually spoke again, he sounded incredulous. "What the hell are you saying, Malfoy- that you'd rather we leave you here to DIE?"

Draco sighed, though doing so hurt. "I guess you missed the part where I told you that if I go back, my life will be worth exactly shit. So to answer your question; yes, Potter….that's exactly what I'm saying."

"Look, Malfoy- that's just not going to happen. For the last time, summon your everloving broom. NOW!"

"You want the damn thing so bad, Potter- summon it yourself."

"I tried!" Harry ground out in exasperation. "So did Ron. Nothing happened. Apparently you have it charmed so that it won't respond to anyone but YOU!"

"Oh…oh yeah. Forgot about that," Draco mumbled. "Well…it is a Firebolt, after all. Anti-theft precaution. Can't have it answering…to just any riff-raff." He allowed his lip to twitch into the faintest shadow of his trademark smirk. "Oh well, Potter…what can you do."

More murmuring from above. Then he felt Hermione shift and heard her say, "you take him, Harry- I know where the broom is. I'll go get it."

"No…NO," Draco said, unsure which alarmed him more; the thought of being held- actually held by Potter, or the fact that- "There's another charm on the broom. I have to be the first to touch it- it'll Stupefy anyone else." With some satisfaction, he heard Potter curse under his breath. "It's quite hopeless, you see," he added, "…so if you don't mind…give it up and let me get back to the business of dying." He let his eyes fall shut once more.

But Hermione shifted again, preparing to stand. "I'll just take Ron with me then, and he can Ennervate me again," she said, unfazed. "We ARE taking you back, Draco- you can't win against all of us."

"Oh, damn it all to hell," Draco muttered. Gritting his teeth, he managed to raise his hand a few inches into the air, pointing his wand toward the ceiling. "Accio Firebolt," he whispered, without bothering to open his eyes. A second later the broomstick soared into the room. Dropping his left hand, he raised his right and caught it, steadying it so that it hung in the air above him. He let his hand fall back to his side, exhausted. "There…t's safe to touch now. You bloody well win."

He was distantly surprised to feel hot tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. Mingled frustration and pain; that awful, searing pain in his chest, that had begun to fade before, but came back full force when Potter had brought him back around. He couldn't get a deep breath anymore- could hardly get anything that passed for a breath at all, in fact- his mouth was full of the coppery taste of blood, and he knew it didn't all come from his bitten lip- and above all, he was just so tired- he wanted nothing more than to sleep, and never wake up. But now he was going to be loaded onto his broom and taken back, against his will, to a life he no longer wanted, and he was helpless to do anything about it.

Unexpectedly, a despairing sob ripped through him, and with it came a blinding flash of white-hot agony that originated in his chest but seemed to spread instantaneously throughout his entire body, leaving no extremity untouched. It was too much. He had just time to think furiously at himself, Malfoys don't CRY! before he finally and completely went spinning away into unconsciousness.

00000

Ron stood slowly. "I'm going to go outside and summon our brooms," he said to Harry. "I'll be back in a few minutes." Harry, remembering how they had dropped their broomsticks on the other side of the hill in their panic upon seeing Draco and Hermione rocket by overhead, nodded.

Passing back through the entrance Hall, Ron gave Wormtail's body a wide berth, pausing for only a second to stare down at it, his face contorted with disgust. As he turned his back on the corpse and picked his way carefully over the scattered debris and out through the destroyed front door, he wondered briefly whether he would go to Azkaban for what he had done. He didn't think so, considering the circumstances, but….he HAD used the worst of the unforgivable curses, so who could say for sure?

He decided there was no use dwelling on it at the moment. What would happen would happen, and if he did go to Azkaban, he thought defiantly, it would be worth it. There was not a doubt in his mind that under the same circumstances, he would do it again.

Coming out of the sinister ruined building into the fresh air and sunlight, Ron breathed deeply. Perhaps a bit too deeply, as a wave of light-headedness rushed suddenly over him, causing him to sit down heavily on the stone steps, shaking with reaction to all that had happened over the last few hours and blinking upward as the world spun around him.

Blue skies, smiling at me, he thought giddily, staring up, nothing but blue skies do I see…and he laughed, a hollow sound tinged with despair; a sound utterly out of character for the normally laid-back, happy-go-lucky Ron Weasley. Sitting there alone on the steps, leaning back on his elbows, gazing skyward, he laughed until he cried. And then he just cried.

He cried bitterly for the loss of innocence. He cried for Hermione who had been raped against a wall, right before his eyes. He cried for Malfoy, who after all the years of hostility had suddenly decided to throw in his lot with them- and was now bleeding to death on the floor for his trouble. He cried for Harry and for himself, who were both murderers now; him of Wormtail and Harry of Malfoy- because he just didn't see how Malfoy could live through this. (He did not, of course, consider Voldemort's death murder- he thought it more akin to the slaying of some monstrous beast of yore.) He cried because even though Voldemort was dead and the entire wizarding world would soon be celebrating, nothing could ever be the same again for him and his friends- never.

He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the light- the light of a beautiful day that was so at odds with his feeling that nothing would ever be right with the world again. Pulling out his wand and raising his right hand, he envisioned the two broomsticks lying where he and Harry had dropped them on the other side of the hill. When he had them firmly in his mind, he whispered "Accio," waving his wand listlessly in their general direction. Satisfied that the brooms were now on their way to him, he dropped his hand back to his side. All that remained now was to wait for them to arrive, and try to put himself back together before returning to face his friends.

Grimacing, he dragged the back of his left hand hard across his puffy eyes, then shook his head once, sharply, to clear it. A whickering sound in the air overhead heralded the arrival of the broomsticks, and when he opened his eyes again they were there, hovering above him. Beyond them, he was surprised to see that the horizon was beginning to be tinged pink and orange. Good Lord, he thought, wasn't it just morning? But unless his eyes were deceiving him, dusk was near- the battle had raged all day.

He stood up then and grasped the brooms, one in each hand, and headed wearily back inside.

Stopping just inside the doorway of the room where the confrontation with Voldemort had taken place, Ron gazed at the scene before him.

Hermione still sat on the floor behind Draco, one arm wrapped around him protectively and the other holding his hand as he slumped, now deeply unconscious, against her chest. Harry though; it was Harry who caught Ron's attention. He had moved to kneel behind Hermione and she was now leaning back against his chest just as Draco was supported by hers. He was murmuring something to her, and absently stroking her braided hair.

It was totally innocent. Hermione had to be exhausted, Ron knew, and was probably on the verge of collapse from supporting Malfoy's dead weight, so Harry had given her a shoulder to lean on- literally. But in his mind's eye, Ron saw clearly Harry's face when he had asked him if he loved Hermione too- that fleeting expression he had caught just a glimpse of before Harry had dropped his face into his hands- that expression that had said Yes, God help me, a thousand times yes.

Harry, he thought sadly, my best friend. I love you like a brother, like my own flesh and blood. I've just killed a man to defend you and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I'd do almost anything for you, but this I will not do- I will not give her up without a fight.

He started across the room then, and Harry, hearing his footsteps, looked up and gave him a smile that looked as bone tired as Ron felt. He smiled back weakly before returning his attention to Hermione. A good long look at her caused him to stop suddenly in his tracks, a cold iron band seeming to clamp down around his heart. She was neither looking at him nor smiling; her eyes were closed and they looked sunken, ringed with dark circles of fatigue. She was not moving and she looked as bad as she ever had during her eight days in the infirmary. He felt his heart begin to race with fear. Surely nothing could be wrong with her- surely Harry would know- would have called him in from outside, would not be smiling, even that weary half-smile, if something was wrong…nevertheless, the fear persisted and his fingers, suddenly nerveless and numb, let the broomsticks slip through them and clatter to the floor.

Instantly Hermione's eyes flew wide, startled, and Ron felt an overwhelming rush of relief coupled with guilt for frightening her out of what was, apparently, nothing more than a desperately needed catnap. Not that she would have been able to sleep any longer anyway- it was time to get Malfoy up and onto a broom, and then all of them needed to get back to school posthaste. Though at the moment nothing seemed more appealing to Ron than lying down on the floor beside his best friend and the girl he loved and sleeping for days.

Pushing that thought from his mind, he met Hermione's eyes and gave her the same weak smile he had given Harry. "Sorry to startle you," he said, glancing down at the broomsticks. "I just…lost my grip. Tired, I guess."

"Trust me, I understand," she replied.

As Ron bent to retrieve the brooms, Harry disengaged himself from Hermione and stood up. He held out a hand to Ron as a quick look of perfect understanding, identical to the one Draco had witnessed and pondered over earlier, passed between them. Ron tossed him his Firebolt without a word.

Harry held his broom steady beside Draco's, which still hung in the air. After murmuring a word to it, he removed his hand and his broom, like Draco's, hovered obediently. Taking a step back, he pointed his wand at the two Firebolts. Shining silver cords shot out of the wandtip and wound themselves tightly about the broomsticks from end to end, binding them securely together. Satisfied with his handiwork, he turned to face Ron and Hermione.

"Time is of the essence now and the two Firebolts ought to get me and Malfoy back to Hogwarts pretty quickly. Will you two be all right coming back together on the last broom?" Ron and Hermione both responded that they would. "Okay- help me get Malfoy up, then, Ron, alright?"

Harry moved around to crouch in front of Draco, Ron standing behind him. This time he did not hesitate to reach out and grip Draco's shoulder. "Malfoy," he said, his voice soft but intense. "Malfoy- can you hear me at all?" There was no response.

"Shit," Harry swore under his breath; "shit, this is bad." He shook his head.

Looking down at his friend crouching there beside the blood soaked Slytherin, Ron could almost hear the one guilt ravaged thought that he knew was repeating again and again in Harry's mind; I did this- I did this- I did this.

"Harry," he said quietly, "you didn't know-"

"No excuse," Harry cut him off, his voice tight as if to hold back tears. "There's no excuse for what I did, Ron- none." He sighed; a deep, shuddery sound, then leaning forward, slipped his arm beneath Draco's. "Come get his other side," he said. Hermione withdrew her arms from Draco as Ron and Harry both got a firm grip, then rocked back on their heels, pulling him forward, and finally both stood up, bringing him with them. Draco's silver head fell forward onto Harry's shoulder and as it did so a small pained sound, halfway between a groan and a whimper, escaped the blond boy's throat.

"Ron, take him while I mount the brooms," Harry grunted, "then give him back to me." He shifted Draco to Ron and called his broomstick which, together with Draco's, flew smoothly to place itself between his legs.

He positioned himself toward the rear of the broomsticks, then with Ron's help settled Draco in front of him so that the unconscious boy was leaning back against his chest, just as he had been leaning on Hermione on the floor. Harry wound his arms tightly about him from behind, holding him steady.

Hermione now approached the broomsticks. Reaching out to Harry, she gently cupped his cheek in her hand. "Don't blame yourself, Harry," she said. "If anyone is to blame for this, it's me. He was determined to come after Voldemort, but if I hadn't made him bring me, you never would have thought-" she trailed off and shook her head sadly. Harry began to protest, but she swiftly moved her hand from his cheek and pressed it to his mouth, quelling him. Her eyes shifted to Draco and she lowered her hand from Harry's face and ran it tenderly through Draco's tangled hair, pushing it back out of his closed eyes. "This is all my doing," she said in a choked voice. Leaning forward, she whispered "Draco, hold on- please hold on," and then kissed him softly on his bloodied lips.

She stepped back, and again raised her eyes to Harry's. "I know you can fly like the wind," she said; "please don't let him die." Raising her wand, she pointed it at the large arched window at the end of the room. The glass was long gone, but the window had been leaded and the leading still remained; diamond shaped bars criss-crossing the open space. At a word from Hermione a jet of white light shot from her wand and slammed into the very center of the leading. From there, the light jetted out instantaneously, following the diamond pattern to every corner of the window until the whole thing shone blindingly bright and then exploded silently outward, leaving nothing within the window frame but some fine white dust drifting slowly down to the floor. There was now ample room for Harry to maneuver the brooms out to the open air beyond.

Lifting his feet from the floor, Harry gripped the two Firebolts tightly with his knees. The broomsticks rose slowly several inches into the air, and Harry turned them, still controlling them with his legs alone, toward the gaping window. Then, without a backward glance, he shot through the room and out the window as a blur of color and speed, and was gone.

Hermione sighed and turned back from the window to face Ron….and the expression she saw on his face caused her to raise her hand to her mouth in alarm and exclaim, "Oh my God, Ron- what's WRONG?"