AN: Well, here it is. Finally, huh? Chapter Eighteen: The Stuff of Heroes If there was one thing Pansy had ever prided herself on, it was her gift of speech. Sure, she'd prattle on and on about the most senseless thing, but her natural knack for the dramatics would gain anyone's attention. And so she spoke, hand gestures and polytones galore, watching in sheer satisfaction as the eyes of her audience gradually grew in terror or shock.


It was not her fault - they had asked after all. The both of them, with their never-ending naivety. "So who did you want?" they asked, ever the predictable ones. And she told them, flat out. Now was it her fault that she happened to spill every disgusting detail of The Plan - because, let's face it, they were both as good as dead anyway - when they had been the one to push so hard for it?


Of course not.


She could see, not without a little bit of glee, the Sidekick's face scrunch up at the vile picture she had just painted. Light brown freckles were soon tinted green and she knew it would wise to take a step back. It was with a bit of reluctant admiration and heavy malice that she saw the Boy Who Lived's face remain impassive, if not a bit on the angry side, and ever so silent. Oh, how she wished for nothing more than to make him scream.


"You're daft," the redhead had spoken, shaking his head in refusal to meet the truth. "Voldemort's dead. He's worm food."


And Pansy looked at him like he was crazy. "How can you be so ignorant?" she asked him, and chuckled at his wounded expression. Deciding that talking to the Weasel wouldn't get them anywhere, she turned to Harry.


"I'm sure Potter here knows what I'm talking about," she said, walking in front of him and forcing him to meet her eyes. "Don't you?"


Now Ron had turned to Harry, eyes wide and disbelieving. "You knew?" Pansy grinned at the hurt in his voice.


"Oh my," gasped Pansy, "what's this?" She looked between the two, the Dynamic Duo, and saw the tension between them ignite and flare. "You mean you haven't told him?" she asked Harry, feigning shock. The look the Boy Wonder was giving her was nothing short of friendly.


"Why didn't you tell me?" Ron asked, the look of hurt and betrayal clear in his spotted face.


"Ron," Harry began, frustrated that Ron would choose a moment like that to overreact. "It wasn't important."


"Wasn't important?" Ron looked very close to shouting. "Harry, Voldemort's back, and you think don't think it's important?" Then, bringing his voice down to what he thought was a whisper, he said, "We're best friends."


"I know that," Harry said, "but it's complicated."


"Draco and Snape knew," Pansy said offhandedly.


"Malfoy and Snape knew?" Ron echoed, looking incredulous.


"It was when Snape sent me that letter; I didn't know what we were there for until it started - " - Pansy almost giggled at the increasing sound of frustration in Harry's tone - " - and Dumbledore didn't know much to begin with, anyway. I just didn't see the point in telling you."


"The point," Ron began furiously, "is to avoid a fight like this." With that, he whipped his head around, blue eyes searching to look at anything except the man beside him.


Harry frowned. He knew what it was like to be in an argument with Ron, so he knew full well that there was no point in trying to speak to him when he doesn't want to be spoken to. He and Hermione referred to it as The Wall, which is exactly what he built around himself to block out anyone he dubbed worthy of snubbing. Sighing, Harry turned away as well, and found himself looking up at Pansy's smirking face.


"I hope you're satisfied," he told her grudgingly.


Pansy's smirk turned sadistic. "Quite."


Harry snarled vehemently. But instead of directing the anger towards Pansy, he turned suddenly and glared at the back of Ron's head. "What's it matter that I didn't tell you?" he nearly shouted. "You know I would've if I thought it was necessary!"


Slowly, the redhead turned, his face uncharacteristically blank. "It was necessary," he said in a monotone. "I'm your best friend. But I guess that never really mattered much, huh?"


"What are you talking about?" asked Harry, confusion quickly replacing the anger.


"You're always hiding things!" Ron shouted, feeling all the pent-up anger and frustration he'd been trying so hard to bottle up escape him in a sharp and burning flash. "You never let us in, let us help. Always had to be the hero. Never tell us what's wrong, or what's happening, like you're carrying some gigantic burden alone. But you're not. You were never alone, Harry - why didn't you see that? Couldn't you tell how much it hurt us? How much it hurt her?"


Harry stared. Her. Ginny. He supposed he should've known better than to think Ron let it go. Suddenly, he'd found his anger again. "I thought I was doing you guys a favor," he said in an unnervingly low voice. "I shut you out for you; so you all can live in your Happily Ever Fuckin' Afters."


"Yeah?" asked Ron. "Well, good job." And The Wall was back up.


Completely ignored by the two, Pansy allowed herself to crack a grin.


It was almost too easy.
* * *
There was not such a word invented to describe the emotion Draco was currently feeling. It was like failing Potions, getting a Howler, discovering your favorite brand of hair conditioner went bankrupt, being told your owl died, and a week in The Coffin all rolled into one, seven times over. And that was after losing to Harry at Quidditch for the bazillionth time. It was bad news after bad news, train wreck after train wreck, and apocalypse after tea.


Was he really that awful of a person to deserve such apocalyptic karma?


He was tired, his eyes felt like they could pop right out of their sockets, and there was a grown woman sprawled across his lap, who was gradually getting heavier by the second and was dangerously close to cutting off the circulation to his feet.


Of course, Blaise was looking like it was Christmas after winning the lottery, which was nothing compared to the oafish yet hauntingly cryptic grin Goyle was sending him. Neither did anything to soothe Draco's mind.


"It's ready," Blaise repeated, like Draco didn't already hear. She slowly brought herself up to her full height, the effects of the previous spell still taking it's toll, and did her best to smoothen out her dress. "This is it," she said, meeting Goyle's grin with one of her own.


"What's it?" Draco wanted to ask, but his found refused to cooperate. So many questions, profanity, and hand gestures were racing through his mind, but all he could do was grunt and the occasional twitch. It was a wonder to him how he was still sitting up, really.


"Get him ready," Blaise instructed, and gingerly made her way out of the room. At the soft click of the door closing, Goyle's grin grew twice in size and tripled in nasty.


"Time to get ready for the Ball, your Highness," Goyle said in a singsong voice.


He advanced towards Draco, moving his fingers about in what would've been a taunting way if he didn't look so idiotic. Without so much as a flex of a bicep, Goyle pulled Draco soft cushions of the bed, and held him like a hero would a damsel, only was it not in any way romantic or tender.


Draco watched with a hint of amusement as Goyle pondered what to do with Ginny, who was still unconscious, when suddenly he felt Goyle shift him around so that he was carried under one arm, and Ginny was soon under the other. Looking mighty satisfied with himself, Goyle started towards the doorway, when he suddenly came upon his next obstacle.


Who would open the door?


Frowning, Goyle shifted his packages around so he could tap one foot. Draco could almost hear the wheels turning, slowly but steadily, turning in Goygle's head. And suddenly, the answer came to him, in the form of Rosa, who came to check on progress.


"Hey, thanks," Goyle said, happy that the problem was solved. The look Rosa was giving him, however, was nowhere close to happiness. He shifted uncomfortably, when he suddenly remembered.


"What do I do with the girl?" he asked, and nudged his big head towards Ginny, who was still knocked out beneath his arm.


Rosa looked at Ginny and frowned. "Dispose of her, I guess," she said after a while. "I don't see any need for her anymore."


And that was when Draco found his voice. Of course, that 'voice' came in the form of a loud, choking sound, but it caught their attention nonetheless.


"Yes?" asked Rosa, not even bothering to conceal her amusement. She waited patiently as Draco struggled to get his vocal chords to function.


"Y-You can't," he managed, finding the feeling of actually speaking to be oddly new and uncomfortable.


"And why is that?" Rosa asked, looking very interested to hear his answer, indeed.


"B-Because," Draco gasped, and found himself in a coughing fit. But once it had subsided, he continued, determined to make his point known. "You can't - can't harm her. If you do, I won't - " - he inhaled deeply - " - I won't do The Ritual."


Rosa's amusement immediately disappeared. She was looking at him like she would like nothing more than to squeeze his heart with her bare hands. "And what makes you think we need your permission for it?" she tested.


Draco chuckled, or something close to it, anyway. "Just because I talk slow, doesn't mean I'm stupid. I pay attention to my dreams - I know you need me to give my blood willingly, otherwise The Ritual's useless."


He could vaguely make out Rosa's left eye twitch. "It seems we've underestimated you for a bit. Alright then, how 'bout we strike a deal? Her life for yours?" She stuck out her hand, and was greatly surprised to see how fast Draco's own had sprung for it.


"Deal."


Rosa withdrew her hand after Draco had let go, and regarded him slowly. "You were always a strange boy, Draco," she told him, looking like she was not quite sure what to make of him. "Nothing at all like your father," she continued.


And he smiled - a beautiful, genuine smile that lit up every corner of his face.


"Thanks," he told her, looking and sounding like he really meant it. "And you," he said, smiling still. "Well, you were always big ol' bitch."


Rosa huffed, the blush rising from her chest to her cheeks. She nodded to Goyle, who'd tried to hide his laughter in a cough. "Take him."


"But what do I do with the girl?" he asked again. Rosa's anger flared even more as Draco gave her a daring look.


"Heal her, then set her free." And then she left, pointedly avoiding seeing the shock on Goyle's face, and the look of triumph on Draco's.
* * *
She woke up to the sound of hooves beating, and one of the biggest headaches she'd ever come across. Her initial reaction was to sit up, and she groaned as the contents within her head seemed to rattle and roll. She moaned, hands flying up to clutch at her head, mentally willing the pain to go away.


Then suddenly there came a loud snort, and her eyes snapped open in surprise. That was when she realized she was in a carriage, an old, abandoned Hogwarts carriage from what Ginny could make out. At the farthest corner, just above the backside of the seat, she could just make out the crooked carving, "James and Oliver was here". Then underneath that was what looked like a face sticking its tongue out.


Brows knitted in confusion, she continued to look around, and spotted the source of the snort from the tiny window behind her. A large, auburn-colored horse was trotting along, indifferent to the lack of a driver. Frowning ever more, Ginny contemplated her disposition. The last thing she could remember was talking to Draco in that room… Whatever happened afterwards felt like a blur to her, and trying to remember it only made her headache worse.


She began to pat her clothing, and frowned at the lack of her wand. She expected as much.


She sighed into her hands. "What am I going to do?" she asked no one in particular. She sniffed in her helplessness. What she wouldn't give to be able to Apparate.


Outside, the horse snorted, and Ginny found herself peeking out of her hands to look at it once again. It didn't seem to have a destination in mind, as it just continued to trot along down a dirt road.


And suddenly the electricity sparked, and she got an idea. Jumping up in her seat so she could stick her head out of the window, she said, as loudly to the horse as she could, the name of her desired destination. Almost immediately, the horse changed its course, veering to the left. Satisfied, Ginny sat back down in her seat.


Slowly, her hand trailed over her chest, taking the time to concentrate on the soft thump of her heart. But there was something there… Something different. A heart beat unlike her own, yet molded to blend so well with her own, that it took a lot of concentration to know the difference. A heart beat that had been under that same hand not so long ago, yet then it had been under a different chest.


An odd sort of smile fled through her face. "Hang in there," she whispered.


It was only a matter of time now. All she had to do, was wait. * * * "It's only a matter of time," said Goyle, looking very smug as he handed Draco a black shirt over the dressing screen. "Yep, only a matter of time. Then, before you know it, Master'll be back and kicking, and you…" He chuckled. "Well, let's just say I never really liked you."


"You were always such a charmer, Goyle," came Draco's voice from behind the screen. "Had a way with words, you did."


And within the next second, he stepped out from behind the screen, just as he was buttoning up the black polo-shirt. He left the cuffs unbuttoned, however, as he proceeded to stuff his hands inside his equally black trousers. Then he frowned.


"Leather?" he questioned, looking down and appraising the material that was currently chafing his legs.


"Dragon-hide," Goyle corrected, looking pleased with Draco's appearance.


"Boss Man had a bit of a fetish for the reptiles, did he?" Draco snarked, smirking at his own joke.


"Some countries have referred to him as the Snake Lord," said Goyle, swelling in pride.


Draco shook his head. "Whatever you say, big guy, but I have to ask… Why the new clothes?"


"We can't have the Dark Lord living in a broken-down body," Goyle answered, looking like it was the most obvious thing in the world.


Draco nodded slowly, and regarded Goyle like he was mad - and, for all he knew, they were all mad.


"Right," he shrugged. "Well, that explains the healing you guys did." He stuck his arm out in demonstration, and began to wave it around, like he was commanding some sort of grand orchestra. He sighed, withdrawing the hand back in his pocket.


"Let's get on with it, then," he said, and Goyle started.


"You're not scared?"


Draco frowned. "Why should I be?"


Goyle stared at him, dumbfounded. "Well, because the Dark Lord's coming back… You're not… Aren't you worried about your life, and-and the rest of the world?"


Draco chuckled, reaching out to pat the man on the shoulder.


"Goyle, Goyle, Goyle," he said, looking sympathetic. "Since when have you known me to ever care about the world?" Then he shrugged, indifferent. "And my life was shit anyways."


"But what about the Weasley girl?" Goyle asked, confused.


Draco only looked at him, his face straight. "What about her?"


"You saved her, didn't you?" questioned Goyle, looking interested now. "Why her, and not the world?"


Draco withdrew his hand from Goyle's shoulder, looking pensive for a moment. Then he shrugged, looking decided.


"The world never told me it loved me." * * * Pansy studied the situation. On one hand, The Ritual was waiting, and on the other, so was the amusing silent fight between Hero and Sidekick, that many, many Slytherins of her time would've paid good money to be responsible for, let alone witness. They were currently sitting back-to-back, neither one of them ready to meet the other in the eyes.


In the end, she sighed. "Well, boys," she said, looking reluctant, "I'm afraid my presence is required elsewhere." She smiled at them, as they both gave her cold, withering looks. "It's been fun."


With two kisses blown, she turned at her heel and left without another word. Silence slowly began to seep through every corner of the room, and the tension grew heavier with every passing moment.


"We can't go out like this man," said Harry suddenly. He peeked out through the corner of his eye, and saw Ron move his head slightly, probably doing the same. He stayed silent, however.


"Ron?" Still, no reply.


Harry sighed. "Fine, don't talk. I will." Another sigh. "I didn't mean to hurt any of you. I thought it was for the best; leaving you all out of it. Because, then, you guys might actually be able to live normal lifes." He paused, then said, in a beat. "Well, normal enough."


His brows slanted down, and the frown on his face looked almost permanent. "I knew about the proposal," he said, in a softer voice, his eyes clouded over with mists of the memory. "I knew you were planning to, anyway. It didn't hurt much that you didn't tell me. Not really… I guess I figured you wanted to keep it under wraps for a while." He chuckled suddenly. "Everybody knows how Hermione can see through my lies."


He peeked, and saw Ron smile slightly. "But then a month had passed, and you still hadn't proposed. It boggled me for days, I'll tell you that. And then it came to me - I was so stupid for not seeing it sooner. We were fighting a war, or trying to, anyway. The Order had us doing investigations non-stop, back-to-back. I mean, how could you savor a wedding around all that, right? So I told them to give me the big assignments. Maybe earn you guys enough quiet time for you to pop the question… But you never did."


He turned to Ron. "Why didn't you?"


Ron bent his head down, slightly embarrassed. "I was distracted." He turned to face Harry, smiling shyly. "I, uh, was too mad at you for holding out on us to get my mind around to it."


Harry smiled sadly at the irony. Ron sighed, running a hand through his red mane, now covered in dirt and dust. "Listen, Harry… The reason I didn't tell you," he laughed suddenly. "Well, I thought you had a bit too much on your mind to think about stuff like that." He, too, smiled at the irony. "Man, were we stupid."


And Harry laughed, suddenly and openly, so much so that Ron began to laugh as well. The laughter did not fade until they were out of breath, andboth their faces were flushed. Smiling still, they looked at each other. Harry held back his hand, and within the next moment, so did Ron. Simultaneously, they clapped their hands together, and in that weird, silent, brotherly way men do to show their affections, they made up, and their argument was over.


It was Harry to break the gesture up, standing up to dust himself off. It was weird; the argument had charged him, giving him this electrical-like energy to overcome the fatigue and frailness he had felt earlier, and yet he was only motivated to actually do something now that it was over. After a while, Ron stood and did the same.


"What exactly are we doing?" Ron asked, looking slightly amused.


Harry looked at him like he was crazy. "Being heroes."


He smiled, giving Ron a playful slap in the shoulder.


"What else?" ---------- Well that was fun. The plot's rolling along rather nicely. With the way things are going, I'm figuring only a few chapters will be left. But then again, who am I to predict something like that? *tickles her muse* "Just because I talk slow, doesn't mean I'm stupid" is from Sweet Home Alabama, a great movie I highly recommend! ^_^ *hugs Joya, trillium, RubberDuckii, and Maureen*