Edited 20th February 2014 to remove review responses and superfluous author's notes.
13. Without a Prayer
Ginny couldn't sleep. Her eyes kept drifting open, and she realised with a start that she was shaking. It would all be happening so soon. She couldn't deny it; she was frightened. She was terrified. This was it; the first, last and only chance for all of them. She wasn't sure what she was more afraid of: dying, or watching her friends die and having to live without them. She just didn't know whether she could be strong enough. Would Dumbledore let the DA fight? If not, what had been the whole point of the association? And if he did, how many people that she cared about would not live beyond tomorrow?
Her thoughts drifted back to the disastrous night in the Department of Mysteries. They could all so easily have died then. She had survived the Dark Lord's murderous intent twice; would her luck run out? She remembered it all so clearly: Neville, bleeding and twitching; Hermione, so close to death; Ron, driven almost insane. The memories flooded in on her, haunting her. She wanted to scream. It was all too much.
The chiselled tanned face of Blaise leapt unbidden into her mind. She felt as if his presence was soothing her. She felt her resolve strengthen. She had to be strong. If she was not, then she would be easy prey. She had to fight, to protect all that she had ever loved. She looked into the dark eyes of the Blaise in her mind, and shook her head. She didn't love him! She couldn't! If he died… she wasn't sure if she could stand that. But she didn't want to think about him anymore! It wasn't fair that she be tormented like this! And yet, as she curled up to try and sleep, images of the shadowy Slytherin filled her troubled mind…
Draco didn't sleep. He would not sleep until he had made his choice. He remembered what Blaise had said that night in the common room. If a ten year old boy could defy the Dark Lord, surely he could do it at sixteen? The stricken eyes of Zabini haunted him. That was what his choice had made him. Draco wasn't sure what would be worse - death, or that living nightmare. But he still had to decide if he could live with himself if he chose the path of darkness, although the concept of a conscience was alien to Draco.
His father had taught him that Malfoys took what they wanted and didn't worry about whether doing that was right. His father - it always came back to that man! Draco burnt with hatred beneath his icy exterior. No, he had no conscience, but he remembered the speech the Headmaster had made in his fourth year, after Diggory had died. He hadn't liked the boy at all, but the speech, for some reason, had touched Draco's soul, triggering this new emotion of doubt, and had lodged in his mind. He would never have put it so himself, but he knew that now was the time when he had to make that choice, between what was right, and what was easy…
Blaise lay in his bed beneath the ground and tried to sleep. It was a futile effort. How could it not be? He was not going to be able to sleep, not with his worst nightmare becoming reality before his very eyes. He would not admit it, but he was afraid of death. He, who had imagined ending it all so many times in the depths of his misery, who had actually wanted to die so many times, now found that he desperately wanted to stay alive, that even if his life was even worse, it would still be better than nothing. That was what death was: nothing. And Blaise Zabini was terrified of nothing.
He remembered his father's dead body. That was why he had been shaken so badly by seeing Leonora lying dead at the Halloween feast. Another death, another one that was his fault, whatever Dumbledore could say. More than his own death, he feared causing someone else to die. His eyes glistened slightly with tears. What if Daniel died because of him? And what about Ginny? Blaise buried his head in his pillow and silently cried, wishing beyond anything that he did not care for anyone.
Daniel stared up at the ceiling, but he didn't see anything. His thoughts were far from the small room he found himself in. Tomorrow would be the day. He was resolute. He knew what he had to do. He only wished that he would not have to hurt so many people he knew in order to do it. Life was full of difficult choices. He'd made his choice, and now he had to see it through. Even if seeing it through tore him apart.
He couldn't feel fear. He was anaesthetised against the terror because he had faced it a year ago, when he had first realised what his destiny truly was. Now all he felt was impatience, and anticipation. He wondered briefly about Malfoy. On which side would he fight? Daniel wished beyond anything to have the power to look into minds, to know for sure how many people were truly with him. But he knew one thing for sure: he would do this, even if he had to do it alone.
Harry slept; he was terribly tired. But his dreams were cursed with the worst images of the past five and a half years. Why did it have to come to this? If he was truly destined to kill Voldemort, why couldn't this be settled between them? How many other people were going to have to die? He hated the Dark Lord for his ever-threatening presence. He hated Fate for making things happen this way, for letting it come to this.
He woke from a nightmare, sweating lightly, but nevertheless ice cold. He was a Gryffindor, he was the hero of the wizarding world, but somehow he just didn't want to have to live up to that any more. He didn't even know if he could do this. It was beyond him to see how he could ever get an advantage. Fear seized his heart. He was going to die tomorrow. He only hoped that he could take the Dark Lord with him somehow. These were not heroic thoughts, he knew, but they were all he had. He was truly alone, and without a prayer. But it was not the fear that now kept Harry awake. It was the pressure, knowing that, from that moment on, everything depended on him.