Chapter 12: Bridesmaid Dresses and Battle Plans

Draco sat stock still in a hard-backed chair before the fireplace of Snape's Hogwarts office, which adjoined his living quarters in the dungeons, a stiff drink forgotten in his hand and a look of utter, blank amazement on his face. He was staring at his former professor and lifelong family friend as if he'd never seen him before; his mouth was slightly agape, his usual cool demeanor failing him in his astonishment. His mind felt nearly as unhinged as his jaw.

"Drink up," Snape said, from where he sat nearby in a matching chair, motioning to the glass in Draco's hand. "You look like you need it."

Draco tossed the drink back almost mechanically, then deposited the glass, none too gently, on the small table between the two chairs. He leaned forward, his pale eyes blazing. "You mean to tell me," he said, speaking slowly, his mind still grappling with the enormous implications of what Snape had just revealed to him, "that when the time comes, you'll be fighting... against us?"

"I'll be fighting with the Order," Snape confirmed, "but I don't want to fight against you, Draco. That's why I asked you here. That's why I'm telling you this. I... facing off against you on a battlefield would just about kill me. I want you to switch sides. I want you to fight with me."

"I... you..." Draco shook his head. "This is bloody insane. This is..." suddenly his eyes narrowed, "a trick! You're testing my loyalty to our cause. Who put you up to this? My father, or our Lord?"

"This is not a trick, Draco," Snape said quietly. "My life is in your hands now. If you tell your father, or the Dark Lord, about this conversation, I am a dead man. Because I mean what I say. The battle will be joined within two months' time, and when that time comes, I stand with the Order of the Phoenix. I wanted to tell you now, as soon as soon as the date of the attack was revealed to me, so that you could have time to think. I want to offer you a choice, Draco. I know you feel trapped. I want to help you see that there is another path available to you."

"I-" Draco swallowed. "I can't believe you would do this to us. To me! And... and where the hell do you get off telling me how I feel?!" His voice was rising now. "You don't know the first thing about it! I'm not bloody trapped! I've made my own decisions, I'm-"

"Miserable," Snape interjected.

Draco's silvery brows drew together in fury. "I. Am. Not. Miserable."

"You were miserable on your wedding day and you're miserable now. Your parents may not notice, or your bride, or even you, on a conscious level, because you don't want to see... but it's glaringly obvious to anyone who actually cares to look. You are trapped, trapped in a loveless marriage-"

"Pansy is perfect," Draco said coldly. "She's everything she should be."

"But nothing you want."

Four simple words. He should have been able to deny them, to laugh at them, scoff them away, throw them back in Snape's (traitorous!) face. They should have been ridiculous. But somehow they weren't. Those four simple words hit Draco like a fist driven hard into his gut.

Why?

Could it be because they rang with a truth that deep down, he couldn't deny?

No! Hell no. More tricks and lies from a traitor and spy. Why in Merlin's name should I listen to him? Why should I trust anything he says when he's obviously been lying to me, and my father- all of us, for years! I have to get out of here before he manages to cloud my judgment any further.

He shot abruptly to his feet, his movements stiff, jerky.

He was still having trouble articulating himself; he was still stunned. "You don't-" he began, then stopped, took a deep breath, and tried again. "I can't. I won't. Whatever it is you're asking of me, the answer is no. I'm not going to leave my wife, I'm not going to abandon my cause, I'm not going to betray my family. No, Severus. Just... no. I'm also not going to speak a word of this conversation to anyone. You've always known I could be trusted with a secret, and I'm not going to betray you either, even... even though-" he broke off again, ran both hands through his hair. "I am going to hope," he spoke again, a moment later, "really hope that you come to your senses and that when the time comes, you will be... be where you belong. But if I have to fight you, Severus- if I have to fight you, I will."

He turned back toward the fireplace without another word. Dipping into the bowl of floo powder Snape kept on his mantle, he tossed a pinch into the flames, causing them to sizzle and burn green. Before he could step through, however, Snape's voice stopped him.

"Draco."

Draco paused, but did not turn back to face the older man.

"I will be where I belong, Draco. Will you?"

Draco simply stepped forward into the flames, still without looking back, but even as the floo began to whirl him away, he heard Snape call out a final time-

"Blood is Blood, Draco! It's all the same."

00000

"Great Merlin's ghost," the jeweler breathed, hunched over the ring he was inspecting, held carefully in a pair of miniature silver tongs. When he looked up at the young woman standing on the other side of the counter, lowering the magic-detecting loupe he'd been peering through, his eyes were wide.

"Well, young lady," he said in a hushed tone of reverence, "someone certainly loves you. This is... incredible. I've never seen anything like it before. You say you've no idea where it was purchased? I would have dearly loved to have met the man who made this ring."

"No, I'm sorry," Hermione said. "It was a gift, and I've no idea where he got it. But... it's true, then, what he said about the enchantments? It will harm anyone who tries to wear it except for me?"

"Oh my, yes," the Diagon Alley jeweler replied, placing the ring gingerly down on a small square of velvet which lay atop the counter. "This ring incorporates the most expertly crafted anti-theft spells I've ever seen. And it doesn't distinguish between a criminal intent upon stealing it, and, say, a girlfriend who simply wants to try it on for a moment. So you must be very, very careful with it, my dear. Very careful indeed. The only people who can wear it with impunity are you, the gentleman who gave it to you, and any heirs the two of you may produce. Thereafter, as it is handed down through your family, direct descendents will always be able to handle it safely. But you must be sure, when passing it on, that each new owner of the ring understands the extreme danger inherent in letting anyone outside the family touch it." The jeweler's eyes strayed to the large diamond on Hermione's left ring finger. "I see the two of you are planning to make it official soon," he remarked pleasantly. "That is also a lovely stone, by the way. May I ask when the happy occasion will be?"

"Erm... May," Hermione stammered, seeing no reason to disabuse the man of his notion that both rings had been given her by the same person. She was still reeling from what he had just told her concerning children- heirs. Our heirs and descendents would always be able to handle it safely. Draco wanted a family with me. A FAMILY.

"That's nice," the jeweler said vaguely; his eyes had been drawn back to the ring. His fascination with it seemed boundless. "Well, is there anything else I can help you with today? Have you thought about a wedding band for your husband-to-be yet? I have a wide selection of men's rings I would be happy to show you." His eyes remained riveted on the opal.

"Oh, I- no, no thank you," Hermione said. "I really was just curious about the opal ring. Aside from the anti-theft spells, are... are there any other enchantments on it?"

"Certainly," the jeweler replied. "The strongest protective wards I've ever seen on a piece of jewelry. You are extremely fortunate, Miss...?"

"Granger," Hermione supplied weakly.

"You are extremely fortunate, Miss Granger. The amount of effort that must have gone into the creation of this ring and its assorted protective wards and enchantments is staggering. I can say with perfect confidence that it cost your young man an absolute fortune to have this made. It is obvious that your safety and well-being are of primary importance to him. I have never before in all my years in this business encountered a piece of jewelry that has spoken so clearly to me of the love that must exist between its owners- the one who has given it, and the one who has received it. I cannot put across to you strongly enough just how rare a thing this is, or how lucky you should consider yourself, to be so dearly loved."

He looked up at her with a smile, but it faltered at the sight of her face. She looked positively ill. "Miss Granger, are you quite all right? Do you need to sit down?"

Hermione took a deep breath and forced a smile. "No, I... this is just a lot to take in, that's all. May I ask, is there any way to... to remove the enchantments from the ring?"

The jeweler stared at her for a moment as if she'd sprouted a second head. "Remove the enchantments?" he echoed at last, incredulously. "I can't imagine why you would wish to do such a thing. Do you quite understand, no harm can befall you whilst you wear this ring? But it is a moot point in any event. The enchantments cannot be removed, for they were not simply placed on the ring once it was made. No, they were forged into the ring as it was being created. They are woven into the very fabric of the gold itself. If for some unfathomable reason you do not want this ring, the only alternative would be to destroy it utterly, so that no one else could ever stumble across it."

Hermione felt something within her clench painfully at these words. In truth, she had come here intending to get rid of the ring- to see if the jeweler would care to buy it. It seemed wrong to keep it now that she was engaged; dishonest to Harry. But as the thought of losing it became real to her, she actually felt sick. What was she doing? She couldn't give up the ring- especially to this man, who would feel obligated, for all that he admired the craftsmanship involved, to destroy it; after all, once it left her possession, it would become a huge liability- a danger to anyone who should encounter it. She had accepted the ring; she was duty-bound to keep it. And what was more, she wanted to keep it- now, she discovered, more than ever. Now that she was actually beginning to appreciate just what had gone into the creation of it.

Not that she'd ever break down and wear it, mind you. She had not changed her mind about that. Wearing it would be granting Draco a victory, and she was not about to do that, even if it was a victory he'd never know about. Or maybe he would know about it. Who was to say that among the myriad enchantments on the ring, there wasn't one that would alert him, should she put it on? So wearing it remained absolutely out of the question.

But she couldn't bear to part with it, no matter what her intentions had been when she'd entered the shop.

"No, you're right, of course," she said, returning the ring to its tiny burgundy box, and slipping it back into her pocket. "I couldn't possibly give this up."

"Of course not," the jeweler replied, smiling again, appearing relieved. "It is a thing of beauty, in more ways than one. Congratulations again on your upcoming marriage, Miss Granger. And remember, when you're ready to look at men's wedding bands, I do have an extensive collection to choose from."

"I'll certainly bear that in mind. Thank you so much for your time." And with that, she was stepping out of the cozy little shop and into the bright chill of a bustling late January day in Diagon Alley.

00000

Checking her watch, she headed toward Gringott's; the front steps of the bank were where she had arranged to meet Hannah, one of her only two bridesmaids, for a dress-shopping excursion. Her other bridesmaid, Ginny, was still in Hogwarts, and so unable to attend this little fashion foray. She'd given Hermione and Hannah permission to select the bridesmaid gowns without her, just so long as they steered well clear of anything orange, pink or red. "Those are so not a redhead's colors," she had declared, with a dramatic toss of her flaming tresses for emphasis. Hermione, smiling, had assured the younger girl that pigs would fly before she put any bridesmaids of hers in orange dresses anyway- and Ginny had reminded her that wizards had bred flying pigs centuries ago... where did Hermione think such a random Muggle saying had originated, anyway? Why, from Muggle peasants who had seen a flock pass overhead, and somehow escaped being Obliviated by the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, of course.

Truth be told, Hermione was rather less than ecstatic about this whole dress-shopping business anyway. She lacked a bride's usual enthusiasm for this, or really, any aspect of the upcoming wedding. She would have been perfectly content to put on the one set of dress robes she already owned (aside from the one that had been ruined when she'd used it as a giant hanky on New Year's, that is) and wed Harry at the Ministry of Magic, in the wizarding equivalent of a simple civil ceremony.

It was Hannah and Ginny, together with Molly Weasley, who had convinced her, at the engagement party that had been held at the Weasleys' house a couple of days after the proposal, before Ginny had returned to Hogwarts for her final term, that a big white wedding really was called for in this case. She was marrying a hero after all, no matter that she simply thought of him as Harry, her oldest friend. In the end, it was Molly's argument that she should "just think what it would do for morale, dear- such an occasion to celebrate for all those who are loyal to our cause! A joyous day to take everyone's mind off the trouble that's brewing!" that finally convinced her. (Little did she, or anyone else at the engagement party, guess that things would reach a head long before May. Snape knew, of course, but had yet to reveal his findings to the Order of the Phoenix- and had declined his invitation to the engagement party, much to Harry's relief.)

And Hermione's own mother had cinched it, when she and Harry had visited the Granger household for dinner the night following the engagement party, by sobbing into her linen napkin, managing to explain, only brokenly through her tears, that she'd always imagined the day she'd get to see her little girl, her only child, walk down the aisle a princess bride. Mrs. Granger didn't understand much about the wizarding world, but she understood that Harry was a very important person in it, and apparently rather wealthy as well- both of which factored into a very large celebration, in her opinion. The fact that he'd been raised Muggle, and so had something in common with his in-laws to be, was icing on the cake.

Hermione's father was less enthusiastic about the idea of his only daughter marrying when she was a mere eighteen years old- but he came around, unable to deny that when he'd allowed her to attend Hogwarts, he'd essentially given her his blessing to enter a world that he had understood, even then, had customs and traditions far different from those he knew. If it was common practice for people in the wizarding world to wed in their late teens and early twenties, he supposed it was acceptable for his daughter. After all, this was Hermione. She had always been uncannily bright, determined, and sure of what she wanted. She must, he reasoned, have put a great deal of thought into marrying the serious-eyed boy sitting beside her at the dinner table. After a long talk with Harry in front of the fire while Hermione helped her mother clear away the supper things, Mr. Granger had officially bestowed his blessing upon the young couple.

And so it was that a date had come to be set, early in May, during the Hogwarts Easter holidays, so that Ginny could be in attendance to fulfill her role as bridesmaid, and preparations had begun moving forward for a wedding to rival the recent Parkinson-Malfoy event in splendor, agreed to by Hermione more because it would be pleasing to others- her bridesmaids, her mother, Molly, all the people who would see it as a morale booster- than because it was what she really wanted.

Let the others have their fun with it. For Hermione, a wedding was a wedding. (Though she couldn't help wondering, in her heart of hearts, lying awake at three in the morning, whether she'd have felt so... disassociated from all the preparations if it had been Draco she'd been preparing to marry.) After all, marrying Harry was a purely practical decision, like so many she made. It was good for those around her, and it wasn't bad for her. In many ways, it would be good for her. Because really, she told herself sternly, it was smarter in the long run to base a marriage on a strong foundation of mutual friendship and affection than on passion; friendship lasted forever, while passion faded, it always faded in time- didn't it?

So what if kissing Harry didn't make her go weak in the knees, like kissing Draco had? It was useless to dwell on Draco; kissing him- much less marrying him- was no longer an avenue that was open to her... and really, it was all for the best. It was much healthier this way, much more... normal. She had known from the get-go, from the very first night she'd let him kiss her, that no good could possibly have come of it. And what a ride he'd taken her on. That's what she'd gotten for letting her emotions overrule her intellect. Well, it wasn't going to happen ever again. Marrying Harry made sense, it was a good, sound, smart decision. And if the manner in which she married him could bring joy to others, could raise spirits in a time of uncertainty and gathering darkness, well then so much the better.

So she told herself, over and over again.

00000

She really could have done without running into Pansy in the dress shop.

And it only made matters worse that the Slytherin newlywed was absolutely, perfectly polite to her- not warm, not friendly, but still, entirely civil. Deep down, Hermione would have preferred Pansy to have given her some good, solid ammunition for the loathing she felt... for she knew that hating Pansy was entirely irrational; Pansy hadn't taken Draco from her- he had never been hers to begin with. During her fits of logic, she argued with herself that she ought to feel sorry for Pansy; that the girl was actually a victim- a victim of arranged marriage, of having her fate decided for her callously by others, of having no choice but to go along with the decision of her parents, 'sold' into a loveless (it was loveless, right? Right?) and strategic match.

But though she argued herself in circles, it didn't change the fact that at the end of the day, She. Hated. Pansy. Malfoy.

And how.

And so she would rather, though she hardly admitted this even to herself, have had Pansy be her snotty old self; would rather have had her justify Hermione's dislike for her by exhibiting her own dislike for Hermione. But Pansy, it seemed, had decided that being a grown and married woman required a new and more mature disposition, and so when they met at the door of the shop- Hermione and Hannah entering just as Pansy and an older, snub-nosed woman who could only have been her mother were leaving, each daintily carrying a single bag whilst a house elf struggled along in tow, laden down with a ridiculously tall, tottering pile of boxes and sideways-stacked bags- Pansy simply met Hermione's dark eyes squarely with her blue ones, inclined her head slightly, murmured, "Granger," in acknowledgement, and started to brush past her- until her eyes settled on the diamond ring on Hermione's finger. Then the new Mrs. Malfoy paused again, gave a smile that was small, yet seemed genuine, remarked, "I was there that night- congratulations," and was gone.

As the door was swinging shut behind her, she heard Pansy's mother berating the elf- "keep up, now, Sheemie, and if you drop so much as one of those parcels, it's your worthless little hide-" and then asking her daughter, "Granger? Hermione Granger? Isn't that the mudblood that's engaged to that beastly Potter boy?"

She never heard Pansy's response, though, as the door clicked shut then, with a jingle of chimes.

She dragged in a deep, shuddering breath, and her eyes, as they darted about the shop, which overflowed with frothy robes and frilly dresses of every pastel hue, were those of a trapped animal. "I don't think I can do this," she said, on the edge of panic.

Hannah looked at her closely for a moment, long enough for Hermione to wonder whether the Hufflepuff sensed something deeper than just pre-wedding jitters, but then the blonde girl smiled and said, "I have never in my life met a woman with such an aversion to clothes shopping, Hermione! But don't you worry- you're here to be pampered. Just let me do all the work..." her voice trailed off as she moved away, clearly in her element, already beginning to rifle through the nearest rack of robes.

By the time they left the shop, orders had been placed for the wedding gown and both bridesmaid dresses, as well as a stunning new robe for Molly Weasley, who would be acting as a sort of surrogate mother of the groom. (As for Hermione's own, mother, well, she'd be doing her mother of the bride shopping at Harrods.)

Then it was off to order the formalwear for the men; they certainly could not, as Hannah pointed out with a theatrical roll of her eyes, be trusted to select their own wedding attire. Allowing that would be a disaster in the making.

00000

"Tomorrow? You can't be serious! Tomorrow, Severus?!? And you're only just telling us now? How long have you known?!"

Snape sighed and ran a hand through his lank black hair. He looked haggard; bone-weary as he took a moment to collect himself before addressing Molly's barrage of questions. The faces of all those crowded into Albus Dumbledore's office for this emergency Order of the Phoenix meeting were grim. It was the middle of the night- the wee hours of the morning of February the fourteenth, to be exact- and several of the Order members present had obviously climbed out of bed in order to answer the summons. Hermione, Harry and Ron were among those who'd been awakened by the urgent tapping of near-frantic express owls at their bedroom windows.

"I have known for some time, Molly," Snape said truthfully, at last. "I am sorry, but this is the best I could do without jeopardizing my cover- and if I'd been found out, then in addition to my personally meeting a rather unpleasant end, the date of the attack would certainly have been changed- and, as the Order would no longer have a source inside the Death Eaters, there would then have been no warning. So it was a question of a few hours' warning or none at all. I hope you understand." His eyes, as he said this last, were not on Molly, but on Dumbledore himself.

"Of course I understand, dear boy," the headmaster said, his tone as gentle as his eyes were grave. "We are very grateful for the time you have provided us to prepare. And you say they are coming here?"

"Yes," Snape replied, "the Dark Lord's goal is to take the school. It is a symbolic gesture that he absolutely insists upon, though many of those in his inner circle have attempted to talk him out of it. They are coming to Hogwarts."

"Hm. And what of launching the attack on Valentine's Day? Is there a symbolic reason behind that as well?"

"That I'm afraid I do not know, headmaster."

"Well, in any event," Dumbledore said, his voice now taking on a brisk quality, "there is no time to be lost. Minerva, Severus, gather all of the children in your Houses and have them assemble in the Great Hall. Instruct the other Heads of House to do likewise. Arrange for portkey transportation to commence immediately, in groups of ten, directly from the Great Hall to Grimmauld Place, mandatory for all children years one through five- allow the sixth and seventh years the option of going and caring for the younger ones, or staying here to aid in the defense."

"Wait a minute, Albus!" Molly interjected. "You can't mean for hundreds of children to spend the night in that house? Where will they all sleep? They'll be twenty to a room- they'll be sleeping in the parlor, the kitchen, the hallways!"

"Yes, Molly, they will," Dumbledore replied. "And they will be safe. Their comfort is of secondary importance to the fact that they will be well out of harm's way. So I fully intend for them to spend tonight there, and tomorrow night if necessary, and every night until God willing, the Death Eaters are subdued, and Hogwarts becomes a safe haven once more."

"But will there be no adults there?!"

"Several of the older students will accompany them, I am certain- but you are right, an adult presence is necessary. I was hoping that would be you."

Molly looked slowly from the headmaster to her husband, her eyes wide. "Arthur-"

"Go, Mol," he cut her off gently. "You're needed there. The boys and I will be fine." He forced a smile. "We'll know where to find you when it's all over." He pulled his wife into a brief, yet tender embrace.

"Well, come along then, Ginny," Molly said a moment later, as she straightened her shoulders and turned for the door- Ginny Weasley, at seventeen one of the order's newest members, and the school's Head Girl, had been the only current Hogwarts student summoned to the meeting. She'd been slouched against one wall along with her brothers, but now she straightened up abruptly, defiantly. "I'm not going anywhere, mum," she exclaimed. "I'm staying right here and defending the school!"

"Like hell you are!" came a chorus of male voices- five to be exact; every Weasley brother save one was present- (Percy's rift with his family remained unhealed, and he was not an Order member). A tumultuous five minutes later, Ginny followed her mother resentfully from the room, having been ordered to Grimmauld Place by her father, her brothers, and ultimately by Dumbledore himself, who had pointed out how important it would be to the younger children, to have their Head Girl with them in a time of such anxiety and fear.

As Snape and McGonagall prepared to exit as well, Dumbledore called out to the potions master one more time. "Severus- will you be returning to the Death Eaters tonight?"

Snape stopped and turned his dark eyes- as nearly black as human eyes could be- back onto the headmaster. "No, Albus," he said with quiet determination. "My ruse is up. I will not be returning to the Death Eaters ever. I remain here until the battle and when I fight, I fight with you." Then he was gone.

Dumbledore looked slowly around at those still gathered in his office. "Tomorrow we will meet the Death Eaters head on, out on the grounds," he said. "We will not allow them to set foot within this school. Now- some of you have others to contact, as per the emergency notification tree we planned to go into effect in just such a situation as this. The rest of you, I ask that you stay here tonight- and get what rest you can. And now, if you will excuse me, there are certain preparations I need to make."

00000

Harry and Hermione climbed the steps to Gryffindor Tower hand in hand. They had first made their way down to the Great Hall to help supervise the exodus of younger children from the soon-to-be embattled school, and while there, had spoken with a still-sullen Ginny, who'd given them permission to take her Head Girl room for the night, so that was where they were headed now, Ron just a step behind them, planning to bunk next door in the vacant Gryffindor Head Boy's room- it was just standing empty this year, as the current Head Boy was a Ravenclaw.

The moment they had said good night to Ron and closed Ginny's door behind them, Harry pulled Hermione into a fierce embrace, kissed her deeply, then, burying his face in her copious amounts of hair, said, "I don't want you out there tomorrow, love."

Hermione froze, then pulled back and away, confused incredulity written all over her face. "Wh- Harry- what?" she stammered, sure she must have misheard him.

But the look of grim determination that was settling over his face said otherwise- it said she'd heard him perfectly. "Harry," she whispered- she couldn't seem to make her voice rise above a whisper; she felt as though he'd knocked all the wind out of her- "you don't want me with you? You can't mean that."

Harry's expression softened, and he reached out to cup her cheek in his palm. "Hermione," he said quietly, "I want you with me, every day of my life- except tomorrow. Except the one day when I walk into the greatest danger I will ever face. I do not want you exposed to that danger, to scores of people who not only hate you for the circumstances of your birth, but who will also see in you a perfect opportunity to hurt me. Please understand, I only want to keep you safe."

"Well, that's sweet, Harry," she managed, "in a completely outdated and medieval way-" and now she could feel her anger beginning to mount, "but you should know me better by now than to think for one minute that I'll actually go along with it. I have been in the thick of things with you since we were eleven years old- what on earth makes you think that now will be any different?! You honestly have some ridiculous notion that I'm about to let the men folk go off and fight this war, while I, what?- sit here in a rocking chair and knit baby blankets for our future children? Is that what you want, Harry Potter?! How dare you be so condescending!"

"Hermione, will you please just listen-"

"No!" and now she was very nearly shouting. "I will not listen to anymore of this chauvinistic nonsense! If this is truly how you feel, that I'm not worthy of standing beside you now, even after all we've been through together, then you can just take this back-" she started twisting at her engagement ring, attempting to pull it off.

'Hermione, no! For God's sake- NO!" He grabbed her hands in both of his and held on doggedly, for all that she tried to wrench herself away. "Hermione- HERMIONE!"

It was the sheer desperation in his voice that finally caused her to raise her eyes to his again, and what she saw was a man on the edge of panic.

"Hermione," Harry said, still holding both her hands in his, "I'm- damnit, I'm scared. I'm scared of dying tomorrow, but I'm even more scared of losing you. You are more important to me than my own life, and- and if they somehow manage to get a hold of you tomorrow, if they- if-" he couldn't seem to bring himself to articulate his deepest fear. He broke off, releasing her hands and running his own through his perpetually messy black hair. "Look, if I lose you, it's over," he said, "everything- the war, everything. Because I don't think I could defeat Voldemort if you were-" he paused again, but then swallowed hard and choked out the word; "dead. I don't think I could fight him- I don't think I could do anything. I'd give up. So you see, the future of the world could hinge on what you say to me right now. Please, Hermione, please tell me that you will stay off that battlefield tomorrow!"

Hermione just stared at him for a long moment, stunned speechless. In the wake of this sort of admission, this sort of plea, what could she do?

"Hermione," Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper now itself, "Hermione, please."

She slumped defeatedly.

"Fine, Harry," she said dully. "If it's that important to you, that- that you honestly think it could change the tide of the war, then I won't fight beside you, though there's no place I'd rather be. Just... fine."

Harry reached out for her then, but she shied away, turning her back on him and heading toward the bathroom to prepare for bed (little guessing that a similar scene was playing out miles away, as Draco Malfoy strictly forbade his new wife from accompanying him to the battleground tomorrow, ordering her to stay in the manor with his mother.)

Harry spoke from behind her, but she didn't turn around.

"You can be as angry as you like with me, just so long as you stay safe. I can cope with you never speaking to me again, if that's the price I must pay for knowing you're out of harm's way. I love you that much. Seeing you out there tomorrow- it would kill me."

"You won't see me out there tomorrow," she said flatly, and closed the bathroom door behind her.

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When she emerged ten minutes later, it was to find that Harry had pushed two large, soft armchairs together in front of the fireplace and settled into them along with one blanket and one pillow purloined from Ginny's bed. His face was hidden from her by the angle of the chairs. Fighting tears, she climbed into the bed alone. She'd imagined, ascending the stairs from the Great Hall, that tonight would be the night she'd give herself over to Harry- that the two of them would make love for the first time on this bed- what Ginny didn't know would never hurt her, and besides, this had been Hermione's bed just last year, and she couldn't help feeling a bit of lingering ownership- then sleep in each other's arms and face the morning, and whatever it brought with it, together; united.

But obviously, that wasn't going to happen now.

The morrow would bring a battle that could very well claim one or both of their lives- (after all, even if she were to stay holed up in the castle, that was no guarantee of safety; what if the Death Eaters managed to breach the defenses?)- and instead of clinging to each other as they should have been, they were arguing. It felt wretched.

Still, she never wavered in her resolve. She had promised Harry that she wouldn't fight beside him tomorrow- she hadn't promised him that she wouldn't fight. The battle would be huge; its outcome would decide the fate of the wizarding world. And just because she couldn't stand with Harry on the front lines didn't mean she had to stay out of the fray altogether. She would never sit alone in the castle and wring her hands while her fiancé and all her friends were out there putting their lives on the line. Never.

You won't see me out there tomorrow, she repeated silently, but that doesn't mean I won't be there, Harry. That doesn't mean I won't be there.

00000

(A/N: I know, I know, no Draco/Hermione interaction in this entire chapter, which was, by the way, nine full pages long on my word processor, in itty bitty little 10 point font... so I apologize for that. It's all just setting up for the next chapter, in which there is a battle ((DUH)) and the proverbial shit really hits the fan!!! Woo-hoo! Draco and Hermione thrown together as opponents in a life-and-death situation, can you say cool?!?)