Heavy breathing, sweat beading on foreheads, slippery hands held tightly as the two raced through the crumbling school. Colorful beams shot through the air, and for a moment Hermione thought of the Christmas lights her parents would hang every year. She immediately scolded herself. How absurd, thinking of Christmas in the middle of a battlezone. People were dying.
Leading the way and holding on to her hand like it was his final lifeline, Draco swore as he shot a curse at a woman in a mask. They wove their way through rubble and fights like a needle through fabric. He took her through the corridors, glancing at each door as they passed them. Where they ran, bloody footprints followed.
"In here. I think it's empty," Draco panted as he pulled them to a stop. Hermione raised a brow.
"The History of Magic classroom?" she asked, skeptical. Draco scowled.
"What, like you have a better idea? It's the only classroom that looks even remotely intact. It should be, at least." He mumbled the last bit, frowning as he spoke. Hermione rolled her eyes. Clearly, he knew what he was doing.
The door handle was coated in ash and dust, which rubbed off onto Hermione's palm as she opened the door. Her wand was clutched safely in her other hand, a slew of spells waiting to fly at the flick of her wrist. Hesitantly, she pocketed it and rubbed her palms together, hoping to get the dust off. Her robes were dirty enough that they wouldn't help. Unfortunately, her strategy just left both her hands coated in a fine grey layer. Hermione sighed.
"Draco-" She turned then stopped, staring at him as desks floated over in front of the door, forming a makeshift barricade. Giving him a teasing look, she mustered up a smile.
"You do know they can break through that in one shot, right?" she said, sitting down near him against the wall. Lost in thought, he nodded, and carefully moved his wand to place the last table. She nodded in response then sighed with relief. It felt so nice to finally be able to rest her head. The Gryffindor rubbed her eyes, the dark room suddenly reminding her of how tired she was. Would it be a sin to rest, to feel some amount of peace, knowing all the chaos and death happening just outside the door? Would it be so bad to just forget it all?
Draco finished constructing his barrier and went to sit next to Hermione, his feet dragging and shoulders aching with the weight of their situation. Voldemort was winning. Hogwarts had started off so strong, giving everything they had. They had had a shot at victory. But then students started dying. No, children started dying. Teachers started dying. Members of the Order started dying. Death Eaters were throwing killing curses left and right, hitting someone every other time. There was no mercy. There was no compassion, no pity for the weak. It didn't matter anymore if you were muggle-born, half-blood, pureblood, old, young, or even their own kin. To them, they were all merely roadblocks on the path to triumph.
The final blow to Hogwarts was when Harry Potter, for whatever reason, didn't go to the Forbidden Forest. He ignored Voldemort's command and stayed. Hermione spent that hour of anticipation scouring the castle, desperately trying to find the last horcrux. It could have been anything, anything at all. When that hour ended, when the news finally broke that Harry had stayed, all hell broke loose. The Death Eaters were on a bloody rampage, killing anyone that stepped into their path, as was Harry's punishment for his absence. Luckily, it was only a matter of minutes before she found Draco. She hadn't seen Harry or Ron since.
"You okay?" The young Malfoy took her face in his hand, his thumb gently sliding along her jawline, fingers curled around her neck. Her breath was a whisper as she pushed back his hair with the side of her hand, sweat gleaming on his skin under the candlelight.
"'Okay' isn't really the right word, but I'm not hurt, if that's what you mean."
Draco wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her closer to him. The scent of her hair brushed against his nose, like old books and lavender. Everything about her, from her uncontrollable hair to her chestnut-colored skin to the way she snorted when she laughed, it still made his heart pound. It drove him absolutely insane.
"I never thought we'd end up here," Granger said, smiling but brow furrowed. Malfoy snorted.
"What, cowering in fear for our sodding lives? Yeah, right, because war never ends that way," he scowled. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"In bloody love, Draco. Honestly. Insufferable pessimist," she said exasperatedly. She loved Draco, she really did, but he could be such a pain in the ass sometimes.
"Seriously though, what's so surprising? Slughorn forced us to be potions partners, assigned a project worth 40% of our grades, both of us cared too much about our grades to hate each other, we studied a little too late into the night every now and then, you said I was your plus-one so I wouldn't get dragged out of that stupid Christmas Party, and then we shagged. The rest is history. What's so shocking about that?" His words dripped with sarcasm but she could sense a hint of nostalgia in his voice as he spoke.
"Hmm, what I find the most interesting is that despite all your big talk, you can't make the first move to save your pathetic life."
"Oh, piss off. Filthy mublood," Draco glowered. Hermione burrowed deeper into his embrace, purring like a kitten. Somewhere along the way, she had taken ahold of his hands, her fingers laced with his in a tangled web. She hadn't thought about their sixth year much lately, and reminiscing on how they got together sent floods of nostalgia pouring over her. Her heart ached for those simpler times, back when she was just a young girl that fancied a boy she shouldn't instead of a young woman fighting for her life.
They had so little time left together, so little time left alive. Draco knew this. Nothing Hermione could say would change his mind. She could call him a pessimist all she liked, but he was only being realistic. She knew as well as he did that Voldemort wasn't going to stop, and the sad truth of it was they were hopelessly outnumbered. Even with some of the Slytherins' fighting with Hogwarts, their morals and viewpoints having been swayed by a few clever lectures from Hermione, it wasn't enough. Even with all the plans and information Draco had gotten the Order in his time as a double-agent, it wasn't enough. Even with everything they had done to try to tip the scales of fate in their favor, luck seemed to have abandoned them when they needed it most.
"At least I'm your mudblood," Hermione smiled. She didn't continue. Instead, she pulled her hands away and turned over Draco's so his palms were facing the ceiling. The white ash that coated her hands had spread to his, leaving both their hands looking like they had been dusted with old powder. His hands were bigger than hers, so the dust didn't cover his whole palm. You could see where her prints started and where they stopped. It was a whimsical kind of beautiful, seeing your lover's handprints imprinted on yours. It reminded them too closely of ghosts, their imminent futures dangling above their heads like cheese leading a mouse to its death.
"What even is this stuff?" the Slytherin asked, mildly repulsed by the foreign substance that now coated his hands.
"Stardust," replied Hermione, her eyes shining. She climbed out of his lap and knelt in front of him, excited. Malfoy gave her a look.
"Stardust." It was more of a statement than a question.
"Yeah, stardust. I read it in a book once," she mused quietly.
"That is some serious bullshit. I'm not stupid."
"No, no, really. See, muggles have found that the universe and everything in it was created from one huge explosion billions of years ago. They call it 'the Big Bang'. So then there were stars. And at some point, those stars would go supernova and explode. Well, from those explosions, the elements the stars have inside them are swept throughout space, which form new planets and stars and solar systems. Everything we're made of, that the world is made of, came from stars. From stardust. Including you." She placed her hand on his chest. "And me." She pointed to herself. "And the ash on our hands." She positioned his hands out in front of him and pressed hers against them, lining them up with the prints she had left a moment before. Even though he was normally quite a bit taller than her, they found they were almost at eye level with each other, him sitting criss-cross and her on her knees.
"Stardust on our palms," Draco whispered, almost reverently. A fleeting moment passed, a flicker of wonder in Draco's gaze. Then it was gone. His scowl was once again carved into his face, but now it didn't seem as impenetrable as before.
"Whatever. Like I said, just a load of muggle bullshit." He did a good job at trying to look disdainful, but it wasn't as strong as it had been before. Hermione wanted to tell him how much she loved seeing his softer side, that sensitive part that would talk to a ghost so neither of them would feel as lonely. The side that couldn't bring himself to kill a man, even though it could have cost him his life. The side that Hermione needed as much as it needed her, however faint and fleeting it was. There was so much she wanted to tell him, so much that had gone unsaid. Normally, words were her weapon, her power, her passion, but now she was at a loss. These could very well be their last few moments alive, yet she was silent. It was agony.
Granger stood up, not bothering to brush off her legs. She had started the battle in muggle clothes, but when she was off on her own she had slipped a school uniform from Parvati's trunk. She didn't think it would be that sorely missed. Besides, her old clothes were so caked in blood Hermione thought she would vomit. Despite all she had gone through, she was still a bit squeamish. It was strangely surreal, both her and Draco in their school uniforms. It was something she hadn't seen in over a year, not since sixth year.
"Will you dance with me?" she asked, extending her hand. Malfoy cocked a grin and took it, letting her pull him up. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Their eyes were locked together, unrelenting yet soft. She led him to the center of the room, where they exchanged bows and he kissed her hand, his delicate lips brushing against her knuckles like the soft petals of roses. Hand in hand, holding onto the other's, one on a waist, one on a shoulder. They waltzed and twirled and glided throughout the room, dancing alone to a silent melody. At that moment, everything was innocent. Even with that aura of death surrounding the room and slowly caving in around them. Simplicity is not the absence of pain, only the absence of caring. It is the eye in the storm that is misery. When the rest of the world melts away, when there is only one thing left and that thing is love, no matter what form it's in, that is true bliss.
This, Hermione thought, this is what love is supposed to feel like. This imperfect slow dance to a song that only they can hear. Not fearing that you'll be caught, or wondering if you'll last the week, or only getting one letter a month from them for a whole year, or running through a crumbling school and praying they'll be there when you look back. It's a love potion that smells like each other, it's falling asleep in each other's arms after staying up too late studying, it's one last dance before you die. It's pushing and pulling and wanting and needing and looking and finding. It's not perfect. It's never perfect. But it's hope, and it's safe, and it's home.
A scream rippled through the roof, and a soft thud came from above them. Muffled footsteps moved away slowly, stepping directly over where they were standing. A moment passed, a moment gone, a single sound bringing them back to reality. Hermione looked up, eyes wide with fear, and Draco took her in a dip to divert her attention. Her lingering distraction showed on her furrowed brow.
"Hey. Nothing's gonna hurt you. Not while I'm here," he promised. She gave him the ghost of a smile that was gone a second later.
"I know," she said, "I know."
They might have danced for only a few minutes, but it felt like hours. It all blurred together into one moment. The two didn't talk or break eye contact the whole time, the sounds of their footsteps echoing the beating of their hearts. Draco hoped it lasted forever. Hermione didn't ever want it to stop. But all good things must come to an end. Their feet began to ache with the stress and exertion of the day, so much that they couldn't stand any longer. Snuggled in each other's arms and bunched into a corner, Draco played with a strand of Hermione's hair while she traced the lines on his palms.
"It's like you're connecting the constellations in the stardust," Draco said with a big, goofy grin. Hermione smiled from ear to ear. There he was. Finally.
Sleep managed to take them, their heartbeats singing each other lullabies. What a peaceful scene it was. If the two didn't understand the context of the situation, it might have been sweet. If they didn't know what was coming for them, it might have been romantic. Alas, the future is a deady vice you cannot escape.
And in the case of Draco and Hermione, the future took the form of a dozen Death Eaters making their way through the halls, looking for students to kill. The group almost skipped over the seemingly deserted History of Magic classroom, but one recommended they check inside, just to be sure. Draco's makeshift barricade held the door shut, luckily, although maybe a bit too well.
"I's a bit suspicious tha' it won' even budge, don'tcha think?" one of the Death Eaters said with a sneer. His comrades all exchanged glances through their masks, and a quick nod passed between each of them. Nearly simultaneously, they all lifted their wands towards the door.
The first blast jolted Hermione awake. At first, she thought nothing of it, assuming it was coming from a different part of the castle. But the second time was when she knew. Shaking Malfoy by his shoulders, she whisper-shouted at him to wake up, wake up, they found us, they know we're here.
He rubbed his eyes groggily but was awake in an instant when a huge crack shook the room. His fear was somehow surmounted by his astonishment that his blockade had held up as long as it did. At least, it was until a loud boom rattled the walls. His hand shot over and grabbed Hermione's, squeezing it tightly. Her gaze locked onto his. a million words exchanged through that single glance. They would most certainly be outnumbered. Would it be worse to die fighting and give them the satisfaction of beating them, or to not fight at all and let them win no matter what? Draco silently begged Hermione for an answer, but her gaze gave away nothing. He wondered how she kept so much composure when she was scared. He could see the fear in her eyes, but she still held her head high and didn't lose herself in the slightest. It was unimaginable.
The Gryffindor slipped her wand out of her pocket and Malfoy followed suit. He kept looking to her for confirmation on what it was they were going to do, but she was staring straight ahead again, eyes stony. Her face was so emotionless it was like she was already gone. Simply a statue, never to be forgotten, never to be remembered. His grip on her hand tightened, as if he was saying I'm here, I'm still here, I haven't left yet, look at me and I'll show you it'll be okay.
Just like that, in only an instant, the desks covering the door flew in every direction as the Death Eaters finally broke through. Loud clattering sounded as they shoved the remaining desks aside, the more showy ones levitating or exploding the tables in their way. It only took them a moment of surveying the room to spot the two, a few of them laughing devilishly upon their discovery. What a sight the couple must have been, all covered in dirt with ashen skin and ragged clothes, clutching each other with everything they had left. It was either very pathetic or greatly admirable. Probably both. It was kind of depressing. Draco had always thought he'd go out in a way that would make people tell the story in hushed whispers and cause small children's eyes to widen in amazement. This… this wasn't what he had imagined.
He felt his grip tighten on his wand at the same time he sensed Hermione's loosening. He looked at her, clearly stunned, but she just shook her head, eyes on the floor. His heart dropped to his feet in a matter of milliseconds. In that moment, Draco finally understood the crushing weight of their situation. If his ever-strong, always determined Hermione was giving up, there was absolutely nothing left for them to do. She was always calculating, always looking for a different angle, a new way out. But… with that in mind… if Hermione thought this was the best way, then Draco would follow her to the ends of the Earth if she asked him to. He knew how competitive she could get. She just didn't want to give them the pleasure of winning. And neither did he.
The choice to give in to tragedy is almost always a spur-of-the-moment decision.
"Hey, ain't that Lucius and Narcissa's boy? Should we spare him?" one Death Eater asked, his mask facing one of his cohorts near the front of the pack. "And what about his little friend?"
"The Dark Lord said to spare none. Lucius and Narcissa's mourning is worthless compared to his order," said the consulted, head held high and voice full of authority. It made Malfoy's blood boil. What right did they have to command so much prestige in something they were being forced to do? After years of feeling superior to everyone around him, he wanted to beat some humility into anyone that saw themselves as high and mighty as he once had.
The Death Eaters nodded in compliance, although Hermione wondered if the guilt she was sensing was genuine or just wishful thinking. Unfortunately, it was most likely the latter.
Her gaze and grip hardened, bracing herself for death as they all lifted their wands, pointed at the two. She had once heard you relive your whole life after you die. She knew for a fact that you still have at least ten minutes of brain activity after your heart stops beating. What then? What must it be like, to die and not yet be dead? Maybe she already was, not in body, but in spirirt. After all, she had chosen to give up instead of fight. What were her chances of winning against them? She'd like to think they were good, but… they weren't. It was too late now. At least he was right there with her. If there was anyone she'd want to die alongside, it was him.
Hermione looked at him the, the pale ghost that stood beside her. Why was he being so quiet? The Draco she knew would have been cursing the Death Eaters out by now, both with his words and his wand. Now he simply stared at them, defiance shining in his eyes, yet he was still silent. Perhaps they had both lost a piece of themselves that night, Hermione her resolve, Draco his tenacity. At that point, neither of them cared whether they lived or died.
But when he looked at her and their eyes met, just for a moment, she wanted to fight, and he wanted to shout, just for the sliver of a chance that they could come out on top. Hermione's hand started to raise, a spell eagerly waiting just on the tip of her tongue-
Then the blasts hit them, and they fell.