Amelia was separated from Draco in the chaos of the battle, but having secured a wand she felt a fresh adrenalin. Any effect the Dementor had been having on her lifted and was replaced with a renewed hope.

She stood by Henry now as they warded off a masked Death Eater together. Although they outnumbered the Death Eaters, the hooded figures were strong in combat, and Amelia was still physically weak. Hundreds of hours of duelling practice made them all strong and resilient fighters though, and with Henry and Harry - two of the resistance's finest fighters - she knew that the group were a fair match for the ambushing Death Eaters.

Her vision was still slightly blurred and spotty, and her hands shook as she cast defensive spells. Henry disarmed the Death Eater in front of them and they both watched as the hooded man collapsed soundlessly to the floor. She shared a small smile with her brother before he turned to assist Ron in battle. Amelia pushed her matted hair from her face and let her eyes sweep the room. She frowned; she couldn't see Draco. She kept her wand raised as her eyes darted more frantically now, before landing on two figures on the other side of the chaos. It looked as if Bellatrix and another hooded Death Eater had Draco pinned against the wall, as he struggled unsuccessfully against their grip.

Amelia pushed her way towards him, watching with wide and alert eyes as Bellatrix drove a calculated fist into him. Bellatrix and the other Death Eater stepped away, looking at each other as Bellatrix cackled with glee. Draco was on the ground now, both hands cradling his abdomen as he hunched over, grimacing in pain. Just as she saw blood begin to seep from between his fingers, Amelia raised her wand. She stopped a few feet from the scene and cast a spell to cause the anonymous Death Eater to be flung aside with a small gasp of surprise as he crashed into a solitary suit of armour and lay in a heap.

"Oh, how charming! You've come to defend your man," Bellatrix said with amusement, turning towards Amelia who stood with her wand aimed right at the woman in front of her. Still her hands shook violently. "It looks like you might be a bit too late," she said with an exaggerated pout and a venomous drawl, nodding her head towards Draco who was now slumped almost entirely unconscious on the floor, his limp hands still protectively gathered over his wound, his head bent forward so that his hair hung like a curtain over his eyes.

Any weariness Amelia felt from her imprisonment was instantly abandoned and replaced with an electricity pumping through her bloodstream, fuelled by hatred for the woman standing before her.

She slashed her wand through the air with a grunt, but Bellatrix was quick to effortlessly retaliate and within a few missed curses thrown on each side, Amelia felt an unworthy opponent. Just as Amelia felt certain she was going to lose her footing in the battle, she heard her name from behind her as the room was suddenly plunged into darkness. Stray curses lit the now-dark room with momentary bursts of green or red, but movement around the corridor was suddenly unpredictable and the curses didn't seem to be landing as intended. It made Amelia even dizzier than before and she crouched down to avoid the flashes of curses overhead. Almost instantly, she felt a strong hand wrap around her arm and pull her back up.

"Where's Draco?" George's voice said in her ear as loud confused commotion erupted around them.

"Straight ahead - he's hurt," she said breathlessly. They moved forward at lightning speed; all she could hear were curses still flying around the blackened corridor. She kept her wand arm outstretched until she felt herself collide with Draco's body. "Got him," she said.

"Right. Here, take this – I'll hold them off, this instant darkness powder won't last forever."

"Wait – are you sure?" Amelia asked, looking to where George's voice came from.

"You need to get him back," he said plainly. "We'll be right behind you with the other portkey."

Amelia reached out and squeezed his shoulder with a deep appreciation, and let him pass her one of the portkeys – a heavy pocket watch.

As soon as she squeezed the pocket watch she felt the familiar but unpleasant tugging behind the navel as the sounds in the room vanished. She held tightly to Draco's shirt, clenching it in her fist so that her entire arm shook with the might.


With a sudden drop in the temperature – a beating, cold wind and thick damp chill in the air – they landed on the grassy ground of the resistance site with a dull and painful thud. The impact knocked her fist open, and she landed a few feet from Draco, rolling roughly away from him on the lumpy, grassy earth.

She scrambled to Draco's side, sliding over the mud which pooled between the grassy tufts. She dragged her eyes over his body.

He lay - still out cold - in a twisted heap on the wet grass. She pulled him into her lap. Her breath came in uneven rattles, forming small puffs of smoke in front of her. He was damp – not only with the earlier rain that now covered the earth, but with blood: thick and sticky. She felt it on his clothes; his shirt heavy and soaked through from where Bellatrix had stabbed him and spreading so far that Amelia couldn't tell what colour it had been before. His face shone in the moonlight with a thin clammy layer of sweat. His lips – half parted – had no colour. He looked lifeless.

Amelia lifted a bloodstained, shaking hand to his face, hastily pushing back the hair from his half-closed eyes and gently pressing it against his cold cheek. His skin was so cold to touch. She mumbled his name, louder and louder, searching desperately for a sign of life in his features, but none came.

Where was everyone? She called for help, her voice battling against the wild wind. Her screams felt like daggers slicing her throat and the desperation in her own voice frightened her.

Amelia gathered his limp body tighter in her arms, as if her embrace could somehow invigorate life into him.

"Amelia!"

She looked up and saw two figures running towards her. She squinted into the darkness until she recognised Luna and Michael Corner – two of the resistance's Healers.

"You made it back!" Luna exclaimed.

"Are you alright?" Michael asked, darting eyes assessing the scene.

"I'm fine – it's Draco. I think he's been stabbed," Amelia said. She felt the words tumble out of her mouth despite feeling unable to breathe.
Both their faces dropped as they seemed to register Draco's condition for the first time. "And the others?" Michael asked, gazing around the empty area, still and empty save for the whistling wind whipping through the treeline in the distance.

"Still there. With the second portkey," Amelia said. She tried to ignore the worried glance Luna and Michael shared.

Silently, Luna and Michael carefully lifted Draco, slinging his arms around their shoulders. Amelia followed them from a few steps behind to the hospital wing. Each step made her more and more aware of the her own injuries but she put them to the side, worried only for Draco's lifeless state and the return of the others.

The hospital wing was, of course, empty. It was comprised of a few chairs and a large desk in front of a bookshelf full of medicinal books, jars and potions of all sizes and colours. On either side of this room were two small adjoining rooms which both had a bed and two chairs in them.

Amelia instinctively followed those carrying Draco into an adjoining room, but was stopped by a gentle hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Fleur Delacour, a firm but kind expression on her face.

"You are safe," Fleur registered with warmth. Amelia wasn't sure whether it was a question or not, so stayed silent. "Injuries on you?" she continued with a sudden clipped efficiently, ushering Amelia into the second hospital room. Amelia's eyes stayed in the direction of the other room on the other side of the wing. She craned her head to see what was happening, but the door was now closed and a silencing charm presumably activated.

"Zey vill look after 'im," Fleur said, tracing Amelia's eyeline and noting her concern. "Are you 'urt?"

Amelia tore her curious and worried gaze away from the opposite room, and looked at Fleur with glazed eyes.

"I'm fine," Amelia said hurriedly.

Fleur looked unconvinced. "Come – sit," she said, putting firm hands onto Amelia's shoulders and steering her to sit atop the bed. "I am glad you are safe," she offered with a small but genuine smile.

Fleur was somebody who Amelia hadn't quite figured out – she was stoic and reserved a lot of the time, but then every now and again, would give you an overwhelming sense of sincerity. She had found the resistance shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts; she and Bill had managed to escape back to Shell Cottage, but were soon ambushed by Death Eaters as all Weasley's were listed as high profile blood traitors.

Amelia wasn't sure what her expression looked like, she felt the most peculiar mixture of emotions: exhausted from the last day of ordeals, consumed with anxiety over Draco and her friends who were presumably still in the throes of battle at the Manor, all swarming underneath of veil of numbness which prevented her from offering Fleur much more than a small exhale of acknowledgment and a twitch of the corner of her lips.

"You 'ave a wound. On your head," Fleur said. "Did they 'urt you?" She looked stern again, knowing that Amelia was withholding information. It was true that she ached horribly all over and felt a foggy dizziness.

Amelia sighed. "There was a Dementor knocking about in the dungeon. Oh, and You Know Who did some sort of mind-reading curse… Haven't eaten for a while… That's all though."

"Zat is all?!" Fleur repeated with wide eyes and a clicking of her tongue. "Here – sit still, I vill check you."

Fleur tapped her wand gently on the top of Amelia's head, and gracefully floated it down, tracing the outline of her body until she tapped the top of her foot.

"You are lucky," she said with another small smile. "I have a potion that vill 'elp ze pain. And then, you must rest." Her voice was firm but was matched with a friendly smile.

Amelia nodded as Fleur flicked her wand and a potion in a long thin vial came soaring in from the other room. Amelia downed it in two large gulps, trying not to register the sour taste of the thick dark purple liquid. Fleur was fussing with a cloth, which she brought to Amelia's head. The gentle, cooling dabs of the damp cloth soothed Amelia – or perhaps it was the potion taking its effect. There must've been dried blood in her hairline and on her forehead, as it took Fleur a few minutes to clean the wound before wrapping a bandage around it.

As Fleur leaned back to check the bandage was secure, Amelia heard commotion from beyond her small room, and the voices of Henry and George. She and Fleur both ran from the room without hesitation to see Henry, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George and Digby all standing in the main hospital wing. All looked worse for wear, but in good spirits. Amelia made for Henry, her vision blurred with the brimming of tears, a lump rising in her throat as she flung her arms around him and felt his envelope her, lifting her off her feet.

She opened her mouth as her chin rested on his shoulder, wanting to say how relieved she was, and how extremely grateful she was that he had come for her. It seemed she was incapable of forming words though. She felt hands clap her on the back and she turned, embracing those around her, openly sobbing now as a wave of realisation at how close she had been to being killed in a Death Eater's dungeon crashed over her; a realisation of the risks they had taken to get her back to safety.

"Are you okay?" Henry finally asked, his eyes lingering on the bandage around her head.

She touched the wound absently and nodded, managing a smile and wiping at her cheeks.

"Are you?" She echoed, finally finding her voice as she looked around at her dear friends, who all mumbled a 'yes'.

"Managed a second lot of Instant Darkness Powder when we were all close enough to catch the portkey back here. Did a pretty bang-up job of fending them off though," George said, to the general agreement of the crowd. Hermione was resting a weary head on Ron's shoulders as he stifled a yawn.

"Where's Malfoy?" Henry asked, looking around the room.

Amelia nodded to the closed off room opposite them, and Henry frowned, nodding with understanding.

"He'll be fine," he said with an almost-convincing smile.

They stood in a small huddle for a while, discussing the events just passed. Amelia hung on to every word about their plan, and was amazed and touched at how quickly they had acted. After a few minutes Michael Corner came out, carefully closing the door behind him. He greeted everyone with a warm smile, clapping George on the back as he joined the group.

"Glad to see you all back here – didn't doubt you lot for a moment though," he said with an upbeat sincerity. He looked to Amelia, and changed his expression.

"Is he –

"I daresay he's seen better days… but we've dressed the wound and done what we can. We gave him a bloody strong dose of Dreamless Sleep potion, so he'll be out for a while," Michael said, his usual jovial tone pulled back and rigid.

Amelia exchanged a look with Henry. "Can I see him?" She asked Michael in a voice smaller than she intended.

"Of course," Michael said with a smile, stepping aside. "Right – who needs looking over?" He asked the small crowd enthusiastically, clapping his hands and rubbing them together.

As George and Digby playfully vied for Michael's attention, each rattling off various trivial wounds to the chuckling Healer, Amelia wasted no time in making her way back to the curtained room, hurriedly closing the door behind her.

Draco lay in the bed, his face peaceful despite his appearance. His forehead was still damp, and strands of blonde hair stuck to his face. A thin white sheet covered his bare torso, and Amelia's eyes lingered to where she knew a deep wound was carved into his abdomen.

She pulled up the chair next to the bed, and sat down slowly, not daring to take her eyes off him.

She tried to remember the last time she had been in his presence as he slept – years and years ago – and her heart lurched as she saw now how much he had changed.

She studied his face, drinking in every part of him. She remembered every inch of him so well: his body, his voice, his movements, his laugh. Everything from the way his shoulders sat poised and tall as he walked, to the way his brow would furrow ever so slightly when he was listening intently to something. It had all haunted her every moment since the day they were torn apart. As she looked now at the face she knew so intimately though she noted how different he looked. It was only up close now, with the freedom to take in his appearance unabashedly, that she saw the faint lines between his eyebrows and framing his mouth; worn with worry. His jaw seemed more defined with age, like his face had become harder, yet not in a way that made him look any less handsome – in fact more so, if anything.

Her eyes were drawn towards the Dark Mark on his left arm, its black ink standing bold against the white sheets. The vision of seeing Voldemort scar his Dark Mark inside Narcissa's memory flashed in front of her eyes, and she gulped down a rising lump in her throat as she saw the scar across the Mark now, raised and as fresh as the day he received it.

She slipped her hand into his, hastily interlacing their fingers, and was unnerved by how limp and cold his felt in hers. She squeezed gently, hoping he could somehow sense her presence in his deep unconsciousness.

Amelia thought about everything Narcissa had shown her in the pensieve, and felt an utter fool for not being able to see it before. All those times Draco had tried so desperately to tell her, and how patient and understanding he had been when met with her accusations and rejection. She hoped that she would get the opportunity to tell him how much it all meant and that - despite her actions to the contrary - she had held just as much of a flame as he did for those lonely years.

"Hey."

Amelia whipped around, wrenched from her thoughts. Henry stood at the door. "How's he doing?" He asked.

Amelia shrugged. "It was Bellatrix Lestrange – I saw her. She had a dagger."
Henry winced empathetically as he pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the bed. Amelia saw as his eyes landed on her and Draco's interlocked fingers, before looking back at her.

"He's a tough guy – he'll pull through," Henry said with genuine encouragement. It made Amelia feel a little better. She had spent her entire life looking up to Henry and it was much easier to believe words when they came from his mouth.

"I cannot believe you guys pulled that off," Amelia eventually said. Her voice was cracked, exhausted.

"You know what they say – when there's a will, there's a way."
Amelia gave a small breathy laugh. She was a little nervous that Henry was going to ask her about her experience in the Manor, and she didn't think she had the strength to relive it just yet. But, as if reading her mind, Henry said, "we don't have to talk about it tonight, but it would be good for us to know a bit more about what happened. Knowledge is power, and all that, y'know?"

Amelia nodded, grateful to put off recalling the whole ordeal. She glanced back down at Draco, still lifeless, lips slightly parted in his deep slumber.

"He was great, actually," Henry said, nodding his head to Draco. "I think the only reason this mission was successful is because of him."
A warm pride shot through Amelia and she smiled despite herself, feeling oddly shy as Henry said this.

"It's clear that he cares a lot about you," Henry said in a more serious tone.

"I do too," Amelia said, looking from her hand in Draco's, to Henry. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you that I knew him… perhaps a bit better than I let on," she said. She felt silly – there was no screaming or yelling, no denouncing their sibling bond; Henry seemed completely at ease.

Henry shrugged. "I'm sure you had your reasons. But I'd like to hear about it. Again – when you're a bit more up to it."

Amelia smiled and for about the thousandth time that night, felt extraordinarily grateful for the amount of love she was surrounded by.


Amelia slept in that exact position, eventually too exhausted to keep her eyes open yet unable to leave Draco's side. During the small hours of the early morning that she had sat staring and willing him to wake fully recovered, it had become of the utmost importance that she be there when he did wake, and this self-appointed duty acted like a magnet keeping her by his side. Perhaps it was guilt which now drove a hungry desire to show her loyalty to him. Guilty for all he had risked and sacrificed for her over the last years, while she had spent all her time trying to convince herself of his evil.

She only stirred when she felt a light twitching against her hand, which still sat clammy and cramped in his. She sat up, blinking her weary eyes into focus. Draco's finger continued its tiny jolting, but as Amelia raked her tired eyes to his face, she watched as his eyebrows seemed to twitch. The change was so slight, so miniscule, that it would have been easy to miss, but Amelia had been staring into his unwavering stillness for hours before falling asleep. Her grogginess forgotten, she now felt completely alert. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she pulled a hand through her hair and sat up a little straighter, feeling a bit foolish doing so.

His breathing changed and just as Amelia thought that perhaps it was merely the potion wearing off and what she was witnessing was a transition between a dreamless sleep, to a more vivid one, he blinked. Amelia watched with her breath caught in her throat as he squinted against the light, grimacing softly as he slowly opened both eyes fully. She couldn't supress a smile and exhaled loudly in relief. At this, Draco realised he was not alone, and brought his confused and drowsy eyes to her.

"Hi," she breathed, squeezing the hand that still clutched so desperately at his.