A/N: Many thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review. I really appreciate it! Updates might be spotty for the next month as I attempt to get something original written for NaNoWriMo. Hope you guys enjoy!

Also, you can find me on tumblr for questions and comments or just to chat. My blog name is cre8tivelymundane.

Chapter Seven: To Behold a Miracle

February 2001

Paris

The boy at Draco's feet was convulsing. Henri was seventeen and just graduated from Beauxbatons Academy. He was desperate to be a Legionnaire, having followed the movements of first Voldemort, and now Bellatrix, from a very young age. He was a natural leader. It had taken him less than a week to become the informal leader of the most recent group of recruits. He was also cocky. When Draco had caught the boy sneering behind his hand as Draco performed his daily inspection, punishment had been required.

The cruciatus was becoming less difficult by the day. With Unforgivables, just casting the curse wasn't enough; the wizard had to possess true intent to harm. In the beginning, it had been hard to muster the will to do it. Watching someone writhe and scream in pain was sickening. Speaking the curse and witnessing its effects left a bit of a stain behind. There would be an accounting of his deeds one day, he was sure. But for now, he found himself more than capable of inflicting rending, excruciating pain and walking away without an ounce of remorse.

Releasing the cruciatus curse, Draco observed the way the boy immediately stiffened and attempted to sit up. Good. He was strong. With the right amount of humility and fear, he would rise quickly through the ranks. Henri let out a deep moan and vomited at Draco's feet. Releasing a deep sigh, Draco ordered the boy taken to the infirmary, while he attended to his custom dragon hide boots.

Despite Granger's best efforts, the Minister of Magic had not been pleased by what he heard. Even after the curly-haired woman had shoved the copied journal under his nose and exclaimed over its importance, Shacklebolt had been unmoved. He was, in fact, irritated that he had sent his people into danger to collect something so utterly useless. Draco wondered if he had even understood half of what she was saying. Granger had attempted to summarize the research in the notebook and had even included some of the arithmantic equations, but it was still quite complicated for someone not of the academic mindset. In the end, the idea had been thrown out, Granger had stood helplessly with her short hair sparking in rage, and Draco had saved face by mentioning Bellatrix's plan to attack the castle in a matter of weeks.

It was the real reason he had requested an extraction. The attack plans had been made months before Draco even caught wind of them. Luckily, he and his friends' research had been complete when a drunken Rodolphos Lestrange had blubbered the secret information into his firewhiskey and then passed out on the table. Draco had attempted the transfiguration ritual the next day, planning his escape if he survived. Two days later, he met up with his Order contact and demanded he be removed from danger. Four days after that, he was being Apparated out of his burning library by Hermione Granger.

Draco had not been surprised when Kingsley had summarily dismissed the transfiguration magic. He was right. It was far too risky. It was dark magic. They didn't have time to fool around with something patched together by a group of useless Purebloods. Draco had momentarily considered telling the man that the "ill-conceived and untested" magic had in fact been proven through Draco himself, but Granger had caught his eye. She had subtly shook her head, silently telling him to keep his peace, and then later confessed that revealing his ability might just land him in a jail cell.

"He would never allow a former enemy with the ability to turn into a dragon to just wander about Hogwarts." She had said. "It might be better to do this in secret anyway. The last thing we need is Ronald Weasley breathing down our necks while we attempt such complicated magic."

Pansy had waxed poetic about the idiocy of the Order of the Phoenix. To his utter shock, Granger had agreed wholeheartedly, just before wishing them luck with their work assignments and then scurrying off to "take care of a few things."

"Work assignments?" Pansy had squeaked.

"Zippy will take care of you!" Granger had called as she fled down the hall.

Zippy was a tiny and forceful house elf who had frowned at them disapprovingly while he handed out their tasks. Pansy had been assigned to work with Longbottom in the greenhouses. When Longbottom had appeared at the Minister's office to escort her, Pansy had objected rancorously until Zippy had threatened her with washing dishes, at which point Pansy had pasted a tight smile on her face and left with the tall man. Narcissa and Persia had been sent off to the Hospital Wing under the watchful eye of Madame Pomfrey. Draco, Theo and Blaise had been taken by Zippy to an old storeroom and then ordered to clear it out. Normally, the items would be moved by magic, but since none of them had wands, they were forced to shuttle the heavy boxes around by hand. Draco had never regretted learning to do menial spells wandlessly until he had arrived back at Hogwarts.

Now it was just after lunch, and the Purebloods were standing outside the Great Hall waiting for Longbottom. The man was to take them to the training arena. Draco was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep the rest of the day away. His muscles ached. He had at least been able to bathe before making his way down to the Great Hall for lunch. The meal had been uncomfortable, with the six former Slytherins seated at a table all to themselves, and most everyone else watching them and whispering. Ronald Weasley had been less polite, taking up a seat within Draco's eye line and playing with his wand menacingly while he laughed with his goons.

Draco tugged on the collar of his cotton shirt, hoping a bit of air on his skin might cool him down. It was mid-August and terribly humid. The sky was overcast, the dark clouds threatening a downpour. What he really wanted to do was roll his sleeves up, but then the dark blemish on his left forearm would be visible to the people already giving him dirty looks as they passed. The Mark on his arm was aching abominably. It had started hurting the day before, and was getting worse.

Pansy looked at him, guessing what was going on. "She's punishing you till she can get her hands around your neck."

"I know," he sighed, scratching at his sleeve. "Can you imagine how much furniture she's destroyed in her rage?" The idea of Bellatrix having a fit as she smashed vases and sliced through tables was amusing. He chuckled lightly.

Pansy looked at him like he was crazy. "There's nothing even remotely funny about a violent Bellatrix."

"It's a bit funny," he argued. "Especially since she can't curse me for laughing."

"For a few weeks anyway," Pansy countered. "And when she gets you in her sights again, she will be out for your blood."

Draco shrugged. He fully expected to be singled out and hunted down by his aunt. It had taken years to win back even a fraction of her trust after his family's defection at the Battle of Hogwarts. Three years in France training new recruits and winning over the French Ministry had earned him a place in her esteem, if not her inner circle. If he was being honest, he was rather glad to never have been included in that sacred number of wizards. It allowed him to complete his research without being watched too closely, and had kept him from being forced into the kinds of dark practices that corrupted completely.

Not that Draco was an innocent. He had done plenty of evil things, and if he was being honest with himself, he didn't regret very many of them. Even as a sixteen-year-old Hogwarts student, he had been fully aware that his choices would have dire consequences. In the end, he had always made the choices that kept him alive. The last seven years were no different. Every action he had taken since Hogwarts had been carefully calculated to bring him here. It had started the night a young girl sat beside him and shared a piece of fruit, silently offering him forgiveness, and ended with Bellatrix dead at his feet.

Longbottom showed them to an arena that looked a lot like a Quidditch Pitch, with tall stadium seating overlooking an oblong area with a thick layer of sand on the ground. They all trooped up into the stands in single file until they found seats that allowed a clear view of the whole arena. On the ground near the stands stood Granger and Lovegood, wands held loosely at their sides. They were laughing quietly about something, Granger gesticulating in great swooping arcs.

"Alright, 'Mione?" Neville called down to them. "Luna?"

They both looked up, shading their eyes. "Brought us an audience?" Granger shouted, sounding irritated. Lovegood waved, completely unfazed.

"What are we doing up here?" Draco demanded.

"Hermione wants you all trained for the final battle," the tall man responded. "These are the training grounds. We've got the obstacle course that way," he indicated somewhere behind him. "But this is where we practice dueling and train for melee. I thought it might be best if you got a look at how it all works before we threw you in there."

"What makes you think we need to be trained?" Narcissa's cold voice made Longbottom blink.

"Well I guess we'll be finding out," he answered genially.

Lovegood spun her wand across the palm of her hand then directed it to a large obelisk in the center of the ring. The stone lit up with blinding white light then disappeared as a forest grew out of the sand. In a matter of seconds, the entire practice pitch was wooded, with the two women standing in a clearing. There was suddenly a forest where there had only been sand.

"Wow." Blaise said admiringly.

"Who created this?" Narcissa demanded.

"'Mione and George mostly."

"George Weasley?" Draco was astounded. So the ginger was good for something other than joke wands and bloody-nose nougats.

"Yup. And it gets better."

Just then, curses started flying from the shadows. Draco started forward, reaching for his wand only to remember that it was nothing but ashes, left behind at Malfoy Manor. Longbottom caught his arm briefly.

"They can handle themselves," he said as the two women stood firm against the angry magic by casting powerful wards. Four Legionnaires stepped out of the trees, casting viciously. "It's just an illusion, mate." Longbottom said quietly. Draco yanked his arm free, embarrassed that he seemed to be the only one worried. No matter what Longbottom said, those Legionnaires looked solid and appeared to be trying to kill Granger and Lovegood. He couldn't seem to quell the hammering in his chest. Fuck, he wanted a wand.

Lovegood was moving forward, keeping up her protective barrier while Granger fired curses from behind. They weren't speaking, but they were moving in sync with one another as if they were connected. One of the Legionnaires fell to Granger's curse, his torso splitting down the center in a spray of blood. His body dissolved when it hit the ground. Persia gasped and looked away. Pansy was pale.

"Well done diffindo," Theo observed in admiration.

A second Legionnaire fell as a blasting curse shattered his ward and blew him backwards, his chest crushed. He too disappeared. Only two remained, backing up slowly as Granger and Lovegood advanced. Suddenly, Lovegood dropped the ward and the two women sprinted forward, knives drawn. The blonde witch wrapped herself around one of the enemy wizards, plunging her blade under his ribs. They both fell to the ground. Granger was a bit slower and was hit with a curse. She cast a ward at the last minute, but was thrown backwards through the air. Expecting her to land broken on the ground, Draco was astounded when she slowed herself mid air and flipped to the ground on all fours, sliding backwards a few feet before stopping. She launched herself forward again, raising her hand above shoulder. He didn't even notice her throw the knife until it was embedded in the enemy's throat. There was silence in the stands as the last Legionnaire dissolved into the dirt and the forest faded away, leaving the two women standing on the sandy floor of the training pitch.

"Well fuck me." Pansy's exclamation earned her a slap on the shoulder from her mother.

Lovegood collected their blades, calling to her partner over her shoulder. Granger threw back her head and laughed, dusting her pants clean. By the Gods she was powerful. Dangerous. Draco ignored the odd sensation that flooded his body at the sound of her laughter. He silently followed his people out of the stands.

There was a table set up at the bottom of the stairs with eight wands laid out neatly in a row. Granger and Lovegood were waiting for them there.

"It's all I could find on short notice," Granger apologized, adding her own spare wand to the lineup. "Hopefully you all can find one that will work for you."

"You're arming us?" Persia exclaimed.

"How else are you going to fight?" Granger sighed. "Besides, we can't do complex and delicate transfiguration magic that might very well kill us- and all in secret- if we're all sharing my wand."

"Does Shacklebolt know about this?" Draco asked her casually, trying to conceal his astonishment.

"Nope." Granger was studying the wands, avoiding his eyes. The simmering anger at her leader's choices was still there, right under the surface of her skin. It was amazing to him that she could be so upset by something that affected her not at all. It would be easy for her to abandon them to their fate and complete the potion and ritual by herself. She was more than capable. Instead, she fought for them. He wondered how much trouble she would catch when the Minister found out.

"I'm not sure what the cores are made of," she continued. "But we find the wand of a dead wizard is less picky about its new owner. So there's bound to be at least one that will work for each of you."

Eight random wands plucked from the fingers of a dead soldier. It was enough to make Draco curl his nose in disgust. For some reason, the idea of wielding a wand from someone whom he might have killed was disturbing. In the end, none of the wands were perfect, but everyone found one that was serviceable. Granger gave him a small grin when he reluctantly settled on her spare wand. He scowled back at her.

In the meantime, Longbottom had set up several stuffed figures some distance away. He settled the last one into the sand with his wand and the jogged back towards them. "Practice time." He said with a smile.

The first attempts at using their new wands were less than impressive. Pansy, in particular, was having some difficulty performing any magic more complex than a weak lumos. After several attempts to destroy the dummy nearest her, she screeched and threw the second-hand wand on the ground.

"Don't act like such a child," Persia scolded her, casually lighting her dummy on fire.

"Oh do shut up, mother," Pansy snapped, bending over to swipe the offending length of wood from the sand. Draco fought the urge to laugh as Granger approached the furious woman.

"Try a cutting charm," she advised.

Pansy rolled her eyes but complied. The simple spell shot from the tip of her wand and left a slice in the the fabric of the dummy, which promptly sealed itself back up.

"Well done!" Draco thought Granger might be laying it on a bit thick. Pansy apparently agreed.

"Fantastic," she deadpanned. "I can kill them all with paper cuts."

Granger came to stand behind the taller woman and held her wand up in front of both of them, mimicking the charm movements. "This is diffindo," she said. "When you add a push at the end of the second swish, it becomes deadly."

She demonstrated, sending a blast of magic that split the dummy in half, much like the false Legionnaire in the practice ring. Pansy's face lit up. "Now that I can learn!"

Leaving Pansy to her devilish game, Granger moved closer to Draco, studying his technique. He tried not to notice her standing next to him. He was more than capable of wielding a wand in a fight, but the unfamiliar length of wood in his hand was giving him trouble. The jinxes he was throwing at his target were swinging wide, and less powerful than he wished. Instead of commenting on his lack of expertise, she merely nodded in satisfaction, sat at his feet and started cleaning her knife.

"Why knives?" He asked before he could stop himself.

Granger kept her curly head focused on her blade. "Magical wards tend to repel magic, not physical objects, mostly because wizards don't expect physical attacks. It's sometimes faster to attack with a blade than a curse, especially if their ward is well made." She shrugged. "They're just as dead either way."

Draco was having a rough time reconciling this Hermione Granger with the one he had known before. In the few days since his rescue, she had been strong, sure, but never cold. Something told him her laissez faire attitude towards killing wasn't completely honest. And throwing a curse at someone across a battlefield was very different than watching them bleed from a few feet away. Had she ever put a blade through someone's heart and watched the life leave their eyes? The thought was chilling.

About half an hour passed before Longbottom spoke up. "There's only so much you can do with dummies," he said to Granger. "Should we take them to the obstacle course?"

Granger stood, having slumped backwards comfortably while she watched the Purebloods practice. "No we're not really training today, I just wanted them to get a feel for their wands."

"Does this mean we get to go inside now?" This from Pansy, who had a thin sheen of sweat on her lip.

"An excellent question," Persia agreed. "It's far too hot to be standing about."

"We're 'Keying to another location," Granger explained, sliding her wand into its sheath. She looked at Draco. "I want to see the dragon."

The other location turned out to be a barren hilltop surrounded by mountains. Draco wasn't sure where they were, but he knew it was nowhere in England. He moved away from the group, suddenly nervous. What if the first time had been a fluke? What if he couldn't reproduce the magic properly? The first ritual had been long and involved. According to the theory, and Blaise's expert Arthimancy, subsequent transformations only required a simple incantation.

"Trabeadraki Formus."

It was painful. Not in the way of a cruciatus or a cutting curse, but in the way of bones and muscles and tendons growing too quickly and reshaping themselves. It was a deep ache that buried itself in his flesh and bones and didn't let go until he was the size of a small house. The first sensation in his new form was power. He stretched his wings out luxuriously, revelling in the stretch and pull of so many new muscles. It was still a bit awkward, like putting on shoes that were far too big, so despite the sudden urge to leap into the sky, he settled with a few grand flaps of his wings. The last thing he needed was to fall flat on his snout in front of an audience.

It was a very strange thing, this transformation. He had only attempted it once before, but his body recognized the form almost immediately. The shape of the dragon was odd- pleasing, yet cumbersome. The increased input from his senses was dizzying. He could see, hear, and smell like never before. His wings picked up tiny vibrations in the air that his human brain didn't quite know what to make of. Scales moved differently than skin. He felt them rub against each other as he moved. His mouth was full of teeth, all of them pointed, ready to rip into a smaller living thing. There were deer in the forest. He could smell them. He wanted to chase them down and feast on their flesh.

The most surprising part of his new shape was the palpable presence of the Dragon. The first time he had realized with what he was sharing this new body, he was astounded. He was still Draco, still a human in the body of a huge reptile, but there was a part of his psyche dedicated entirely to the animal. There were no records of this kind of dual cognizance in either an Animagus shift or in transfigurations. The closest experience he could find was to that of werewolves, who sometimes reported the presence of an alternate, more base, consciousness. The Dragon stirred in his mind. It decoded the strange signals coming from his new senses, provided him the instinctual knowledge he needed to move on four legs and flap his wings, but it also delicately clawed at the back of Draco's civilized mind with its barbaric desires. Feed. Fight. Fuck.

The Dragon had scented her. Hermione. Cotton, parchment, ink, strawberries from her breakfast, sandalwood and oranges from her hair, and the incredible warmth coming from her very skin. It was a scent he had picked up vaguely in her room as a human, now increased tenfold and floating to him on the breeze. He swung to face her and saw that she had come closer to him. The Dragon was pleased. Her big brown eyes were gazing at him with rank admiration. He felt an indescribable need to show her his magnificence. Rearing up and expanding his wings out wide, he let out a great howl of approval at her nearness, at her very existence. The Dragon wanted to pick her up, fly away and find a nice cave in which to shower her with gold and jewels.

Fucking hell! Coming down on all fours again, Draco spotted Pansy just behind Granger, looking at him with a knowing smile. If he had been human, he probably would have been lit up with humiliation at his display. As it was, Draco felt slightly foolish, but the Dragon chided him for this useless human emotion. There was no shame in flaunting one's assets for one's mate. FUCKING. HELL. Her scent was driving him mad! He blew out a rough breath to clear his nose and decided they had seen enough. He needed to get the fuck away from the Dragon and his animalistic urges. He shook his head and tried to clear the scent from his nostrils.

Tamping down the panic that was pressing against his human mind, he allowed the spell to end. It was like dropping a heavy burden after a carrying it for a long period. He felt light, his muscles almost floating. He also felt the lack of his heightened senses. His world was covered in a thick layer of cotton. But he could no longer smell her, no longer wanted to drag her to the ground and fuck her blind. Donning his usual arrogant grin, hoping it didn't look too forced, he waited for the applause to roll in.

He was beautiful. Terrifying and huge, but absolutely gorgeous. His body was formed much like a Welsh Green, but at the same time, was like no dragon that had ever existed in the magical world. He was white, his scales shimmering in the sun like an opal. A long ruff of pearlescent spikes ran from between his eyes down to his tail. When he stretched his wings, Hermione could see the slight blush of pink at the base of the batlike appendages where they met his back. His talons were black, as were the sharp spikes at the tips of his wings and the two long teeth protruding from his mouth.

Unconsciously, she stepped forward. When he swung his head to study her, she saw that his eyes were still the exact same shade of pale grey as his human form. His nostrils flared, sucking in the air around her. He reared back on his hind legs and flapped his wings smugly, letting out a loud, reptilian bark. Neville shouted a warning, but somehow, she knew he was showing off, completely aware of his own beauty. An unwilling grin tugged at her mouth as he settled back to the ground with a grunt. Hermione shook her head at his antics, so completely in line with his human personality. There was a dragon standing in front of her, but it was obviously still Malfoy.

It hit her full force. This was it. This was the end of the war. Bellatrix was coming for them, and when she arrived with her army, they would be ready to fight back. Never before had Hermione allowed herself to plan for victory. The odds against them were too great. She had prepared for death, knowing that even as they fought to their last breath, the Order would fall in the face of the Black Dragon and her Legion of Blood. Now they had a chance to win. Instead of panicked, she suddenly felt powerful.

Malfoy shook his dragon head and let out something like a sneeze. Suddenly, there was a man standing where the beast had been.

"Well?" he smirked, expecting exalted congratulations.

Neville gave a whoop and ran forward to envelope the blonde in a hug, only to pull back at the last minute and clap him heartily on the shoulder. Luna was watching from the outskirts, wary but obviously intrigued. The Purebloods were smug. Hermione was attempting to calm the erratic thumping of her heart, overcome by what she had just witnessed.

"We need to start the potion as soon as possible," Persia was saying. "It takes two weeks to brew and we are running short on time."

"Meditations can take several days after the potion has been consumed," Narcissa added.

"The ritual can be prepared in the meantime." Theo was fiddling with his new wand, anxious to get started.

"We need to decide who besides Hermione is going to attempt it." Blaise interjected. "I'll run some calculations to see who is most likely to survive." He turned a blindly smile on Hermione, who blinked stupidly. "Obviously you're more than capable."

"So we're going to walk into Slughorn's lab and. . . and then what?" Neville scratched his head. "We can't tell him the truth."

"We won't need to," Hermione offered, triumphant. "I have a lab we can use."