A/N: My story is officially being betaed! So a big thanks to iwasbotwp!

Chapter Seventeen: To Say Goodbye

January 2002

Hogwarts

Luna kept her back to the room, pretending to be asleep. The walls of Andromeda's house were bearing down on her. She ached to be outside, but Hermione had ordered her to bed, commenting on her haggard appearance. She could barely hear the voices of three people talking in the corner over the sound of an infant crying. It was that wretched creature who was causing all of her sleepless nights.

"She won't feed the baby," Hermione was saying. "Or hold her. The goat's milk seems to be nourishing her, but the poor little thing needs a mother."

Luna heard someone approach and scoop up the wailing child. The noise sputtered to a quiet whine.

"We need to find her a home," Ginny agreed, her voice closer than before. She must have been the one who took the infant. "We've tried everything to make Luna love her. It isn't going to happen. It's time."

"Cold-hearted," Harry muttered.

"She's out of her mind with trauma," Hermione hissed. "Don't you dare judge her for this!"

There was a moment of silence, broken by the sound of Ginny cooing at the child. Luna felt something pricking at the ice around her heart.

"We'll take the baby," Harry said firmly.

"Are you sure, Harry?" The hope in Ginny's voice was sickening.

Luna felt the man's sharp gaze burning a hole between her shoulders. He had seen what she was capable of doing. He knew what kind of person she had become. She was no fit mother, even if she had been inclined to care for the product of her multiple rapes.

"Yes," he said firmly. The infant had stopped wailing, thank Circe.

"We'll name her Lily," Ginny gushed.

Insipid name, Luna thought, but at least, the child was no longer her problem. Sweet silence followed the sound of boots on the stairs. There was a small itch of pain somewhere under her breastbone. She scratched at it, deciding it must have been something she ate. She sighed and closed her eyes, falling into the first sound sleep she'd had for three months.

It took less than a week for Luna to regret her actions against Hermione. As it happened, Hermione's acceptance of Luna's odd behavior had been the only thing keeping Luna from complete ostracization. Normally such concerns were beyond her, but it was becoming a struggle to get anything accomplished when nobody would even meet her eyes. Even Neville had grown skittish around her.

She sat under her tree along the edge of the Forbidden Forest and considered ways to win back Hermione's favor. After a failed attempt to meditate on her Dragon, Luna decided it was best to plan out her means of attack first, so she could properly clear her mind. Ideas were hard to come by, for platitudes didn't easily sway Hermione. It must be something big and meaningful.

The perfect idea warmed her like a ray of sunshine. It wouldn't be easy, but she could pull it off and escape any blame if she did it right. It would work towards regaining Hermione's affection, of that she was certain. It might also earn Luna the favor of the Purebloods, which would be beneficial in the long run, especially if Hermione continued to delude herself about her feelings for Draco Malfoy.

Feeling much more composed, Luna returned to her meditations.

The training grounds were half-filled with spectators who watched as the ritual circle was carved into the earth. The next day would feature the dragon transformations of Pansy, George Weasley, Luna Lovegood and Kingsley Shacklebolt. The entire thing was being set up as entertainment, complete with cheering crowds. The Minister's intention with the ridiculous spectacle was to boost morale, as well as blind loyalty. Narcissa hoped the idiot realized that even a single death would do more damage than could be rectified before the battle.

Bellatrix was on the move, according to the most recent intelligence. They had three days if the spy could be believed. Narcissa rather thought they had less. She only hoped that all her hard work, and the work of her son, would not go to waste in the hands of an imbecilic Order member with a god complex.

Blaise, Theo, Pansy, Hermione, and Draco were carving runes in the dirt with their wands, as Narcissa and Persia looked on from the stands. The day was warm, but one could feel the world beginning to shift into autumn. The large clouds in the sky were dark, but few, and the wind provided a lovely respite from the last of the season's heat.

The circle was nearly complete when Draco slipped away, appearing in the stands a few moments later to sit next to his mother.

"Finished, my dear?"

"Nearly."

Draco was worried. His face betrayed nothing, of course, but he was wont to fidget and had taken to tapping various things with his fingers. It was a sure sign of distress.

"Well it looks marvelous," Persia offered. "You did very well considering the quality of the dirt on the castle grounds. It's amazing they managed to grow anything here."

Draco fingered his wand and shuffled his feet. Narcissa waited with her eyes on the view below. He would come out with it in due time. She did, however, trap the toe of his shoe with her own, effectively stalling his nervous twitching. Fidgeting simply could not be tolerated.

"Do you remember Igantius Peabody?" he murmured.

Why on earth would Draco bring up that perverted old man? He had died years ago.

"Somewhat," she answered.

"He was quite the dancer, if I recall."

Narcissa kept the serene smile on her face, applauding gently as Theo finished the last sigil with a flourish of his wand, but her heart skipped a beat.

"Yes, he had quite the stamina," she confirmed warily. "He carried on for hours longer than expected."

"I wonder if you might have his old dance card?"

"I thought you no longer collected such things," she pointed out. "Dancing was never your preferred means of social interaction."

"I have found a renewed interest in the activity," he responded with a sigh. "I find it can be beneficial to a chosen one's health, even if temporarily."

Turning to Draco casually, she read his eyes. For a moment, mother and son communicated silently.

"A worthy endeavor," Narcissa commended him as she returned her attention to the spectacle beneath them. "Though rather a waste."

"It's not really that much of a sacrifice."

Narcissa sighed. A vial of black liquid flickered between her fingers before disappearing into Draco's hand. It would take months to replace that tiny bit of precious elixir. She had kept on her person since Shacklebolt had searched her rooms. His goons either hadn't found the enchanted box containing the vial, or hadn't realized its importance.

"I do so miss dancing," she commented wistfully.

Draco frowned at her. "Behave yourself."

Narcissa merely lifted an eyebrow, unwilling to dignify anything so ridiculous with a response.

"At least for now," he amended.

She sniffed delicately and allowed her son to leave with his dignity intact.

"These children need to be reminded to whom they speak," Persia observed, waving politely to her daughter.

Narcissa hummed in agreement. She wondered if her son would speak to her like a child after she eviscerated Lucius on the battlefield. Just the idea made her giddy. With a secret smile, Narcissa returned her attention to the activity on the training grounds.

The door was smaller. In fact, it looked the same as the portal to Hermione's bedroom, fitting in seamlessly with the rest of the faded green doors of the dungeon hallway. Blaise had sputtered in surprise when Hermione had announced that the Room of Requirement could be found just three doors down from where he and Theo slept. The original location of the Room was being guarded assiduously now that Kingsley had forbidden Hermione from completing her portion of their project, and Hogwarts Castle had once again been very understanding when Hermione explained her need.

As much as she liked to brush it off, she recognized that even Dumbledore may not have had the same deep connection with the old pile of bricks. Hermione had rebuilt the castle brick by brick with her wand, and sometimes her own bare, bloody hands. Her magic had gone wild enough times that she had lost count, and the stone and mortar had absorbed her pain and remained strong. Perhaps it had felt the depth of her anguish over the years and had reached out to help heal her.

What utter rubbish.

Shaking her head, Hermione focused on the door in front of her. Pansy, Persia, Narcissa, and Ginny were waiting inside, ready to help Hermione complete her transformation ritual.

"Keep your dragon form clear in your mind," Draco said quietly from beside her. "Don't start working the magic until you're ready."

He was trying to look confident, but Hermione could see the strain around his eyes. The first and second finger of his wand hand were tapping relentlessly against his thigh.

"Remember to speak the incantation clearly."

It had been decided that he would not be one of the four included in her ritual. The legally sanctioned dragon transformations of Pansy, George, Luna, and Kingsley were being held the next day. They were to be public, with great fanfare, and Draco had been ordered to participate in the rituals of Pansy, George, and Kingsley. Despite his protestations to the contrary, it was obvious that performing three consecutive feats of magic would be hard enough without lending his strength to Hermione's as well.

When that battle had been won, they had argued over his presence during the ritual. He had been slowly wearing Hermione down until Pansy had bluntly pointed out that he would merely be a distraction. Besides, she reasoned, if the magic went wild - as it was proven to do around Hermione - fewer people involved would mean fewer deaths. There was a general consensus on her logic. Draco had grimly conceded.

"Don't worry about anyone else in the ritual; they can handle themselves."

There was something endearing about a nervous Draco. Hermione wanted to tell him that she was ready, that she had no fear, but instead she stopped his next words with her lips. He paused in surprise for a moment before wrapping her up in his arms.

It had been eleven days since she had last felt the rush of feeling through her limbs, the crashing heart, the immediate sense of being safe. Eleven days of battle tactics, training, and Portkeying civilians out of Hogwarts. Eleven days of secretly meditating in the darkest hours of the night. Eleven days of long glances, small touches, and an empty bed.

She combed her fingers through his hair. Nothing had ever been softer. He was nibbling on her lips, his kisses gentle and unhurried. This wasn't goodbye. Hermione was confident she could complete the ritual, but it was possible she would get pulled apart by the magic despite all her preparations. If the last decade had taught her anything, it was that every moment mattered. So she reveled in that moment. She enjoyed the way his body pressed against hers, the way his fingers gently gripping her face, and the flavor of his mouth.

He grunted in protest when she pulled away.

"I have to go." She saw the muscle in his jaw tick. "Get some sleep and I'll see you in the morning."

He moved as if to touch her or pull her close again, but he slid his hands into his pockets instead.

"Goodnight, Granger."

With a short nod, he spun on his heel and walked away. She watched out of the corner of her eye until he disappeared into his room before reaching for the door knob. The door swung open as she approached. Unwilling to look back the way Draco had gone, Hermione instead allowed herself a moment's foolishness and petted the door frame as she passed.

"Thank you," she whispered. The hinges let out a rusty chuckle as they swung shut behind her.

It was sunset on the Albanian mountain. The air was still somewhat warm, a stiff breeze ruffling through Hermione's hair. The sun was partially hidden behind the towering trees, casting long shadows across the clearing. Unlike the other women present, Hermione had once again failed to dress appropriately for the mountain temperatures.

All that planning and you forgot your jumper, she chided herself.

The white gazebo snared her gaze as she passed. Just the sight of it caused her heart to stutter, but now was not the time for pleasant reminiscing. She straightened her spine and purposefully looked away before joining the other four women in the circle.

"Ready?" Hermione asked Ginny as she approached.

The woman huffed a laugh. "I should be asking you that question."

Ginny had been chosen to take Draco's place in the circle when it became obvious he wouldn't be able to participate. She had been given plenty of time to understand her part in the ritual, and she was powerful enough to execute the necessary magic. Despite her utter confidence in Ginny, it was still difficult for Hermione to ask her friend to make such a sacrifice, and to risk her life in such a way.

"You shouldn't be here," Hermione offered for the last time. "Lily is leaving in the morning. You should be with your family."

Ginny's face fell. She looked away and squinted her eyes.

"She's asleep." Her brown eyes returned to Hermione's face, bright with tears. "Besides, it's better to be here than crying on her bedroom floor."

Hermione embraced her friend briefly. Ginny was brushing a tear from her cheek when Pansy approached.

"Still upset that you don't get to be a dragon?" Pansy sneered.

"Fuck off." Ginny glared at the other woman. "I still haven't forgotten that you tried to sell my husband to Voldemort to save your own skin."

"Too bad nobody listened." Pansy tossed her hair. "The Dark Lord may have had his issues, but at least he was marginally sane."

"Are you saying Voldemort should be alive?" Ginny screeched. "That he would somehow be better than Bellatrix?"

"I don't have time to discuss the statistics involved in that query, nor the patience to try and explain them to someone like you," Pansy smirked, studying her nails.

Ginny turned a lovely shade of maroon.

"Be nice," Hermione admonished them both.

The both turned to Hermione and spoke at the same time, "Where's the fun in that?" The dual outburst was followed by synchronized glares at each other.

"Pansy, stop antagonizing the Gryffindors." Persia sighed while Narcissa delicately rolled her eyes. "Let's get started, shall we? It's getting cold."

Hermione watched the last minute preparations, feeling removed from what was going on around her. Then it was her turn. Cutting her hand with her wand barely caused her to flinch. A long drop of scarlet blood slid from her palm and landed in the dirt. Realizing her detached state of mind might become dangerous, Hermione blinked rapidly and tried to ground herself in the measured motions of the rite.

The shoes went first, followed by her clothes. Hermione shivered as she stood in nothing but her brassiere and knickers, the quickly dropping temperature making her skin pebble. She walked the perimeter of the carved circle, squeezing drops of blood from her lacerated hand onto the ground before catching some of the precious fluid in a bowl. Pansy took the bowl from her hands and painted runes on Hermione's skin as Narcissa, Ginny, and Persia looked on.

Narcissa handed her a vial of Fangjuice potion with a nod. It was soon warming her belly - though not the rest of her body - and making her head spin. The wet runes turned cold as a light breeze tickled her skin.

Couldn't have made it a bit warmer? She groused silently at the Room as she felt her fingers and toes go cold. A sudden gale of icy wind slammed into her. No need to get cheeky, you daft pile of bricks.

"Try not to freak out and kill us all, yeah?" Pansy had laughter in her eyes as she spoke, drawing the last blood symbol on Hermione's forehead.

"If I do lose my head, I'm killing you first."

Pansy smirked. "I expect nothing less."

When had Pansy Parkinson become a friend? Hermione looked over at Narcissa and Persia, talking quietly with Ginny near the circle. She knew Theo, Blaise and Draco were upset about not being present at such a critical time, and she missed their presence. It had been just over a month, and yet these people, who had been little more than strangers before, were like family.

Draco was another matter. Not like family. A friend, to be sure and maybe more. It warranted further investigation, she decided, but perhaps at a later time when she wasn't about to attempt great feats of magic.

"Ready?" Ginny brushed her fingers over Hermione's shoulder briefly, trying to comfort her friend without disturbing the runes.

Hermione smiled at her friend. "Ready."

The four women took their places around the circle. They began weaving their wands in the air, creating intricate patterns and speaking magical words. The perimeter of the circle lit up with bright light, sealing the magic inside. A strong wind picked up as the muttered incantations turned into rhythmic chanting. Hermione closed her eyes and reached out with her subconscious, searching for the boundaries of the magic.

She felt the moment the potion settled. The familiar feeling of warmth spread from her belly to the tips of her fingers and toes. There were bursts of light behind her eyelids and the ground felt like it was spinning. She opened her eyes to behold the energy of the circle dancing around her in swirls and darts of pure magic. Much of the magic was centered around each of the four women, for they acted like an anchor - keeping the magic from disappearing into thin air - but the magic itself came from her own blood, sprinkled on the earth.

Hermione aimed her wand at a particular strand and pulled, only to have it slide just out of reach. Another did the same, and then another. What was she doing wrong? This part of the ritual was supposed to be easy compared to what followed. For the first time, Hermione felt worried. More magic was being summoned every minute, and Hermione was struggling to keep up.

The chanting picked up in tempo. There was pressure building in her head as the power of the summoning intensified. She had to get this magic under control, and quickly. A deep breath helped clear her escalating anxiety.

With renewed determination, Hermine focused on the magical filaments. One by one, she plucked at them. This time, they responded, and she began weaving them together into a web of light. The runes on her skin started to burn as she worked, pulsing with her blood and aiding her as she grasped the slippery magic and bent it to her will.

The magic was beating at her. It clamped down on her psyche like a vice, squeezing until she wanted to scream under the strain. Through eyes streaming with tears, Hermione watched as the last of the magic snapped together, forming a blanket of tightly woven magical threads hovering over her head. She craned her head to take in the sight of it before closing her eyes again. It was time.

"Trabeadraki Formus."

The magical blanket dropped over her, and suddenly she was suffocating. It was as if she had fallen into quicksand, her eyes and lips glued shut. An instant of panic gripped her, and she thrashed around, struggling to breathe, her limbs heavy and unresponsive She could almost feel the cold grit against her skin, seeping through her clothes.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She had expected pain, for Draco had described the experience as a feeling of being pulled apart limb from limb. Pain she could handle; this was unendurable. For years, Hermione had felt as if she were drowning in fear and rage. Now she was truly being smothered by thick, wet magic which seemed determined to snuff out her life.

It isn't real. Get it together.

She went still, allowing her heart to slow. This was the moment she had to decide whether she was going to live or die. Every instinct screamed to fight back, to push against the power holding her in thrall. Fighting wouldn't work. Freedom would require letting go. Holding the image of bright blue scales and sharp teeth in her mind, she opened her mouth and sucked the magic into her body.

It slid down her throat, hitting her belly like a hammer. She jerked uncontrollably as the cold magic sliced into her limbs, freezing her very blood. It was over. She had been unworthy. She knew it. Everyone knew it. Her magic was unstable, her will damaged beyond repair. The spell had been too much for her, and now she was dying. Ice crept over her slowing heart, and she drifted away.

Harry was nearly asleep when Lily crept into his room. The single candle turned her hair to gold and glinted in her big eyes. She came to his bedside and merely stood, waiting for his invitation. He turned himself on his side with great effort, so he could face his daughter and brush the wispy blonde hair from her eyes.

"I'm glad you came to see me."

The words had her crawling on top of him, settling down just under his chin.

"I don't want to sleep in my bed by myself," she explained.

"Understandable." Harry swept his hand over her temple.

"Sometimes I sleep with Mummy. She's usually crying," Lily said sagely.

Harry winced. He knew his wife was grieving the upcoming departure of their daughter but had assumed Lily was unaware.

"It's nice of you to keep Mummy company when she's sad. She likes to act strong, but she needs comfort as much as you and me."

"She doesn't want me to leave, but Mummy says it's safer that way."

"You'll be very safe with Andromeda and Teddy."

"I know." She shrugged and poked at his shirtfront with her tiny fingers. "But I'll miss you."

Harry had once taken multiple wood fragments to his torso when he was too near a small house as it exploded from a very powerful bombarda hex. This was worse.

The one thing Harry never intended to do was leave his daughter an orphan, but he was dying, and Ginny refused to leave with the others. His wife was a powerful witch with a will to match, but she was in just as much danger as anyone on a battlefield. This was going to end in blood and lots of it.

Harry squeezed her. "You know me and Mummy love you more than anything?"

She nodded. "I love you, too."

"And no matter what happens, we will always love you." Despite his efforts to remain casual, a tear leaked from his bad eye.

"Don't be sad, Daddy."

Her fingers covered his and she tilted her head up to look at him. Another tear. Harry smiled as best he could.

"Oh, I'm not sad, Lily Flower."

"Yes, you are," she countered with her solemn blue eyes watching his. "You're sad because we won't see each other again."

He choked. It was in moments like this that he was reminded of the Luna he used to know. It was in the way her big blue eyes saw to the heart of every situation, and understood more than she should. They could never hide anything from her.

Taking a shaking breath, he replied, "You're right, love. I'm very sorry about that."

I'm sorry I have to go.

"But I'll see you on the other side of the Veil," she said confidently. "You'll be waiting for me? And for Mummy?"

It was what they had told her for years every time she lost someone important to her. He was sure this conversation was going to kill him before the battlefield had a chance.

"For as long as it takes to be together again."

I wish I could watch you grow.

She considered this for a moment. "I'll be sad not to see you every day."

"It's okay to be sad. But don't forget to be happy as well. There are lots of things out there to make you happy."

You've made my life better.

"Okay, Daddy."

She snuggled under his chin, and he drew in the scent of her, praying that he could take it with him to the other side. This little girl had come to them by chance, but it had taken only moments for Harry to determine that she belonged to them. He was thankful for every moment he was allowed to be a husband and father, and would do his best not to envy the time he would lose.

He needed to fight. Not just to prove that he could be useful again, and not just because he was Harry Potter. The glass vial of poison blinked in the candlelight from his bedside table. He needed to fight because, if he was going to be ripped away from his family, he wanted it to mean something. Death was coming for him, but the fucking bastard would have to pull Harry down kicking and screaming.

A/N: Thanks for your patience guys! Reviews are always appreciated!