A/N: You guys are awesome. I love all of you. I am also struggling to keep my eyes open. Hope you like it!

Chapter Nineteen: To Argue with a Dragon

June 2004

Lestrange Mansion

Pansy had never like heights, but had found a small piece of solitude among the turrets of Lestrange Mansion. The tower was very high up, but the tall stones surrounding the top made her feel safe enough to wander on bad days. It was also the only place in the castle where she could be alone, the only place where she couldn't hear the screams coming from the basement. She was walking along her tower, reading a book, when Alecto Carrow found her.

The sight of the woman drove fear straight through her heart. She quickly stuffed the book behind her skirt.

"What are you hiding?"

Alecto leaned casually against the stone chimney, a bright red apple in her hand. She took a bite and chewed idly as Pansy tried not to squirm under her gaze.

"It's a book." Pansy knew the best lies were rooted in truth.

"Show me." Bite. Chew.

It took less than a moment for Pansy to calculate the risk of telling the truth. There was punishment coming either way, but the backlash from insubordination was far less painful than for treason. With a great heave, Pansy sent the heavy tome over the edge of the building, where it zoomed through the air towards her bedroom.

"That was stupid," Alecto chuckled, exulting in her opportunity to punish someone.

"It seemed like the best decision," Pansy returned. "That book is a first edition. I couldn't have your filthy fingers on something of such great value."

The woman still looked amused, but her eyes had gone hard like marbles. A flick of Alecto's wickedly sharp wand and the stones beneath her had disappeared, and Pansy was following the path of her book, plummeting towards the earth. Just before she hit the dirt, an arresto slowed her progress. Pansy thumped against the ground with a grunt, her heart racing impossibly fast. She huddled into a tight ball, shaking uncontrollably, unable to move. From far above, she could hear laughter.

"Don't be such a weakling," Alecto called down, still laughing. "It was only a bit of fun."

There was a small group gathered near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They were the last of the civilians leaving for Sweden, milling about as they waited for the Portkey to activate. The magical portal was the rusted metal skeleton of a Muggle motor vehicle. It was sunk into the ground as if it had at one point been sentient, breathed its last breath and collapsed in that very spot, only to be embraced by the dirt around it. Narcissa wondered how such an object had come to be at Hogwarts, and how it had landed in such an isolated spot, with no roads. If she didn't know better, Narcissa would have thought it had been flown there.

Narcissa wasn't sure why she had ventured out of bed at such a wretched hour. Goodbyes had never been comfortable for her, but she felt the need to make the effort. The last time she had watched her sister leave, it had been twenty years before they spoke again. This time, there was a real possibility that they would never exchange another word again. Narcissa stood apart and watched as Andromeda steered her grandson toward Ginerva Potter and her daughter. The two children took shelter in each other immediately, winding their hands together and standing shoulder to shoulder.

With a whispered word, Andromeda left her place with the Potters and approached, a wan smile on her face.

"Come to see us off?"

"I wished for a proper goodbye this time."

Narcissa silently recoiled from her own words, which sounded whiny and pleading. She couldn't shake the memory of Andromeda's cloak slipping around a door as she fled in the dead of night, telling no one of her plans. It was the last she had seen of her sister until they met face to face again at Sunday Dinner, not a month past.

Andromeda's face lost all amusement.

"Yes," she said. "I suppose you deserve that."

They stood awkwardly for a moment, neither of them speaking.

"I'm sorry, Cissa," Andromeda said solemnly. "I should have protected you. My baby sister."

She reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Narcissa's forehead. "I was so overwhelmed by my feelings for Ted that I didn't give a thought to taking you with me."

Narcissa smoothed her features, though her heart was racing and her eyes tingled with unshed tears.

"You were never like them," Andromeda continued. "Father was insane, Mother was a slave, and Bella was always a bit mad. Too ready to do violence. But you were different. I should have tried to convince you to come with me."

Narcissa knew that nothing Andromeda could have done would have swayed her. By the time her older sister had been burned off the family tapestry in shame, Narcissa had already been enamored of Lucius. The somewhat tiresome rhetoric she had heard her entire life from her mother had suddenly sounded glorious on the tongue of a man she admired.

Narcissa casually swiped a tear from the corner of her eye, hoping it appeared as if she were pushing her hair away. This conversation was entirely inappropriate for a public venue.

"Thank you, Ana," she replied stiffly, realizing she probably sounded ungrateful.

Andromeda smiled at her knowingly. "If you're going to have Gryffindors in your family, you're going to have to learn to show more of yourself. Goodbye, Cissa."

"Goodbye."

Andromeda's advice was laughable, though she was right on one score: it did indeed appear as though Narcissa would shortly be intimately familiar with Gryffindors. Her son was deeply entangled with Hermione Granger and had been for longer than he was willing to admit. Blaise and Theo would never part, but Pansy was another matter. No matter how much she denied her feelings for Neville Longbottom, Pansy was deeply invested.

Neville was struggling with his own goodbyes. Augusta Longbottom was trying her best to appear robust and cheerful in the face of what was essentially an eviction. Neville's parents absently patted his hand before wandering towards the automobile, but his frail-looking grandmother was bowed with remorse and fear. From what Narcissa remembered of the woman, she was a force to be reckoned with, but the years had taken their toll.

Narcissa witnessed Pansy wrap her arms around Neville Longbottom's waist from behind as he shuddered with pain. The man turned and buried his face into her shoulder, nearly engulfing the much smaller woman in his embrace. It was strange to watch Pansy, who hated nearly all physical contact, wind herself around a man in comfort.

The small group went entirely still when Luna Lovegood appeared through the trees.

"I just want to say goodbye," she announced, her hands splayed in surrender.

"To whom?" Andromeda asked neutrally.

Luna didn't answer but held the older woman's eyes in a challenge as she passed on her way towards Ginerva Potter and her daughter. The two women watched each other as Lovegood approached, Ginerva nearly vibrating with readiness. Her hands tightened on her daughter's shoulders, drawing her closer.

"What could you possibly have to say?" Ginerva demanded.

"I don't wish to speak to you." Luna crouched down. "I want to speak to the child."

"To me?" Lily looked at the woman with wide eyes.

Seeing them face to face was a revelation for Narcissa. How had she not seen it before?

"I wanted to wish you well on your journey." Luna's hand was idly caressing the grass at her feet.

"Why?" Lily asked bluntly.

Luna cocked her head like a bird. "I gave birth to you."

Ginerva hissed and clutched at Lily's shoulders, but Lovegood plowed on.

"Do you know what that means?"

Lily studied the woman calmly. "It means I was in your tummy."

Narcissa could guess from the surprise on Ginerva's face that Lily had not been privy to the truth of her birth.

"That's right." Lovegood reached out with a single finger and caressed Lily's cheek. "You are so much like me."

Lily moved her head away, a spark of fear in her eyes.

"I created you with my body. We are connected."

Narcissa found herself moving forward slowly, her wand tight in her hand, and saw Andromeda and Neville doing the same.

"I am your mother," Lovegood stated with a small smile.

Lily narrowed her eyes.

"You're not my Mummy," she accused. "I don't like you."

Luna recoiled as if slapped. With a growl, Ginerva stepped in front of her daughter.

"I'm not like you!" the little girl cried. "Leave me alone!"

"She's my daughter,"Ginerva spat. "You're the one who let her go."

Luna Lovegood was once again stoic, her face an expressionless mask. She rose from her crouching position slowly.

"I suppose I did," she said carelessly. With a shrug, she turned and walked away. "It was the best decision I ever made," she called over her shoulder, her voice cracking slightly at the end.

They let out a collective breath as Lovegood disappeared through the trees. It wasn't hard to understand why a woman would take this last opportunity to try and connect with her lost child. A normal woman, anyway. Why Lovegood would have any interest in the little girl was a complete mystery. Perhaps she felt more than they knew.

"It's time," Andromeda stated, breaking the tension.

The group separated, those leaving crowded around the rusted vehicle, those staying moving a distance away. There were a few sniffles, and many despairing looks exchanged. The portkey lit up a moment later, and they were all yanked away. Hopefully they were being taken to safety, but one could never tell. Narcissa would be shocked to learn that Bellatrix had no knowledge of the refugees hiding out in Sweden. If they lost this war, the small settlements of Order sympathizers would be decimated in no time.

Ginerva Potter stood alone, distraught but unbending. The girl had survived much in her life, but Narcissa wondered if she would be able to withstand the loss of her husband and child. Harry Potter's death would injure the woman for a time, for in Narcissa's opinion, a husband was hardly worth grieving over, but the pain wouldn't last forever. However, being separated from her daughter, and neither of them safe, might just break her. That kind of pain was worse than cruciatus, far worse than any curse. It was a deep well carved into your heart that never fully healed until they were back in your arms.

"You could follow your daughter," Narcissa offered, already knowing her answer. "If you truly wished it."

Ginerva speared her with a furious glare. "I will not leave my husband to die alone."

"He will hardly be alone." But he would die, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Ginerva twirled her wand in the air, her movements casual though tears were crawling down her face, and the Muggle contraption melted into the dirt like butter in a pan. The seventh child. It was a powerful thing in the magical world.

"If I don't fight, and we lose, I will always wonder if I missed the chance to make a better life for my daughter." Her eyes turned distant. "If I should die, she'll have 'Dromeda. In a few years, she'll hardly remember me."

The woman closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She may have been raised in deplorable circumstances by people too stupid to protect her, but her blood ran true. The straightness of her spine spoke of a strength forged through a lifetime of war.

Narcissa lifted her chin. "Then we can't lose."

"Can't we?" Ginerva chuckled without humor.

"If we lose, you will be separated from your child forever. She will grow up as an orphan, though she will have a loving home."

Narcissa paused, studying the young woman closely. "There is no other option; we will grind the enemy to dust."

A feral grin lit her face. "Damn fucking right."

The mid-morning sun was like a warm blanket, soaking into her skin and driving away the autumn chill. Nothing could keep away the cold feeling in her heart. It was time for her to become a dragon, and though she craved the transformation, she also feared it. No matter how much she had prepared for this moment, any small misstep could mean failure.

Neville stood behind her, his hulking presence shoring up her reserves. Just that morning, she had held him up as he cried quietly into her shoulder. In Pansy's world, such things never happened in public. Pansy's first instinct had been to sneer and snap at him to hold it together, as she would have done for Draco or Theo or Blaise. But Neville was a different breed. He needed different things. The physical contact had been excruciating until he had looked into her eyes with his forehead pressed against hers and given her that lopsided smile. Then it had felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Now he was her pillar of strength. She had been afraid that he would pet her, or try to hold her in her anxiety, but he merely stood by and waited. It was as if he knew better than to touch her, or make reassuring comments. Her facade was fragile, for the fear was pumping through her body like lightning, and a single touch might be enough to break her. Pansy took a moment to marvel at how well they knew each other after such a short time. Her gratitude knew no bounds, and she reached back to squeeze his arm before settling back into her unruffled pose.

Pansy had kept an exact distance between herself and Neville. It had been pleasant, and mildly intimate, but never more than she could handle. Never so close that she could not walk away at the end. It had been harder than she thought, with his utter willingness to give her everything of himself. He had been subject to many small wounds from her sharp edges, but instead of pulling away, he simply smiled ruefully, kissed her softly, and allowed her the time and space she needed. There had never before been a man like Neville Longbottom, and Pansy was terrified that she was in far deeper than even she knew.

The edge of the practice pitch was sparsely populated. It was outside the bounds of the protective shield that had been erected to protect the spectators seated in the stands above. Pansy still marveled at the sheer stupidity. Building morale was one thing, but endangering the lives of over half of the Order's forces was a foolhardy move, one mostly fueled by a single man's hubris. The Minister himself stood to one side, surrounded by a small contingent of cronies as the first circle was prepared.

The stands were fuller than Pansy had expected. Even as the civilians left Hogwarts, small groups of fighting witches and wizards had been added to the ranks, until they numbered nearly two hundred. A pitifully small number, really. Bellatrix commanded nearly a thousand troops, though they were conscripts and mostly motivated by fear. The Legion also had the Black Dragon, and so far the Order only had Draco. Hermione couldn't confirm her dragon status, and there was no guarantee any of the other candidates would survive. George Weasley was obviously powerful and incredibly smart, but Pansy had a feeling the man would botch the ritual and end up a pile of ashes.

It seemed that most of the audience agreed, for they held their collective breath as George appeared at the edge of the pitch. He was pale, his freckles standing out against his skin like a pox. Pansy could feel the tension roiling off Hermione, Neville, and Ron. Draco was nonchalant but kept his wand ready. Together, they watched as the half-naked and rune-covered twin doubled over in the circle, vomited up the contents of his stomach and collapsed in a heap. There was a general outcry as he clutched his stomach and again spewed into the sand.

Hermione let out a breath and slumped in relief.

"That worked nicely," she muttered.

Pansy swung around to face her, utterly delighted. "You poisoned him?"

"What?" Hermione cried, red flags of shame adorning her cheeks. "Of course not!"

"You poisoned my brother?" the younger Weasley yelped, far less amused.

"Calm down," Hermione hissed. "It wasn't poison. It was a simple emetic."

Another round of vomit.

"There can't possibly be that much in his stomach," Blaise muttered as he and Theo joined them from their place in the circle. They were to have been two of Weasley's sentinels, helping fortify the magic for his use. Both looked relieved to have escaped the duty.

"I thought you were going to prepare him for this?" Theo raised an eyebrow at Hermione.

"I did! He was sober this morning, but the detoxification had taken too great a toll on his body," she sighed. "I had to do something drastic."

"So you poisoned him?" Weasley was aghast.

"You should have left him alone," Draco offered. "He seemed somewhat capable even drugged."

"What?" she spun around to glare at him with accusing eyes. "We decided weeks ago that he couldn't possibly complete the ritual without killing himself or everyone around him."

Draco squinted at her. "Do you even remember that conversation? I said it was a bad idea, not that he couldn't do it."

"We could have used another dragon," Pansy sighed wistfully. "Since you may or may not have succeeded."

Hermione let out a small scream of frustration. "It doesn't matter! It's all for the best."

"Unless you kill him anyway with your meddling," Draco muttered.

"Kill him?" Weasley gulped.

"I think it was very well done," Pansy interjected. "It's not a poison, so it's not really against the law, and the manner of his death will leave little suspicion because he's already a drunk. I'm proud of you, little Gryffindor."

Weasley went pale.

"It won't kill him!" Hermione shrieked.

There was general silence in response to her statement which communicated all of their doubts. Pansy laughed at her.

"Don't look at me like that!" Hermione snapped. "He'll be fine. The dosage was perfect!"

"You look guilty, dear" Narcissa interjected quietly, coming up from behind them. "Clear your expression; your Minister is watching."

Kingsley Shacklebolt was indeed looking their direction as Pomfrey levitated George off the field, his face a mask of calm. There was rage vibrating under that pleasant surface. He knew Hermione had interfered.

"George will be fine," she said under her breath, her eyes following her friend.

Theo and Blaise returned to the field several minutes later, joined by Minerva McGonagall and Arthur Weasley, all of whom would stand as sentinels for Luna Lovegood. She completed the ritual with little apparent effort, appearing to suffer neither hardship nor pain. Pansy watched as the woman flawlessly transformed into a massive beast the color of clotted blood. She was a Hungarian Horntail, her wingspan casting a deep shadow over the pitch. Her eyes were a flat yellow, with no spark of humanity.

The dragon craned its neck, speared its nose into the sky and let loose a screech that rattled the trees. It was a sound of pure power, raw and without artifice. Her tail swept across the grass, causing Theo to leap out of its path, just missing the spikes that dug deep furrows in the earth. Fear twisted deep in Pansy's gut. It was more than the typical reaction of prey meeting predator. They had created a monster, and everyone knew it.

"That was a mistake," Hermione whispered.

There was silence amongst the spectators. No applause. The excited feeling that had charged the group had gone cold at the sight of Luna Lovegood in dragon form. Pansy had the sudden urge to retreat, her human instincts kicking up a dust storm of fear. The red beast swung around to face the group at the edge of the sand. They had somehow clustered together in a defensive position without realizing it. Pansy heard Hermione gasp as those dead eyes regarded her.

Run. Run far away.

With a gust of warm air, Lovegood seamlessly returned to her human form and stood for a moment, her eyes still locked on Hermione. There was a question in that gaze. Hermione stood, frozen for a moment, before looking away, her eyes shining with unshed tears. All expression melted from Luna's face, her human eyes turning as dead as her Dragon's, and she turned and wandered to the edge of the pitch alone, muttering to herself.

"Hopefully, she's not off to burn a village to the ground," Weasley commented.

Pansy thought there might be a good chance the crazy beast was on her way to do that very thing.

"She's a sentinel in Shacklebolt's ritual," Hermione commented unsteadily. "She won't go far."

Draco turned to Pansy. "Your turn."

Her heart kicked up.

"Pansy, dear."

Persia Parkinson stood at the stairs leading into the stands, just inside the magical protections. She was once again in the clothes she had brought from their previous life, the dark silk unwrinkled and perfectly tailored. Her back was straight and tall, like an iron rod. The image harkened back to Pansy's first day of school when her mother had taken her to the Hogwarts Express. Entirely glamourous and unmoved, Persia Parkinson had inspired her daughter to conquer her emotions and board the train with her chin held high. Pansy pushed her shoulders back and felt a bit of fear subside.

"Quite a vulgar display," Persia said, lips pursed. "I expect you to make a better showing."

"Of course, Mother," Pansy replied stiffly. "Aren't you going to wish me luck?"

Persia sniffed and looked down her nose at her daughter. "Luck is for the unprepared."

Nothing else needed to be said. The two women went their separate ways, both feeling better about the impending ritual. Neville waited for her, hands on hips.

"What the hell was that?" he blurted.

"She was giving me her blessing," Pansy answered.

"That's not what it sounded like," he growled, disbelieving.

Pansy laughed. "Don't worry your little Gryffindor head."

Neville grumbled, but looked at Pansy appraisingly, probably seeing the way her shoulders relaxed and a small smile played around her mouth.

"A battlefield is no place for sentimentality." Draco had his arms crossed, his eyes following Hermione as she went about her duties as sentinel.

And there was no doubt that this was a battlefield, not only for Pansy but for the people who had volunteered to help contain the magic of the circle. Hermione was more than capable of doing her part in Pansy's ritual, but she could still see the anxiety in Draco. She would have been insulted by his lack of faith in her abilities if she hadn't been so fascinated by the change in his behavior.

Something had happened between them. It wasn't obvious, but Pansy could tell. They had come to the Quidditch pitch together, but that alone wasn't enough for speculation. Draco had kept near Hermione all morning and afternoon, close but not so close as to arouse interest. He didn't touch her more than usual, or stare into her eyes or smile with a newfound secret. The difference was in the way he very clearly watched her, staking his claim with his eyes and his wide stance. It was blatant in the most subtle way possible.

"Emotions can be weakness at such times," he continued.

"And not everything needs to be spoken aloud," Pansy murmured. She pressed a small kiss to Neville's chin, aware that the entirety of the Order of the Phoenix was watching, before backing away.

"Some things should be said," he called to her.

"Later," she called back, her heart racing.

She turned away quickly and joined the four people waiting to help her with her transformation. Hermione smiled at her encouragingly, holding a bowl in one hand. Narcissa held Pansy's clothes as she disrobed. Cho Chang was close by, waiting impatiently with her wand swinging in her remaining hand. The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt watched with glittering eyes as Pansy cut her own skin and filled the bowl with blood.

Pansy tried to stand still as Hermione drew blood runes on her skin, the liquid cooling quickly.

"Good thing you're not shy." Hermione smiled at her.

In fact, Pansy was mortified. A woman of her stature would never show as much skin as this. Even hiking up her skirt at Hogwarts had barely allowed her knees to show. Now she stood in a singlet and shorts that just covered her fat ass, with hundreds of people looking on as every bare inch of skin was painted with her own blood. Over Hermione's head, she met Neville's eyes. He was watching her with pride and no small amount of possessive approval, and Pansy felt her pride swell.

"Any advice?" she asked the woman in front of her.

Hermione paused thoughtfully. "Let it happen."

"I'm pretty sure some small amount of effort is required for this ritual," Pansy sniped, rolling her eyes. "If you're not going to be useful, then be silent."

"Pansy," Narcissa admonished.

"That's not what I mean," Hermione chuckled, her eyes on the blood runes. "There's a moment when the magic tries to possess you - it's trying to make you into something new, but that's not what it feels like. It feels like you're dying. We've spent so long fighting for every breath." She shook her head ruefully. "It's difficult to just . . . let go."

"Is that what happened to you?" Pansy felt her breath hitch.

The whole thing had been terrifying, and it had carved a notch in the foundation of Pansy's confidence. All of the preparations up to that point had been so easy for her, that Pansy had expected her transformation to be as smooth and simple as applying her favorite cream blush. She had been eager for it. Watching Hermione Granger thrash and bend against the magic had set a deep well of fear into Pansy that she couldn't shake.

"Yes." Hermione went pale and didn't elaborate, but she pasted a smile on her face. "So just relax."

"I was fine until just now," Pansy snapped at her. "You are the worst at pep talks."

"Sorry," Hermione winced. "You'll do fine."

"No time like the present," Narcissa offered.

The four sentinels took their places at the cardinal directions, ready to channel and magnify the magic. The chanting was soothing, and Pansy allowed herself to fall into the rhythm. It took no time at all to weave the magic strands together. They were beautiful and glittering in the sunlight. Pansy felt some of her confidence return. She was ready; she had prepared for this very moment for years, and she would be a dragon. No one would ever be able to hurt her again.

Almost the next instant, she was proven wrong. She was frozen, her limbs captured in a web of power so intense it was paralyzing. When she attempted to move, to fight, the pressure increased until she struggled to take a full breath. Pansy gathered her will and pushed back against it, only to feel the magic lifted her up, suspending her above the circle. Then higher. Higher. Higher.

Pansy was shrieking silently, her voice kept at bay by the power she fought so viciously. When felt as though her toes should be brushing the clouds, she was suddenly dropped. A scream of terror was finally ripped from her throat, abject fear wrapping around her like tentacles. Death was imminent. She would find her end in a hundred unidentifiable pieces, she was certain, except she never hit the ground, for it was gone altogether. The Quidditch pitch had been replaced by a black void into which she plummeted without end.

Clarity struck her like lightning. Let it happen, Hermione had told her. Let it happen. This is the fear you must overcome, this is the test. You must let go, you stupid girl. She took a deep breath, opened her arms and embraced the death she was certain was coming for her.

Sunlight pierced her eyes; the circle returned to her consciousness, and the earth rushed up to meet her. She landed with a small thump; her nose pressed into the ground. A great wave of relief passed through her. It was over. A chuckle escaped her lips a moment before all of her bones broke. She screamed as her limbs lengthened and her skin hardened. The cry turned into a roar and then the pain was gone.

Power. Heat. Purple scales and black, shimmering wings. Claws and teeth. It was just as she remembered from her meditations only this was real and vibrant and powerful. A tight shiver ran down her spine, causing her tail to rattle. When she opened her mouth on a yawn of surprise, two long fangs snapped out, dripping with venom. Those could be quite useful. She stretched her wings and arched her back, feeling the power settle into her very bones.

Oh yes. She could get used to this.

Hermione was laughing hysterically, clutching at her side and grabbing Draco for support. He looked less amused.

"I told you," she gasped. "I told you so!"

Draco shook his head, his face a mask of displeasure, but his eyes were sparkling. Pansy wanted to demand to know what was so funny, but all that came out was a cough of indignation.

"You owe me ten galleons," Theo murmured to Blaise.

The sounds coming from the stands drew her attention. She slid around, tasting the air, the frantic movement of the humans piquing a deep interest in her dragon brain.

Prey.

Hunger gripped her belly. That one. Just there. It was tiny, but it had hair that looked like spun sugar. It would be so easy. Pansy revelled in the strength of her body and the breadth of her wingspan. She doubted she could actually fit a human in her mouth, but she could surely stun quite a few with her venom before they had a chance to run away. And they really were making far too much noise.

No, she decided, it probably wasn't worth the ruckus it would cause. Wounding several of the already sparse Order members seemed counterproductive to her long-goals. Besides, Hermione would be quite put out. Pansy took a moment to wonder how much of her mind had been possessed by the Dragon. It was very difficult to tell.

Her dragon instincts nudged her. Just a bite, it whispered.

A new scent washed over her. Pansy lowered her head to get a better whiff, her tongue darting out to taste the air. Peat moss, tea leaves, eucalyptus from the liniment he used on his cracked fingers, and the scent of his skin. Neville. It was all so achingly familiar, now amplified a hundredfold. Something in her ribcage shivered with recognition, and she heard herself whine.

He would be delicious.

Rearing back, Pansy took a firm grip on herself.

Take it easy, you ravenous bitch, she commanded. Save it for the battlefield.

Neville approached slowly, his eyes shining with appreciation. She was gripped with a strong desire to lay down and show her belly. With a shake of her massive head, Pansy conquered the urge, only to find herself sliding under his hand, her wings tucked tight against her back. His calloused fingers trailed along her scales reverently, making her muscles tighten in appreciation. If this one wasn't food, it was obviously a mate. The dragon logic made perfect sense, but simultaneously sent her human brain into a panic.

"Beautiful," Neville murmured.

"Enough showing off," Draco interrupted.

Pansy hissed at him and allowed her tail to vibrate with displeasure.

"Yeah, yeah," Theo complained, rolling his eyes. "You're scary. Now move off the pitch."

With one last hiss, Pansy closed her eyes and allowed her mind to release the magic. It slid from her body like a silk dress, and she found herself standing next to an astounded Neville. She glared hotly at Draco and Theo even as her arms and legs trembled with fatigue. She grappled with a desire to curl up in a ball and take a nap, but also with the need wrap her legs around Neville's waist and grind against him. She also wanted to chew on him a little bit.

This one is off limits, she told her Dragon firmly.

Pansy had the distinct sensation of the beast slithering off in a snit and curling up to pout.

Mate him or eat him, the Dragon muttered.

"Annoying isn't it?" Draco had sidled up next to her. "It's better to just do as the beast wishes. You won't have a moment's peace otherwise."

She wondered briefly which wish Draco thought she should honor. Maybe there was more than one way to devour Neville, Pansy thought with a grin.

"Is that what you did?" she asked Draco.

If Pansy had been suspicious of Hermione and Draco's relationship before, she was certain of it now. Her altered dragon senses combined to make the thread connecting Draco and Hermione appear almost as a visible thing.

Draco shook his head ruefully. "Not entirely. But I intend to."

Pansy was taken aback. "You do?"

"Oh Pans," Draco chuckled, shaking his head though his eyes never left Hermione. "Take my advice and don't fight so hard. It knows what's in your heart better than you do."

Nothing so sentimental had ever come out of Draco's mouth, she was absolutely certain. What the hell had happened to him? Allowing a beast to make decisions for him?

"I never realized how pathetic you are," she told him.

Draco winced. "Really? Because I am completely aware of it."

Even as Pansy scoffed at her best friend's weakness, she kept Neville in the corner of her eye. He stood a good distance away, speaking intensely with Hermione and Weasley, but Pansy felt completely aware of every move he made. It was almost as if she could feel him breathing. His scent still swirled around her brain, and she still felt a staggering need to climb him like a tree. Mate him or eat him, indeed.

"Bloody hell," she muttered.

"That's putting it mildly."

Draco and Pansy stood with arms crossed as Hermione attempted to gain the Minister's attention. She needed to try one more time; not just for Shacklebolt's sake, she explained, but for all of the ridiculous onlookers, gathered around the Quidditch Pitch as if all of this was a show or a game. All of the Purebloods recognized the futility of the effort, some more vocally than others, but in the end, Neville and Weasley had offered up their support of Hermione's endeavor to change his mind.

Pushing past his groupies, Hermione approached the man with determination creasing her brow.

"Miss Granger," he greeted her reluctantly, removing his shoes as he spoke.

"Kingsley," she began. "May I have a word?"

"If you must."

The request had been for a private conversation, of which the Minister was completely aware, and yet he continued to peel off his socks as he looked at her expectantly. Hermione looked around helplessly before continuing.

"Please don't do this," she pleaded.

Shacklebolt barely suppressed an eyeroll.

"Thank you for your concern Miss Granger."

"This is dangerous! And not worth the risk!"

"Not worth the risk?" he scoffed. His supporters laughed. "I beg to differ. When I succeed, we will have one more weapon to add to the arsenal."

"And what happens if you fail?" she demanded. "Even if you don't injure or kill all the people watching, we would still be left without a leader."

A bearded man with a large belly shoved forward.

"The Minister is a very powerful wizard. If you could do it," he sneered, glaring at Draco. "Then the Minister is certainly capable, no matter what your calculations indicated."

"Arithmancy is hardly a perfect science, but the calculations were not arbitrary," Draco said stiffly. "Power was not the only variable."

"I beg you, Kingsley, please reconsider."

Shacklebolt folded his jacket over his arm and stepped forward, standing directly in front of Hermione. A small growl vibrated through Draco's chest.

"Stop interfering," Shacklebolt demanded in a harsh whisper. "It has been decided by an overwhelming majority vote."

That particular meeting had been held without any of their knowledge. Hermione had ranted about it for hours on end. From what little they could discover after the fact, Kingsley had glossed over the serious nature of the ritual and the risks involved for anyone not qualified to attempt it. The entire meeting had boiled down to one sentiment: if you disagree, you want us to lose. It hadn't taken long for everyone to get on board with the idea.

"I have done my best to remain unaffected by your lack of faith in me, and to take your meddling in stride. Let us hope what you did to George Weasley will not be permanent, or affect the outcome of our upcoming battle. Despite what you may think, you do not always know what is best."

Pansy could see the strain in Hermione's face as she struggled to remain polite and not lash out.

"I know you believe you are doing the right thing . . ."

"Do your part, Granger," he interrupted, demonstrably bored with the conversation. "And I shall do mine."

Draco steered Hermione away even as Shacklebolt turned his back on all of them.

"Cut your losses," he murmured to her as they left.

They retreated behind the protective wards where they found seats next to Theo, Blaise and Weasley. Draco took Hermione aside. Pansy shamelessly listened as they spoke.

"Not too late to back out," Draco was telling her, tapping his wand against his thigh.

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "I'll have to help contain the backlash if he fails."

"Has to be you, does it?" he sneered.

"Who else?"

"And you think you can do that all by yourself and not get killed in the process?"

"I won't be by myself," she replied calmly, refusing to rise to the bait. "And everyone is in danger, not just me."

It sounded like an argument they'd had before.

Neville whispered in her ear, "It's rude to eavesdrop."

"Shut up," Pansy shot back. "I can't hear."

"Pomfrey could take your place," Draco continued. "She's been prepared."

"I'm not trusting the safety of Hogwarts to Poppy Pomfrey!" Hermione objected, shocked.

Pansy winced, knowing Draco was about to lose his composure.

"Fine! Go save the world with no regard for you own safety! Fuck's sake! Gods forbid you use a bit of caution and common sense."

"I am using as much caution as possible, given the circumstances!"

Tiny sparks danced through Hermione's hair. They were incensed with each other, and yet neither of them moved away. Instead they drifted a bit closer, not making eye contact.

"Keep your wits about you," Draco demanded.

"Kingsley will do fine," Hermione lied. "I'm not afraid. I don't need a lecture this time."

She chuckled, but his lips didn't so much as twitch. He had pulled his usual cold, aristocratic mask over his face.

"Relax, Malfoy," she deadpanned. "Stop overthinking it."

He glared at her for a moment before glancing away, the corner of his mouth curving into a smile.

"Go save the world," he told her.

And she left, taking her place in the circle, Draco's gaze following her.

"Shut up, you great fucking beast," Draco muttered to himself. "I have this handled."

Pansy's Dragon chuckled. It was most disorienting. Pansy suddenly felt a great deal of pity for Draco, and a good dose of apprehension. Would she have to battle this wild consciousness for the rest of her life? She would definitely end up snacking on someone.

"Are all of you clear on the plan?" Draco growled out of the side of his mouth as he took his seat.

"What plan?" Pansy demanded.

"Hush," Blaise ordered.

Kingsley was at the center of the circle, his dark skin covered in runes. The crowed kicked up into a roar as he bowed.

"Wanker," Weasley spat.

"What plan?" she pressed in a harsh whisper. She was ignored.

There were cheers and ecstatic wand waving as Shacklebolt took to the sand, his ritual space neatly prepared in the wake of the two former transformations. Besides Hermione, the Minister would be aided by Minerva McGonagall, Ginny Potter, and Luna Lovegood as well. The sentinels began their chants and the magic picked up in a glittering web. All five of the men around Pansy were standing at the ready, nearly on the tips of their toes. Neville leaned in and spoke in her ear over the cheering crowd.

"Stay inside the protections," Neville directed her. "No matter what."

She bristled at his tone.

"I'm perfectly capable - " she began, only to be interrupted.

"I'm not asking you."

It was clearly a direct order. She was equal parts infuriated and thrilled at this side of him. The angry part won out. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the Dragon hissed and extended her fangs. No man would ever tell her what to do, especially not five mediocre wizards who had apparently concocted a plan to save their friend without including her. Pansy subsided quietly, donning a serene facade, though her insides were burning. Neville squinted at her suspiciously before nodding and returning his attention to the field.

The magic was dancing about, Shacklebolt's face shining with sweat as he bent the power to his will.

Neville shifted next to her. "Perhaps he can pull it off," he said hopefully.

As if his words had called it, a wind kicked up suddenly, blowing a cloud of brown and orange leaves through the air. Pansy squinted against the debris, holding her arm in front of her face. The magic flashed like lightning, forking out against the wards. As one, the sentinels staggered back a step. Hermione shouted something, the howling wind carrying her words away. In the center of the circle, Shacklebolt struggled against the sudden burst, bowing under the strain. Pansy shied away, bumping into Neville.

"It's happening!" shouted Blaise.

"Move!" roared Draco, and they rushed to the field as one, Pansy close on their heels.

Have a great weekend!