A/N: It's been awhile! I know a lot of you were looking forward to this chapter. Hopefully it lives up to the anticipation. As always, you guys are great and I appreciate every single one of you!

Chapter Twenty: To Fight Until the End

May 2005

Hogwarts

The wards slid across her feverish skin like cool water. It was sunset and Luna couldn't stay on Hogwarts grounds a moment longer. Too much rage and self-hatred were building inside her. She had never felt so powerless. The Order soldiers looked right through her. Some of them still snickered behind her back just as they had before her capture. This morning, when she had wandered into the dining hall barefoot, she had found her missing boots suspended from the nose of a gargoyle. The muffled laughter had stopped when she set them on fire.

Didn't they know who she was? She had killed people for less, sliced their skin from their bodies with a knife made of steel and diamonds. Luna had decided their future, had taken the last bit of power from their trembling hands and drank it up like sweet wine. That person was the product of Alecto Carrow. The person she now resembled paled in comparison, and the need to again control the destiny of another human being was scratching at her insides.

A pang of despair lanced through her chest. Hermione would never forgive her, but there was no other choice. If she stayed, she felt like she would rot from the inside out. She needed to get out. She needed to feel strong again. She needed Alecto.

Luna was only a short way into the woods when she stumbled across George Weasley. He was propped up against the base of a tree, bottle in one hand and knife in the other. There were several shallow cuts across the top of his right leg. He looked up at her approach and took in the sight of her full bag and walking shoes. After a moment, he looked away disinterestedly and gripped his knife.

"Leaving us, then?" he slurred, running the blade very deliberately across his thigh.

The wound was shallow, but thin lines of glistening blood slid down his skin to the grass. Luna may as well have stumbled upon a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Here was a man who wanted pain, who wanted to see his own blood flow. If he needed to scour away the unforgivable crime of surviving, then Luna could help. All she had to do was refrain from taking his life. She could stay at Hogwarts. Stay with Hermione.

All the tension and fear drained away, replaced by a fierce anticipation.

"Can you keep a secret, George?" she asked, almost childlike.

He blinked owlishly at her and nodded.

Draco's heart was thudding in his chest, his pulse pounding in his ears as he sprinted across the Quidditch pitch. It had been only a few hours ago when he had watched the lake window turn from black to green with sunlight. Hermione had been laying on her side next to him, the quilt pulled low on her back, revealing the line of her spine and the pattern of her scars. The sight of them had sent a surge of pure rage through his body. It was impossible to eradicate every traumatic event from her past, and he hated himself for wanting to try.

Hermione had opened her eyes not long after sunrise. She had woken all at once, instantly alert, just the way Draco always did. It was the way of people who lived too long in war, always ready, always awake even when they were asleep. It had taken a moment for her to meet his gaze, but when she did, he had watched her thoughts dance across her face. Her eyes had widened, her skin turned a delicious shade of pink, and she had pulled the sheet up to her chin.

"Too late to be shy," he had teased her.

"It's cold!" she had protested weakly.

"I'll warm you up," he had promised, pressing his mouth to the sweet spot beneath her ear.

Now, as his legs brought him closer to her, he rode the wave of panic that was swamping him, knowing how likely it was that he would never again taste her skin. The damn woman couldn't keep herself out of trouble. She would always choose to save others before herself, always be a dark cloud ruining his peace of mind. He would have to glue himself to her fucking side, he decided, if that's what it took to keep her from making any more stupid fucking decisions.

He hoped there might be an opportunity when the war was over, to define this . . . thing he was experiencing. For now, it was too large, too complicated, too frightening to name. And they would never have the opportunity to find out the exact nature of what was between them if she kept trying to get herself killed. There was little chance that any of them would come out of this war alive, and they all knew it, but Hermione might as well be daring the Fates to cut her thread of life too soon.

Not that Draco was behaving any better. Somewhere underneath the terror, he was laughing at himself. The Draco from before would never run headfirst into a deadly cyclone of misspent magic. The Draco from before would never stand on the front lines of an unwinnable war. The Draco from before would never bind himself to a bloody Gryffindor with a hero complex. He wondered at what point he had turned the corner from a scared, selfish child to . . . whatever the fuck he was now. He thought perhaps that moment had come with an exhausted, bushy-haired witch and a shared orange. Fucking hell, he was pathetic.

He had known it would go wrong. No matter how much faith Hermione had in Shacklebolt, or even in her ability to help him if - when - he failed, Draco had known he would need to intervene. Thus, the secret plan he had concocted with the others just after breakfast. It was simple, centered around getting Hermione and Ginny out of the circle as safely as possible. Draco was confident they could contain the backlash from removing just the two women, but trying to save all four was foolhardy. McGonagall's loss would be a blow to the Order, and there had been a short, but intense argument around whether to save Potter's wife or the aging witch. Nobody spoke up for Luna. Draco knew they were hoping just as he did, that she would perish with Shacklebolt.

It would have gone just as they had planned, except for the small, irritating fly in the ointment that was Hermione Granger. The witch was too powerful by half; the magical wall she had erected around the circle rebuffed him entirely. As he approached, his leg-stretching run was slowed by the invisible barrier that pushed against him like thick molasses. It stopped him completely when he was just out of reach of Hermione's arm, then tossed him backward on his arse.

Blaise stepped up next to him, having similarly failed to reach Ginny. Theo and Neville were standing not far away, wands ready. Narcissa, Persia, and Pansy had caught on quickly and taken positions around the circle.

"Bombarda?" Blaise suggested.

"Too much. It will make it hard to control the backlash." How the fuck was he supposed to cast a shield around her and extract her from the circle if he couldn't get close enough?

Blaise squinted in thought. "Remember when we pushed past that repelling charm in Aberdeen?"

Draco thought about it. "Could work."

With a mutual nod, they cast their spell and charged forward.

Without looking back, Hermione threw a single palm over her shoulder. The force of the spell slid them back across the grass on their toes. She never broke her concentration on the circle, where she appeared to be conducting an orchestra with her wand. The other three sentinels were also engrossed and ignored them completely.

"How is she doing it?" Blaise swore, wiping his arms clear of grass and dirt.

Draco was not surprised at the sheer power Hermione possessed, or the skill with which she wielded it, but by the Gods, he was fucking furious that she was using it to keep him away. He had a clawing desire to roar.

"Try again!" he barked.

This time, when Hermione negligently flicked her hand in their direction, they ended up several feet away and flat on their arses, Draco swearing a blue streak and Blaise shaking his head to clear it. Ginny spared them a glance from the corner of her eye, but Lovegood and McGonagall seemed unaware of their presence. Hermione stood in her place around the perimeter, her short hair flipping wildly around her face in the magical wind.

"We knew it might not work," Blaise reminded him. "Plan B."

Draco growled and paced along the edge of her ward. He didn't want to give up.

"You should stop!" Pansy shouted above the wind. "You're distracting her!"

A part of him knew she was right. He could feel Hermione's irritation at his actions as if she was shouting in his face. The newly formed thread connecting their alternate consciousnesses was drenching him in her disapproval. Her response to his attempt to help was obvious; she thought she could save Shacklebolt and did not appreciate his interference.

"Better use your energy to reinforce the protective ward," Pansy continued.

"Remember your calculations," Narcissa reminded him. "If Hermione fails to contain this, it could wipe out everyone on the north side of the castle."

"I don't give a shit about any of them!" Draco snarled. He was back to pacing, unable to help himself. That damned woman was making him lose control.

"You will care very much if we lose half the Order of the Phoenix this afternoon," he heard her bite out. "Then all of this will have been for nothing."

It would take a few minutes, perhaps more than could be spared, but he knew he could pick apart her barrier if he focused. The Dragon was screeching at him to do it, to get to her as soon as he could and fly her away somewhere safe. The wizard knew better. There were more important - more useful - things to do.

"It's time for Plan B," Theo said, repeating Blaise.

Draco stopped in his tracks. "Do it!" he ordered.

While the others formed themselves around the slowly disintegrating circle, Draco prepared himself to shift. He needed to remove the remaining morons in the stands, who were intent on staying put despite Longbottom's directive to flee. For some, the danger had not yet sunk in; they were still awaiting their leader's transformation. Some of them fully realized that the ritual had gone wrong, and were muttering and waving their wands, trying to help, still others were watching in morbid fascination, awaiting the bloody end that was sure to occur at any moment.

Two muttered words and Draco's body was breaking into shape. A moment later, he stalked forward on clawed feet and let loose a roar that shook the trees. The last of the spectators fled the cloud of fire he threw in their direction, effectively clearing the stands. Neville shook his head ruefully and ducked under the flames on his way to the sandy field, George Weasley just behind him. The sickly man tripped on his feet, then stumbled forward to take up a place next to Theo. He was pale and trembling, but resolute as he raised his wand to defend Hogwarts.

The power of the Dragon was potent, and Draco took a moment revel in the feeling. He desperately wished his reptilian body had the ability to repel curses, for he was certain a real dragon would have walked right through Hermione's ward and snatched her up. It was a painful reminder that they were all just playing at being dragons and that Bellatrix was still capable of killing them all. Switching back to human form, Draco stalked back to the circle and took his place.

The magic was tearing around inside the protective ward like a cyclone, the four sentinels standing firm against the strain. He watched Hermione as she worked, a thin line of blood leaking from her nose. Never in his life had Draco felt so helpless. The Dragon rustled in the back of his mind uneasily, but for once remained quiet. He was watchful and utterly still, like a predator waiting to attack.

Draco raised his wand, determined to keep Hermione alive.

Hermione was hoping for the best. No matter what Kingsley had done or said in the last few months, he was her leader, her commander, the man who had gotten her through the worst years of her life. He had trusted her to lead, even when she was bringing down walls of the castle with her wild magic, even when she would break down in shuddering episodes of anxiety. It was why his sudden distrust in her had been such a blow.

Hermione had realized sometime in the early hours of the morning that if the upcoming battle weighed so heavily on her, it must be just as hard on Kingsley. It wasn't easy holding the lives of hundreds of people in your hands, second guessing every decision and knowing that no matter how well you planned, they all might die despite your best efforts. If it had been fear that had turned him blind and deaf to Hermione, then she could forgive him. So she had prepared as best she could, researched every possible outcome, planned a dozen contingencies and picked Draco's brain until there was nothing left to do but hope.

All the confidence she could muster was swelling in her heart, but it was her head that was causing trouble. Rationally, she could calculate the odds of a good or bad outcome. From a mathematical standpoint, it made little sense to risk her life for a minuscule chance of saving Kingsley. Merlin knew Draco had told her the same thing time and again. Foolish as it was, she began the ritual believing despite her better judgment that they would all succeed, and five dragons would fly into battle to defeat the Legion of Blood.

Except the working was sloppy. Hermione could see how Kingsley struggled to control the threads of magic properly. There was no doubt he had the power, for the glowing, pulsing aura around him was prolific enough to feed the spell, even powerful enough that he didn't require the reserves that Hermione and the other sentinels were feeding him. It was the more delicate work that was giving him trouble. Hermione watched him with growing dread as she cataloged every swish that swung wide, every flick that fell short. He was losing control of the finer, more delicate threads of magic with every move he made.

A strong wind had picked up, making Hermione stagger back. Kingsley had fumbled for only a fraction of a second, but it allowed a great burst of energy to whip free from the ritual. The threads of power were tangling, and the spell was turning sideways. With a stab of despair, she realized there was no hope that Kingsley would complete the ritual. It was time to start shoring up the defensive wards and work to keep the inevitable backlash contained, and hopefully, keep Kingsley alive.

She felt the moment those two idiots entered her ward. It was like a couple of bees vibrating around her ears, wings flapping erratically against her eardrums and the nape of her neck. They didn't get far. What the hell were they thinking? The last thing she needed was a distraction. Did they believe that they could intervene and not cause even more damage? That arrogant arsehole was going to ruin all of her hard work.

Another rush at her wards, and this time they also cast a spell that felt a bit slippery, easing their way through the repelling jinx. It was a smart move, and it would have broken through her barrier if she had allowed it. With an annoyed twitch, Hermione pushed them away. It happened again, and this time, she felt a piece of the magic slip from her grasp. She didn't have time for this, damn it! With only a flicker of regret, she allowed the ward to toss them backward then solidified it so they couldn't approach again. Bloody wankers.

The last of her strength was seeping away, and her attempt to keep Kingsley from the worst of the backlash was failing. Hermione had full control of each of the sentinel's workings, and she was using all that power to unravel the sloppy web of power the Minister had woven together. She should have been able to lift the burden of the magic from Kingsley, focus it into a single bolt and let it spend itself into the earth. It made sense. It wouldn't be harmless, in fact, it would likely blow a massive hole in the ground beneath them, but they would probably survive. Except the overwrought ritual wasn't responding.

There wasn't enough power, Hermione realized. She was having trouble containing the spell. Scanning around, trying to find a hole in the magic, Hermione spotted Luna. Her wand was out, she was muttering incantations, but there was no actual magic coming from her part of the ritual. She was going through the motions, but not adding to the working. It was a facade. What the hell was she doing? The sheer stupidity of it boggled the mind. Hermione didn't have time to ponder the defection before the energy she was trying to manipulate snapped like a thread.

It fell on Kingsley all at once. He stiffened, his body arching up on his toes, his back bowing out of shape. Hermione watched in horror for a moment, her brain tearing through possible ways to help.

"Stop trying to save me and contain the magic, dammit!" Shacklebolt shouted.

He knew. Hermione could see the shame of failure in his eyes as he fought against the pain. It took only seconds for her to make a decision as the last strands of magic tore from her grasp and arrowed toward the Minister. He would die, there was nothing she could do about it, but Hermione would use everything she had to save even just one more person in this doomed catastrophe.

She linked her part of the circle into first McGonagall, next Luna, and last Ginny before finally closing the barrier back into herself. It might not be enough. The weight of power swirling around them was greater than anything Hermione had ever felt in her life. A quick glance around relieved a bit of Hermione's fear while simultaneously making it worse. Draco and the others had arrayed themselves around the circle to help if Hermione failed, but they had also put themselves in deep danger.

Kingsley was screaming.

The hairs on her arms and the nape of her neck were standing straight up, and she felt rolling waves of pure energy undulate against her skin, but it went deeper than that. The pressure of controlling it was crushing against her ribs, twisting her insides. Magic was always visceral, the force of it coming from inside the witch or wizard, but Hermione had never understood just how much was pulled from her very core until the moment she attempted to hold together a ticking time bomb and felt it drain away like her very blood.

The magic was squeezing the life from her.

Ginny's freckled cheeks were suffused with bright red, a shimmering sheen of sweat slicking her skin. McGonagall was cold, her face blank, but her body was quaking under the strain. The two of them were losing their strength just as quickly as Hermione. Luna looked amused, her narrowed eyes reminiscent of a cat playing with its dinner. Even now, after she had achieved her goal - for Hermione realized the death of Kingsley must have been her purpose in holding back - Luna was not a complete part of the circle. She kept a large part of her power to herself, and Hermione was terrified her actions would mean the death of them all.

McGonagall cried out as she fell to the ground.

A swell of magic crashed against Hermione, yanking at her protective barrier. It felt like the hottest wave of summer heat, searing against her flesh. It was hard to keep her focus on the crumbling ritual and not look for the people she knew were standing just outside the boundary of her ward. She wished they would go away, flee to the safety that only distance could provide. Like a feather against the skin of her neck, she felt Draco and the others slide another layer across her own.

The Dragon screeched inside Hermione's head, rattling her brains.

The pressure increased, and Hermione felt herself wheeze with the strain. Cracks appeared along Kingsley's skin, fissures of fiery red light forking across his cheeks and hands. He fell to his knees, clawing at his throat and tearing away bits of flesh. His skin began to peel away from his bones as if his very core was made of fire. From his position on the ground, he reached for Hermione; his outstretched hand webbed with the glow of embers. Their eyes met, his filled with terror and pain, and Hermione could do nothing. She could only watch as he opened his mouth in a silent scream and flames erupted from his throat.

The inferno devoured him.

A blast hit Hermione square in the chest, slamming her backward. She tumbled across the ground, her limbs flailing and her head striking against rocks. When her rolling momentum ceased, she couldn't move. It must have torn her to pieces, she thought distantly. She could smell seared, burnt flesh, ashes, and even blood. Wracked with pain, the edges of her vision going black, Hermione blinked stupidly at where she had stood. A perfect circle of ebony earth surrounded the place where Kingsley had fought for his life. All that was left of the Minister of Magic was a pile of dust and blackened bits of bone.

A blanket of cool healing magic wrapped around her body and she groaned in relief. Moments later, she was picked up bodily and squeezed until she coughed in protest. Draco's arms loosened slightly, but he kept her close. His heart was thudding against her ear.

"I told you I'd survive," she mumbled into his shirt.

He growled and set her back. "Not fucking funny."

She knew Draco was right. It was painfully obvious how close they had all come to being decimated. His grey eyes were blown wide with fear and ringed with the dark smudges of fatigue. Hermione was certain she looked worse, for she could feel blood drying under her nose and along the sides of her neck.

Keeping a steadying hand on his waist, Hermione turned to survey the carnage. McGonagall was dead, her sightless eyes staring towards the tree line. George and Neville kneeled next to her body, staring at her helplessly, tears in both their eyes. Pansy, Narcissa, and Persia sat near them, leaning against each other. Bruised and dirty, Theo and Blaise had bracketed Ginny, supporting her on either side and muttering healing spells. She had blood in her ears and nose, and the dazed look of someone who had suffered a severe head injury.

Luna was dazed, but unharmed save for a shallow cut across her cheek. Without spending all of her energy and concentration trying to contain the deadly magic, Luna must have been able to erect her own personal barrier of protection. The other three women had not had that luxury. In fact, if Hermione had not been able to unravel so much of the spellwork, the remaining power would most certainly have killed every last one of them.

Hermione stepped away from Draco, the world spinning and fury roaring through her veins as she staggered forward.

"What did you do?" she demanded raggedly.

Luna blinked. "I don't know what you mean."

"You do know. I want to hear you say it."

Luna blinked. "I haven't done anything."

"Don't lie!" Hermione screamed. "I saw you! I felt you pull back your power!"

Hermione could see her considering her options. After a moment she shrugged, caught out. "So what?"

There was silence.

"You killed him!" Hermione burst out.

"Hardly," Luna protested. "He was a dead man the moment he stepped into that circle. We all knew he couldn't handle the ritual."

"We could have kept him alive!"

"That is very unlikely," Luna argued. "The probability of all of us coming out alive was very slim. I chose to protect myself. And you, of course."

Hermione recoiled.

"No." Shaking her head, she tried to clear away the horror of what Luna had done. "You murdered Kingsley. We could have saved him, and you chose not to help."

"Perhaps." Luna seemed confused but continued as if speaking to a child who didn't understand. "But in the end, my choice removed your enemy."

"You are a monster!" Hermione spat. "You don't deserve your wand."

"Why are you so angry?" Luna wondered, genuinely confused.

Hermione started to charge forward but was stopped by Draco's arm around her waist.

"I'll break that evil piece of wood; I swear to Merlin!"

Luna backed away; hands held out in front of her as if to push the words away.

"I did it for you," Luna reasoned. "He wanted you dead; you heard him say he would remove you! You'll be a far better leader than he ever was. You can lead us to victory."

"I can't look at you," Hermione sobbed. "How could I have been so wrong about you?"

"Please, Hermione," she pleaded. "I'm sorry for what I said before in your quarters. I can change. I can do better. I can be better."

Hermione felt cold.

"You are broken," she whispered, a ball of lead in her stomach. "And you are a danger to us all."

Luna took a step back. Wide blue eyes took in the accusing faces around her before turning blank.

"You're under arrest," Neville stated calmly.

A wild light sparked in her eyes and she backed up, crouching and ready for attack. Neville cast an incarcerous, wrapping Luna tightly.

She hissed in rage and spoke, "Trabeadaki Formus."

The bonds broke as her body swelled, turning her pale skin red and scaly. Her spiked tail swung directly into the Quidditch stands, turning a large chunk of the seats into splinters. She coughed a great cloud of flame and then swung down and snapped her great jaws at Neville, who jumped away with a shout. Stretching out wings that cast a shadow over the pitch, she began to flap and trot, as if ready to take to the air. Hermione couldn't let that happen.

She felt a distant pain as she shifted, her jaws already open and ready to remove Luna's neck from her body. Long, blue claws were sinking into the soft earth, her tail whipping back and forth as a growl worked its way up her throat. It rumbled in her chest, rocking against a pressure point she knew instinctively would bring forth fiery destruction. The dragon across from her was much larger, her bony, crimson spines undulating down her back with every movement. Hermione was not afraid. The deadly beast inside her had taken over. She had fire and claws and the shining white dragon next to her. He snorted smoke and clawed at the dirt, ready to do violence at her command.

There wasn't time to feel joy at the realization that she could, in fact, become a dragon, for she was charging forward. The red dragon turned just as Hermione slammed into her. It nearly knocked the wind out of her, but as her vision cleared, she found herself atop the much larger beast, her teeth buried in the soft flesh just under her wing. Scalding hot liquid tasting brightly of copper flooded her mouth. With a screech, Luna shoved Hermione away, the long claws of her back legs scraping the underside of Hermione's belly.

Looking up from her position on the ground and trying to ignore searing pain under her ribs, Hermione saw Draco get slammed by Luna's tail. Movement from behind tickled against the delicate skin of her wings, and Hermione got a whiff of Pansy as the purple dragon slunk around to the left, her whiplike body sliding across the grass. Hermione couldn't afford to break her gaze on Luna, but from the corner of her eye she saw long fangs emerge from Pansy's open mouth, white venom sliding down the tips to the grass.

As if she could sense the other dragon approaching, Luna's attention flickered away from her dance with Hermione. She whipped around as if looking for something until she narrowed her gaze on Neville. He had been approaching from the opposite side as Pansy, his wand held at the ready. Almost too quickly to follow, the red dragon wrapped her claws around Neville's legs, yanked him off his feet, then pumped her wings through the air. Pansy let out a screech and like lightning attached her fangs to the much larger dragon's leg as it left the ground. With a negligent twitch, Luna sent Pansy tumbling to the ground.

Hermione took off running, trying to get enough speed to take off the ground, but stumbled, unable to properly coordinate four legs instead of two. A great pain lanced through her body, and her legs went out from under her. Too late, she realized she had reached the end of her strength. It was too much. She was too tired, too hurt. As her vision faded to black, she watched as Luna flew away with Neville, headed straight towards the enemy.

Neville stopped fighting not long after Luna left the ground. There wasn't much he could do, after all, having dropped his wand when she had snatched him from the ground. She was grateful for it. The last thing she needed was to drop him and ruin all her plans.

She was just outside of Hogsmeade when she spotted the encampment. It was not surprising that the Legion was already at Hogwarts. After the defection of several highly placed Legion officers, the movement of enemy troops was inevitable. It did surprise Luna that several hundred soldiers were waiting just outside the castle wards and nobody was aware of it. The camp was incredibly well-hidden. Luna could see the edges of a concealment charm that would block the view of anyone on the ground. They hadn't planned on anyone flying above. Luna would need to fix that.

There was a general outcry when she flapped closer, and a few hexes were sent her way. She easily dodged them and landed in the very center of the small group of people. A cutting hex glanced off her wing, causing a deep sting and a thin line of blood, followed by a few blasting charms that very nearly hit her directly. Her leg was throbbing from the purple dragon's bite, the venom aching in her blood, and the shallow wounds on her belly were sluggishly bleeding.

"Stop!"

The voice rang out from the crowd, and all spellcasting ceased. Alecto appeared, a serene smile on her face. Luna felt her heart kick up.

"My sweet, Luna," she crooned. Luna ducked forward, running her nose under Alecto's outstretched hand. "I would know you in any form."

Neville shifted uneasily but stayed silent. Alecto's eyes flickered towards the man.

"And you've brought me a present."

"Fuck you," Neville spat.

The ring of wizards split and a small witch with wild black hair streaked with grey stepped through, followed by a tall man with cruel grey eyes.

"My little nephew has been hard at work, I see," Bellatrix said.

"I knew he had something planned." Lucius Malfoy fingered the tip of his wand and observed the dragon in front of him dispassionately.

Luna flowed back into her human form and stepped back as Neville was bound with an incarcerous hex. Relief, lust, fear, and disgust all warred within her as Alecto approached. The tall woman cradled Luna's face in her palm.

"Welcome home, love."