A/N: SOOOOOOOO it's been awhile. Sorry guys. These last few chapters are beating me up and mostly because I don't want to let you guys down and deliver a crappy ending. So here is the first of probably three more chapters. The battle will be split into two chapters I'm thinking, just based on what I've written so far, followed by an epilogue.

As always, muchas gracias to my beta i was botwp for the amazing work.

Chapter Twenty-Two: To March Into Battle

May 2005

Malfoy Manor

His mother had started a tea service of all things, declaring with a sniff that committing treason was not reason enough to break tradition. The women settled in the sitting area of Lucius's old study, talking quietly and sipping from their fine china. After a moment, Blaise and Theo joined them, all too willing to partake of biscuits and tiny sandwiches assembled at the tip of Narcissa's wand. Draco rolled his eyes and stood by the window, anxiety roiling in his gut.

The Manor wards tugged at him, telling him someone had arrived at the gates. Something in his mind slithered to life, sniffing at the air, shaking in anticipation. It was a startling sensation, and he shook his head to clear it. There was something odd about his instincts since his transformation only days before. They were sharper, more aggressive, less controllable. He leaned his forehead against the glass and squinted at the front gates. A group of four people melted out from the cover of the trees. They were here.

His eyes zeroed in on the woman in front. She was rather small, dressed as a Muggle soldier, with a fuzzy halo of dark hair. She moved like a predator, her wand an extension of her arm. Even from a distance, he could see the wheels and cogs turning in her head. When she encountered the ward at the gate, he caught the small stomp of her foot and the way her nose headed straight toward the sky with impatience.

The Order had sent Hermione Fucking Granger.

And for some reason, Draco was grinning.

Luna scratched at the wound on her ankle. The bite from that venomous bitch had translated into Luna's human form in the way of a snake bite. A large, swollen, festering wound that seeped and burned like Fiendfyre. The Healer had managed to close the wound briefly before it reopened, weeping and hot to the touch. Nothing could completely draw the poison from her body except for time. For now, the venom settled into her blood and her bones, making her sweaty and sore.

She was lucky, the Healer had said, that the purple dragon had hung on for such a short period. A full dose of the potent venom would most certainly have killed her. A limp and fever were nothing in comparison. Luna wanted to choke that fucking idiot with his red, silk scarf. It wouldn't hamper her ability to fly, however, and for that, she was grateful.

Revenge, retribution, requital.

Longbottom was holding up quite well. He lay on the ground in a puddle of piss, his limbs shaking and spasming. It had been hours of torture, and still, he maintained his silence. Bellatrix was in her element, her gray-streaked hair wild and her eyes black with pleasure. Her wand barely moved as she cursed the man again and again. Instead of draining her power, the Unforgivable Curse seemed to make her stronger and more alive. Only the silence from her victim was causing her any grief.

Alecto was enamored of the entertainment. She watched raptly as the wizard spasmed and howled. Every now and then, she would caress the knife on her hip as if it were an old lover. Luna knew she ached to use it. While she was an expert at the cruciatus, blade-work was her true passion, one she had passed on to Luna.

Luna was bored.

"You should take a turn, my love," Alecto offered. "Perhaps your blade will work better."

Luna paused in the act of skinning her apple. The offer held no appeal. She decided her reluctance was because of the pain in her leg, and the effort it would take to do the job properly. There was a buzzing in her ears like something thunderous buried beneath layers of stone and mortar. It was like the sound of a Quidditch game from the Ravenclaw common room or like the screams of prisoners in dungeons beneath the ground. She twitched and resisted the urge to scratch her leg.

"You're wasting your time. He won't be broken," Luna answered without getting up, idly turning the piece of fruit in her hands. "Especially not with my knives."

"Anyone can be broken," Alecto snapped.

Luna shrugged, frustration simmering in her belly. "He can't. And the cruciatus you're using won't do it either. You'll lose his mind to madness before he gives in."

"But there is a great pleasure in turning a man's mind to pudding," Bellatrix purred. "I did it to the rat's parents; I could do it to him."

"I don't know why you bother," Luna yawned. "He doesn't know anything more than I do."

The tent flap swung open and Lucius slid inside.

"We must pause our entertainments" Lucius said regretfully. "We can spare no more time on pleasurable pursuits. There is work to be done."

The cruciatus was a kind of pain that one never forgets, and Neville had withstood the torture before. He had felt afraid when the flap to his prison tent opened, but ready. Deep in his Gryffindor heart, Neville knew he could withstand whatever they would throw at him. He had been wrong. Perhaps the Carrows had gone easy on them as children, or perhaps Alecto and Bellatrix had sharpened their technique with time and free reign to use it, but after only a few hours he wished his spine would finally snap and end the torture.

Worse than the pain was the knowledge that he was losing himself. Pieces of his mind were slipping away. The structure of his heart, the basis of what made him Neville Longbottom, was crumbling, blowing into the darkness on the cold winds of agony. All that was left were fragments of light scattered around his mind like a shattered mirror.

He remembered an old woman's hands and the way the thin skin stretched over the bones, making them look fragile when they had once held all the strength of his small world. There was a sword, a hat, and a deep terror. He remembered a boy with dark hair and spectacles, a strange scar on his forehead and how all his hopes had once rested on those thin shoulders. A world of green, with shiny leaves, furry fronds, and enough magic to fill the hole in his heart. A witch with a halo of curly hair and power enough to level the world.

There was a girl. He remembered her hair and the silky way it moved across his skin, the way it would reflect the light in brilliant sparks of color. Her elegant fingers dark with dirt, her perfect skin freckling in the sun. The way her mouth snarled until she smiled, cutting into his chest all the way through to his heart. A mundane purple flower, as delicate as lace and yet able to withstand both the frost of winter and the heat of summer.

He clung to the memories, nonsensical in individual scraps but when assembled created the abstract picture of a life he had once led. Before the pain. Before the fear. Before each swipe of a wand erased more of who he used to be. Would anything be left of him before the last of his life force was siphoned away?

Pansy had to rouse herself from her bed when the centaurs appeared. She had been staring at the crack in her ceiling for what felt like years when Blaise tapped on her door.

He crawled into bed next to her and pushed his nose against the side of her face.

"You're going to have to get up eventually."

She ignored him. Obviously, she would have to get up. She couldn't very well slaughter hundreds of Legion enemies in revenge if she was flat on her back. The purple dragon in the back of her mind was howling and spitting, ready to tear holes in the flesh of her enemies. But it wasn't time yet. Not yet. For now, she wanted to float in her world of pain and loss.

Bellatrix was torturing him. She could feel it. It was like a buzz along her spine, sending bright sparks of agony down to her fingers and toes. The dragon had opened a channel between them, allowing her to witness his pain, if only distantly. She followed every line of hurt, grabbing at the sensation and making it her own. Maybe it was helping him. Maybe if she took as much pain as she could from him, he would survive.

"You're leaking on me."

"Then go away."

Blaise reached out a thumb and swiped at the line of moisture on her temple.

"Is it time?" she snapped, tired of his company.

"It's starting," he affirmed. "The enemy is in position and the centaurs have joined us."

Pansy remembered the sight of Neville when he had faced off against Firenze, his shoulders thrown back in outrage as he delivered the beast a resounding set down.

If we fall, you're next.

His words had made an impact. An entire clan of centaurs fighting might just turn the tide of this battle. Something stirred in her. Pride. The possessive spark flickered to life, tugging at her mouth. It wasn't a smile. There wasn't enough joy left for a smile, but it was something.

Her body was so heavy; it was a wonder she hadn't sunk right through the bed. She allowed Blaise to pull on her arms until she sat upright. The skin on her face felt stretched and tight. She wondered if it was transparent, and everyone would be able to see the pulsing ache inside her.

Her usual mask was gone, for Blaise took a look at her and shook his head. "Don your armor, love. It's going to be a long night."

"Don't worry," she responded, hardening her heart. "I'm ready to fight."

The troops were in place, and Hogwarts was eerily silent as if the castle was holding its breath. There was a random cough, a rustle of clothing, a shuffle of centaur hooves. The tiny sounds carried to Hermione's ears as if it were next to her. In fact, the noise was quite distant. Hermione felt alone and exposed as she stood with Draco in the middle of what was once a thriving crop of wheat, the castle behind them.

Hermione was scanning the wards, looking for weaknesses. There were none, of course, but she felt the need to check and recheck. They needed to hold until she was ready to take them down. Timing was crucial, and Hermione would leave nothing to chance.

She banished the atmospheric charm, choosing instead to focus on the protections built into the magical barrier. Almost instantly, the ground was covered in a thick mist, as the air grew cold. The sky was clear, but Hermione could see a dark wall of clouds headed towards the castle. It looked like rain.

"I hate fighting in the rain," Draco muttered, echoing her thoughts. "I loathe muddy battles."

He uttered the complaint in the classic Pureblood drawl; his arms crossed negligently as if the upcoming fight was an inconvenience at best. He was the epitome of Draco Malfoy, the man who had sneered at her in the kitchen of the safe house so many weeks ago. He had traded in his muggles clothes for the spotless, tailored robes he had been wearing when she pulled him from his burning castle. The morning light glinted off his slicked-back hair and polished shoes.

Ron and Seamus had flung laughing insults at him earlier in the morning, to all of which he had responded with cold derision. To many others, it appeared as if he was bored with the impending violence, but Hermione could see the strain beneath the diamond veneer. He had shrugged on the persona like battle gear, just as Hermione had when she had strapped knives around her waist and into her boot tops. A part of her wanted to cling to him, to bury her face against his warm chest and inhale the scent that gave her such peace, but the hardened soldier recoiled.

"Good thing you'll be in the sky," she mentioned.

"Who knows how things will go," he made a disgusted sound. "And mud always finds a way."

She bumped his shoulder and gave him a small smile. "We'll make sure the next battle is on a nice, sunny beach."

"Excellent." He adjusted his cuffs nonchalantly.

"Wouldn't want you getting dirt on your shiny shoes."

"My shoes are charmed," he said with a straight face. "It's my hair I'm worried about."

Hermione laughed loudly, enjoying the small, answering smile that tucked in the corner of his mouth. Impulsively, she pulled his face down and pressed her mouth to that intrepid curve, soaking up the feeling of his arms tightening around her, and the synchronized pleasure of their dragons vibrating through her bones.

"We have company," he whispered against her temple.

Two figures had appeared at the edge of the castle.

"Who is that?" she wondered. Everyone should be in place by now, not wandering around. Draco squinted at them for a moment before turning back to her, blood draining from his face.

"What is it?"

He shook his head, the muscle on his jaw ticking. Gripping her wand, Hermione blinked at Draco suspiciously. He stepped away, looking anywhere but at her.

One person was easily identifiable with long, red hair and a ground-eating stride. The other seemed a stranger, but still lit a spark of familiarity. There was something in the cadence of his feet, in the way he had his hands stuffed in his pockets, the tip of a wand peeking out from behind his back. Memory tugged at her. She blinked. It wasn't possible. She shook her head. But who the hell else would put his wand in his back pocket? She hadn't seen anyone do such a stupid thing in years, not since . . .

The weak morning light glinted off a pair of round spectacles, and her heart jumped into her throat.

Harry.

Her feet were moving before she realized it.

"Harry?" she shrieked before throwing herself into his arms.

"Bloody hell," Harry gasped as he staggered.

"Harry," she repeated. "Harry."

Something was wrong. Harry couldn't walk, much less wrap his arms around her. He was thin. This couldn't possibly be real. Both his eyes looked at her, bright and unclouded, his smile symmetrical and sunny. A deep fear settled in her chest. Her dragon senses opened wide, and she could feel the slight rattle in his chest, the strong, yet strained beating of his heart, and a sweet scent under his skin that she couldn't place.

"H-How?" she stuttered, looking around for an explanation.

Ginny stood next to Draco, her arms crossed, her gaze on the ground. There were tears on her cheeks, her face soft with both happiness and grief.

"It's not permanent," Harry murmured. "I've not been cured."

Draco shuffled uncomfortably. The link that had been such a comfort moments before now clouded with guilt. What did he have to do with this?

"In fact," Harry continued. "It's a bit of the opposite."

Harry looked at Draco and the two seemed to be silently communicating. A sharp pain lanced through her heart as her suspicion grew.

"What the fuck is going on?" she demanded.

"It's poison," Draco said lowly.

"Subtle," Harry muttered with a wince.

"Gryffindor courage at its best," Draco mocked.

"Poison?" Her head was foggy. "You've been poisoned, Harry?"

"It's an old favorite of Malfoy's family," Harry chuckled sadly. "He thought it might help me face the fight standing up, like a proper wizard. Slipped it in my tea."

It was Draco's turn to wince.

"But," Harry quickly amended. "He didn't actually poison me since I was a willing victim."

"Fuck's sake, Scarhead," Draco muttered.

"You're both arseholes," Ginny spat. Harry took hold of her arm and pulled her close. She tucked her head into his neck and closed her eyes.

Hermione felt like she was running in sand, trying to catch up with something everyone else already understood. She was frantically thumbing through every scrap of knowledge she possessed about poisons. The name squatted like a black toad in the back of her mind, and she swallowed hard.

"Dancing Death?" she choked out.

The red haze of rage almost blinded her. Harry's eyes widened, and he pushed Ginny away just in time to ward off Hermione's assault.

"Harry. James. Potter," she gritted out, punctuating every word with a blow. "You. Stupid. Git."

"Ow!" Harry protested, trying to shield his torso. "Oy, 'Mione!"

She ignored him.

"I told you," Ginny offered from several feet away.

Bolts of pure energy were leaping from her hands to his skin, making his already unruly hair stand straight on end.

"You also already trounced me this morning," he called to Ginny over Hermione's pummeling fists. "I've got bruises on top of bruises. Oy, watch the face!"

Draco had moved closer, ready to pull her away if needed. She glared at him before ceasing her attack and taking a step back. Almost immediately, she turned around and came back, arms crossed and coming to a stop next to Ginny. Harry and Draco both flinched, somehow now standing shoulder to shoulder. It appeared to be a face-off, two wizards who had conspired together to end the life of the Chosen One against the women who so objected to their collusion.

Hermione tapped her foot expectantly, unable to speak past the knot in her throat.

"I was dying anyway," Harry began.

The red haze was back.

"I had days at most," he continued, hands up in defeat. "Hours."

"So you decided to speed up the process?" she shrieked.

She knew she was losing it. The rational side of her brain was urging her to calm down and see the logic in Harry's actions before she accidentally called a blizzard from the sky or sent the stones of Hogwarts tumbling to the ground. The Dragon quite liked both those ideas.

"He only had a few days left," Draco repeated.

"You don't get to speak!" she snarled.

He snapped his mouth closed. Hermione took a shallow breath and pressed it out between her lips. She felt Ginny's fingers wrap around her own and it made her heart cease its speeding long enough for her to form coherent words in a normal tone of voice.

"How long?" she demanded.

"A few hours," Draco answered, while Harry said, "Long enough."

They exchanged another glance. It was infuriating.

"So you both planned this between yourselves?"

"That's exactly what they did." Without releasing Hermione, Ginny tucked her wand under her arm as if the action might keep her from using it.

"You're not helping, love," Harry begged.

"I'm not trying to help," she shot back with a feral grin. Bright, burning pain was shining out of her eyes.

"Oh," Harry said. "Carry on then."

"I just might!" Ginny countered.

"Whatever makes you happy, dearest."

It sounded like he was teasing her, but there was sincerity in his eyes. He would take another beating if it made his wife feel better. Hermione hoped Ginny would ask her to do it. Instead, Ginny shook her head in frustration and turned to Hermione.

"I'm needed at the front," she said. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't kill him."

"There's still time," Hermione grumbled.

"I never thought I'd say this, but behave yourself." Ginny glared at her. "He's still the Chosen One after all. We might need him."

Hermione shrugged, noncommittally. She wasn't going to kill him, but they both knew he deserved a proper thrashing. Understanding passed between the two women, and Ginny leaned over and bussed Hermione on the cheek.

"Be safe," she whispered before slinging her broom over her shoulder and walking away. They had already said their goodbyes, but Hermione found her gaze lingering on Ginny's back, the woman more like a sister than a friend. Her stride was strong, her shoulders straight, but there was a heaviness in her step. It was the same weight tugging on Hermione's heart.

She realized she wasn't angry about Harry's choice to ingest the Dancing Death. It was very likely that Harry would not have seen the end of the battle either way. It was the way he conspired to do it with a man he had hated until very recently, keeping Hermione in the dark. Her reaction was entirely selfish, she realized.

Harry stood with his old slouch; hands shoved in his pockets. The guilty tilt to his head was so familiar it made her ache. Like a schoolboy admitting he had broken into the restricted section of the library.

"Harry." The one word was weighted down with grief.

"Don't be so sad," Harry laughed. "I made love to my wife this morning for the first time in a year. I'm going to ride my broom without being magically attached to it," he inclined his head towards Draco, "and now I get to lead my people to victory and end this forever."

The only words that came to mind were angry, so Hermione hugged herself and turned away. She needed a moment to process everything. She heard Harry sigh.

"You went way off script," Draco whispered.

"She didn't incinerate me," Harry argued. "So it already went better than we thought."

There was silence for a few moments while they waited for her to act. She stared at the dirt beneath her feet without seeing it. Her mind was a jumble. She needed a moment to get herself in order.

"Well, I guess it's time to go."

Hermione turned back at Harry's words, in time to see the two awkwardly facing each other.

"Thanks, mate," Harry said, offering his hand. "I know you've always been jealous of me, but don't go dying as well just to prove something."

"Sod off," Draco growled as he simultaneously pulled Harry into a stiff hug, slapping him on the back. He muttered something into Harry's ear, causing the man to throw back his head and laugh.

"Well played, Ferret," he chuckled.

Hermione gave up. She stalked back to Harry and pulled him close again, something she hadn't been able to do in months. He hugged her tight, as if he could put all the pieces of her back together.

"Don't say goodbye," she pleaded.

He sighed, and she could feel the pain hiding behind his laughing face.

"There's no such thing," he answered gravely. "I've seen the other side. I'll be waiting for you. And Gin and Ron."

Grief was a choking her. So many friends had deserved her tears over the passing years, but she'd had none for any of them. They had dried up so long ago; it was difficult to remember what it felt like to cry. If ever there was a time to rail against the fates, it would be at this moment, for Harry and the future that had been stolen from him. Her cheeks remained dry, however, and she hated herself for it.

"I'm going to miss you," she whispered.

Harry scoffed, setting her away from him, his face smiling again. "'Course you are."

"Prat," she accused.

He began to back away from her.

"Give 'em hell," he ordered laughingly as he picked up his pace, getting further from her.

Hermione swallowed, unable to speak. He turned away, one hand in his pocket, the other on his Nimbus. Suddenly, Hermione was thrown back in time to a moment when a messy haired boy had walked toward his first Quidditch game, scared to death but smiling recklessly. She hadn't known then how this boy would become essential to her existence, sewn into the very walls of her heart.

"I love you, Harry Potter," she called after him, her voice cracking only a little.

"Love you too, 'Mione." His voice was faint as he faded into the mist.

"Be ready when the wards drop," Ron said.

"We've got it," Blaise growled. "You don't have to say it every five minutes."

The small group of witches and wizards milled about, waiting for the signal. Only Narcissa Malfoy and Zabini were able to keep still, apparently unaffected by nerves. Ron was pacing in small circles, muttering to himself and repeating orders compulsively. Mostly, the group was silent, waiting out the tension with a stiff upper lip and ready wands. There was a deep sense of hope within the ranks, restored when Harry Potter had walked out of his house under his own steam.

It was widely known that the Chosen One was beyond help. No magic on earth could bring him back to working order. There had been some speculation about his role in the battle; there had even been a rumor that he wanted to be tied to his broom. Now he would be flying to the front lines on his own, and it was no less than a miracle. He had taken the form of a mythical, resurrected God, and the soldiers of Hogwarts felt his presence deeply.

Ron, in particular, had transcended into hope. George threw his arm around his little brother, affection welling inside him. When had the little git gotten so large? George noticed a pale scar nearly bisecting his face. It looked old, but George had never seen it before. How many years had he spent at the bottom of a potions flask while the world moved forward and fought without him? Too many.

It was too bad he wouldn't survive to see the end, win or lose.

"That's the spirit."

Fred lounged against a nearby tree, eyes bright in his pale face. He seemed so real. But his voice echoed only in George's head, and nobody else looked his way. Going insane was a bit scary. Even in the face of a looming battle and almost certain death, the thought of losing his mind was frightening, and on this occasion, there was no potion to help blur the edges of his awareness. He didn't need it, he told himself. The last bits of his sanity weren't all that important as long as he could complete his mission.

Indeed, tonight would be different. Excitement jittered in his belly. He was ready. His head was clear of drugs, his courage was up, and he wanted to do battle. Fierce, bloody battle. He would fight back until his last breath left him, down to the dregs of his magical power. And when his spirit left his body, he wouldn't be alone as he had been for so many years. Freddie would be there to take him home.

"Now you've got it, Georgie. I'm here for you."

I'm ready, George answered.

Keeping centaurs hidden was harder than it sounded.

After centuries of hiding in the Forbidden Forest, one could assume the magical beasts were quite good at staying out of sight. After all, before the war there were very few people who had even glimpsed a centaur, much less spoken to one. As it happened, centaurs were noisy, impatient and proud. They shuffled about and snapped their tails, and snuffled a bit like a real horse. They chafed at the waiting, barely containing their frenetic energy.

The plan was very clear, but for the centaurs, hiding in the shadows was cowardly, and it chafed at their stiff sense of honor. Following humans only made it worse. Theo could feel their derision. He was happy Firenze had not revealed Theo's past as a Death Eater sympathizer, nor his more recent history as a Legionnaire. His former Divination teacher merely stared at him with knowing eyes.

"This is no way to do battle," Helgerian muttered under his breath.

"We need to stay out of sight until just the right time," Cho Chang snapped.

"Peace, my King," Firenze offered quietly. "You will have your opportunity for violence."

"So you have said, Reader of the Stars," Helgerian grumbled.

Theo felt alone. Chang and Oliver Wood spoke quietly not far away. They were the only humans present, and obviously did not consider him to be a part of their team beyond his usefulness with a wand. He didn't blame them. The heavy gold Dragon Rampant pin he had worn for years made him the enemy. Though he had discarded it the day they left the Muggle safehouse, he still felt the weight of it on his breast.

He and Blaise had said their goodbyes the night before. Now as he was waiting to fight, the adrenaline rising in his blood, a small kernel of fear had lodged itself in his heart. Blaise was a strong wizard, but he was no soldier. They had always fought together, from the day Bellatrix had risen from the dead and ended the world. Theo had stood as Blaise's shield; and Blaise as Theo's heart. It felt entirely wrong to be without him.

"You possess a steadfast nature that is surprising in a human."

Firenze had moved closer, his human half serene, but his beastly half twitching with anticipation. He had been taught his whole life that half-breeds were filthy, vile creatures. While for Theo, maturity had brought a better understanding of the world, it was still odd to find himself speaking with a creature he would gladly have killed not a decade past.

"You seem ready to fight, as well," Theo admitted.

"We have longed for a good war," Firenze told him. "It is in our nature to fight. Instead, we hide. It is shameful. Better to die."

"Are you going to die then?" Theo asked, curious.

Firenze shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Don't you know how this will end?"

He tilted his head, his bright eyes piercing. "For some. Not for others."

"Some aren't important enough to have their stories told in the stars," Theo concluded, irritated.

"The stars tell every story," Firenze corrected with a grin that could only be called impertinent. "But not every story is important enough to read."

Theo chuckled.

"Are you prepared for battle, scion of House Nott?"

The question resonated with Theo. Of course, he was ready to fight. It was something he did well, after all. He wasn't ready to face a life without Blaise. He swallowed hard, the seed of fear sprouting like a vine and curling around his heart. With eyes closed, he imagined the end of this bloody war, and taking Blaise in his arms, safe in the knowledge they would never again have to go into battle.

"I've been ready for this for years," Theo answered honestly, his heart aching.

The wind yanked at Draco's hair as he peered over the edge of the astronomy tower roof. It was always windy in this damned tower. The structure stood so high he felt like the thing had its own atmosphere. It was the stuff of Draco's nightmares. He had failed once before in this very spot, neither killing his enemy nor taking a stand against the evil trying to infect the world. The threat of a repeat performance tugged at him.

This time was different. He had her.

Hermione was leaning against a turret, turning a Muggle cigarette box against her thigh as she stared out over Hogwarts grounds. The soft paper crunched as she shuffled a white stick out into her fingers. Without really paying attention, she tapped it against the back of her hand - one, two, three times - before slipping it between her lips. A touch of her wand and it was glowing slightly. She inhaled, then blew the smoke out the side of her mouth.

Her absent-minded actions reminded him of the first time he had truly touched her, the moment he had decided to give into the ranting desire of his dragon, the night he realized he had wanted her for ages. He thought about the way her body had responded to his hands and the way her eyes had stripped him naked, right down to his soul. It had been the same every time since, much to his surprise. Rarely had he ever wanted a woman more than once or twice.

Of course, Hermione would be the exception. The damn woman had haunted him for years, a simple, innocent act of kindness enough to capture his attention and loyalty. He should have known that the moment she shared her body - and perhaps her heart? - with him, he would want her forever. Not only did he still want her, he craved her. The need to be close to her was as necessary and natural as taking a breath.

For a moment, he was tempted to pluck the cigarette from her fingers, press her up against the stones, and forget about the impending battle for a few moments. The idea was absurd, of course. They were both prepared to fight, she bristling with knives, and he adorned in his old Death Eater robes. There was a palpable vibration in her very skin, and tiny sparks still showered from the tips of her curls. He was almost positive she would not appreciate that kind of distraction. She'd probably set his hair on fire for the attempt, he thought with a smile.

"What are you grinning about?"

The question tumbled from her mouth with a cloud of smoke. She expected an answer as if one simple sentence could encompass all the reasons she had given him for smiling. Words came easily when they were meant to be cruel, but for Draco, speaking with sincerity was nearly as painful as the Dragon Pox, and just as humiliating. In truth, there was nothing he could say that would do either of them any good. So, he shrugged as he had always done before when she asked him simple questions that had too many answers.

She shook her head at him and finished off her cigarette, crushing it beneath her shoe.

"Well that didn't help at all," she complained, fiddling with the hilt of the huge blade strapped to her waist.

Draco had known from the beginning that his odds of survival were slim, and he had always thought he would face the end as he always had before, with weak knees and a burning pit in his stomach. Instead, he found himself chuckling softly at the warrior goddess in front of him, so ignorant of all the ways she had made him a better man. Perhaps he had done something right in his short, useless life to earn him a place next to her on the battlefield.

"Where the hell is Pansy?" she muttered.

He shook off his reverie and moved closer. "She likes to be fashionably late," he told her. "But she'll be here."

As he came to stand beside her, he noticed that she shuffled away, putting a bit more space between them.

"Are you angry with me?" The question had been eating away at the back of his mind since Harry had sauntered away from them some time before. Damn that fucking prick. The wizard had skipped off to meet his end as if he were going to the fair, leaving Draco to face the backlash. Did nothing scare him?

"No!" she answered quickly, turning to look at him. "I was quite put out at first. But I get it. I don't blame you."

"Really?" He took a step toward her and watched her recoil again, the motion striking him like a sword. He saw the moment she realized what she was doing. Guilt crossed her face.

"I promise I'm not angry." She held up her hands, dancing with magic. "I'm sparking," she said ruefully. "I don't want to hurt you."

The Dragon scoffed. Pull her closer, he whispered. She is yours.

"You're sparking because of what I did," he insisted. She had to be enraged still. He had betrayed her trust. Killed her best friend.

Her brown eyes studied him for a moment.

"He walked away," she said simply. "He was walking to his death, but he walked."

She was smiling even as fiery motes of grief rolled across her fingers. He tangled his hands with hers, wanting to take some of the pain from her.

"I knew almost immediately that I couldn't counter the curse. I kept at it for years, hoping there was something I was missing, some miracle cure I would suddenly stumble upon in a book I'd read a hundred times. It took me much longer to admit it was killing him.

"I watched him waste away. My best friend, the only person who was strong enough to face Voldemort alone, who would have died over and over again for us. He accepted he was going to die long before I did. All he wanted was to see the war end. You gave that to him, something I couldn't. I can't thank you enough."

It was too much to swallow. There was no way this woman was simply going to accept the death of her friend at Draco's hand.

"You can't possibly feel so serene."

"I don't think it's serenity I'm feeling. It's more than that."

The wheels were turning in her head as she sought the right word. Of course she would analyze it to death.

"In fact, I feel. . ." she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. "Hopeful. All because of you."

The dragon howled in victory. Draco struggled with the urge to do the same. Instead, he put on his best Pureblood mask and sneered.

"I see all that hope. You're practically dripping with it." He curled his lip, hoping it would make her laugh. It did, and she threw her arms around his neck.

"Well, don't get it all over me," he objected, even as he pulled her close. Oh, the scent of her. He wanted to bury himself in it like a down quilt.

"I wish we had more time," she whispered.

His heart sped up. Perhaps now was the time for confessions? He tightened his hold on her.

Pansy chose that moment to arrive, slamming the door to the roof on her way.

"Are we doing this or not?" she demanded.

"You're late," Draco growled, releasing Hermione.

Pansy stalked across the roof towards them, her long hair blowing in the wind.

"I'm here now, so shall we get started?" She was all impatience as if she had been the one kept waiting for nearly an hour.

"Yes," Hermione responded sweetly. "Now that you've decided to bless us with your presence, I suppose we can begin the most important battle in wizarding history."

If Hermione was looking for an apology, she got nothing but silence.

Pansy widened her eyes expectantly and made a shooing motion. "Well, then?"

Energy crackled against the wards overhead, causing an umbrella of white light to cascade across the surface of the magical dome. The Legion had begun their attack. It was time.

"Are you ready?" Hermione asked him.

Again with the cosmic questions to which he had no simple answers. She stood with her shoulders back, her limbs loose and agile. Her gaze focused on the ground, on the sight of the enemy appearing from behind the trees. Pure power crackled down across her skin and sparked through her hair. A predatory grin tugged at her lips.

She was a warrior witch, a goddess among mortals, and Draco was ready to lay down his life for her. He was ready to pull on his scales like the strongest armor and tear through the ranks of any army wishing her harm. He was ready to fly away with her, to find somewhere he could protect her from every enemy. Most terrifying of all, he was ready for what came after, should they both come out of this hopeless endeavor alive. He was ready to make Hermione Granger his in every possible way.

Instead of staggering beneath the weight of his epiphanies or falling to his knees at her feet, he squared his shoulders and nodded.

"Ready."

The wards shimmered with white light. High above them, among the castle battlements, a blue dragon rose up on her hind legs and spread her wings, letting loose a roar that shook the trees. Ginny craned her neck, wincing at the noise, as did every other soldier on the ground. The form of a massive winged beast blotted out the sun and sent a shadow slithering across the ground, carrying dread with it. The Black Dragon had appeared.

Harry couldn't look away from his wife, from the line of her neck, the sleek fall of her red hair.

"Ready?" he asked.

Ginny gave him a reckless grin, her eyes blazing with a familiar look. "Ready."

It was the same look she'd had before she kissed him for the first time all those years ago. He couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, or the need to press his lips to hers one last time. She clutched at the back of his shirt, her mouth desperate. When they parted her eyes were glittering with unshed tears. They stepped away from each other, gazes locked. The last of the wards fell, and they turned to face the enemy together.

A/N: Sorrynotsorry