Chapter Twenty-Four: To Rearrange the Stars
She was coming to the end of her strength. Gulping at the air like a fish out of water, she couldn't seem to get enough to ease the ache in her chest. There was pain in every corner of her dragon's body. It was mostly her wing. She had taken a glancing hit from Bellatrix's tail not long ago, seemingly insignificant in comparison to the others, but she could feel the muscles tucked against her spine curl and tear.
Draco was also flagging. He was bleeding profusely from a wound near his ribs. Just the two of them were not enough to keep the Black Dragon at bay. Pansy had left them some time ago to fight Luna and had not returned. Hermione desperately wished to visually seek her out, just to be sure she was still alive, but was unable to take her eyes off of the fight in front of her. Even a small slip up now could mean her death, or Draco's.
Bellatrix was suffering as well, though not nearly enough. It had taken her less than two minutes to break through the carefully constructed steel netting. The thing had been created and bound by magic, set to snap closed at a command and stay closed until released. The terror Hermione had felt as she watched the dragon snap through their trap outstripped nearly every other monstrous event in her life.
Hermione had been certain that the open wound she had carved into Bellatrix's belly was enough to kill her. The pool of blood had been large enough to wade in, after all; but Bellatrix's fire had destroyed that impenetrable cage before they could inflict any more damage and she had shed the magical net and attacked them once again.
Now they were back to attack and evade, feint and parry. Bellatrix had several wounds besides the slowly draining slice across her belly, a bent spine in her left wing, and a puncture wound from Pansy near her neck that was suppurating. Despite that, it was becoming more obvious by the minute that they would not succeed in killing her.
As if they agreed without speaking, they both knew what needed to be done. With all the other safeguards they had in place, even if Bellatrix survived, the Order could still claim victory. They just had to hold her off until that moment. Or until they died. As time went on, the latter was looking more likely.
Draco was bleeding, the dark red fluid staining his beautiful pearly scales. Hermione hated seeing it. She hated hearing every cry of pain, every grunt of exertion. She had seen the blood-soaked corpses of her friends, closed cold lids over empty eyes. It was impossible to think about Draco in that way. It made her heart trip painfully, it pushed her to move faster and bite harder.
The sky had darkened as they fought, the ominous clouds in the distance had finally arrived. They cracked and thundered overhead, releasing a torrent of cold rain. It slithered across her scales, leaked into her eyes and made it difficult to see properly. The air was thick with liquid, making every movement heavy and burdensome.
As she dipped around Bellatrix's vicious snap, her body screamed in protest. She wanted to sob. This needed to be over soon. One way or another.
Draco darted forward, using his teeth to take a bite from her underbelly. With a howl, Bellatrix coiled away, forcing Hermione to jerk out of her path. A searing pain lanced across her back like lightning. Her wing folded and she plummeted, air whistling past her ears as she sank from the clouds. Struggling to stay conscious, she gained control just in time to slam into the top of the astronomy tower. The magically fortified structure shuddered.
Hermione gained her feet just moments before she saw the Black Dragon bearing down on her. A streak of white entered her vision and Draco was crashing into the much larger beast. Bellatrix shrieked and snorted flames, turning just in time to slam Draco into the stones with a single claw wrapped around his neck. Hermione heard a violent snap and saw a bone protruding from the wing crushed under his body.
He uttered a low whine, but didn't move. Through the sheets of icy rain, Hermione could see him breathing in short gasps from between Bellatrix's talons. She needed to go to him, but her legs wouldn't move.
Get up! She silently screamed at him, even as she struggled to regain her own equilibrium.
Her legs began working, her wings tucked in their right place, and she began to move even as she knew it was too late. Bellatrix turned to look her full in the face as she casually shoved the white dragon, not bothering to watch as he slid limply from the battlements, a trail of steaming blood marking his passage.
A terrified roar ripped from her throat. The pain forgotten, it took Hermione seconds to reach the edge of the tower, desperately searching for any sign of him. Lightning ripped through the sky, illuminating a pile of white scales at the base of the castle, utterly unmoving. The floor dropped out from under her and she went reeling backwards.
No. NO!
Her heart stopped beating, the world stopped spinning, the breath left her lungs. For a single moment in time, she was left suspended in disbelief. Then it all came crashing down on her head. It was like electricity searing through her blood, igniting the wellspring of wild magic buried in her bones. The panicked energy tripped down her four legs and out across the thin skin of her wings. She crawled across the cold stones, away from the lifeless body of the man she loved.
Distantly, she heard Bellatrix let loose a terrible roar of triumph.
Everything was hazy, the hectic pounding of her heart was making her vision twist and bounce. The magic was getting away from her. Static was invading her mind. The crazed power that she kept so carefully at bay every moment of her life was roaring out of control.
Clutching claws became grasping fingers as Hermione lost her grip on the Formus spell.
Suddenly, Bellatrix was much larger, and the world much smaller. Her sense of smell and hearing shriveled away as the Dragon receded to the back of her mind. The change was like cold water poured over her head, yanking her from her paralysis. Staring up into a reptilian face that suddenly twisted into something resembling triumph, Hermione realized her predicament.
Could she manage the spell again, with so little strength left? Would she have time to transform before the other dragon killed her?
Making a decision, Hermione scrambled away, even as Bellatrix advanced, stalking forward with the assurance of a predator guaranteed a kill. It would be over in moments, and then the Black Dragon would be free to rain terror down on the Order soldiers from the sky.
Keep her off the battlefield.
She didn't want to leave him. But she had no choice.
"Lumos Maximus!" she screamed, thrusting her wand forward.
The sudden flare of light sent Bellatrix reeling, blinking stupidly. It was enough for Hermione to slip between her legs and sprint for the castle door. Just as she'd hoped, it wasn't long before the door creaked behind her, and the voice that haunted her nightmares echoed down the stairs.
"Here, little Mudblood," she sang. "Here, you filthy creature."
The stones next to Hermione's head exploded in a shower of rubble. She jerked away and kept running.
Draco was dead, Bellatrix was alive, and Hermione had nothing left.
Just keep her off the battlefield.
Heart pounding and breath rattling, she ran on, Bellatrix dogging her every step, hunting her through the halls of Hogwarts like a Dementor seeking a kiss.
Without conscious thought, she headed down, her feet taking her to the place she had felt the safest, the most loved. She ended up in the dungeons, staring at the faded green door she had called her own. Across the hall stood another door, much like hers but hiding a secret, powerful place. It was the heart of Hogwarts, and it had served her well before.
Hermione paced in front of it three times before clattering inside. A hex singed the last of the hair on her head as she shoved the door shut behind her. Bellatrix would never be able to get inside unless Hermione allowed it. She could hide here forever, or she could face her end.
According to some, one's fate was written in the stars. If that were so, then Hermione knew she would take apart the heavens and create her own damn constellations if it meant defeating her enemy.
"I know you can hear me," she said aloud. A breeze fluttered over her blistered skin. "I hate to ask any more of you. But I need you to change the rules and let the bitch inside."
Luna had landed somewhere on the outskirts of the Legion encampment. Pansy wanted to scour the tents for her and finish what she started, but she caught sight of a small melee near the center. Neville's rescue team was trapped. They hid behind a small outcropping, bravely facing off against five Legion members.
Pansy recognized her former betrothed and his twin sister amongst the enemies. A growl worked its way up her throat at the sight. She knew they had been torturing Neville, just as she knew Neville was the small clump of rags cowering at Theo's feet.
It took only a moment to change directions. Pansy landed on her back feet, wings spread and rattling as she hissed and spat venom. She hadn't forgotten that she was not impervious to spells as Bellatrix was, she simply no longer cared. Seeing Neville had broken something inside her. If they were going to kill her, she was going to shed some blood before they did.
A few of the enemy wizards balked at her aggressive show, falling back. Amycus and Alecto did not. They hit her with a stunning curse, causing her legs to freeze in place. She had never wished so much for fire as she did at that moment. Instead, she spat a long stream of venom their way. Alecto dove away, but Amycus took it full in the face.
He screamed and clawed at the poison eating away at his skin. Pansy used the opportunity to retreat behind the outcropping, her legs regaining some of their mobility.
Neville was sitting upright in the mud, a dark cloak covering his nakedness. When Pansy managed to catch his gaze, he screamed and started backing away. There was so much fear in him, the man who just days before, had walked up to her dragon form and caressed her cheek. It was too much.
The attack had resumed, with Alecto leading the enemy. They didn't have much time.
"Tried to Disapparate," Wood shouted. "We didn't want to take the chance."
He looked at Neville meaningfully. Pansy understood. They needed to get out of there, but a hysterical Neville significantly increased their odds of Splinching.
Pansy snapped at Theo. The man turned from the battle with an annoyed grimace, his eyes widening when they fell on a blubbering Neville. Pansy flapped her wings, trying to portray her intentions. She gestured to Neville with a claw and grunted. Understanding passed between dragon and wizard.
"Stun him?" Theo asked, doubtful.
Pansy nodded.
Neville made no attempt to dodge the hex, merely falling over in a mindless heap. He didn't even twitch as Pansy approached, scooping him up between her talons.
Sorry, she wanted to tell him. I'm so sorry, my dearest love.
"Have you got him?" Theo shouted, dodging a curse.
Pansy snorted impatiently. With a relieved nod, Theo gave the order to retreat, and the three of them Disapparated.
Cradling Neville's broken body in her claws, Pansy readied herself to take off.
A large, red beast fell from the sky, landing directly in Pansy's path. She was hit across the face with a large, barbed tail, the impact throwing her to the side. Neville rolled across the ground, still unconscious.
Pain shot through her body, coiling her muscles and crackling against her scales. Cruciatus.
Alecto Carrow entered her field of vision, her wand holding the curse in place. "Well done, my love."
Rallying the last of her strength, Pansy snapped the wand from the witch's grip, purring in satisfaction as it landed on the ground in pieces. Alecto screamed in a fury, releasing the curse. Pansy retreated, coiled around Neville's body, and stood ready to fight.
These fuckers wouldn't get him again. No matter how many Unforgivable Curses were cast, Pansy would take every bit of pain until the moment of her death. And when that seemed imminent, she would take Neville with her.
Harry had lost sight of Ginny. In a panic, he searched for her, reflecting curses and killing anyone in his path. Where had she gone?
Oh Merlin, could she be injured? Could she be lying in the mud, bleeding and alone? Could she be dead? Suddenly afraid he would trip over her, he stopped running and began searching the ground. His vision was fading so quickly. He couldn't see a fucking thing.
"Harry Potter. As I live and breathe."
Harry looked up in time to deflect a bright red curse. The voice was almost familiar, but he couldn't make out the man's face. He didn't have time for this. A sweep of his wand and the man was in pieces.
Where the fuck was his wife?
The left side of his body was buzzing unpleasantly. He could feel the weakness setting in even as his heart stuttered and started in fits. Damn his body. Damn that fucking poison. He needed to find Ginny and keep her alive. He would not leave this life without knowing she would survive. He refused to leave Lily an orphan.
It wasn't much of a fight. Hermione was exhausted, at her limits. She was soon tied with magical bonds, on the floor and losing her ability to struggle. The room was an exact replica of her own, with all the familiar books and pictures hanging on the wall. At least she would die surrounded by the things that had made her happy in life, even if they were just an imitation.
Bellatrix was bleeding, obviously injured, but seemingly unaware of her blood splattering the floor.
Keep her busy. Keep her here. Get up!
But her body would not obey.
Bellatrix was circling Hermione, just as she used to do. Her voice was conversational, pleasant even, but Hermione knew there was menace underneath. She would die, to be sure, but Bellatrix would make her beg for it before the end.
"He's quite dead, you know."
"No," Hermione ground out.
"I know about the bond between the two of you. Dragons can see such things. Though you aren't a true dragon," she spat. "Obviously, some measure of the dragon's nature passed to you."
"Stop."
"Don't believe me? See for yourself. I'll give you a moment."
She had shoved all recognition of their bond deep down inside her. Looking would only confirm what she feared, what she had witnessed only minutes before. Even so, Bellatrix's words made her aware. Without permission, her dragon's senses bubbled to the surface, and she gasped in pain. The bright light that had connected them was gone. Only a deep well of emptiness remained.
The Dragon was howling.
Reaching down to the very core of her spirit, Hermione took hold of the seething mass of Wild Magic waiting to escape. It was depleting quickly, already drained from the demands of the battle and the gauntlet of the last several weeks. There was enough left. Enough to wreak havoc. Hermione decided she would bring down the whole fucking castle.
Her body was a vessel of power, anguish, grief and rage. A scream erupted from deep within her chest, and with it, all the turbulent power that she had held captive for so many years. It burned through her, blasting away the last of her fear and shame. It expanded out from her body, a flaming torrent of pain and pure energy.
Hermione felt herself lifted, the magic bonds leaving her body. The power bowed her spine, crushing her as it built in intensity. Suddenly, it snapped, careening away even as it flipped her around and slammed her to the floor. Sparks exploded behind her eyelids, and she lay still as the inferno burned around her.
Then it was gone.
Consciousness was tenuous. Slowly cooling stones pillowed her cheek. Hermione cracked her eyelids open slowly, even as her body shuddered with pain. The room was in shambles, books reduced to floating embers and ash, the bed a pile of timbers.
Bellatrix still stood, a glittering shield surrounding her body. Hermione closed her eyes in defeat.
The magical ward had only partially protected Bellatrix. The woman was still standing, but her skin was red and shiny with burns, her hair lit with embers. She seemed to feel no pain, for as she limped forward, a cruel cutting hex divided the skin of Hermione's shoulders.
Hermione screamed.
"Of course, he knows nothing," Lucius chuckled. "You are all too willing to place blame on his father, but you keep Draco safe from the knowledge of his mother's complicity."
"I did nothing to help bring Bellatrix back from the dead," Narcissa cried, choking on the lie.
"We both know that isn't true. You like to call the ritual Necromancy, and I suppose in some way it was, but the truth is so much darker."'
"Stop." Narcissa knew, but she couldn't allow him to say it aloud.
"I could not have brought sweet Bella back without the missing piece of her soul," he sang. "The piece you helped her smuggle away so many years ago."
"I didn't know," Narcissa moaned. She could feel him circling her slowly, torturing her with her greatest shame.
"You knew," he taunted. "The Dark Lord may have given Bella the knowledge, but she could never have ordered her scattered mind around the magic without your help."
He was right. Bellatrix had been clever in her approach, only giving Narcissa bits and pieces of the ritual at first and cloaking it all in soft words and honeyed manipulation. When the suspicion began to nag at Narcissa, she had pushed it aside. Bellatrix was a Black, no matter what pathetic family she had married into, and such filthy ways were beneath the Most Noble and Ancient House. Only witches and wizards with weak minds and even weaker blood would resort to such chicanery.
"You're here for the Sword of Gryffindor," he crooned. "I'm afraid I've hidden it. I can't let you destroy the one thing keeping me in power."
Narcissa was weeping.
"I also can't let you leave without taking what is rightfully mine."
He ripped the jewel from her, the chain cutting deeply into the flesh of her neck. She cried out and reached for it, only to have him dangle it just out of her reach. He laughed and cradled the jewel in his hand before frowning.
"What is this?" he hissed.
Narcissa chuckled through her tears, a deep satisfaction spreading through her. "You didn't think I would bring it, did you?"
"Where is it, you bitch?" he screamed, advancing on her. "Where is the Horcrux?"
Narcissa only laughed. Lucius swung his wand in a vicious curse. It slammed into her body, making her scream and bleed.
"You will tell me where it is!" he barked, his pale skin darkening in rage.
His next curse sent her wand flying. She floundered on the ground, feeling nothing but pain. The Cruciatus was familiar to her, but somehow it was always worse coming from Lucius. At first, Narcissa had thought it was because the pain was accompanied by the agony of betrayal, but now she thought it was because Lucius had always had the power to hurt her more than any other person.
"And what am I supposed to do with this?" he snarled, holding the red jewel up to his eyes. "This. . . this. . ."
His voice trailed off, and Narcissa knew fear again. She inched away from him, coughing in pain.
"This map." The whisper was filled with wonder. Narcissa cringed.
His laugh was cold and menacing.
"Thank you, my dear," he chuckled, eyes still on the pendant he held. "It seems you aren't as useless as I thought."
"Lucius," she coughed.
He turned with a raised brow; no doubt surprised that she was still alive.
"Avada Kedavra."
The curse caught him square in the chest. He stopped short, his eyes rounded in shock, his mouth moving without a sound.
"Cissa." Her name was a sigh. He took a single step in her direction before falling to the floor. The last breath rattled from his lungs, and he fell still, his beautiful blue eyes on her face.
Narcissa pulled the necklace from his grip and wrapped in her cloak. Whispering over the bloodied fabric, she watched as it formed itself into the shape of an owl.
"Go," she ordered.
The satin bird flapped away, a red jewel blinking from between its beak, and Narcissa felt her muscles give way. She crawled to Lucius, studying his beautiful face and empty eyes.
There was something roiling in her belly, pushing up past her ribs and over her heart, tearing through her throat and rattling the very stones around her as it escaped her body. It was a scream, so long and utterly heartbroken she thought it might rip her apart.
Lucius had long ago turned his heart from her, burying the organ in darkness and dirt, but Narcissa had kept a part of herself for her husband, for the young man strutting the halls of Hogwarts who had so effectively stolen her heart and soul.
She sobbed over the cooling body of her love as even as blood clotted in her throat and her vision dimmed.
"Narcissa Malfoy is missing."
Bloody fucking hell.
"Can we confirm that all the important players are in the mansion?"
"Yes, sir. Lucius Malfoy and the Lestrange brothers are accounted for."
"We can't wait any longer," Ron said. "They're onto us."
"Perhaps she went back to Hogwarts," added Seamus.
Unlikely, Fred said.
It didn't matter. There wasn't time.
George threw one more glance at the unconscious Blaise, hoping the man would wake up and give his blessing. Or perhaps his forgiveness. Of everyone standing around looking to George for a decision, Blaise was the closest Narcissa had to family. But underneath the pile of bloodied rags on his face and neck, he remained silent.
"The 'Bombs go off as planned." A small cheer went up. "And we're leaving."
Only moments later, the first explosion rocked the ground, sending fire and dirt and stones up into the air. The rest of the bombs followed soon after. A few black-cloaked people were fleeing the castle, heading for the nearby hills.
"Time to go!" Ron yelled over the din of falling stones.
One by one, they Disapparated back to Hogwarts.
When the world stopped spinning, George found himself at the top of the usual hill, overlooking the castle. It was pouring rain, the clouds blotting out the sun and making midday seem like twilight. The battle raged on below, but there were no dragons in the sky. A dark feeling settled in his stomach as Ron and the rest of the team sprinted down to join the fray.
Hold on a moment.
Instantly, he was frozen in place. A wriggling started somewhere deep in his mind. He felt a ripping sensation as if a layer of his skin peeled away. He screamed and doubled over, gasping. It was over in less than a second.
Sorry, Georgie.
"What the fuck, Fred?" he coughed, trying not to gag.
Fred stood a few feet away, dressed in one of his old monogrammed Christmas jumpers, hands in his pockets. He looked so young. He also looked happy.
I had to get out before it was too late. He grinned. Getting a bit too comfy in your noggin.
"Warn a man first." He still wanted to vomit.
'Bout time I scarpered.
"You're not staying with me?" George felt cold.
Here? He looked around, hands in his pockets. Nah. This place is for the living. Besides, I got a train to catch.
George waited for the tearing agony, the suffocating, drowning feeling of loss. When it didn't come. Fred laughed at him.
You're okay, Georgie. I promise.
He was right. George took a shuddering breath. It felt different. He still hurt, but the grief didn't sit on his chest like a sack of bricks, making it difficult to breathe.
"I still miss you," George whispered. "It hurts like the first day."
It's supposed to hurt, you numpty. You're alive.
A tear escaped, blending with the raindrops trickling down his cheeks. George roughly wiped it away with his sleeve. He was suddenly terrified, and it had nothing to do with the fighting going on below. What if he had no other purpose? What if he had no life to live?
Don't worry. You've got loads left to do.
He hoped his twin was right. Otherwise, the future stretched on empty and endless.
"Don't get into any trouble without me," George warned.
Sorry mate, Fred chuckled. But I've got big plans for the afterlife.
He grinned mischievously then looked around as if he had a secret. He turned out his pockets, which were suddenly filled with Mayhem Makers, Whiz-Bangs, and Extendable Ears.
McGonagall is probably bored out of her mind. It's a public service, really.
George laughed, the strange movement creaking through his ribs and scratching his throat.
"Get on with you then," he chuckled.
Fred grinned and turned on his heel.
"Love you, Gred."
Love you Forge.
Fred's laughter lingered in the air even as his ghost disappeared.
Parkinson curled herself around Neville, tail rattling and venom dripping from her fangs.
"Just kill the beast and be done with it," Alecto ordered, throwing away her useless wand. She swiped wet hair from her face in irritation. "We need to take Longbottom to a safe place."
Luna hesitated.
"End this!" Alecto hissed.
Neville opened his swollen eyes and looked at her. There was no recognition in his eyes, no longer even any fear. They were empty, just like Luna. And it was all her fault. Sucking in a breath, Luna stumbled back acutely aware of where she was standing: in the enemy camp. On the wrong side of this bloody, beastly, brutal war.
Luna remembered the look of betrayal on Hermione's face when she had finally seen the darkness within. She would never be forgiven. She blinked, astounded that it should hurt her so much.
Parkinson's poison was eating at her insides like a flame. She could feel it licking at the edges of her heart, the organ stuttering with strain. The buzzing in her ears was growing louder, clearer, more real. It was a scream. A long-buried, ever-ignored, plea for help. The girl locked away in Luna's mind was wailing, pleading for mercy.
End this. Please.
Alecto was screaming at her; the woman who had broken her and twisted her into a monster.
Letting the dragon fall away, Luna spun her wand in the air, watching as Alecto stiffened where she stood as if frozen. The binding spell would last only moments before the other woman broke free.
Parkinson's cocked her head, sheathing her fangs.
"Run," Luna told her.
Not a moment of hesitation from the thin, purple dragon. She caught Neville up in her claws and drove the two of them into the sky.
"Luna," Alecto choked. "What are you doing, my love?"
Wasn't it obvious? Perhaps not. It certainly wasn't what Luna wanted. What she most desired was to remove Alecto's limbs one by one. Luna imagined taking her skin from her flesh and listening to her scream. Her hands were shaking; her stomach was twisting with shame and sick, twisted pleasure.
"What are you doing?" Alecto repeated, desperate.
Luna sighed. "Ending this."
As Luna pressed herself against Alecto, tasting her mouth for the last time, she clutched the Eggbomb hidden in her pocket. Looking into the depths of Alecto's eyes, so devoid of light and goodness, so unlike Hermione's, she whispered, "Decimari."
In the infinitesimal spark of time before the explosive tore her apart, she saw herself as she was before, roaming the halls Hogwarts, the Ravenclaw common room, in her father's home. She could taste the warmth of butterbeer on her tongue, feel the thrill of a new idea at the back of her mind, the tight embrace of a friend, the scent of her father's shirt, the silky-sharp pages of a new book, the joy of magic and life and love.
She remembered her friend, her only true love, and the trust and understanding and strength that had existed between them.
Happy.
Harmony.
Hermione.
Help me.
She didn't know to whom she was praying. She didn't even know if she were speaking the words aloud. Perhaps she was screaming. Perhaps it was all in her head. She dug her fingers into the pebbled mortar under her and begged. There was death somewhere in her future. She wanted it desperately.
Help me.
A cackle of exultation. A swish of her wand. Hermione was flipped over like a dead fish, staring at the ceiling. Turning her head was a challenge, but she would be damned if she cowered in the face of her impending death. The bones in her neck crackled as she met the eyes of her killer.
Let me die.
A wind kicked up in the small room. Ashes and splinters rose into the air. It rushed over Hermione's aching skin and blew the hair away from Bellatrix's face. It smelled like sunlight and a hill somewhere in the Albanian mountains. Hermione smiled.
The woman frowned, looking around.
"What is this?" she spat. "What have you done?"
She advanced, raising her wand. After only two steps, she stopped suddenly, a strange look flitting across her face. Hermione blinked. Was the floor vibrating? Or had she lost her mind to exhaustion and despair? She must be hallucinating, for it appeared as if Bellatrix's feet had sunk into the stones. A massive tremor rolled underneath Hermione's back even as Bellatrix screamed.
The wind rushed at her, turning her over and pushing her across the floor. She knew what she must do.
Trabeadraki Formus.
The agony of the transformation barely registered with her. Hermione absorbed the look of terror on Bellatrix's face the moment before she struck, soaking it up like sweet Butterbeer.
Bellatrix Lestrange tasted like tar and ash and slimy dark things hiding under beds. Hermione spat her head to the floor as soon as she tore it from her enemy's body. A great surge of triumph crashed through her dragon's body. She couldn't help the furious roar that blasted through the room.
The last of the dirt beneath the dark witch's body fell away like water and what was left of her was sucked down into the sea of roiling stones and dirt. As the last of her dark, bloody cloak slipped away, the floor reformed as if it had never been broken. Hermione blinked stupidly at the place where the darkest witch in history had stood just before the castle swallowed her whole.
Had it truly been Hogwarts or had she finally lost her mind? Had the castle felt her need and responded as it always had before. It mattered little. Hermione was dying. She could rest now. All she wanted to do was curl up and sleep.
Even as she let her eyes slide closed, she felt the whisper of something move through walls around her, caressing her skin like a benediction.
Thank you.
Her eyes snapped open. There was a new pain. Torn wings, burning scales, broken ligaments and shattered bones. The pain was not her own. It came to her like an echo across a canyon, carried on a wind of shimmering pearls and gold. It came with the scent of fire and black ink. It came with a command that she could not - would not - ignore.
The walls were still rattling, the rocks and mortar forking into cracks. A stone tumbled to the floor, then another and another, leaving a gaping hole open to the sky. The whole castle would be no more than rubble in a few minutes. With a creaking sigh, lights of pain exploding behind her eyes, Hermione pushed herself up and flew away, the head of her enemy in her claws.
He spotted her. She was fighting with a small group of witches and wizards, pushing the enemy back. It seemed there were fewer of the Legion than there were before, either dead or run away. It took longer to reach her than he would have liked, for his left leg dragged behind him. He used his broom as a crutch, making his way over the bodies of his friends and enemies.
He saw the Legionnaire take aim. With the last of his strength, he thrust himself in front of the man who had zeroed in on his wife with a sneer on his face. The curse took him in the back. It was a simple cutting hex, and honestly, Harry hardly felt it. Most of his body was nothing but pins and needles and random spurts of pain. It took him to his knees, his legs finally giving out.
The man fell a moment later; ribcage ripped open. He heard his name. Ginny was there. She covered him with healing spells, stopping the bleeding. He wanted to tell her not to bother. It wasn't the curse that was killing him. He saw the moment she realized.
"I love you," she said.
He wanted to say it back, but his throat was closing. He wanted to stroke her hair, but his hands were stuck. The pain in her face was worse than any curse. This was better, he assured himself. He could have died in bed, useless and frail. Instead, he had fought.
A dragon's roar in the distance. Hermione. He could hear the screams and cheers of victory as if through a wall of glass.
"She's dead," Ginny's nebulous voice reached him. He desperately wanted to keep his eyes open, locked on his wife. He was struggling to take a breath, his ribs tripping painfully with the strain. She leaned over him, blocking out the rain clouds and the dirty battlefield. He could count every freckle on her face, he knew them so well.
"It's okay," she whispered, her nose pressed against his. "We're safe now. We'll be safe."
Distantly, he felt tears of relief slide down his temple.
Though her eyes glistened with grief, her gaze was clear and brave, as it had always been. Her beautiful hair was tickling his face. It still smelled like flowers.
"Let go, my love."
And he did.
Harry wasn't afraid, he had done this before, after all. Dying was like falling asleep, or so Sirius had told him. He had been nearly right the first time. The second time was less like sleep and more like torture. As his muscles curled and snapped and his teeth clamped together, Harry wanted to chuckle darkly. The poison was finally doing its job and retrieving the gift it had given him, one onerous breath at a time. His heart stuttered in his chest and his vision went dark.
The last thing he knew before he finally felt peace was the softness of Ginny's lips pressed against his, the salt of her tears in his mouth, and the memory of Lily's sweet-smelling hair.