Shades of Grey

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Rise and Fall

"Only the dead have seen the end of war."

- Plato

It all happened so fast. One minute, Draco had been clutching onto Granger for dear life, his clammy hands grasping her form tight against his chest and his heart smacking violently against his rib cage. The next, the Order had thrown themselves into the fray, sacrificing themselves to save their precious Golden Girl and (much to their dismay) the Slytherin and former Death Eater who was along for the ride.

Longbottom's fierce declaration of war set off a chain reaction, and Draco—as shocked as he was that the fumbling fuck up of a Gryffindor was able to contribute much more than sweat and stuttering—found that his words triggered his comrades into action. Bellatrix, as if in slow motion, raised her wand high up in the air and flicked her wrist, emitting a series of sparks from the tip of her wand. The spell—whatever it was—was nonverbal, but Draco sensed that she was using it as some sort of call to arms…that within mere moments, the rest of her platoon would storm inside Lestrange Manor, armed and ready for battle. Potter, obviously predicting the same sort of outcome, was the first to shove his way across the parlor room…and straight towards Bellatrix herself.

"Your reign is over, Bellatrix, give it up" Harry called out in what seemed to be a voice much braver than Draco had been expecting from Potter. He lifted his wand as if to send a spell or hex her way, but the sudden thunderous sound of feet marching down the hall and bursting into the parlor from all sides distracted the Prat Who Lived. And just like that, everyone patrolling the Manor and those already at her side—Rodolphus, Yaxley, Greyback, Rowle, and Dolohov—impressed themselves upon the group of young witches and wizards. It was Bellatrix's next phrase—a single sentence, followed by a cold and unyielding sneer—that made Draco's blood run cold.

"Kill them."

Lestrange Manor became a blur after that. Rodolphus shoved his way through the throng of bodies in an effort to get to Harry. Potter, who must have seen him coming from a mile away, turned quickly on his feet, and his trainers squeaked unpleasantly against the smooth floor of the Lestrange Estate. With his wand at the ready and a fierce expression eating up his features, he looked every bit the martyr the rest of the sodding Wizarding World had painted him out to be. If Draco wasn't so terrified of facing his own imminent doom, he might have found it in him to be more critical of Potter in battle-ready formation.

As everyone threw themselves at one another, Draco pressed himself tighter against Granger. He could feel her pulse throbbing against his own as he clutched her hand, lifting his wand for protection and weaving her out of the line of fire. Avoid, avoid, avoid; he'd spent so many years protecting his family—protecting the parents who had hidden themselves away for safety and security—and for what? To go down in one last hell-fire at the hands of his mother's manic sister? No, no. He wasn't going to lose everything he'd worked so hard for.

But, most importantly, he wasn't going to lose her.

Lovegood was quick and light on her feet; for that, Draco had to give her credit. He watched as she skirted away from each advance Rowle made on her, causing the wizard to grow confused and disoriented with her jerky movements. Finnigan and Thomas had ganged up on Greyback (bloody beast of a man) together, and Dean had just managed to successfully deflect a curse that the werewolf had tossed at them when Greyback, stunned by the boys' level of defense, was shot clear across the room by his own wandwork. His body came crushing between Draco and Hermione, ultimately separating the two and shoving them halfway across the spacious parlor. He couldn't see Granger's bushy head over the chaos of the large room, but he could hear her voice—frantic and desperate—screeching for him through the destruction and chaos.

"Draco! Draco!"

"Granger, where are you?" Draco tried to call out, but his cries were drowned out by the sudden, high-pitched scream emitted by Hannah Abbott. Out of instinct, Draco spun around to face the young woman, and saw that Ernie Macmillan had crumpled into a heap on the floor. He was alive, but just barely, curled in on himself and sputtering out blood as the result of some foreign curse Rowle had tossed his way. Hannah stood brave and tall, furrowing her brows together and spreading her feet wide in a protective stance, before lifting her wand and—catching Rowle off guard in his smug glory—screaming "Petrificus Totalus!" at him. Rowle, unable to deflect the spell in time, froze and collided with the cold, hard ground, his eyes wide and terrified as they witnessed the battle raging around him.

Draco, struggling to keep himself focused and defensive, jumped clear across Rowle's petrified form with his wand raised in one clammy hand, deflecting and dodging each stray curse that made its way towards him. It was strange, the way his heart thrummed against his rib cage and fought its way up into his throat. His feet felt as heavy as lead as he skidded across the ground, struggling not to trip or falter as he sought sanctuary. And always, always, one thought dominated his mind: find her, save her, protect her.

As Draco ran, he noticed that Bellatrix was squaring off with Longbottom himself, who was currently being backed into a corner by the wild-eyed witch. In his heart, Draco knew that if she wasn't so fixated on ruining him the same way she'd ruined his parents, dear Auntie Bellatrix would have been headed straight for him. And Weasley was too busy helping Harry fight off Rodolphus, who had proven to be an excellent opponent, to bother dealing with anyone else.

Meanwhile, Draco still hadn't managed to make his way over to Hermione.

Really, in the chaos of it all, no one had bothered to notice Draco was there in the first place. Either that, or they were collectively saving the Blood Traitor for last. The term, still so fresh and bitter in Draco's mind, made him wince as he ran. He made his way over to Thomas and Finnigan, trying to shout over the ruckus and ask Finnigan if he'd seen Granger, when Greyback grabbed the Gryffindor by the scruff of his neck and tossed him aside like garbage. Dean, frantic with worry, rushed over to a now unconscious Seamus' side, shielding him from any more advances from Greyback.

And that's when Fenrir became Draco's problem.

Draco swallowed noisily, taking a hesitant step back as the large werewolf set his sights on the Malfoy boy. A sour, toothy grin ate up the beast's face, his sharp teeth twinkling in the lighting of the parlor and threatening to rip Draco apart. And suddenly, every curse, every hex, every jinx he'd ever learned fled from his mind. He was just barely able to dodge a slow and clumsy Cruciatus that Fenrir had been able to form on the tip of his tongue…and Draco knew that the next time Greyback aimed, he wouldn't miss.

They danced towards the middle of the room, passing by Ginny Weasley (who was currently being cornered by a carnivorous-looking Yaxley) and skirting away from Lovegood, who looked as though she'd recently taken a nasty blow to the mouth, and it was only when they were directly underneath the large and glittering light fixture at the center of the room that Draco felt a plan begin to formulate in the back of his mind. Acting quickly (and praying to God that Greyback wouldn't catch on), Draco lifted his wand and took aim…just as Greyback uttered "Expelliarmus." Draco's wand, much to his dismay, went flying from his hand, and just like that, he was hopeless. The young wizard tried to summon his wand, but to no avail; his wand was stubborn and he was too worked up to speak properly. And as Fenrir advanced on him, hulking and confident that he had outwitted the Malfoy boy, a quivering, familiar voice rang through the air behind them.

"Confringo!"

Granger's wand had been pointed at the base of the light fixture—the area pressed directly into the ceiling, and with a loud crash it broke away, sending the chandelier down, down, down…and directly on top of Greyback. The werewolf crumpled to the ground, and the weight and jagged edges of the chandelier dug into his back. The werewolf let out a loud, strangled howl that pierced the room. And there, just over the heap of his body, was Granger. Draco felt his heart speed up in his chest, threatening to burst right out of his body and splatter onto the ground below. He tore his way through the rubble towards her, reaching out with a fumbling and clammy hand to grab hold of her tattered clothing and pull her close. If Draco had been thinking clearly, he would have made sure to do a quick sweep of the perimeter; make sure that they were both clear and out of harm's way.

If Draco had been paying attention—even just a bit—then he would have noticed the way that Rodolphus was eyeing him; hungrily, and with purpose. He would have noticed the way he deflected a hex Potter had sent his way, causing the younger wizard to go flying against the wall. He would have noticed the way his attention was temporarily fixed on Draco and Hermione. And, most importantly, he would have seen the curse coming long before he heard it.

So when a jet of bright light flickered out of the end of Rodolphus' wand and hit Draco square in the back, making the young wizard lose control of his legs and go colliding against the ground, he felt himself grow vulnerable and still. As the curse worked its way through his body, Draco compared the agony to having his insides gutted and hung up to dry. It was like watching as his organs were sliced open and his bones fought their way out of his flesh. Strangely enough, the curse was something akin to the way Sectumsempra had felt on him, but different…more unique. Like a spell Rodolphus had been working on for years. Like something he'd been planning to use for a moment exactly like this one. And Draco, sputtering for breath and unable to communicate anything—anything at all—felt his fingers grip and scrabble at the smooth flooring of the parlor. He heard Hermione's scream penetrate the room, and then—before he could tell her to watch her back or to get away—she was falling to the ground next to him, taking his head in her lap and brushing his dirt-caked blond hair away from his face. Her fingers were covered in soot and trembling as she cradled his face, leaning over and murmuring bits of nonsense to him. Ron, who had fallen behind helping protect Ginny from Yaxley (who was currently levitating upside down in the air courtesy a pranking spell the twins had once taught their younger siblings), was just now realizing what had happened, and was calling out for Hermione to watch her back. Rodolphus, making his way towards the pair, lifted his arm to utter what Draco could only suppose was the Killing Curse, but then, as if on cue, Potter successfully dragged himself to his feet. And, panting and leaning against the wall for support, he cried out the one spell that seemed to be full-proof in warding off enemies.

"Petrificus Totalus."

And Rodolphus, much Rowle, was too late at evading the spell before it ricocheted up and down the length of his spine, freezing his limbs and sending him down, down, down to the ground.

Most of the Order members were tending to their wounded now, as most of Bellatrix's army had either been knocked immobile, unconscious, or were too injured to go on. And at the center of it all stood Bellatrix and Neville, who were still battling relentlessly with one another. Draco, through blurry and tear-stained eyes, was able to see Longbottom cornered by Bellatrix, who seemed hellbent on destroying him. Draco nudged Hermione from where she lay, and she looked over her shoulder to watch the horrific sight unfold.

"Just like mum and dad, aren't you, Longbottom?" Bellatrix hissed out, and there was cruel and cold sort of pleasure to her voice. One that caused a shiver to erupt down the length of Draco's spine. Of course, it might have just been the curse at work…

"Ron! Harry!" Hermione called out in a panic, and the boys—so atuned to one another—were gathering up their wands and limping their way through the crowd, fighting to get across the debris and fallen bodies in an effort to get to Neville in time.

"So weak, so arrogant of their abilities…but they fell all too easily; just as you will," Bellatrix continued, and before either Harry or Ron could disarm the witch, she was shrieking out "Avada Kedavra" and aiming her wand directly at Neville's chest.

Time stood still as a jet of piercing green light shot out from the tip of Neville's wand, making its journey from home directly towards its victim's chest. And Neville; quivering, stuttering Longbottom, looked as though he was accepting the fate that had surely long awaited him. His fingers trembled and his lips quivered; he whispered something to himself—something only he could hear—and then held up his wand, squeezed his fingers around his weapon, and successfully deflected the curse off of him.

And straight into Bellatrix Lestrange's chest.

There was a moment—a real, tangible moment—where Draco convinced himself she wasn't dead. But then the light flickered out of her eyes, and her lips—parted open in anger and shock—twitched one final time as the last breath fled her body. Her mangled soul, wrenching itself from her body, departed as her corpse at once fell in a heap onto the floor below with one final, dull thud.

"That," Neville breathed finally, stepping forward on shaking legs and holding onto the wall for support. He hovered over Bellatrix's lifeless form, pointing his wand down at her and spitting with more vitriol than Draco would have suspected from him. "was for my parents."

Draco's body was still dull and aching as the curse slowly began to wore off, and he patted Granger's hand to let her know he was okay. No one could say much of anything else. Not Luna, with her busted lip, or Ernie, with his spasming limbs, or even Dean Thomas, clutching onto Seamus' unconscious body and sobbing for him to be okay, could compare to the somber sort of sensation that settled over all of them as Harry and Ron, taking initative, magically bound all of Bellatrix's followers. And at the end of it all, shattered and weary, even Draco allowed himself a moment of silence as Neville fell to his knees before Bellatrix, pulled her wand out of her cold grip, and snapped it directly in half.

"Enough," Neville breathed, and Draco felt himself agreeing with Longbottom. Possibly for the first time in his life. "Enough."

a/N: Well, it's been a while, hasn't that? For that, I apologize! Working and attending college is extraordinarily stressful and eats up a lot of my time. And, admittedly, I found myself distancing myself from fanfiction for a bit and focusing solely on developing my own characters and worlds (which, of course, is what every writer aims to do). But when I've had time, I've been thinking back on SoG and today, with a spark of motivation, I finished up this chapter! We're nearing the end of what has been a very near and dear experience for me, and I hope you all enjoy the outcome of Hermione and Draco I've been planning on in this fic for quite some time now! Hope you're all doing well and, as per usual, please leave your comments/reviews below! They mean the world to me!