This is it, my lovelies! Thank you goes to all of you that have reviewed, cried, and yelled at the fic in hopes that it would turn out differently. Here is the end. The way it has ended was done on purpose so that I may revisit the fic in the future (wink wink). Again thank you for all your time and bravery.
In the end, there was a lot less bloodshed than one might have expected.
After exiting the asylum, Harry, Luna, and Draco regained the use of their powers, the Bocca del Inferno that resided within the gothic building closed permanently. Draco carried the body of Hermione Granger—for he refused to let anyone, including Potter and Lovegood, near her—and Apparated several times before he arrived at Malfoy Manor, leaving the other half of the team to their own devices on how to return. The wards the Ministry had erected while he'd been under Snape's surveillance were easily removed and he entered his mansion for the first time in almost five years.
Bypassing all the rooms, he wordlessly opened the patio doors and descended the steps, to head towards the ancestral sepulchre that took up a great deal of space in the middle of the hedge maze. He didn't need a map to direct him to the heart of the leafy labyrinth, even though it was still somewhat dark out, for he knew it like the back of his hand. Reaching the mausoleum, Draco laid her on the marble funeral dais meant for family members only. He Accio'd a chair to sit by her side, welcoming the resurgence of his magic after having been handicapped for so long.
In the twilight before dawn, he studied her peaceful features and wondered what possessed a person to give up their life for another. Standing, he traced the barely visible freckles that dotted her nose, her pale lavender lips that looked like she was about to speak at any moment, and the scratches she'd suffered earlier were now more pronounced. Moving downwards, to her chest, his gaze came upon the sucking wound, somewhat like his own though his had not been as mortal. Her life's blood had soaked into the turquoise blue fabric of her shirt. He glanced at his right leg, her makeshift tourniquet still in place, and he knew that he would put the strip of fabric she'd so willingly given him in a place of honour.
A slight breeze brought the scent of crisp apples to his nose, causing him to crumble to his knees beside her. "You promised," he whispered harshly, burying his face against her arm. "You were supposed to be here so that I could send you letters every day about how my leg looks like a dimpled mess." His tears streamed unchecked over his high cheek bones. Taking her clenched hand, he brought it to his lips. "Why did you do such a stupid thing, Granger? I'm not worth it!"
Pressing a kiss to her now rigid fingers, he heard a crinkling noise from within her fist. Prying back the pale digits, he spied a piece of paper tucked inside. It was mangled and torn in half, and he idly wondered if that was the stuff she'd used in order to get her fire going in the asylum; the smudged fingerprints confirmed that she'd handled it recently.
He smoothed out the paper, tears welling in his eyes anew as he read her flowing script.
Greater love hath no man than this; that he lay down his life for his friends.
Severus Snape reclined in his chair, his hands steepled in contemplation and curiosity.
It had been a week since he'd sent the motley crew to do what was required. He'd heard nothing from any of them, not that he expected to. Did time pass differently where they were? Anything was possible where Floohart was concerned. He knew one of them would not be returning, but that was the extent of it. He was not privy to Floohart's agenda so he could only hope that Draco would be spared, as he genuinely cared for his Slytherins. As most insanely powerful creatures are wont to do, however, he anticipated that Hell's agent would take great pleasure in choosing the marred soul, Draco, for his plan—whatever that might be.
The pain from his injuries was excruciating today, and he'd taken a liberal amount just to take the edge off, idly wondering if one day the potion wouldn't be enough. It wouldn't matter really. He'd fulfilled his end of the bargain with Floohart, and thus ensured the safety of the Wizarding world, though he often wondered if the ends justified the means. Lost in ruminations, he nearly missed the knock upon his door.
"Enter," he drawled.
His astonishment couldn't have been greater when Draco Malfoy slipped into his office, covered from head to toe in blood, grime, and bruises. When the young man stood before him, Snape noticed the redness of his eyes, as if he'd been crying.
"Sit, Draco," Severus said gently, sensing the fragile state he was in.
"No." He stared at the Headmaster. "You're surprised to see me."
Looking him over from head to toe, Snape grimaced. "Have you been seen by a healer?"
"Tell me why," Draco croaked, ignoring his question. "You knowingly sent us to our death the moment we walked out of here yesterday."
"Yesterday?" Snape said incredulously. "You've been gone a week."
"A week?" Draco touched the wound on the right side of his chest, and winced in pain when he pressed against it. "It felt longer. He must've altered time while we were there."
The dark wizard rose slowly from his seat and made his way around the desk to stand next to his former pupil. "He?"
"Floohart." Said out loud, the name sent shivers down both men's necks. "He took her."
"Lovegood?" Snape asked causally. Too casually.
"No," Draco countered in a low and dangerous tone. "I want an answer."
A sneer was etched on the Headmaster's face. "I assume you saw the memories. That should be sufficient explanation."
"I saw one," the younger man said with a snarl. "Hermione saw the others." He snorted when Snape looked confused. "She figured out everything before any of us, and she made sure we survived to return home." Knowing his mentor had a hand in her death, Draco leaned in close. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you."
"You cannot speak to me in such—"
"But I have, and I will," Draco cut him off. "Crucio!" The blond showed no emotion whatsoever as he went on to cast the Unforgivable on the one person he had looked up to, the one he'd trusted with his life. He knew that Snape would not be able to recover from a prolonged curse, especially in his vulnerable state.
"You sent us to our deaths," he intoned flatly, ceasing the hex long enough to place the heel of his boot on Snape's chest, digging it in and enjoying the older man's whimpers of pain. "You knew all along that we would not survive."
"No," Snape grunted, his breathing becoming shallow, just like Hermione's had. "I knew one of you would die," he admitted. "I gave the book to the one that would be missed the least."
It was the wrong thing to say, and Draco's eyes flared with an unholy light. "The least of us—is that right, Severus?" Rage consumed him at the thought that Snape had set her up from the beginning.
"You hated her, Draco." He wheezed, grappling with the boy's foot in a vain attempt to remove it. "Tell me otherwise!"
Bending low so that he was nose to nose with the dark wizard, the blond hissed, "Otherwise." He laid the tip of his wand against Snape's forehead. "So, what shall it be, hmm?" He gave Severus a feral smile. "Obliviate or Avada Kedavra?"
"Kill me then," the dour wizard said with a snarl. "End this wretched existence of mine!"
"Why not let him come home with me?" interjected a voice from the doorway.
Turning, Draco tensed when he spied Nicodemus Floohart. "Avada Kedavra!" He flung the curse at the object of his hatred, dumbfounded when the newest bane of his existence deflected it as though it were a bothersome gnat.
"My boy, when are you going to learn?" Floohart blew soot off his nails. "You just can't kill me."
"Hermione did a damn fine job of it," Draco corrected with a mutinous tilt to his chin.
Strolling into the room, Floohart glanced down at Severus, smiling wickedly. "He does have a point." He pushed the bedraggled blond aside and pressed his own boot into Snape's throat. "She destroyed a century's worth of work."
"Good for her!" Malfoy spat.
"Ah, but not good for your friend here." Floohart snapped his fingers and Snape shot upright. "I still need payment."
"What do you mean?"
Floohart turned his attention to Malfoy. "It's all very simple. He asked for my services, I want payment... or I can return your wretched time back five years and it will start all over again."
Five years? They were all in the thick of the battle against Voldemort at that time. Is this what Snape had done? Make a deal with the proverbial Devil to extinguish the Dark Lord in exchange for...
"A soul," Floohart supplied. "I just needed one more to open that portal, but alas, my particular vice—Vanity—obscured Miss Granger's plan until it was too late."
"You didn't think she'd do it, did you?"
"Dear boy," Floohart said condescendingly. "You opened the book and it chose you, but bleeding-heart Granger chose you as well."
He didn't know if he had the courage to handle the answer to his next question, but he asked it anyway. "For what?"
Giving the blond a snide look, Floohart arched his brow. "Her love, you imbecile."
iThe Selfless Love," Draco murmured to himself. "I killed her."
Floohart sniggered. "She was right, you are a drama queen. Not everything is about you." He gave a very put-upon sigh. "So..." he exclaimed with a clap of his hands. "Which is it? A soul or a repeat of the last five years? I'm a very busy man and you're not the only stop I have today."
"Don't you have hers?" Draco asked, genuinely confused. "I thought that's why—"
"I'll attribute your lack-wit questions to the fact that you're stressed." Floohart rolled his eyes. "She is merrily tip-toeing through the tulips for all I know. Souls that selfless get a one-way ticket straight to paradise." He shrugged. "Besides, she would've made a terrible minion. Can you just imagine it? Admonishing the sinner for his transgressions and then indulging him? It would've set a bad precedent."
Draco could indeed see Hermione as a reluctant agent of the Underworld—Floohart wouldn't have been able to rid himself fast enough of her termagant presence. It also brought a fresh wave of tears to his eyes. "If we went back five years, would she be returned to the Wizarding world?" he dared to ask.
Floohart studied him as he landed a fierce jab to Snape's ribs, delighting in the man's whimper of pain. "Yes, but she would end the same way. Everyone has a thread, Malfoy, and hers was cut as it was destined to be." He held up a long silver cord. "This is yours." Waving it back and forth, he smiled. "I can't make it longer, but I can certainly make it shorter." He brandished a set of scissors and poised them at the middle of the strand, ready to cut. "What say you?"
Could he do that to Hermione? He knew Floohart wasn't divulging all the details that involved going back five years, so the true consequences of such an action could not be comprehended. Would he let her death be in vain if he wished it undone? The implications were staggering. "Any soul?" he posed hesitantly.
A malicious smile crept over Floohart's face. "As I said, why not let me take him?" He pointed at the panting Headmaster.
Snape managed a sneer. "Do your worst. I'm already dying."
Nicodemus placed his hand over Severus' heart. "Oh, but you're not, my precious deviant." A jolt raced through Snape's body and he staggered backwards. "I'm going to keep you alive."
"In Merlin's name, why?" Snape shouted, clutching at his chest.
"To exact my payment, old fellow," Floohart explained as if the other man were a simpleton. "Over, and over, and over again."
Hooking his taloned fingers in the Headmaster's nostrils, Floohart dragged him to the door, turning once to look over his shoulder at Draco. "I'd say I'm sorry for your loss," the handsome man said, sounding truly regretful for a moment before his eyes turned red and he showed the young wizard his fangs. "But I'm not."
"Fuck you!" Draco roared, throwing another curse at him with the same results as the previous one.
Propping Snape on the outside of the door, Floohart waggled his eyebrows at the furious blond. "Temper, temper." He smiled and left, taking Snape with him.
It was nearly mid-morning by the time Draco returned to the manor. Once again, he made his way to the Malfoy crypt, only to sit in silence and stare at Hermione's still body where it lay on the black and white marble.
He tried to think, to rationalise his and her actions regarding the events of the past day—or according to the currently suffering Potions master, a full week—but he just couldn't move his mind past the fact that she was no longer there to tease, that the person he'd come to respect and care a great deal for was gone. All throughout his school career he'd been taught to hate her kind. Taught, not born with the hatred, but learned it at his father's knee. But his parents were as gone as she was, so where did that leave him?
Tears flooded his eyes once more when he remembered the look on her face when he'd called her a 'Mudblood' in the ballroom. He'd been trying to get her to leave so she wouldn't be exposed to whatever Floohart had intended. That look had spoken first of hurt and betrayal, and then of refusal and determination. He honestly didn't know whom she had been trying to save that day by doing such a foolish thing—him or Wizarding kind itself. In the end, he supposed it didn't matter; they were all safe because of her sacrifice.
The fronds of a nearby willow tree swayed slightly, though there was no breeze, and the light scent of apples was carried on the wind. Draco buried his face in his hands to stop the sensory overload.
"It was for you."
Raising his head gradually, he darted his gaze all around him to find the source of the voice. "Who's there? You're trespassing!"
"You brought me here." It was like a lover whispering in his ear.
Confused, he stood and whirled to see the misty image of a woman standing near the cascading tree limbs. Narrowing his eyes, he studied her form until his mouth went slack with shock. "Hermione?"
A serene smile graced her lips as she slowly approached until she halted just in front of him. "It was for you," she reiterated.
His chest was heaving from the gasping sob surging within. "Why?" he asked pleadingly. "Why did you do that?" He reached out to touch her and muffled a whimper when his hand met no resistance.
"It was the right thing to do." She was dressed in the same attire she had died in, but it lacked the abuse she'd suffered while wearing it, her complexion flawless. "I regret nothing."
"Well, I do!" he cried. "It should've been me up there, and it was, but you had to go and foul it up as usual, Granger."
Her tinkling laughter surrounded him, washing over him like a soothing balm. "I always seem to get in your way, don't I?"
Moving closer, he traced the outline of her form with his fingers, desperate to feel her. "It was supposed to be me."
"Even a Malfoy doesn't always get what he wants, you know." She leaned into his palm when it caressed her transparent cheek. "And I kept my promise."
"What promise?" he asked softly, amazed at how his hand tingled where it met her misty form.
"I'm safe now; nothing can hurt me anymore."
Draco crumbled to the ground and sobbed loudly, wholly undone by the fact she had indeed, kept her promise, though not in a way he was happy with. He didn't know how long he sat there, propped up against the marble dais, but his tears eased when he felt a kiss pressed to his forehead.
"I'll come back," she whispered near him. "I still have to read all those letters you intend to write me every day about your leg."
Dusting himself off, he stood on shaky legs, scrubbing his red-rimmed eyes. "You can bet your sweet arse I'm going to be writing them, too."
She smirked and nodded. "You'll be all right?"
He returned her smile. "For now."