The Final Breach - Chapter 12
"Hermione."
Lifting up on her bloody elbows (he'd healed them, yes, but the blood still lingered on her light skin), her dark eyes gazed into his silver ones, a small smile on her lips. In that instant, nothing mattered to him. Draco didn't care that his parents were possibly dead, no doubt having met the most horrific demise by someone of the order; a Weasley perhaps. He didn't care that Blaise Zabini, his best friend since he had been a young lad, laid behind him dead and unmoving, all because of him. He didn't care that there was a good possibility their side would lose. He didn't care about anything save for the fact that his beloved, his cherished Hermione, was awake and calling out to him; safe.
"Hermione," he croaked again, falling to his knees beside her.
"What happened?" she asked breathily, rubbing her forehead, attempting to save herself from the current headache throbbing behind her temples.
Draco, overcome with emotion, ran his hands through her hair and pulled her face a mere inch from his own, allowing their breath to mingle. He held her that way for a long time, drinking in her beauty and letting the guilt he'd been feeling wash out of his system; sucking poison from a wound.
"You...bloody hell," he swore, frustrated in himself for the inability to form coherent thoughts. He damn well knew what he wanted to say. Oh yes, he knew and he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to pick her up and carry her off, getting them away from harm—away from the impending danger still lying ahead of them. This idea, of course, was out of the question. Now he could see her facilities returning to her, she'd no doubt set off to complete her mission. Well, come hell or high water, he'd help her get it done. He'd keep her safe no matter what it cost him.
"Damn it, Hermione," he said, pulling her body into his lap and burying his face in her hair. "I thought I lost you. Don't...Merlin, don't ever do that to me again!"
She pulled back, pinning his face with her small hands, staring at him with a wary look. "Do what? I uh...I don't r-remember..."
Draco no longer cared and grasped the back of her neck to pull her in for a fierce kiss. He could taste the coppery blood from her mouth yet it didn't hinder his resolve to feel her lips against his own. Merlin, she felt incredible. His arms snaked around her thin body and held her that way for a long while, content just to feel her close, feel her alive.
"Draco?"
He didn't respond, unable to formulate words to properly acknowledge how he felt in that moment.
"Draco, love, what happened?"
Gently yet resolutely, she pushed him back to meet his eyes again, trying to understand what caused him to have such a fright. She remembered the opening of the war to witness their faces...oh God, those looks. The looks they gave her just about broke her hea—NO! I felt nothing over that. Bloody hell, what in the fuck is wrong with me?
"Talk to me," she urged, rubbing his cold arms for good measure.
"You uh...Merlin, you collapsed on me," he blurted out, his words tumbling one after the other after the other, "and I thought I was going to lose you completely. You had a gaping hole in your back about the size of a snitch–" (Alright, so I'm exaggerating, but I thought I was going to lose her! I'm allowed to exaggerate, he thought hotly)–"and a temperature below zero!" (Again with the exaggerations, but she's smart enough to know I'm in hysterics, right? I mean...the thought of losing her kills me so she must know actually being in a situation where I almost DID lose her would send me over a little bit)–"I've never been so scared before."
Her mouth hung open, shocked in how she didn't recall any of that happening. She remembered dueling with some of the Weasleys and even getting into a scuffle with Mad Eye. Bloke knocked her into a tree, but after that...GINNY! She realized at once she saw Ginny which altered everything, turning the situation into a moot point. What mattered now was getting the Dark Lord the one tool he'd need in demolishing the chosen one.
"Draco," she whispered, haltering his babbles and forcing him to focus on her in the present; "I'm sorry I gave you such a fright, but that's over, love. It's over now and we have to remember we're still in the middle of a bloody war. Now, I've got to get over there to—"
"No," he interrupted, his voice powerful for the first time since she woke up.
"What?" she questioned, unsure if she heard him right. Perhaps he was saying no about something else because he couldn't mean no to what I just said.
"No, you're not going back in there. I'm getting you the hell out of here!" Suddenly, without giving her a chance to protest, he hauled her up from her sitting position and started walking away from where the battle began. Several bodies littered the ground, eliciting a few muffled screams from her, bloody snow crunching beneath their boots and staining their–hers and Draco's–skin...it was all too much. However, she didn't give up her resolve; she couldn't stop without completing her mission. She shook herself away from his grasp, disentangling herself from him.
"Hermione..." His voice almost sounded like a warning, like he was to the breaking point.
"Draco, I CAN'T leave until I do this. I made a promise to him and to everyone else and I intended to follow through with it. Don't make me back out on this now—not when I'm so close!"
Shaking his head, he walked up to her and gripped her firmly by the shoulders, so tight she knew there would be bruises later. He muttered, through grit teeth, "I can't risk losing you again. Don't you understand that? It just about killed me and it did cost someone their life. We lost Blaise because of it!"
"What? How the hell did this—"
"My attentions were focused on you and I didn't see the stupid bloke...what in the fuck was his name? Stupid chap that always hung around with the idiot Weasley twins...tended to be the quidditch announcer and..."
"Lee Jordan?" she asked, slightly gobsmacked.
"Yeah, that's the idiot. Came here to kill ME and YOU and the idiot Blaise, gallantly as it may be, stood in the way and got himself killed!" he barked, his mixed feelings over his best friend finally dripping out of his mouth. "I uh...shit, I didn't want it to come to this, but I can't risk losing you. I've lost my best mate, probably my parents, and you're all I have. Please don't make me lose you too."
That isn't fair! He's practically guilt-tripping me into all of this. I can't just LEAVE. What will the Dark Lord...think...her mind switched gears when something came to her, taking her thoughts in a new direction. Wait a moment...am I not fighting for Draco? I'm only fighting so I can live a life with him and now he just wants to take me away? Isn't this what I want? Her thoughts changed, No! I made a promise to prove myself, to both the clan and to myself personally, and I intend to fuckin' follow through with it. I WILL get that weapon to him.
"No, Draco," she muttered forcefully, her mouth pursed and anger welling up to save off her impending emotions of wanting to listen to him; "I have to do this. This isn't a matter of life or death anymore, about who lives because of us or who died at our hands, but about us surviving. Even if you take me away, our treachery will follow, on BOTH sides. Do you not understand that?!"
Draco, though his eyes held resolve and his posture never shifted from the offensive position, truly had not thought about that. If they were to walk away, even though many of the other death eaters were no doubt venturing off the property to save their own sorry hides, the Dark Lord would surely kill them for abandoning the cause if he came out the victor. On the other hand, if the other side were to win, running would only get the young couple so far. They'd be found and killed. Hermione was right. What they needed to do was help finish this bloody war so they themselves could live a life away from hassles and molestation...possible death.
In spite of this, he didn't come out and say that. Again, his eyes remained steadfastly on hers while his hands gripped her upper arm tightly.
"I understand where you're coming from, Hermione. I do. It's, well fuck, just like Blaise acted–it's gallant, but I don't like it," he told her, pulling her closer to his once-again cold body. He sighed, a long, tired sort of sigh before he said, "I'll take it. Give me the Merlin-forsaken sword and I'll get it to him."
"No!" she argued, shaking her head in the wake. "That is NOT what I want! You think you'll just go do it and I'll stay here, knitting, waiting for you to return to me? I don't think so."
"It's more dangerous for you out there!" he countered, pale skin brimming in a pink hue.
"I don't give a shit, Draco," she told him firmly, removing her arm and pushing past him, stepping over the corpse of Madam Hooch, a woman she'd known from her second day at Hogwarts. It stopped her momentarily, startling her even, before she ventured further with Draco in her wake.
"Hermione please..."
Very few times did he ever plead and never did the word leave his mouth in a defeated tone. Hermione's heart broke upon hearing his painful words for that was exactly what this did to him; caused him pain.
"I can't..." he broke off, she unable to see him in his position behind her. "I can't lose you."
As though a leprechaun came up to smash his pot of gold over her face, spilling the contents around her feet, a stroke of inspiration wrapped itself around her mind. She turned around and walked toward him, kicking the odd yet charming cloak belonging to Madam Hooch out of her way, grasped his face within the confines of her once more cold, freezing hands, and kissed him fully; deeply. Draco didn't respond immediately but soon participated, pulling her tighter to his body.
Once she released his lips, she whispered, "Then we do it together. You and me—the both of us, do this together. Deal?"
She saw the flinch of hesitation and the battle of uncertainty occurring behind his normally guarded eyes before he succumbed.
"Deal."
0000000
"Shhh," he told her, stepping between the pits of snow itching to claim prisoners within their icy borders. His bare arm had been gnawed down, raw from the biting cold and the numerous butcher jobs done by assailants and other forms of nature. Not to mention her tight hold, one which involved spastic nails dipping into his flesh when a noise cracked or one of their wands lit up in alert of upcoming adversaries.
Merlin, he was tired.
How long have we been fighting? A day? A week? A BLOODY YEAR?! he thought disconcertingly. Alright, I'm bloody embellishing, but come on...it feels like it's been forever.
"Where do we go from here?" she asked, her voice so soft he almost didn't hear her.
"Well," he told her, hoarse and grating, "I think you may want to head for higher ground."
She jerked away from him, scratching his arm in the process which caused him to bite his tongue from growling out his pain. When he turned up to meet her face, her expression was one of acute anger and fear.
"That is code for going home, correct?" she asked rhetorically. Normally a sheepish mien would have flushed all over his face yet it didn't appear this time. Truth be told, he never wanted her there in the first place. It was far too dangerous for her, still he gave in feeling, to a deep degree, this was her war just like his. However, most of the major fighting already ended and all that remained was the last, most gruesome battle.
Well, he thought sharply, pardon me if I want her to remain healthy and safe.
"Let me tell you something, Harry James Potter, I have just as much right to be here as you do. I will not, cannot, go back home until this war is finished. I dare say you better not have the audacity to suggest I go home and bake a pie while you're—"
"Enough," he growled, through with her chastises. She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it, an unusual feat for her.
"Ginny," he said calmly, "I love you, alright? I love you so much and I promise that when this is all over...I'll come back and I'll marry you. I'll give you the most incredible wedding you could ever imagine."
Not catching his underlying tone, Ginny felt angry tears welling up as he continued to speak; "just...I'm not telling you to go home. That isn't my place as your leader because right now that is what I am. I am your leader, your partner, your workmate. However, as your boyfriend and fiancé, I beg of you to leave this place. Understand the distinction?"
Ginny nodded, her red-hair falling out in wisps from her slanted ponytail. Of course she always dreamed of marrying him and after dating him for the last year expected it, but when he proposed to her a week prior, she never imagined, even in her worst fears, complications would lead them to this junction. The situation, the setting, all still had a purpose. She had to focus and focus she did.
"I understand and I'm fully aware of what you're saying. Trust me, as your fiancée, I don't want you here either. Merlin, everyone is out for your blood. Nonetheless, we are not the couple right now, as you said in so many words, but Order members. We fight, Harry. Now, as my leader, tell me what the hell you want me to do."
Nodding, accepting her words (wise beyond her years, he thought admiringly), he commanded, "I'm going to head this way since I know Voldemort was last seen in that direction. He's probably making his way back as we speak. I want you to go that way—" he pointed in the opposite direction, a lighter, less murky area from the one he was about to venture into—"since my wand keeps twitching on me. I know someone is bound to come from that direction. Okay?"
Ginny hated the idea of separating from him yet agreed, understanding it was best for their mission. She reached up to meet his lips and embraced him briefly before she disengaged, afraid she'd lose her resolve, and strode purposefully in the area he'd assigned for her. Little did she know, Harry stood behind her for a long while, watching her walk away from him. She didn't know her leader had every indication that little fighting impeded her pathway, knowing safety was within reach in that direction.
He'd sent her toward the Order.
He'd sent her away from the fighting.
That was not two partners splitting up, fighting back to back in order to protect the other. That was a man sending his love to safety.
That was a goodbye.
0000000
"Well, well, well," came the thick, gruff voice of a snake in human form. "Harry Potter, here we are and face to face."
His red eyes brimmed on the border of pure and utter insanity, not that it really was far off. Bare head glistened from the melting snow which fell gracefully around them, an ironically serene scene enfolding them. Harry sighed, thinking, Merlin, you must be mocking Voldemort. Shame on you, he thought, no rancor at all.
"You ready to take me on, boy?" he drawled, standing at his full height and towering over Harry even in the distance.
Harry showed no fear - Why? - He felt none.
"I'm ready when you are, Tom," he spat, loving the darkened gleam Voldemort's eyes flared at the use of his birth given name.
"Have it your way, Potter."
Then the really morbid, malicious spells erupted...
0000000
Hermione's gaze fell on The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the boy she considered as her greatest friend for half of her life. A boy who very much grew into a man; a man who currently writhed on the snow-covered floor under the Cruciatus Curse, in silence no less.
This is wrong.
This is so bloody wrong!
Yet, her leader, the one who...well, he kidnapped me from my family, no? From my friends?...taught her to fight against the people, the customs, and the life she'd been raised to believe in, could not survive because of this former mate. Stay focused...what did I come here for? Yes, to bring the weapon.
The sword, the sword, the sword, she repeated in her like a mantra, deterring her eyes from the situation laid before her. Draco's hand squeezed hers, sensing on the intuitive level (an intense bond connected them without sight which relies on sense and touch) that Hermione entered an area where she couldn't handle herself. Excuse the matter of physical abilities (he knew she was a capable witch), but he sensed seeing her former leader battle her current one...well it was bound to make anyone a little jumpy, right?
Right?
"Draco," she whispered, close enough to be classified as a whimper, "I don't...I can't..."
"Oh," said the Dark Lord, sounding pensive, "What have we here? The son of some of my most prominent supporters, a strong follower in the making and, of course, my newest creation. Step forward. Now."
Hermione and Draco uncharacteristically hesitated for a moment before stepping out of the shadows and into the open, allowing their Master and an agonized Harry to finally see them. Hours and hours of blood, sweat, and exhausting fights glistened on their clothing and every exposed inch of their tired bodies. Draco appeared a shade paler than usual which was extreme given his normal coloring. Hermione gave the impression of pure anguish and turmoil had swept over her entire soul. Inner havoc. The feeling that the old, loveable yet bossy, intelligent bibliophile struggled to battle the new persona; the new, ferocious, in love with the former enemy, still intelligent bale. In the name of all that is Merlin, Hermione suddenly didn't know who she was.
What do I do? This isn't right...this so isn't right. What the hell is WRONG with ME?! I shouldn't feel this way. I should be supporting him and supporting his—OUR cause and supporting everything I see before me. In spite of this apparent situation, I can't wrap my head around it and I need to get it together before I get both me and Draco bloody killed!
This isn't good...
This is really NOT good...
"Hermione."
The urgency in Draco's voice—hearing his voice altogether—snapped Hermione out of her daze and got her to refocus on the current problems arising.
"Perfect timing," taunted Voldemort (more so toward Harry than to 'present company'). "You're just in time to witness me murder—" for Voldemort would take great pride in killing Harry, the word 'murder' seemed fitting in regard to Harry's impending slaughter—"the supposedly great Harry Potter. Come now, watch me kill the boy...but first, any last words you pathetic, vile creature?"
Harry seemed oblivious to the man's taunts, his eyes focused solely on one person yet managed to catch the part about last words...
"Hermione," he breathed, seemingly on his mouth's own accord, still twitching from the aftereffect of Voldemort's curse. Shaking his head and holding her gaze, fighting the unconsciousness that wanted to claim him, he said, "This isn' y-ya. This is NOT you! H-how could you...b-b-believe all the l-lies...they've told ya?!"
"I uh..."
"This isn't you! I know you, 'Mynee. I know the r-real you and the real you s'still inside...still waitin' for the opport-tunity to...to end s'madness. I beg of you, Her-mynee, come out of the darkness! 'Member what it means to be a Gryffindor!"
At this, Voldemort (who would have surprised the three adolescents had their minds been on the right track and not clouded with both their own problems and physical ache) burst out into a fit of laughter, nearly shaking the surrounding trees with his roars. Harry fleetingly thought it sounded like dying dogs in an empty tunnel, but that wasn't relevant. The point was he sounded crazy and borderline insane.
"Remember what it means to be a Gryffindor?" he mocked, throwing Harry's question back in his bruised and bloodied face. Harry paid no never mind and kept his focus on Hermione who heard every bit of his plea.
"Hermione, please..."
She figured her heart would explode before anything could really occur and wondered if Draco could hear the loud thumps drumming within her chest.
"The girl will not save you. Nobody will save you. The pathetic savior of the Wizarding World will die without fulfilling his duties...how incredibly fitting," snarled Voldemort, the most malevolent smile gracing his thin, snake lips. "Good-bye, Harry Potter."
"Please, Hermione..."
And then it hit her. It hit her just as the green flash of the killing curse left the Dark Lord's wand and savagely sucked the life out of Harry's once vivacious body. It hit her. It hit her. It hit her.
Merlin...he wasn't asking me to save him. He wasn't begging for mercy. My God...he was begging for me to end what he couldn't. He knew. He knew I could—CAN end it. He put his faith in me. IN ME! Merlin, he was asking me to finish what he couldn't. Not begging for his life, but begging for the lives not yet lived by the innocent. He was begging for me to save them.
"Finally...after all of these years, the worthless boy who nearly destroyed all that I've earned and worked and killed for, is dead himself," voiced Voldemort, sounding more pleased with himself than anyone had probably ever heard him. An unusual uplifting tone brewed within him as he said, "I knew the boy could never win. I knew the boy could...never..."
He never finished.
His scaley eyes looked down to see the Sword of Gryffindor protruding from his abdomen, blood dripping from the sharp, pointed tip. Without needing to look himself, he sensed Hermione Granger standing behind him, a bittersweet smile touching her traitorous lips.
A/N: I know, I know...it's been a LONG time - well, for me at least. I'm usually much better about updating and I'm sorry. This story hasn't been the easiest to write, but I digress...point is - I finally got the chapter out and I hope you enjoyed it. There is only an epilogue left with an ending that I really liked...hehehe, I think it's pretty cool actually. Anyway, I just had surgery so I'm still a little loopy and for those of you who read my other story (A Dream Worth Keeping), I will hopefully update that one soon. I've put all my focus in this one lately and the epilogue should be out next week.
THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVELY REVIEWS LAST CHAPTER! YOU GUYS ARE GREAT :)
READ AND REVIEW!! If you can read it, then you can review it.
Evil's Mistress is the work of fanfiction. The characters belong to J.K. Rowling, but the featured story is mine.