Author's Notes: Thank you so much for all your reviews! I have to especially mention ArtRat for all your lovely comments that you left on so many of the chapters - thank you :)

This chapter was possibly my favourite to write, just because I enjoyed doing Draco's take on the events that happen here - I hope you like it too and I promise the next chapter will be up soon!

Chapter 27: Battle

They were awoken from their pleasant sleep by a loud, unrelenting banging on the door and a voice screaming Isabelle's name.

She awoke with a strangled cry, wrapped a blanket around her and stumbled to the door. Draco followed her out of bed more slowly, hearing her pull open the door to reveal a harassed looking Ravenclaw on the other side.

"Yvette? What is it?"

"Isabelle, we have to-" There was a pause and then, "Why are you naked?"

"What?! Never mind that. Why are you here? What's going on?"

Draco, now leaning against the doorframe of Isabelle's room wearing only his boxers, raised his eyebrows as the Ravenclaw's eyes shifted to him.

"Isabelle?" The girl sounded as if she was struggling to breathe as a look of comprehension swept over her face. Half a second later it was gone and she seized Isabelle by the shoulders. "Isabelle! You have to come right now. Harry Potter's here. And You-Know-Who. Professor McGonagall's told everyone to meet in the Great Hall. I think the castle's being evacuated. We're going to have to fight."

"What? You-Know-Who? Fight? What?!"

Draco didn't stay to hear the rest of the exchange because he really couldn't breathe. He stumbled blindly back into Isabelle's room and unthinkingly started pulling on his clothes as the frantic exchange continued outside. The Dark Lord couldn't be here, could he? But then McGonagall wouldn't rouse the whole school for nothing – she was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them.

Isabelle was back in her room now, frantically pulling on her own clothes, and neither of them said a word until they were standing by the door to the outside corridor, fully dressed, both breathing hard as if they had already fought the battle to come.

"Draco." Isabelle's voice was soft and clear, with none of the panic he might have expected, but then why did he expect it? That wasn't Isabelle. Isabelle took things as they came. Including him.

The realisation hit him hard and he hung his head in shame. He couldn't follow her to the Great Hall. He couldn't. If they were evacuating he couldn't go with them. If Harry was here he had to try and do something – anything to redeem his family.

"Draco." Her voice was louder, more insistent now and she had clutched at his hand. They had never held hands he realised, but they were doing so now, his fingers entwining automatically with hers as he gripped tightly and wished he never had to let go. "What are you going to do Draco?"

He shrugged, refusing to meet her eyes, because he really didn't know what he was going to do. What could he do? He felt Isabelle's hand slip from his and she turned away to open the door. Without thinking, he reached out for her and pulled her into his arms.

"Isabelle. Sweetheart." His voice didn't sound like his own. He sounded broken and on the verge of tears. "I don't know what to do," he admitted, burying his face in her hair and holding her more tightly still. She shifted, tilting her head up so she could look into his eyes. He forced himself too, because somewhere deep in his heart he knew this might be the last time he ever saw her.

"Stay alive," she whispered, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. His lungs constricted in his chest. The simple emotion in those words too much for him to take.

"You too," he murmured, holding her gaze and meaning it with all of his heart and soul.

He kissed her, trying to put everything he felt but couldn't say into the kiss. Trying to tell her how sorry he was for everything he had done, for everything he would do. They both pulled away at the same time and he released her from his arms, watching as she opened the door, gave him one last sad smile, and then was gone.

He slumped against the wall after she'd left and stayed there until the Dark Lord's voice echoed through the castle and he knew it was now or never.

He didn't know how many hours later it was that he'd woken up with a bloodied nose next to the unconscious Death Eater who had been trying to kill him until someone – Potter probably – had come along and stunned the man, and then broken his nose for good measure.

He groaned and sat upright, feeling it carefully and wondering if he dared to try and fix it with the wand he could see lying next to him. It was obviously the Death Eater's wand. He picked it up, gripped it experimentally and found that he really didn't want to try it.

Instead he bound the hands and feet of the unconscious man and gave the same treatment to the very next Death Eater who came flying down the corridor. He didn't particularly know why he did it, but he was fucking sick of all this shit.

There were shouts and screams and bangs echoing down the corridors, coming from the direction of the Great Hall and Draco scrambled to his feet and set off in the direction of the noises. He tried to sort out his thoughts as he went, but everything was too jumbled. Crabbe was dead. Crabbe had been stupid and idiotic, but he had been around ever since Draco could remember, and now he never would be again. He probably wasn't the only one who had lost their life that night.

Isabelle.

His parents.

Draco forced himself to keep breathing and to keep moving even though his legs threatened to collapse at the thought of any one of them dead.

He entered the Great Hall, swept his eyes over the chaos of the battle within and then was engulfed in an embrace so tight that it took him sometime to realise that it was his mother… and yes, even his father, encircling them both protectively as a piece of the wall above their heads was shattered by a stray curse.

"Mother!" He tried to push her away, only succeeding when she saw his nose and with a cry of horror clutched at his face with one hand and snatched the wand he was holding. She probably didn't even realise it wasn't hers he thought dully as she cast the healing spell and then to Draco's relief followed it with one that cleansed his face of the dried blood stuck there. This was a battle scene, but they were Malfoys after all.

"What's happening?" he gasped, trying to push her away for a second time as she embraced him again, now openly weeping down his neck. He was relieved she was alive, that both his parents were alive, but there was someone else he very much wanted to be alive and he hadn't seen her in his initial scan of the hall. He knew she'd be here – there was no way Isabelle would have left instead of staying to fight.

"Mother please! What's going on?"

"Harry. Harry's alive," she babbled, which seemed an unnecessary thing to say to Draco because of course the git was still alive. That's how things went. Shit happened and somehow Potter survived. "Mother!" he tried again, but then he was distracted because even his father looked surprised at his mother's ramblings and he had gripped her arm so tightly Draco could see his knuckles turning white.

"Narcissa, what do you mean?" His father's voice was harsh and rough, filled with some unidentifiable emotion.

"He's alive Lucius! I felt his heartbeat!"

"You lied to the Dark Lord?"

Draco blinked in shock as his mother nodded, though he had little clue what either of them were talking about.

"Mother!" he tried again, "What are we doing?" Because they were just standing there, the three of them, as the battle raged around them. A battle that Draco saw with relief the Death Eaters seemed to be losing, though he could see him, the Dark Lord, still very much alive and battling furiously in the middle of the Hall. Surely though, surely, once the last of his defenders was gone he would be easily overwhelmed? Surely this horrible, waking nightmare would soon be over? And then…

Then what? Isabelle filled his vision of the future, but he knew it was a fantasy. She was a half-blood, and even with the Dark Lord gone it was doubtful she would ever be more than just a fantasy. With the Dark Lord gone it was very probable that he'd be arrested anyway.

He snapped his attention back to the present. Weasley's mother was battling his aunt and Draco glanced at his mother's face. That was her sister. Draco half expected her to go to her aid, but her lips were pressed tightly together and she simply stood and watched, her face paler than Draco had ever seen it, and when the moment came, as Draco inevitably knew it would, where his aunt in her arrogance made a mistake and paid the ultimate price his mother simply hung her head. Draco watched as the tears fell from her eyes and he desperately wanted to comfort her, but there was no need, because he saw his father reach out and take her hand and Draco was reminded of his mother's words, which seemed to belong to a different life, "We married because we loved each other."

It was not over though because suddenly Potter was very much there, and everyone except Draco seemed to be surprised to see him alive. He had the brief, frustrating feeling that he'd missed something important, but then there was no chance to think because everyone in the Hall, himself included, was hanging on to Potter's every word.

There was some talk about love and Dumbledore and then, startlingly, out of nowhere the revelation that Snape had not been loyal to the Dark Lord at all. He had loved Potter's mother. Snape had been in love with a Mudblood!

Draco bit his lip, as the word treacherously stole across his thoughts out of habit. He hated that word now. It seemed to belong to another version of himself.

He felt a hand gripping his and glanced down to see it was his mothers.

"Severus," she murmured, to herself, "Severus loved Lily Potter." He glanced across at his mother's face and realised that she was not talking to herself as he had though, but him, a curious look in her blue eyes. He wrenched his own away, unable to deal with thinking about anything to do with love right now. Instead he focussed back on Potter, now revealing information about the Elder Wand, his words ultimately tumbling to a conclusion that had half formed itself in Draco's mind even before Harry said the words. He had disarmed Dumbledore. He had been the master of the Elder Wand, but now…

He felt his mother grip his hand tighter and he whispered, "It's Potter. It's him," just before Harry revealed himself as the wand's new master. There was one brief wonderful moment when Draco knew… knew with absolutely certainty that this was it. That everything was over.

Then the curse was cast, the Dark Lord fell and Draco sank to his knees as the cheers broke out around him.

It was later, much later that Draco sat huddled with his parents at the end of the Slytherin house table, completely ignored by everyone around them, which was, Draco thought, the best they could hope for for now. His mother still had her arm around him, and his father, surprisingly had his arm around his mother in a display of affection that Draco would never have expected of him. His father had listened in thin lipped disapproval to his mother's tale of exactly what she had done to save Harry out in the Forest and then Draco had confessed, the words spilling from his tongue before he could stop them, that he had known, from the moment he'd laid eyes on him, that it was Potter who'd been at the Manor over Easter.

Beyond the disapproval though was weary resignation, resignation that Draco thought probably meant he didn't disapprove quite so much as his expression suggested.

Now though Draco was tired, beyond anything he had felt before. And he still hadn't seen Isabelle. He had only managed to confirm, by walking rapidly along the rows of the dead, his head well down and half expecting to be driven away if he was caught, that she was not among those whose bodies had been recovered. He did however, recognise a few others: Lavender Brown, a sixth year Gryffindor who'd worshipped Potter, Professor Lupin, Yvette – the girl who'd discovered their secret only hours before. He wondered vaguely if she'd taken it to the grave and his heart ached for Isabelle who was probably hurting at her death.

If she was still alive herself.

Draco knew she might still be out there, lying somewhere undiscovered, but though a few more dead and wounded had been brought to the Hall since the Dark Lord's defeat, including the two Death Eaters Draco had tied up earlier, there had been very few. Draco hoped this meant that she was alive. He wondered if she had evacuated after all, but he didn't really believe it was likely.

He stood suddenly, startling his mother, who looked up at him in surprise.

"Where are you going?" His father's voice had the same harsh tone it had earlier.

"I'm tired," he said vaguely, "I need to sleep."

"We should go home." His father looked as if he was about to stand, but Draco shook his head. Home was the last place he wanted to go right now.

"No," he said quickly, "I need to… I need…" His eyes were wandering the Hall desperately, as they had done intermittently for the past few hours, but it was difficult to identify anyone in the crowd and Draco had no more luck than he had before.

"You need to what?" His father's voice was now sharp and edged with suspicion.

"I need to go," was all Draco could manage and his father seemed about to object, but his mother placed a restraining hand on his arm and took Draco's hand in her other.

"Go," she said, giving him a look that made Draco want to weep with relief. He didn't, instead he turned and fled to the fourth floor.

He didn't know why he had come here, but he had not been lying when he said he was tired and that he needed to sleep. He had also had a sliver of hope that Isabelle might somehow be there, curled up on the sofa as she so often had been. Of course she was not and Draco flicked the wards into place, flung himself down onto the sofa and sobbed as he had not done since sixth year, crying out all the hurt and the anguish and the anxiety, until eventually he was sobbing in sheer relief that the whole thing was over, because even with the threat of Azkaban hanging over him he knew that things were better this way.

Only when his tears finally ran dry did he move, divesting himself of his blood and soot stained robes, removing his shoes and socks as well before going to retrieve a blanket off Isabelle's bed. He didn't want to sleep in it without her, but he wanted the comfort of her scent right now and without her here this was all he had.

He curled up on the sofa, drawing the blanket over his head till he was completely wrapped in Ravenclaw blue, completely wrapped up in her. His heart ached for her and there was still a weight in the pit of his stomach that had not been relieved by the crying. Where was she? Was she even alive?

Exhausted he dropped into a deep sleep.