A/N: This is another back story chapter. I think it helps flesh out our lovely characters as well as gives some good history to my story. I hope you don't feel annoyed at more back story! ;)

Chapter 12
"We were once young and blessed with wings"
VNV Nation – Beloved

The three men spent the better part of the day together. Harry replayed his entire report repeating everything he'd already told Draco, not only for Remus' benefit, but also his own. This time wine played no part in their conference. Remus filled them in on what he found out from Duncan. Nobody was happy to hear of Millicent's death, but none of them were surprised either. Draco told the two men about his meeting with Madame Hexine, the Ancient Magic professor at Cambridge, that had taken place a few days ago. As an old family friend, Draco was able to see her without an appointment, an honour beyond the reach of lesser men.

"Madame Hexine was certain that this curse came from very old roots, if it isn't very old in and of itself. And she seems to think it cannot be cast via straight spellwork either, unless the individual controlled exceptional power." Draco eyed Harry, a look of contemplation softening his features.

Remus chuckled and said, "And I think the most powerful wizard of the day wouldn't cast such a spell." Harry looked away and blushed. Harry doubted he was the most powerful wizard of the day, but without Dumbledore or Voldemort in the running, he knew he was probably in the top ten. Luckily for the world, he had an unflinching set of morals.

"Based on the specifics I gave her, she didn't know exactly what the base formulae for the curse might be, or what kind of artefact it might herald from. However, she did tell me she had come across similar magical systems from some items she examined from South America."

Harry nodded. "Yea, Hermione's notes mentioned a scholar to talk to in Costa Rica and when I mentioned 'South American artefact', dickhead Arbormore got more twitchy than he already was. I think that's my next step. I told Ron I would go down there and help him with his case at any rate."

As the day slowly faded, the three men exchanged information, food and finally memories. Soon after the war the only thing anyone would talk about was the war. Which battle they knew anything about, whom they knew who fell on those rolling hills or came out a hero. Nobody who actually fought talked about it, but instead buried the pain and horror deep within. Now, talk about the darker side, of all the death and curses, was rare, and people only obsessed over the fact that they won, no matter which side they might have been on.

Harry had only ever talked about his final battle once, with Ron and Hermione after he awoke in the combat infirmary set up on the battlefield. His telling was full of holes and both of his friends knew better than to push. Remus had nobody to tell the specifics to, keeping his sorrow at a boiling point for years. And Draco feared to tell anyone. Some knew of his role, such as Kingsley, but nobody knew of his horror. And as each man shared that which had never seen the light of day, something broke in them. Something different for each.

But something was mended as well.

Each one of them felt exhausted from the three week standoff. Remus had been working closely with Mad-Eye, Tonks and Arthur Weasley and on that final day all three were caught in a small ravine near the Death Eaters' stronghold. Each had a different plan to escape their situation and return to the main body of allies, but nobody could agree on which had the highest probability of success. Remus needed to hurry; he had somewhere he had to be. They had to make a break for it soon.

Moody presented the strongest argument.

"We can't stay here; we're sitting ducks just ready for an area-affecting hex. We should team up, two and two and work our way out." A flash of purple light hit a deepening scorch mark on the rock face behind them. Tonks flinched as a shower of stone fragments came down.

Remus hated that she was in danger. Ever since they had come together he felt an overwhelming sense of protection over her. But his logical side realised they needed every able fighter and Tonks was more than adequate at her job, if a little clumsy at times. But every time she got wounded his stomach churned; every time she went out on a dangerous mission, he only wanted to scream.

"Fine," Arthur finally agreed. Gesturing to Mad-Eye, he said, "You and I will climb up on the left and Remus and Tonks can escape on the right through the forest. Each group will wait at the rock pile by the birch trees for a maximum of fifteen minutes before they continue on to the main camp. If the others don't show, move on." Remus nodded. He, more than anyone else here, knew how important it was that he reach the ritual site. He wouldn't wait. He had created the Suppression Net ritual with Hermione and it had to be thirteen. One person less and he wasn't certain it would hold Voldemort. Luckily they did have substitutes trained, but Remus did not want to miss it. He needed to ensure that everything was in place, that the spell was correctly cast.

"I don't like it. I won't leave you guys," Tonks argued. She hated the plan and wanted to keep everyone together.

"Sweetheart," Remus grabbed her hand and tried to convince her. "We make less of a target this way. We all have better chances this way."

Tonks dropped her head in defeat and Remus just wanted to hold her, to make it all go away. But he had no such power. Harry, we have to get Harry his opportunity. We have to feed the ritual. He knew Harry was ready. He'd been helping train him over the last few years and the time was nigh. Harry needed to make his move now because Voldemort was scrambling to gather as much power as possible now that his Horcruxes had been destroyed. Waste much more time and Voldemort would be unstoppable.

Moody's eye swiveled to the back of his head and swirled in an encompassing arc, surveying their surroundings. "It's clear. Let's go."

Each Order member nodded at the others and split for their separate directions.

Remus and Tonks scrambled up the rocky wall of the ravine, moving as quickly as the terrain allowed. The dense undergrowth impeded any fast progression but they eventually made it to the top without one curse thrown at them.

Too early for celebration.

"Down!" Remus yelled as a new bombardment of spells pinned them to an outcropping.

Tonks dove for the ground alongside Remus, but she tripped on a fallen branch and flew beyond the protection of the cliff. Immediately screams tore from her vocal cords following a gruff "Crucio."

"Ah, look at the pretty girly I found here. Don't s'pose another pretty thing's hiding 'round, now is there?"

Remus recognized this voice, rough and brutish. He couldn't leave Nymphadora out there to this animal's handiwork.

"Greyback…" Remus called from his hiding spot. "Let her go and you and I can finally settle this."

"Let her go?" the greying werewolf barked. "Why would I do that, silly little man? I've you both. Hmm, doesn't she look delicious, just delicious…?"

Sometimes Remus wished he could change into the wolf at will. Right now he thought nothing would be more justified than to rip Greyback apart with tooth and claw.

The shadows around him faded as the clouds thickened. He had to move now, or who knew what would happen to Tonks. He stepped out from behind his cover, wand held high, a protective anger burning within. The old werewolf stood hunched, wild, a heartless light glowing from his eyes. His wand was pointed at Tonks as she writhed amidst the ferns.

"Finite Incantatum." She grew quiet; her only sound a gasping breath as the Cruciatus Curse abruptly ended.

"Remus… Little Remus Lupin. Bit by a savage monster when he was just a wee lad. Hmm, but so, so tasty." Greyback laughed and licked his lips.

Remus eyed the huge, rangy man. There was no way he could overpower this werewolf, this man gone feral. But something had to be done and Remus always was quick on his feet. "Expelliarmus," he screamed the incantation, hoping to catch the man unaware and to distract him from the recovering Tonks. Then he leapt.

The force of his impact into Greyback sent them both sprawling onto the forest floor. "Go," Remus screamed to Tonks who was just rising to her feet. "You have to get out there in my place. They need thirteen."

Tonks looked over at Remus and Greyback, thrashing in the low underbrush beneath the thin trees. Her eyes met his and Remus was proud that she didn't cry or argue. She nodded and turned her back on him. His last glimpse was of her short, green hair and torn robes as she raced through the forest.

His last look of her alive.

The two men thrashed, Greyback's long, yellowed nails scraping new scars across Remus' skin and his teeth sinking into Remus' bony shoulder seizing the nerves in his left arm. Time raced, became something abstract and formless as the impending ritual weighed heavy on his distracted mind. With a knee to the other man's groin Remus bought himself time to pull his blade from its sheath strapped to his thigh—six inch long tempered steel bought from Cabela's Online.

There was something right about killing the man who cursed him with a blade, without magic. He didn't deserve magic.

With in an insurgent scream he thrust down with the knife, striking the soft tissue of the werewolf's throat, cutting open a path from ear to ear, like a south-of-the-border Glasgow smile.

Remus jumped to his feet, his shoulder bleeding, ripped open, and bloody gashes crisscrossed all over his face. He looked down at the twitching form of Fenrir Greyback, the body apparently not realizing the brain no longer lived. He panted from the exertion but knew he had no time to rest. A few healing charms stilled the blood flow and a precise Incendio stilled the body.

Remus left for the rock pile, dodging small troupes of Death Eaters, and when he arrived he was not surprised to see that nobody was there. Burnt into one large boulder were the initials NT. Relief washed over him, knowing she had made it and moved on to the ritual site.

He burned his own initials in the stone next to hers. They glowed slightly with the magic and then faded into dull gray. He turned and followed her path.

But the relief was short lived and the anguish left behind rooted itself in the very marrow of his bones as he cradled her body on the battlefield that day.

Everything etched itself vividly in Draco's memory, from the fireworks of spell flashes lighting the encroaching night to the smell of metal and acid in the air. He remembered that the dying grass once covering the fertile hills had been ripped up, leaving potholes and ankle twisters hiding in wait. He remembered that the mud and blood blended together until they evolved into something entirely separate and new. He remembered the rain fell steadily through it all, unmoved by the desperation and fear.

He and Severus had developed a new ritual to weaken the Dark Lord using his stolen blood. The Order had their own strategy to aid in ultimately ending Voldemort's twisted existence as well. The plans were delicate, but he knew they could pull it all off, assuming nobody blundered. He wasn't normally bent to such optimism, but he didn't have anything else to hope for.

He was just thankful he had nothing left to lose.

The two men stood on a hill alone, away from the battle close to the forest's edge. Severus kept watch on a small nkisi carving of the Dark Lord he held in his left hand, his wand circling over it as he recited the lengthy spell. Draco stood poised, one eye set on the blood-laden potion ready to pour over the carving and another keeping watch for attack. An attack that could come from either side.

They were all ready. Just waiting for the right moment.

Draco remembered it all. He remembered Tonks' death and Remus' lament. He remembered his father's bloody destruction as he was overwhelmed by four Aurors. His cold memory reflected the fall of wizard after wizard, all fighting for some cause they had long ago forgotten as the pain became their entire world.

He remembered a challenge on the air. "Tom!" And the arrival of Harry Potter.

It was almost time.

Then it came, the Killing Curse which was the impetus to their entire plan. Severus sent out his trigger spells to unknown members of the Order and looked to Draco, who began pouring the potion, mixed with Griffin tears and the Dark Lord's blood, over the nkisi doll.

The rain dampened any other words that might have been carried by the wind from those two duelling enemies. Draco watched as one man, tall and thin, a zombie caricature and the other shorter, stockier, pacing like a panther ready to pounce, cast curse after hex at each other, trying to find a hole in their bulwark of magic and desperation.

It was all up to Harry now. Severus stuffed the carving into his pocket and the two spies stood watch, guarding Harry's back.

Draco watched as the two wizards wore each other down. The rest of the battlefield had grown quiet, not because anyone else was watching, but because most were either dead or had fallen to exhaustion. It was a field of ghosts and perpetual rain all bound by the scent of blood and curses. He would forever remember that smell.

And it was while his back was turned from the two battling wizards, while he surveyed the opposite side of his station on the hill to assure nobody crept upon them, that he heard a muttered, "Merlin be damned," and Severus was gone, rushing across the field to intercept two black clad Death Eaters running to aid their Lord. They didn't seem to notice Severus, or even consider him dangerous, perhaps due to his own uniform establishing him as a follower of Voldemort, until Severus lifted his wand and cast Killing Curse after Killing Curse, taking down the threats to their plan.

Severus hadn't noticed the half dead, red-headed man limp against the hillside. He didn't notice the man lift a wand and send out another curse, all green and glowing and signifying oblivion. But Draco saw. He watched everything as the light flew towards Severus' back just as that same light left his mentor's own wand to save the life of Harry Potter.

It was the last thing Arthur Weasley ever did and it drained him of all he had left.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Draco stripped off his Death Eater garb and dashed amidst the hills and grass. This can't be. This can't be. Not him. He dropped to his knees beside his mentor, his friend, the only sane influence guiding him from childhood to his place as an adult. "Severus!" he screamed.

The rain beat down, drowning out his wails and curses, draining the invective from his lips, soaking it into the black earth below. His eyes stung and he closed them tight against the world. There were no tears on his face. A Malfoy didn't cry.

Waiting was one of Harry's foremost personal vexations and he felt for the last four years all he'd been doing was waiting. Sure there were skirmishes, conflicts, plenty of battle plans prepared and unleashed, but it really was all aimed at this one fight. He and Voldemort. Hero and Villain. Promise of a future and resignation to an archaic past. For all of wizarding and Muggle kind, Harry knew he could not fail.

But he had to wait. The plans, all of their intricate devices, had to play themselves out in this macabre parody of his life before he could act. And so he stood there under a dense copse of evergreens and ash, rain drenching the rolling hills torn under the feet of hundreds of wizards and witches. The cold glow of the sun, already hanging low in the sky, was hidden by clouds, casting faint but long shadows of bare branched trees, skeletal in their guise of mortality. It was picture perfect mayhem.

He wiped his face of the cold rain, a large drop dangling from the end of his nose, grumbling that the worst battle of the century hadn't happened on a beautiful spring morning instead of this bleary autumn day. He was soaked through, no energy to spare for a simple weatherproofing charm. He had to focus. He had to concentrate. He had to be ready.

He felt a damp hand grasp his right and another rest gently on his left shoulder.

"You ready, Harry?" Harry glanced over to Ron, then to his other side to Hermione.

"Will I ever be? I just want it to be over." He wanted to be free of his inexorable fate. He felt he had never tasted freedom before and he hungered for its rich flavor now.

"Time to go, Harry," Hermione said.

"I know. Good luck guys."

"You too." Hermione had tears in her eyes. It has been months since she last cried on the battlefield. She was strong: her will, her sense of self, her determination, but also her love. And it was that love that released those tears. Harry leaned over and kissed her chastely on her moist lips. Then he faced Ron and kissed him as well. Finally he turned towards the war zone and strode out onto the bloody field.

His shielding spells and defensive measures were already primed, humming with magical energy. Over the last four years Harry had learned not only non-verbal and wandless spellwork, but also how to harness his incredible power, to reach deep down inside and understand himself and how the pure essence of magic worked. He could harness the untamable. Break even magical rules.

But so could Voldemort.

So with one last thought to unnamed gods, he embraced this final phase of his life. He knew he had to win, but he didn't have that same assurance that he had to live and with the resignation in this mind, he challenged the Dark Lord with the dauntless courage of a Gryffindor.

"Tom!"

Voldemort stood tall on the top of a small hillock and turned to face Harry.

"Ah, Harry Potter. We finally meet, again. So good of you to join us in thisss…" the hissing words sent shivers up Harry's spine… "beautiful tribute to my uncontested coronation of power." Voldemort turned away from Harry, fanning his arms towards the carnage below them and eventually faced Harry once more.

Harry noticed that the man looked even less human than before, his body degenerating into more reptile and less primate. His waxy complexion shimmered in the rain, his eyes flat and reddish black, reflecting nothing, not even the flames as wintering trees blazed all around them.

He also wondered in awe just how full of himself the deranged psychopath really was.

"But this is no time for soliloquy. Time for you to DIE! Avada Kedavra!" A jet of green light wooshed towards Harry, but he was ready. Voldermort was nothing if not predictable. With a pop Harry Disapparated and reappeared on the opposite side of the evil Lord.

The plan was finally set in motion.

Everybody had a part and every part was important. Ron and Hermione bolted from their spot in the trees and joined in with other Order members and recent graduates from Hogwarts including Ginny, Hannah and Neville. Seamus, Blaise and so many more were already on the battlefield, fighting to create distraction, fighting for their lives.

Harry knew that Ron and Hermione were joining with others around a huge cauldron. Their ritual was imperative. Thirteen witches and wizards were casting a magical net over the battlefield disallowing any escape of their enemy, either through Apparition or more importantly, displacement of the soul. His very essence would be trapped in the Net. Voldemort would never rise again.

Most details of the battle faded from Harry's memory. Their sortie was fast and exhausting, he constantly felt like he was scrambling just to stay one step ahead of the more experienced wizard. But one step was enough.

He just had to wait for the rituals. More waiting. Waiting, poised on the brink of death and destruction. He could do this.

And as he danced in this counterfeit tango with the embodiment of evil as his partner, as those curses struck him repeatedly, his shields wore thin. Dodging one hex, he twisted an ankle on the uneven ground, but did not go down. He couldn't afford such weakness. On he fought.

Time was mutable; he understood this now. He also knew it didn't last forever and as the final linchpin had finally been plucked, he heard the one word he had been waiting for, tucked away deep in his hidden mind, Now. It came in Snape's sardonic tone. It was the moment he had been waiting for and it had been a message from Snape. Harry couldn't help the bubble of amusement at how ironically fate played him.

More hexes, more spells, more scrapes with death, but he finally saw his moment, the small chink in Voldemort's defenses.

And with a deep breath he called out the final spell that would end Voldemort forever. A spell created by the forces of light and dark and cast by the prophesied Boy Who Lived.

"Rictus Morte," Harry screamed into the evening air.

There were no sparks, no flashy lights, just a stream of magic billowing from his wand, from his hand and from his very soul. It swallowed and engulfed the Dark Lord, embracing him like a tender lover.

As Voldemort's body fell, pristine and untouched, clean in a gentleman's execution, the rain kept falling and the sun slid over the western sky pulling the light along with it over the edge of the earth.

Harry stood heavy on his left leg, wand held limply at his side, eyes glued on the fallen form. A moment passed. And then another. And finally Harry drew in a shocked breath, a wave of tension shuddering through his body as he fell to his knees, wand silently dropping to the churned ground under his feet.

The hills were littered. They paid a heavy toll during the final battle; his eyes danced upon the contorted faces of his friends and comrades forever frozen in the struggle against the Dark Lord's forces, a memorial to all that was sacrificed for peace.

His shoulders shook and his lungs spasmed as he wailed into the silent night, salty tears mingling with the cleansing rain as he faded into the exhausted darkness.

"I remember Ron and Hermione running into the infirmary, yelling and screaming 'You're alive' and 'You destroyed him' and all I wanted to do was fade away." As Harry finished his story, the first telling of it in its entirety, the old sorrow roiled about, but it didn't weigh him down as it had before. He looked up and held those gray and amber eyes and felt he understood these men better. Understood himself better.

"I had no idea about Severus—He died for… Mr. Weasley ki… Don't tell Ron, okay." Unfinished thoughts fought for release, but Harry couldn't put the words together.

Draco nodded.

"He was always looking out for me, saving my life. And I hated him." Guilt could be an overpowering force. Draco reached out and touched his shoulder. It wasn't one of those friendly slaps on the back like Ron always gave him. This was more. Draco's hand lingered, almost a caress full of compassion and understanding.

"Harry, I highly doubt your animosity causes him to roll over in his grave," Draco said.

"Well, I don't hate him anymore. Haven't really, not for a while." When did he stop hating Snape? Or Draco for that matter. The hand remained, sparking tingles down Harry's spine he hadn't felt in quite some time.

"Now that," Remus said, "might cause him to roll over in his grave."

The three men laughed. The hand reluctantly pulled away, sliding down his arm a few inches, leaving it bereft of touch.

"Well, I should go," Draco said. Harry didn't think that Draco looked all that interested in leaving. "If the Wolfsbane Potion is going to be of any help, you need to ingest a dose by tomorrow."

"Do you need any help?" Harry found himself offering. He wasn't quite ready to have Draco removed from his presence. He realised he enjoyed the man's company, enjoyed the intense look in his eyes.

"Potter, you want to help me with a highly delicate potion with which your friend will be treated?" Draco chuckled at the idea and Harry, while disappointed, laughed in shy agreement. Remus inhaled, looked about to speak, but shut his mouth with an audible 'click'.

"Fine. And thanks for brewing it," Harry said.

"Yes," Remus added. "Thank you. Let me know about the cost too; I won't have you brewing the potion for free."

Draco sized up Remus; Harry could see the gears whirring in the blond's brain. "I'll come up with appropriate recompense, Lupin." Remus nodded and Draco finally Flooed home.

Harry and Remus shared a look. Harry blushed, if only slightly, at the knowing gaze Remus shot his way. "Well, it seems Mr. Draco Malfoy didn't turn out so bad, now did he."

Harry's blush deepened. "I guess he didn't live up to his potential," Harry joked, but Remus wouldn't drop his smirk, his frustrating, knowing smirk.

"Night Harry. It's been a long day." Remus left to gather his blankets and make his bed on the couch. Harry wasn't sleepy and he needed to think. Draco? Could he be reading him wrong?

Harry lay on the rough roof, staring into the cloudless, night sky. It had warmed over the last few days; the air was stagnant, still, just like his thoughts which mulled over only one topic.

Draco.

Well maybe two topics.

Did he want to take this chance?

His mind kept returning to Draco, his nemesis, his Moriarty. When had things changed? Harry couldn't put his finger on it, try as he might. Perhaps the exact point in time wasn't that, exact, and it was the little things that brought him to this point. Draco's help, his smile, his touch.

Harry felt that he was at a precipice in the pitch black of night. Did he continue to walk forward? He felt ready to take that one step into the unknown, his foot hovering in space ready to see if it landed in void and he fell forever or a sturdy path and strong arms were there to catch him. He wanted to take that step. He wanted to know what would happen next. It was his next great event.

Did he vanquish the Dark Lord only to live the rest of his life in the gloom?