Chapter Eighteen

Back again with more Battle of Hogwarts. Hopefully you are all okay with some of the changes I've made to Deathly Hallows. Some of them were necessary and others a whimsical opportunity to transform things to my liking! Story wrapping up fairly soon. Not really sure how to end it. As always, JKR is the owner and proprietor.

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Draco wrapped his arms tighter around the body that was shivering fretfully against him. He tried to rub soothing hands over her back, but Hermione was lost deep inside her own grief and pain. It was a sentiment shared by many of the wizards and witches huddled around in the Great Hall, as the eerie silence that had descended an hour ago rung out clear and chilling over the castle. The Death Eaters had retreated upon their master's command, and the Order of the Phoenix and students of Hogwarts had holed themselves up inside the castle to nurse their wounds and gather the dead. Pockets of people were scattered around the hall in groups. Some were slumped with exhaustion in a kind of weary numbness, eyes staring blankly at the walls. Others were wailing or crying out in despair as they held loved ones close, mourning for those lost. The Weasleys were knotted together in a flurry of arms and sobs, encircling the body of one of the twins. Draco wasn't sure which one. The other twin could not be convinced to leave his brother's side, holding on with a white knuckled embrace that not even the father could coax him from.

Others lay nearby too, some far too young to have been involved in this fight. Draco wondered why they hadn't been evacuated from the castle with the other students. Although, since many of them appeared to be young Gryffindor students he imagined that nothing could have stopped them from sneaking back in, determined to defend their precious Hogwarts. He couldn't judge them. It was surprisingly painful to see the majestic castle and its students confronted with such decay and destruction. Every stone torn down into rubble and every cracked window that had shattered into a million pieces like festival fireworks sent a jarring shudder of regret through him. This was their home, after all. Especially for people like him and Potter, who had treasured every moment in this castle, reluctant to return home in the summer. It was around fourth year, after all, that Draco started to hate the holidays. His father's spite and his obsessive, sycophantic cruelty had become too much to bear by then, with the return of Voldemort looming throughout those long, terrifying months. Hogwarts had been a sanctuary. And later, by sixth year, it held Hermione within its walls. And he had cherished each moment he spent near her, even if they did not speak.

At that moment Hermione let out a weak little whimper, Draco shuffled his body slightly to pull her closer, running a hand softly through her hair and murmuring calming words in her ear. He wasn't sure what he should say, but he suspected she couldn't really hear him anyway. The two of them were separated a bit, nestled into a corner of the Great Hall as others grieved around them. Nobody bothered to shoot him distrustful looks or glares. He had been fighting alongside them throughout the battle, and now he held one of their own tenderly in his arms. He was unofficially accepted now. He had been worried about the Order giving him trouble when they arrived, but there were much more important things going on. Kingsley had even sent a polite, if terse, nod in his direction earlier when they had been helping people into the hall. And he was trying not to dwell too much on the broken, crumpled body of Remus Lupin some distance away near the opposite wall. It seemed rather pointless to resent the man now. He could see his cousin Nymphadora standing to one side, her shoulders shaking as she cried, seeking comfort in the arms of her father Ted, who had turned up to fight with the rest of the Order. Longbottom had mentioned something earlier about Ted Tonks bravely throwing his daughter out of the way of danger when an explosion forced a wall to collapse near them, raining down spells from above. But he had been too late to save his son-in-law. Draco wondered for a moment how Andromeda would react. She was probably at home looking after the baby, but surely someone should tell her…

After a long time Hermione seemed to have calmed a little bit, as she sunk against him heavily, her fingers digging into his shirt between his shoulder blades. Her breath was rasping and shallow but her body had stopped its heaving motions. Maybe she was all cried out. Draco gently brushed the hair back from her face. Her cheeks were wet and sticky from tears and her eyes were bleary, but she blinked up at him, her gaze relatively clear.

"Are you alright?" he asked warily, rubbing his nose along hers and holding her close.

"Not really. I just wish I knew where he was and what he's doing. I wish he didn't have to go…"

Draco let out a long breath and pressed his forehead against hers, cursing Potter for being such a self-sacrificing bastard.

"Did Potter say anything before he left?" he asked.

"He just said that he had to go. That it was always supposed to end like this. I don't know what Snape showed him, but it was obviously something important."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Snape sooner," Draco told her with a solemn sigh, "He was insistent that I wait until the right moment…"

Hermione gave him a sad little smile. Her fingers tightened around his back.

"It's fine. You were protecting him. Do you really think he's fighting on our side?"

Draco nodded.

"I reckon he's always been loyal to Dumbledore. There was something else going on that night on the astronomy tower. It was weird, the way the old man was acting. And then afterwards Snape helped me… he suspected that I had feelings for you, but never said anything to the Dark Lord. "

Hermione nestled her face into his neck and he held her for a few moments while she considered this. For almost a year she had thought that Snape was a traitor and a Death Eater, so it must be difficult to suddenly trust him based on very little evidence. If only he knew what had been contained in that pensive memory Potter had watched not long ago. Whatever it was, the boy had immediately emerged from the basin looking grim, haunted even. He had hugged Ron and then Hermione and he had shaken Draco's hand. And then he had wandered his way through the castle, paying no heed to the protests of his friends, and headed towards the forbidden forest.

"I hope he doesn't do anything stupid," Hermione whispered into his chest after a tense pause. Draco's fingers stroked through her hair tenderly once more.

"Potter has a knack for staying alive despite impossible odds. I'm sure he's going to be alright this time too…"

He tried to sound as sincere as he could, but worried that the words sounded hollow and tinged with hopelessness. Especially because it seemed to him like this time maybe Potter's luck would finally run out. He was alone and facing Voldemort with nothing more than his own sense of fatalistic determination. But regardless, he drew Hermione close, placing another soft kiss on her forehead, trying to be strong and optimistic for her sake. All they could do now was wait and hope that The Boy Who Lived would be gifted with another kind of miracle to help him survive this.

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Harry was very careful to keep his breathing controlled and shallow so that none of the gathered Death Eaters would see his chest rising and falling. His mind was still a little fuzzy from waking from whatever strange trance had come over him when Voldemort's spell hit him square in the chest. A sense of contentment had fallen over him earlier, but the peacefulness of Kings Cross Station was slowly fading as he became aware of other textures and smells. Like the prickling of bark and twigs against his ribs where he lay on the forest floor. Or the smell of wood smoke from a nearby campfire. And through his fluttering eyelids he could see the darkness of the forest, such a contrast to the pallid grey haze of the train station.

Voices began to materialise around him as the slight ringing in his ears dulled until his brain started to register specific sounds. A boot crunched down on some leaves near his face and the hissing of many people whispering rose in the clearing. Then Voldemort's voice called out high and more panicked than Harry had ever heard before.

"Check him…Severus hurry…"

A figure loomed over him, crouching down until he could smell the distinctive scent of sandalwood and herbs. He kept his eyes closed, but knew with complete certainty who had approached him. A brush of oily hair told him that Snape was leaning down over him, and then he felt a bony hand on his neck, two fingers checking his pulse.

The sight of the doe erupting from Snape's wand glimmered on the back of his eyelids. Harry stared at the blurry figure of Dumbledore in the memory, his features shocked as he gazed upon the doe's dainty features. His incredulity was something matched by Harry in the memory, looking upon the scene with a kind of detached wonder, everything locking into place in his mind. And then Snape's response, firm and ardent…

Always.

He allowed his eyes to flutter as he took a breath, trusting Severus Snape for what must surely be the first time in his entire life. Years of suspicion and dislike crumbled under the careful, slightly trembling touch of the man who had loved his mother.

"Did Draco show you…?"

Snape muttered the words very close to his face, his usually cold, sneering voice filled with anxiety. Subtly, Harry nodded his head, one eye opening to peer up at the sallow, hook nosed face of his old potions teacher. Snape appeared to grit his yellowed teeth together in a victorious snarl.

"Then let's finish this," he rasped, before rising to his feet. The cold, emotionless mask was once more in place as he faced Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Harry squinted up in fascination as the notorious traitor and spy looked his master straight in the eye. He had played his role so perfectly and had committed to such a horrific part with such dedication that Harry and Malfoy were the only two people in the world who knew (and probably Hermione by now, he guessed). There was an almost wicked, savage glint in the man's obsidian eyes as he took his next deep breath. Then he snarled out the two words that would send them reeling into the next phase of this terrible war.

"He's dead."

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Hermione's heart was pounding painfully in her chest as the procession of ominously cloaked Death Eaters moved in a wave up the front lawn towards the castle. They had removed their masks, not bothering to conceal their identities anymore.

A feeling like ash was on her tongue, burning her throat as she tried to hold back her cries. The looming figure of Hagrid was ambling along in ropes at the front of the group, carrying a slumped figure that was unmistakeable. Shouts of despair rang out across the open area, but Hermione barely heard them. Her round, piercing eyes were fixed on that boneless figure, willing it to move, praying that Harry would jump up and give her that soft smile of his and yell "gotcha".

But he didn't. And as the Death Eaters came to a stop, the gleeful, triumphant grin on Voldemort's twisted face was answer enough. And in that moment the only thing that was stopping Hermione from racing towards her friend were the arms wrapped around her, holding her close. Draco was anchored behind her, keeping her still and safe. He too was breathing unevenly as he gasped in shock at the scene confronting them.

Hermione refused to listen as Voldemort spewed filthy lies about her beloved friend, instead just standing there in a state of numbness. The pale, slit nosed wizard was a strange mixture of jubilant and menacing as he addressed the crowd. Then, slowly, as his glinting red eyes swept over the people gathered before him, he froze. His voice trailed away, drawing curious looks from his followers. But he continued to stare at a point just beyond Hermione's shoulder. And that's when she realised who he had seen.

"Draco Malfoy…" the dark wizard hissed and the reaction was immediate and palpable. A murmuring passed through the crowd of Death Eaters. All eyes turned towards him, and Hermione reached down to grip his hand tightly where he still held onto her waist. It was trembling. Draco's own stare was directed back stubbornly, chin held high despite the slight sweat in his palm that she could feel. His gaze flickered across to another person standing a few metres away from Voldemort, whose familiar striking blond hair was instantly recognisable. Lucius looked stunned, completely and totally agape with horror at the view in front of him.

"It seems like we've finally found your wayward son, Lucius. Now you know exactly where he has been all this time. Not to mention…who he has been consorting with," there was a look of disgust on Voldemort's face as he snarled these words, as though there were a bad smell under his flat, snake-like nose.

Hearing his master's words, a dark shadow overtook the older Malfoy's expression. He absorbed the sight of his only child, standing firm among the ranks of Hogwarts students and Order members, hand entwined with the infamous muggleborn friend of Harry Potter. His features were livid, ferocious with rage and betrayal.

"He is no son of mine," the wizard cried in outrage, spitting on the ground between them. This seemed to start a fresh volley of anger among the Death Eaters. Bellatrix was the first voice to call out, screaming "You filthy blood traitor" at the top of her voice, echoed by the jeers and shrieks of others. Hermione's grip tightened impossibly on Draco's hand. But through it all he just stood there, calm and still in the face of this barrage of hatred. His expression did not even flinch as the cloaked men and women in front of him hurled foul words their way. More than one voice was audible in the crowd labelling her as his mudblood whore, but there was something strange and detached in the way that Hermione heard it, as though it meant nothing now. Not when she was faced with the dead body of her best friend, and certainly not with the swelling pride she felt standing here hand in hand with Draco; cool, unruffled and totally content with his place by her side. She had never felt more certain of her love for him than now as he received this abuse with such composure.

Eventually the tide of filth died down, leaving only Voldemort as the centre of this tense scene, stepping forward with prowling footsteps until he stood closer than ever. His normally cold eyes were almost blazing as he fixed them on Draco, his expression deranged. The students and adults on their side shuffled closer, surrounding Draco in a sort of protective circle in response.

"How fortunate you're here, little Malfoy," Voldemort taunted in his high, chilling voice, "I've been hoping you could help me fix a problem I've been having."

As he spoke, Hermione noticed that he was twirling his wand curiously around in his fingers, his expression almost wild.

"You see, now that Harry Potter is dead-" another round of jeering rose up from the Death Eaters at the mention of this, "-there's only one thing standing in my way. This wand is… almost mine. Severus explained it all to me. And now it's your time to beg for mercy. Your sacrifice will make me more powerful than any other wizard in history."

Hermione's eyes flickered up to Draco. His jaw was set in a firm grimace, but he didn't seem at all confused by these odd claims. It was almost as if he had been expecting them. Everyone else around them, however, on either side, was looking on with a puzzlement that reflected her own feelings. She sidled closer to him, suddenly filled with trepidation. At the same time, a few other people near them raised their wands in a defensive stance. Ginny was there, looking ferocious. All the Weasleys were. And Ted Tonks had stepped forward ready to protect him too, Luna and Neville flanking him.

And then Voldemort was hissing something in a language that Hermione had only ever heard spoken by Harry a few times in her life. The snake Nagini unfurled herself slowly from where she had been concealed, rising up to peer in Draco's direction. She listened intently to the parseltongue instructions.

"Now, Nagini! Bring him to me," Voldemort repeated in a more familiar tongue, and the snake launched into action. She practically flew across the grass, her fangs glinting in the cold light of approaching dawn. Hermione's heart clenched tightly in terror, facing the beast with a pulse that thundered. The people crowded around them tried to fire spells at the slippery creature, but they made no impact against her thick scales. Hermione and Draco stumbled backwards as Nagini reared her head back. Her teeth were sharp and deadly.

But then in a flurry of movement, several things happened within a short space of time. First a ringing crack reverberated across the grounds and Dobby the house elf stood materialised there. His tiny hands were clutching something bedraggled and almost unrecognisable. With wide, milky eyes he stared fearfully at the snake for a moment, before thrusting his bundle towards the nearby figure of Neville Longbottom. Hermione watched, her mind frozen with bewilderment, as Neville's eyes widened. His mouth stretched into a grin of triumph, and at that same time she too saw the glint of something very memorable inside what appeared to be the sorting hat.

Neville withdrew the sword with a strong, surprisingly muscular arm. He brandished it confidently. It was like watching a completely different person in action. This strong and imposing figure surely couldn't be the one and only Neville Longbottom. But then before she could dwell on this shock, he was swinging the blade in a wide arc, catching with perfect timing the violent lunge of the snake. As he did, Dobby threw himself to the side, covering his ears and hiding behind the legs of Luna Lovegood, clutching onto her ankles. At the same time, Hermione felt herself grabbed by strong arms. Her body went numb as Draco threw her behind him, shielding her with his own body. But it didn't matter. A piercing wail split the dawn air, vibrating out from the headless, writhing form of the snake. Neville stood panting over its body, sword in hand. Voldemort's own voice could be heard roaring with pure white rage.

And that was the moment when things really went mad. Because just when she thought the evil wizard would destroy them all with a furious burst of his wand, a surge of voices cried out, pointing to where Hagrid stood. And there was Harry Potter, most definitely not dead, tumbling from his arms with a cheeky flourish of his wand. The Death Eaters went into a panic. Voices yelling in disbelief, screams of relief and terror mingled. And then there was a flash of colour that she knew only too well – the velvety material of his invisibility cloak – and suddenly he had vanished right before their eyes. More cries of fear followed.

Hermione felt like a weight lifted suddenly from her lungs. She stumbled forwards, grasping Draco's hand again and the two beamed at each other in shared delight, although Draco gave a little roll of his eyes and she could have sworn she heard him mutter "what a theatrical bastard" before they were suddenly running backwards towards the entrance hall amidst a wave of activity.

Harry had done it again, she realised then as she clutched her wand in one hand and Draco in the other.

He really was the boy-who-lived.

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It wasn't until sometime later, as the number of Death Eaters thinned and dwindled considerably, that Draco had a chance to take a breath. When he saw that they finally had a moment of peace, he tugged Hermione to one side of the Great Hall, resting a gentle arm around her shoulders. Around them a number of fights were still going, but more and more people were pausing for a brief respite as the fury of battle eased and became isolated to a few smaller pockets. It had been a long and gruelling night. Gaunt faces, drawn with exhaustion, surrounded them. And in the centre of all this Voldemort's own helpless frustration only seemed to increase as his spells appeared weak and ineffective against the strong wizards facing him now; McGonagall, Shacklebolt, Arthur Weasley. Draco had never seen him so afraid.

Basking in this temporary moment of rest, Hermione turned her face up, a sigh of relief falling from her lips.

"He's alive. Harry's alive," she murmured into Draco's chest as her brown eyes peered up at him.

"He's a smug git," Draco drawled, giving her a wry little smirk to show that he was only teasing, "I swear Potter's got more lives than a phoenix."

Hermione relaxed against him, but her eyes were still scanning cautiously over the room as he rubbed her back soothingly.

"Where do you think he is?"

Draco shrugged, wondering the same thing.

"He'll be around somewhere close by. Waiting for the right moment," Draco snorted then, thinking about that damn invisibility cloak he was hiding under, "At least now I know for sure I wasn't going crazy when I saw Potter's floating head in Hogsmeade all those years ago."

Hermione blushed a bit guiltily and chuckled. Then a shattering of rubble nearby forced them to duck and slink over to one side of the grand staircase. Draco grasped her hand and guided her as he crept around the fallen debris. Through the haze of dust he distantly saw Bellatrix bracing herself against an onslaught of ginger hair, as the portly Mrs Weasley fought like a lioness to protect her nearby cubs.

Before he could point out the scene to Hermione, however, a flash of white blond hair caught his eye, jolting out in front of them. He raised his wand instinctively and cast a protective charm. It was lucky he did because a reddish spell battered against it, sending out a loud crack as it did. Draco stumbled but stood tall, moving to protect Hermione with his body as he came face to face with the one person who he had been dreading seeing more than any other.

With a sadistic smile curling at his lips, Lucius Malfoy approached him, his pace frantic. His eyes were bloodshot and cold. And as he came closer, Draco could see the haggard, skeletal appearance of his face, corpse-like and contorted with fury.

Without even pausing to trade words with his traitorous offspring, the older Malfoy raised his wand high.

Lucius did not bother hesitating for even a moment, the face of his only son holding no sway over him now.

A burst of green erupted from his wand.

It was pointed straight at Hermione.

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Hope you enjoyed this one. I did make some obvious changes to canon, but still trying to keep it the same. I was desperately trying to think if I'd forgotten something important. Hallows? Horcruxes? Check? My brain needs a rest. Please review and let me know how this war should end and how our lovers will move on from here…