Edited 10/14/15
17. The Battle, Part One: The Night Starts Here
The scary part, the aftershock, the moment that it takes to fall apart
The time we have, the task at hand, the love it takes to destroy a man
The ecstasy, the being free, the big black cloud over you and me
And after that, the upwards fall, and were we angels after all?
I don't know, I don't know
The night starts here, the night starts here, forget your name, forget your fear
[The Night Starts Here, Stars]
The caterwauling charm sounded suddenly, an eerie, ominous wail that filled the air, cutting through the uneasy silence and tearing Hermione from a restless sleep. She jerked upright in bed and her heart squeezed and then sank like a stone as comprehension filtered through the fog of sleep, and dread swelled inside her. She shoved her hair back off her face, sleep-muddled, startled mind spinning frantically. He was here, already. It was upon them, and there was no turning back, no escape or surrender, and terror made Hermione's mouth dry.
The mattress dipped and then sprang up, and Hermione's eyes stung as light flooded them - the torches on the walls bursting into flame at Draco's muttered charm. He was naked, lean and pale in the light, his back to her and tension radiating off him as he scooped up their battle garb, throwing hers onto her side of the bed. It landed with a thump on her legs and Hermione blinked and dragged in a deep breath.
"He's here," she said through numbed lips, the fear making her heart pound and her muscles wind tightly on her bones. Her hand splayed protectively over her stomach as she sat up in her flimsy tank top and pyjama shorts, and stared at Draco's back. It was like her mind didn't want to accept the truth, and her body felt frozen in place on the cosy bed. She was tired in body and mind, and more than anything she just wanted this to be a nightmare. She didn't want to dress in her leathers and go fight for her life.
Draco glanced over his shoulder at her, his face hard and eyes shining blankly in the light. "Could be a false alarm," he said shortly as he settled his jockey shorts at his hips and brushed his hair out of his eyes. They both knew that it wasn't a false alarm though. And a moment later the caterwauling charm broke off, and a second alert sounded - this one Professor McGonagall's voice, projected throughout the castle.
"Voldemort and his forces have reached our outer wards. We have little time before they break through. Prepare for battle!"
It finished, and then began repeating on a loop, and the professor's calm, firm tone broke through the shock and disbelief that kept Hermione motionless with shock. In a sudden scrambled rush she threw back the covers and slid out of the bed where they had lain together, but not fucked. Two nights of tentative, hesitant shifts toward each other, that had culminated each time in a chaste tangle of limbs, and the inevitable slide into the heavy sleep of the exhausted. Neither of them had made any moves to be intimate, save light, tender kisses and cautious touches.
Hermione had thought it for the best not to force intimacy when both of them were so raw from the events Lenora Grey's arrival had set into motion. The revelations. But now she stared at the leanly muscled planes of Draco's back as he jerked his new set of chausses on with quick, rough movements, and regretted her inaction. They could die tonight, either one of them or both, and right now Hermione wanted one last shag to hold onto. Merlin. She needed to be touched, to feel him warm and solid against her, to know that it would be all right, to feel…
"Hurry up," Draco said harshly, and Hermione ducked her head, fumbling with the clasp on her bra.
"I am hurrying. Fuck, stupid thing…" she groused at her bra, still half distracted by Draco as he sat down on the edge of the bed and got his boots on and laced with steady fingers. Hermione was having enough trouble just getting her fighting gear on, a hodgepodge mix of old Auror gear and new things that had been charmed especially for this battle. The stretchy black top that went on over her bra was no trouble, but the arm coverings always gave her trouble. Her fingers slipped and slid on buckles and buttons, and she felt hot and cold all over, standing there in the torchlight half-dressed and frightened.
Not like Draco who now leant against the wall, watching her silently as he slid his wand home into its holster and crossed his arms over his chest. If he was afraid, Hermione thought as she tugged at the long sleeves of her top, then he was hiding it very well - better than usual, even. It was one of the things about him that had been different when he'd gotten free of the Imperius. He was harder, now, harder and colder, and it didn't seem like just a mask but rather an utter lack of feeling.
He was a man carved from stone, watchful and grim, sharp lines of his form and features starker in contrast to the worn-soft and battered leathers he was wearing. Hermione always thought he looked like a weapon himself when he was in his battle gear; a knife blade - unfeeling and sharp, and liable to cut even her if she touched him wrong. But there was something strangely attractive to him as he was in these moments, as if nothing frightened him at all, as if nothing could stop him. Although sometimes she wished he would take a breath and just be warm and blunt-edged, and hold her and tell her everything would be fine. A knife blade could give no comfort.
Hermione, by contrast to Draco's cool stillness, shook as she pulled on her chausses - blood-stained and mended they were like a second skin they had been through so much with her, and were the only piece of duelling clothes that she still had from the original set she'd been given. It felt like so long ago. The new leather vest-type jacket was still a little stiff, and the buckles were awkward to fasten. She swore under her breath, acutely aware of Draco's impatience to get moving - it filled the room and seemed to crowd out all the oxygen.
"Sit," he told her sharply as she balanced on one foot and tried to yank a boot on, her thighs pressed against the bed for a little balance. She sat at his order, and gave Draco her boots when he reached for them. He knelt at her feet; his silver hand reflecting flashes of orange torchlight as he deftly slipped her boots on and laced them snugly. He was calm and she was a riot of mad panic, fiddling with her buckles and staring hard at his bowed white-blonde head.
He lifted his head then and met her eyes with his grey ones, patted her knee absently and stood. His gaze was still fixed to hers, still far away - but filled with lurking shadows beneath the surface. "Go to the Great Hall. I'll be there soon - I told my mother I'd walk her to the hospital wing."
"But -"
"Hermione. We can't fuck around - we have to move. They could break through the wards at any moment."
"But I…" she began, but Draco took her hand in his and pulled her toward the door, and she went with him willingly, led like a child. "I don't think we should separate, Draco. What if they break through early? What if -" They had agreed - of course - that if they could they would stay together through the battle. Hermione couldn't imagine being apart from him in a battle of this magnitude - she would be too worried about whether he was living or dead to focus on duelling, and Draco felt the same way.
"It won't take long, I swear. I'll be back well before the fighting begins."
"I don't want to separate. I want to stay with you." Hermione sounded like a frightened child to her own ears and didn't like it; she snapped her mouth shut and shook her head hard. She couldn't afford to be acting like this now. She was an experienced fighter who had gone through hell and come out the other side in one damn piece, and it was pathetic to be clinging to Draco now.
"Sorry," she said tightly before he could speak, as they stood in the cold stone corridor outside their room. Her cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment. "Sorry. Of course."
"Hermione, I fucking swear to you I will be back before the battle begins." He took hold of her shoulders and looked down into her eyes as he spoke, low and earnest and Hermione bit her lip and nodded. She was shaking like a leaf but her jaw was set, her wand in its holster, and her mind was quickly filling with a litany of useful hexes and curses. She didn't know why she was so frightened this time, so much more frightened than she had been before previous battles.
Perhaps it was because this was the end. This was their last stand, their best hope. The Order and their allies had thrown all they had into preparing for this battle, and if they lost, it would be over. Tonight in the fight to come either Voldemort would die, or the wizarding world would fall to him completely and death or capture awaited her, and everyone else she knew. Previously she had only ever fought skirmishes, or on missions to retrieve horcruxes and other needed items or information. Important battles, yes, but failure did not mean the end to everything like failure tonight would.
At least they had their allies. Karkaroff, Krum and the other Durmstrang men were here, the Healers from South America and Africa were no doubt preparing in the hospital wing, a few American wizards had thrown their lot in with the Order in the past week, and one very small tribe of giants had agreed to ally themselves to the Order. There were people from all throughout the world under Hogwarts' roof - and yet still their numbers were pitifully few in comparison to the forces that Hermione knew Voldemort would have under his command.
Of course she was scared, considering the odds and the importance of the battle ahead. But she couldn't afford to let her fear control her. She had to be strong, just like she had always been in the past. And nothing would happen between Draco taking his mother to the hospital wing and meeting Hermione in the Great Hall. It would only take him ten minutes at the most, she told herself, and she was being stupid and irrational.
"I know," she said with numbed lips. "I'm sorry. Go, if you have to." Hermione didn't know why he felt he had to - Narcissa could find her own damn way couldn't she? - but she shoved down the resentment and pushed up on her tiptoes, arms sliding around Draco's neck.
"Be quick," she told him in a whisper, and then kissed his mouth gently. His lips were soft and cool and unresponsive for a moment as she lingered all filled with breathless hope. Then his hands tightened on her shoulders, before sliding down to grip her waist as he kissed her back.
Draco smelt like leather and soap and his stubble scratched Hermione's skin, his lips were soft and firm and pliable, pressing and moulding to hers. Butterflies shot through her, a squirming fluttering feeling that filled her up and made her tingle right to her fingertips. She was exquisitely aware of everything, from the way his fingertips twitched tighter on her waist when she whimpered and leaned into him more, to the throaty sound he made when the tip of her tongue slid delicately over his. Hermione's hands slid up to grasp Draco's hair, holding his head down to hers, and his arms came right around her, nearly crushing her to him.
The kiss deepened then, going from tentative and tender to hard and needy, and Hermione's insides curled deliciously, quivering licks of pleasure flaring through her. He was lean and hard against her and she wanted to let herself become lost in him; utterly, completely lost.
Draco's teeth nipping at her bottom lip before he sucked it into his mouth and sent lightning bolts straight through her. Her mouth pushing hard against his as she leant into him and tried to match his ferocity. Sucking on the tip of his tongue and swirling hers over it in tantalising laves as if it was his cock. His hips bucked out against her, and she could feel the outline of his erection against her belly through their duelling leathers. A choked noise strangled out of his throat as she ground herself against his trapped cock in short, rough movements, and the sound made her fingers jerk in his hair. A heat was building and scorching at the junction of her thighs, her womb clenching, her body begging for the sensation of him filling her, stretching her, wanting to feel him take her again, at least once more before…
Fuck, oh fuck, he made her feel things that she'd never felt before, every time. Even now with all the awkwardness Draco's actions while under the Imperius had caused between them, after all the time they'd been together…even now just a hard, rough kiss was enough to have her panting and whining for more. Hermione could forget everything in the world but this aching, greedy feeling that his urgent, insistent mouth and hands provoked. Only she couldn't forget. Because the battle and here they were, standing in the corridor wasting precious time. Her breath was dragging hot through her lips as she let him go and pushed him gently back.
She took a half-step away from him and blinked heavy-lidded eyes, feeling half dazed, and hoping Draco wouldn't take her abrupt stop to the kiss as a rejection of him. This was the first time since the night on the astronomy tower that he had snogged her like that, so needily and demandingly, no trace of awkwardness remaining. She didn't want to ruin that, but… Her chest felt tight and heavy, her lips swollen and puffy, and her loose hair was wild, her heart strumming harsh against her ribs.
"You should go. I should go," she said breathlessly. "There isn't time…I'll meet you in the Great Hall?"
Draco stared at her a moment, eyes dark and unreadable, the flush of arousal smudged high on his cheeks and his own breathing a little ragged. His voice was throaty when he spoke. "Yes. Be careful."
And then he twisted past her, striding down the hall with quick, measured steps to his mother's room. Hermione watched him a moment; all angles and restrained, cold-blooded violence. Graceful and pale in the torchlight, silver hand glinting at his side. She was almost used to seeing it now, and mostly accustomed to the slightly warmer, slick feel of it, but sometimes - like now - it caught her by surprise and made Draco seem a stranger.
She didn't like feeling as though she didn't know who he was; her trust needed to be absolute - no, it was absolute - but sometimes… Sometimes she realised just how little you knew of another person, how much lay unseen in the shadows. How they chose which faces to show you, and which to hide. How someone was a different person when they were with their mother, or lover, or friend; different facets turned to catch the light. It was odd, that moment of strange dislocation as she watched his silent stride down the hallway and found him unfamiliar - saw nothing of her Draco in him.
Hermione wished she was a Legilimens - she wanted to crawl inside his head and sift through all the dark places hidden away, to know him inside out. She knew him better than perhaps anyone, she trusted him with her life, loves him, and yet when he walked away from her with a stony face, in brand new leathers, his head bowed and boots silent on the stones she felt suddenly very uncertain. She shook the feeling off - she trusts him - and turned away herself, boots thudding quick and hurried on the stones of Hogwarts.
By the time Hermione got to the Great Hall most of the castle's occupants were there, except for the groups assigned to airborne defence, or the further reaches of the castle and perimeter of the grounds.
There were, Professor McGonagall estimated when Hermione asked, around thirty minutes left before Voldemort's ward-breakers brought down the castle's perimeter defences. They had spent weeks weaving the complex wards and strengthening them beyond all reason, and still it would take under an hour for the enemy to tear their hard work to shreds. Hermione thanked the harried Professor for the information, and went in search of friendly faces, her stomach tangled in hard knots.
Viktor wished her luck and kissed her hand, and several other friends and acquaintances also said good luck in a way that sounded like goodbye, and Hermione's heart strained and her eyes burned. It was so hard, for all of them. Neville's grandmother gave her an approving nod, and Ted Tonks - who was standing with his arm close around his adult daughter's shoulders - shook Hermione's hand and wished her luck in a faux-hearty tone. Finally, Hermione went looking for her two best friends in the world, tears hot behind her eyes and hands curled up into fists at the effort not to cry.
Harry and Ron were nowhere to be found. Luna told Hermione with a smile that was meant to be reassuring that Ron and Cho were spending their time with the other Weasleys, and Harry was in a private meeting with Kingsley and Remus. Hermione didn't want to intrude on the Weasleys, and from the sound of it Harry didn't want to be interrupted either, which left her feeling very small and alone. The two boys had been at her side during nearly all the important events in her life since she'd begun at Hogwarts, and it was so strange to be standing there without them.
So she was left standing in the Great Hall in a small cluster with Neville, Luna, Pansy, Seamus, and Dean. All of them were sick with nerves, and she was beginning to feel a little hurt and angry that Draco had chosen to take his mother to the hospital wing rather than be here with her, his fiancée, the witch who was pregnant with his child. The Hall was filled with other clusters of people; mostly gravitating into small groups, saying their goodbyes and good lucks, trying to bolster their courage and fill in the time together.
Dean prattled on stupidly and irritatingly - his way of coping, evidently - until he went off to his post near the perimeter of the wards, unable to stand the wait anymore. They all hugged him save Pansy, and as she squeezed him tightly Hermione couldn't help but wonder if this would be the last time she saw Dean alive. The thought terrified her; any of these people, the people she loved and cared about, could die tonight. She hugged herself tightly and tried not to dwell on morbid thoughts, telling herself over and over that everything would be fine, and not believing it.
Neville and Luna held hands and kept staring at each other in a way that made Hermione's heart wrench with a jealousy that she was ashamed of, and Pansy and Seamus were…standing very close together. Very close. And Seamus had an unmistakeable possessive fear in his eyes whenever he snuck glances at the witch beside him. Hermione's eyebrow arched up suspiciously.
"I wish you-know-who would just hurry up," Seamus said into the awkward silence that had fallen over them at Seamus' exit. "It's the waiting that's the worst part," Seamus continued, and Neville snorted weakly.
"Speak for yourself. It's the fighting I'm not looking forward to. I'm - I'm scared. I don't know if I can…"
"You'll be fine, Neville. You're so brave and strong," Luna said in a dreamy, certain tone, a beatific smile on her pale face. "We all are. We don't need to be scared; we have something you-know-who doesn't."
"And what's that?" Pansy asked Luna with more than a hint of acerbity and a superior lift of her eyebrows. Luna just kept smiling serenely, undisturbed by Pansy's sharpness.
"Each other. We have each other." She squeezed Neville's hand and gave him a fond look, and Pansy laughed, short and bitter.
"Oh, that's just -" she began angrily, and Seamus' hand closed over her wrist.
"Pa - Parkinson. Don't." To Hermione's surprise Pansy neither hexed Seamus for touching her, nor tore his head off for telling her to be quiet; she just closed her mouth and pursed her lips up tightly. But Hermione saw the smile that touched Pansy's lips briefly as Seamus' hand squeezed her wrist, lingering before letting her go. Pansy and Seamus? Hermione was staggered, despite her earlier suspicions - she couldn't think of a more unlikely couple than them.
And then she felt a touch on the small of her back, and looked behind her and up to meet Draco's steady grey eyes. He smiled but it was distant - he was still locked away in that still, calm, coldness that seemed to be his way of shutting down the pre-battle jitters. Hermione didn't really like it if she was honest, no matter how oddly appealing it made him seem, but she couldn't complain; everyone handled these moments differently. She fretted, Dean babbled, and Draco went into emotional lockdown.
"You're back," Hermione said, stupidly stating the obvious and grinning as her spirits lifted. As time had ticked by she had become genuinely afraid Draco wouldn't get to the Great Hall before the fighting began, and just seeing him made her breath catch and a warm glow filter through her. He didn't answer, just nodded a silent greeting to Pansy and took hold of Hermione's elbow, guiding her far enough away from anyone else to give them the illusion of privacy.
"I'm sorry," he said, staring very intently into Hermione's eyes, his thumb rubbing over her elbow in firm circles. "It took me longer than I thought to get my mother to let me fucking go. Of all the times for her to decide to weep all over me…" He flattened his lips then, cutting himself off and shaking his head. "But she got there, and she's Madam Pomfrey's problem now," he said with forced evenness to his tone.
She hadn't understood before, but Hermione noticed now the tight line of his mouth and the deep crease between his brows, the slight hunch of his shoulders, and understood.
"You were guarding her - making sure she didn't slip away to…" Her eyes widened as his expression grew grimmer. "You don't trust her."
"Should I?" he asked shortly and Hermione shrugged faintly.
"Probably not, I suppose. I can't say that I do, but that's different. You should have just told me…" It wouldn't have been quite so frustrating to wait down here for him, twiddling her thumbs and fretting, if Hermione had known Draco was escorting his mother because he was afraid she'd defect.
"I -" Draco began and then dropped his hand from her elbow and hissed through his teeth. "I didn't see the need to," he said, words muffled as he rubbed his silver hand over his face tiredly. A hank of pale hair fell into his eyes; it was nearly long enough to tuck behind his ears now, Hermione noted vaguely and automatically lifted her hand to push it back. Draco stiffened and stepped back just as her fingertips brushed his hair, and something twisted painfully in her chest.
She looked down at the floor with a flush spreading over her face as she pulled her hand back quickly. Embarrassment was heat under her skin; embarrassment and the hot hurt of rejection. Draco had kissed her before - what the hell was wrong now? Her hand felt strangely empty at the lack of him, the soft brush of his hair on her skin still singing in the nerves of her fingers. She pressed her hand against the tiny swell of her abdomen, trying to rid it of the little itching tingles on the pads of her fingers.
Draco's eyes followed the motion, and when she looked up his face was filled with something that made her chest hurt worse and her muscles wind tight with the effort of holding herself together. It was traces of regret and stark fear cut into his features as he stared at the place their child grew, and Hermione's throat went thick and her eyes prickled with tears. She wished Draco would talk to her, tell her exactly what he was thinking and feeling, but he'd locked it all away.
'After the battle,' he'd told her last night in a curt tone that brooked no discussion. 'We'll talk after the battle is done.'
He clung close to her the past two nights, in the shrouding dark of his dungeon room and the warm cocoon of their bed, but out of bed and in public it felt like he could barely stand to meet her eyes. Not because of her, Hermione knew, but because of his own guilt and fear. Damn him for being a self-flagellating idiot. He'd snogged her in the corridor when she had pressed the kiss upon him with sweet, hopeful lips, and now he was more than making up for the slip in his self-control. He was probably angry with himself for kissing her back. Idiot.
"Oh really? You thought you didn't need to?" she said too-sharply, heart pounding, fingers rubbing hard and nervous into her firm abdomen. Draco's eyes were still on her stomach as he answered, and they had gone hazy like fog over the lake on still, cold mornings.
"Hermione - Hermione I…" He cut himself off again, and shook his head, looked away and made a little growling sound in the back of his throat.
"You what?" Hermione asked very softly, fingers trailing down the leather of the bracer on his forearm. Draco blinked at her touch and discreetly drew back, eyes sharpening, and Hermione knew he wouldn't tell her whatever it was that had nearly slipped from him.
"I still don't think you should fight," he said instead. "The baby -"
"Is not a hindrance to my fighting capabilities. I'm not changing my mind, Draco. I'm not going to hide away while you, Harry, Ron and all the others risk your lives. We need every wand out there that we can get - including mine, pregnant or not. If we lose tonight I'm as good as dead, and you know it."
Draco flinched at that and nodded once, angrily, mouth tipping up at one corner in a humourless smirk. "Of course. Well, it was worth a try." He was all bitterness, and Hermione hated it. It made her bloody furious to be precise. There should not be this - this gulf stretching out between them.
"Draco." She said his name on a sigh, fixing her tired amber-brown eyes to his unwaveringly. "Draco, I know things are difficult right now, what with…everything, but I -" A shrill, deafening wail drowned out her words, and she sucked in a hard breath.
"They've breached the first layer of wards. The back ups will go any moment," Draco said bluntly and without emotion as the alarm cut off, and around the Great Hall Hermione saw the clustered people shift and tense. Fearful talk filled the air for a brief moment before it stilled again to an abrupt, deathly silence.
Harry stood in the doorway in leathers, flanked by Kingsley and Remus, their faces grim and taut. Harry looked dreadfully uncomfortable as he cleared his throat and cast a sonorous, and Hermione stifled an inappropriate giggle. Harry had always hated having to speak in public.
"Tonight we fight. For our lives and our homes. For the people that we love, and the people that we have lost." Harry's voice faded, wobbled briefly, but then his bright green eyes scanned the gathered crowd with sharp intensity. He kept going with a core of rough strength to his nervous words that made the hairs rise on the back of Hermione's neck, and the gathered people hang on Harry's every word. "Tonight we fight for peace, and for tolerance. We fight to protect the innocent, and bring justice to the guilty. Tonight, it ends."
Scruffy, short, and skinny, Harry somehow still managed to look like a leader as his voice echoed through the Hall, rising to nearly a shout. "Tonight Voldemort dies!" Hermione could hear his voice echo back from far reaches of the castle; he was charmed so that everyone could hear him. Including Voldemort, probably. Harry stared back at the wide, enthralled eyes on him, his face almost fierce. "We will win - we will. Because we're fighting for something that Voldemort does not have."
Harry's voice dropped then, his fists clenched at his sides. "We're fighting for love." He flushed as he said it and stepped awkwardly back - speech clearly over - and then went a darker shade of red as deafening cheers and clapping erupted like thunder, rolling through the Hall.
Professor McGonagall's voice was ordering everyone to their planned defensive positions as Hermione hurried toward Harry, Draco sticking close at her side. She reached Harry - standing alone now, just to the side of the main doors - just as Ron appeared out of the boiling mass of bodies moving around them. He clapped Harry on the back and grinned widely, although his freckles stood out sharply on his fear-paled complexion.
"Love, huh, Harry? Very nice, very manly."
"Oh shut it," Harry mumbled and gave Ron a small shove, which turned into a tight hug between the two. Hermione rolled her eyes at them fondly, until Ron's arm snaked out and yanked her into the hug. Their heads knocked together as they swayed on the spot, huddled so tightly. "I love you guys," Harry said, breath hot on Hermione's temple. "You know that, right?"
""We love you too, Harry," Hermione replied softly, squeezing his arm and nudging Ron hard.
"Yeah, me too, mate. Both of you."
"If your Gryffindor love-fest is just about done, there are people coming to murder us all," Draco interjected sounding snotty and dryly arrogant - a weird amalgamation between his old self and Snape for a startling moment. Hermione giggled weakly and the three-way hug broke as the two boys pulled back in unison and looked at her funny.
"I just - never mind," she said and shook her head, a smile ghosting over her lips as she met green eyes, and then blue. "Never mind. Be bloody careful you two, all right?" They chorused amused agreement, Harry to her left, Ron to her right, their faces as familiar as her own. For almost a decade they had bracketed her, always. Always together, standing together, and that was what made them strong.
And now Draco stood behind her; she could feel him close at her back, silent and watching. Her three boys. Three men. God she loved them all so fucking much it hurt. Hermione could sense Draco's impatience building and she pulled her wand, the slim wood cool and dry on her clammy skin. She was ready. Or as ready as she could be for something this damn huge.
"You be careful too, 'Mione," Ron said with faux-lightness. "Or I'll drag you up to the hospital wing to keep Cho company in safety."
"You wouldn't dare, Ronald Weasley," she shot back and Ron smirked at her as Harry addressed Draco.
"Protect her, Malfoy."
Hermione's eyes flicked between the two - one tall and blonde, the other short and dark-haired, and both staring at each other with an odd intensity.
"With my life," Draco answered Harry low and clear. He was hard-edged and white-lipped; his eyes narrowed and glinting dulled silver. He still seemed like a man cut from stone; unfeeling and cold, no life to him, and Hermione shivered as she realised what she hated about the way he was in these moments. He looked far too ready to die. Not desperate enough to fight and survive against all odds, but all too willing to be cut down for the sake of the mission. Any of the people here faced the reality that they might die for the cause, but Draco seemed to lack the desperation to hold onto his own life that the rest of them had.
Then the ground rocked hard as a deafening wave of sound hit them. Hermione stumbled and found herself yanked upright and pressed against Draco's chest as the explosion echoed off Hogwarts' stone walls. His leathers creaked and the scent of him filled her nose, his body fitted perfectly against hers and his arm was a hard bar just beneath her breasts.
"Neville and Seamus have blown the bridge!" Ginny gasped as she skidded in the doorway, long red hair flying about her like a flag. She had only eyes for Harry, and his went to hers like a magnetic pull buzzed between them. "Come on!" Ginny flung out a hand to Harry who grabbed it tight, and took a deep breath, eyes far away for a moment.
Draco's arm fell away and a cold emptiness settled over Hermione's skin - the lack of him. God. She wanted to bury her face against his chest and curl her hands in his hair, and lose herself against him forever. But he nudged her forward, and then they were running down the corridor. Toward the battle. Toward the seas of blood - the valley of the shadow of death, her mind told her, throwing up the prayer she had said at Sunday school as a child - and her heart screamed its beats in tight fear.
Battle was upon them.
Thoughts of battle always evoked flash-quick memories of her own experiences in Hermione. Not what she had read in books. Not coherent, linear memories. No, a slew of moments, of first-person perceptions. Deadly lights flashing like strobes - coloured bolts streaking through the air and wrenching screams and drawing blood and pain from their targets. Her heart beating like a rabbit's, all filled with a shrieking terror and panic, and the mindless urge to survive.
Claws of pain digging into her, the ache of tired, strung tight muscles and tendons, the warm sticky wetness of blood on her skin. The shouted hexes and curses, the screams and groans of the hurt and dying, the wordless roars of desperate fury, the rasp of her breath in her ears. The way people fell, and writhed and wailed, faces contorted with agony and terror. The way people fell and didn't get up again, dust and blood splatting on their unseeing eyes, but they didn't blink.
Battle was chaos, madness, panic, and desperation, always. It was never organised or glorious, never straightforward, never noble. It was a mindless, instinctual fight to just fulfil the mission and survive, filled with the indignity and horror of pain and blood and death, and tonight was no different.
The fight quickly spread over the grounds as the Order and their allies struggled to hold the castle's walls, and as of yet Hermione had no idea who was winning. Their side was outnumbered, but so far seemed to be holding their own against Voldemort's army. The first wave to hit from all sides had been Inferi; swarming over the grounds toward the awaiting fighters.
The Order had never anticipated Inferi. They had never thought…
Draco stared in horror across the broad slope of grass, squinting down towards the Forbidden Forest through the dark of night. Their lumos charms flickered and lit their small group of fighters, and the enemy's torchlight bobbed amongst the trees, but the world was still cast in deep shadows. They were just past the Whomping Willow, the dark, squat shape of Hagrid's hut off to the left in the distance, and a small swarm of Inferi pouring toward them out of the forest directly ahead. They approached Hogwarts' defenders at a loping, jerky run, disjointed and half-decayed, the stench of them filling the air. Fuck.
Draco shifted half in front of Hermione on instinct, and his hand tensed on his wand. His mouth was suddenly bone-dry, and he needed to piss. Fear, swelling in him - not just the rational fear of what the Inferi could inflict, but fear of the Inferi themselves. They were nightmare creatures, the horrors of tales told in the dark between children, which visited you later in your dreams as you slept. His darling Aunt Bella had once scared him half-to-death with a tale of a bad little boy who had been eaten alive by Inferi when he'd disobeyed his family. It had scared six year old Draco so much that he had hid in his wardrobe that night, trying desperately to stay awake, shivering with fear.
Yeah, Inferi had always fucking terrified Draco.
And now a rather daunting number of them approached. He tried to control his breathing, ignoring the tightness that crushed his chest in a vice of panic and wouldn't let him breathe deeply and slowly. Weasley stood nearby, along with Lupin, Nymphadora, Wood, and a few others Draco didn't know, and they all stared at the Inferi with wide, scared eyes.
He glanced over his shoulder at Hermione who stood close up against him, looking past him at the Inferi. Her left hand gripped the leathers of his battle gear at the small of his back, and her face was cast in sharp lines by the dim light of their lumos charms, fear and determination in the set of her jaw and the thinned press of her lips. Draco wished desperately that she was anywhere but here. She should be in the hospital wing with his mother, Cho Weasley, and the other non-combatants needed as Healers' aides. Or even better, off at a distant safehouse with Andromeda Tonks and Teddy Lupin, and the other children who had parents fighting, or were orphaned.
But Hermione refused to be anywhere but here with him, and Draco loved her all the more for that even as it filled him with a cold fear for her safety. Hermione was noble and brave and selfless, and fuck Draco was terrified he was going to see her die tonight - watch helplessly as she was torn apart by Inferi; hear her screams and see her blood spilt on the ground. If anyone deserved to live through this war, it was Hermione, and if she died tonight…Draco didn't know what he would do. He didn't know what would be left of him if Hermione was gone.
He would be nothing without her; everything, all the changes for the better that he had made had been provoked by her. Hermione Jean Granger. It was because of her that he was here, standing on this side of the line. And if she was gone he may as well just let the enemy kill him, because he didn't think he could face the future without her. It was hard enough facing it with her. Too bloody hard just recently. Mostly in the middle of the night when her warm, slim limbs were tangled with Draco's, and he was filled with a self-loathing that made him want to tear his skin off.
Everything they had been through had left them teetering constantly on a knife's edge, clutching to stability, and their relationship was both a source of strength and yet one more thing they had to hold together. And since his memories had mostly returned Draco felt a lot more like it was something they had to hold together. Every touch was both not enough and too much, he wanted to be with her but she shuddered when he touched her, he hated himself, he didn't deserve her, she shouldn't have to be noble and try to get past the fact that the hands that touched her had hurt other women.
He couldn't ask her to let him touch her after what he'd done, but he didn't have to ask. She was trying to do it willingly, and he was the one pushing her away. He was so fucking ashamed. How could he face the future? How could they make it past the end of the war and live, damaged and wrecked as they were? How would Draco ever be a father that his child could be proud of? He was hated by everyone, and sometimes he felt like he fucking deserved it. He deserved it.
A wave of heat jerked him from the racing flashes of his thoughts, and Draco stiffened and focused on an Auror moving at a walk toward the Inferi, his wand billowing flame. The Inferi closest to the flames shrank back and cowered, retreated slightly.
"Use fire!" the Auror bellowed rather unnecessarily, and Hermione's fingers flexed on Draco's leathers before she stepped out from behind him, jogging forward. He followed, trying to repress the urge to swear at her and drag her back kicking and screaming, and both of them cast spells that sent flame shooting from the end of their wands, the other fighters following suit.
They formed a long ragged line along the slope, curving at the ends towards the forest and hemming the Inferi in - giving them no choice but to retreat into the forest. Sweat rolled down Draco's forehead and stung his eyes, the heat of the fire searing his skin, the concentration it took to hold the spell making his head ache. An adult wizard or witch couldn't run out of magic - or only in very rare circumstances, at least - but one could lose concentration and the mental energy it took to focus.
The Inferi snarled and stretched their heads back to scream at the sky as they were driven back, hands clawing uselessly at nothing.
"It's bloody well working!" Weasley cried victoriously, and Hermione winced and muttered something about 'Ron don't fucking jinx it' with a little waver of strain to her voice as the flames pouring from her wand tip faltered slightly. And then right on cue, whatever spells controlled the Inferi overwhelmed their innate fear of the fire, and they ran forward into the completely unprepared Order members. They could move so fast when they wanted to, in odd jerky movements as if they were strobing toward the fighters, whose best defence against the undead had just failed.
"Oh shit!" Draco gasped and moved, abandoning the fire spell and grabbing for Hermione, just as an Inferius sprang at her, half rotted and teeth bared, a distorted growl wrenching from its decomposing mouth. She staggered back, arms windmilling, and the Inferius tackled her full on, sending her crashing to the ground with it on top.
The world twisted and lurched and Draco's heart matched it. He saw red, creeping into his vision, rage and terror filling him in equal amounts as he closed the gap between himself, and Hermione and the creature, in two strides.
Her wand had come out of her grip and she was fighting the creature, rolling on the grass as she tried to wrestle it off her, and he couldn't use a hex because it might hit her. His hand sheathed his wand automatically and then he seized the disgusting creature and dragged at it, tearing it off Hermione, and fuck it was strong. It squirmed in his grip, slimy and stinking, pieces of flesh coming away under his hands and then it turned on him. He slammed his silver hand into its face and it bit at it viciously - and he felt only pressure, no pain.
Thank fuck for small favours.
Its hands clawed at his leathers and he couldn't push it back far enough to get his wand out, so he just tried to keep the Inferius at bay, watching as it gnawed on his silver fingers.
It was fucking surreal. Standing locked in an embrace with a stinking dead body that was using his false hand as a chew toy. His brain couldn't quite seem to process it. And then the creature dropped, nearly dragging him to his knees on the ground with it thanks to its death-grip on his hand. He realised with a sickened shock that its legs had been cut away, and then another sick wave seized him as he realised how easily the severing spell could have hit him. He shook it off and blasted a plume of flame at it, staggering out of its reach.
Hermione stared at him big-eyed, wand in her hand and chest heaving. "It - it…I didn't hit you. Right? Right? I didn't…"
"I'm fine. I'm fine, you didn't hit me," he gasped, reassuring himself as much as her, pulling his wand out again and trying to breathe through his panic.
"I - drop!" he yelled as movement caught his eye over her shoulder and she did, flattening herself to the grass as he swiped his wand, beheading the Inferius that had been looming up right behind her. The body flipped and scrabbled for her and she let out a horror-stricken cry and scrambled away from it - the only thing that could truly kill an Inferius was complete incineration. But beheading and de-limbing certainly slowed it down a lot, if one could achieve that.
"Come on," Hermione said, strangely calm despite her breathlessness. "Come on."
Her eyes gleamed in the weird light, and fear warred with Gryffindor courage on her features. The courage won. Of course. Of course it fucking did. She wrapped her fingers around Draco's upper arm, pulling him forward, toward the Inferi, toward the fight. She was fucking mad. Blood was welling at the ragged bites the Inferius had inflicted on her throat, but her chin was held high and her shoulders squared, wand held ready. She looked like a Goddess of war; pale and beautiful, with the blood dripping down her throat, and her dark eyes burning with the fires lighting the night. Draco would have worshipped her, would have died for her.
He still might get that chance, before the night was out.
The Inferi were a special horror. Harry had told Hermione about the Inferi he had faced with Dumbledore, but until now Hermione had failed to understand just how terrifying they were. They were coming up the slope from the forest - at least thirty or forty of them, filling the air with the stench of decay. The fighters choked on the sweet, rancid smell of rotting meat, facing down the Inferi with fear turning the blood running in their veins to ice water. There was nothing quite so chillingly hideous as having to incinerate the corpses of people that had been innocents, or even worse, on their side. The Inferi lurched and gurgled and clawed, and many of them wore the dead faces of Muggles and wizards and witches that Voldemort had tortured and killed.
Hermione hadn't even thought of that, until she had set fire to a woman she had known vaguely - an Auror that had gone missing in action, presumed captured or dead. She was heartsick and shaking as she set fire to a Muggleborn boy who had been a year behind them at school; a Hufflepuff. A child who couldn't have been more than twelve bit at Hermione, formless howls forced from the half-rotted maw of her mouth as Draco used separating curses to part the girl's limbs from her torso. Hermione retched on the grass, only to have to choke the vomit back in order to fight as several more Inferi rushed toward her and Draco.
It was hell come to vivid life as the small group of Order members fought hard to hold the border of the forest - and were slowly but surely forced to retreat up the slope back towards the glasshouses. The Inferi weren't being driven off by fire, but they were still afraid of it, and could be incinerated by it eventually, so the fighters used fire. Plumes of it billowed everywhere, making the night air shimmer and waver, the heat scorching Hermione's lungs with each breath. The Inferi went up like human torches from just a single blast of flame - apparently highly flammable.
Being set alight seemed to madden the mindless creatures, although Hermione couldn't imagine they felt pain. An analytical piece of her brain noted the third undead to fall from fire since the battle had begun, and tried to remember when it had been set alight. Hermione estimated - with the part of her mind that wasn't eaten up by terror, the pain of minor burns and bites, and the overwhelming adrenaline-fuelled frenetic survival instinct - that the ones who burned lasted around two minutes before their bodies shrivelled and charred into uselessness.
They were the most dangerous in those two minutes, though. She ducked an Inferius as it ran flailing at her, then spun and hacked a leg out from beneath it with a focused cutting curse, panting at the focus the complex spell required. She cast a ball of fire at it, and retreated with terror making her breath come out in frightened little grunts - ngh ngh ngh - as it tried to crawl towards her on its hands and one leg. God, they were fucking awful. She forced down the hyperventilation that threatened to consume her, and severed the Inferius' head. Its arms and leg scrabbled blindly toward her, and its severed head snapped its jaws at her.
Hermione whimpered and ran from it; on to the next Inferius, the next terrifying monster that wouldn't fucking die no matter what she did to it.
Draco was somewhere close by - she had seen him just a few seconds ago, but couldn't see him now, over the fire and smoke, and she couldn't afford to be distracted in searching for him. She hoped he was all right. His left arm and side were badly burnt from where a flame-engulfed Inferius had seized him and tried to rip the flesh from his arm with its teeth. Ron had slashed its head from its body before Hermione could, the redhead appearing out of nowhere to save Draco - and Hermione had doused the flames bursting into life on Draco with aguamenti. She didn't even have time to thank Ron before he had disappeared into the fray again - shirtless, his white skin shining in the moonlight except where the red blotches of bubbling burns marked his back.
Everyone was wounded at this point - an Auror Hermione didn't know had half his hair scorched off, Oliver Wood was limping from a bad series of gouges to his leg, Tonks' clothes were in tatters from flame and dripping wet from Remus' aguamenti, and the others bore similar injuries, no doubt. She whirled past an Inferi and shoved her wand tip against its back, shouted a fire spell and then ran as it shrieked and turned to find the person who had immolated it.
She ran straight into Draco. His hands gripped her shoulders and they staggered together on the spot - his lips brushed her temple accidentally and he turned it into a gentle, fleeting kiss there that made her heart rush. And then they were standing back to back, scanning the battlefield, turning in a circle, their movements in perfect harmony. Hermione's spirits lifted slightly as she saw that their small group of fighters was turning the tide - there were under twenty Inferi left on their feet, and none of the fighters on their side had died yet. Thank fucking Merlin for small favours.
There were two fighters who had been severely burnt - skin charred black and sloughing off wherever they were touched, exposing raw meat and the gleam of bone. An Auror had managed to levitate them a little distance away, it seemed, and was sending up showers of blue sparks - calling for the Healers. The others would have to make sure the Inferi kept their attention away from the two injured fighters and their Auror guard. It was all they could do for the burned men at the moment. The men's' occasional screams split the air and made Hermione's skin crawl as she sent flame sweeping toward an Inferius. She prayed the Healers would get to the men quickly, because she didn't know how much longer they could last.
The bulk of the remaining Inferi were huddled together a little further down the slope, and Hermione met Draco's eyes - steady and cool in his bloodied face - and they shared a nod. They half-jogged across the dew-wet grass toward the main cluster of Inferi, who were being kept at bay by several Aurors. The world was night and fire, and the air was filled with the yells of the fighters, the screams and groans of the two wounded men, the alien, distorted shrieks of the Inferi. Hermione's heart was rushing with fear-spiked adrenaline and the world felt like chaos - her only source of steadiness was Draco, running beside her.
And then her run stopped - she was jerked to a halt and fell hard to the ground, crying out in surprise and the expectation of pain. She hit hard; a thud, winded, wet grass and soil in her mouth, trying to protect her abdomen with one arm and mostly failing. Pain shot up her leg from her ankle, and she struggled to breathe, her wand trapped beneath her - oh please god let it not be broken - and where was Draco? Why wasn't he there, why wasn't - sharp nails tore at her ankle through her chausses and boots and she screamed soundlessly, breathlessly and kicked out.
She tried to draw air, to scream for Draco, thrashing to get the hand off her ankle and her wand out from under her, a cracked wheeze issuing from her lips. Then Draco's voice cut the air as his hex cut through the Inferius' arm. It made a terrible, raw scream, and as Draco pulled Hermione to her feet she saw it; a torso on the ground, its head craned back and lipless mouth gaping as it screamed with half-decayed vocal chords, its one remaining hand grasping for her. It had been a child, once.
She just managed to hit it with a reducto on blind instinct as Draco pulled her away, white to the lips and cursing under his breath. Chunks of the Inferius rained down upon them both, and Draco retched and hunched his shoulders. "Good idea," he strangled out despite his nausea, flashing a sickened-looking smirk of approval. And then they slid their gaze to the ground, watching their step as they went at stumbling jog toward the remaining Inferi, Draco yelling for the fighters to use reductos.
Hermione could see Hagrid's hastily repaired hut was alight again, off in the mid-distance and her heart gave a little pang. The flames of it leapt into the sky and lit the battlefield with a flickering orange hue, casting the fighters and Inferi as black figures against the blaze. She used another reducto on an Inferius and grinned madly as it exploded in useless chunks, a hand landing near her and twitching weakly. The other Order members were using it too, and very quickly the last of the Inferi were being decimated.
And then a sound like distant thunder rumbled through the air and the ground quivered beneath her feet. Oh shit, no, it wasn't… The treetops deep in the forest began to shake so violently that Hermione could see it happen even by the light of flame and stars, and her stomach lurched. Oh no. The swaying and toppling of the trees was nearing them - closer and closer to the edge of the forest, and now she could hear the cracks of trees falling. The ground began to shake rhythmically and Hermione grabbed Draco's arm as he stumbled. He turned wild eyes on her, his face white and crimson and drawn with strain, pain, and fear.
"Giants," he rasped, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her mind stuttered over the word disbelievingly. There was no way in hell they could fight giants. The small tribe of giants Hagrid and Grawp had ended up recruiting were on the other side of the fucking castle right now, and there was no chance they could get here before the enemy giants decimated their own small team.
"But -" she began stupidly, her first instinct to deny the awful truth, and then one of them came barrelling out of the forest knocking trees aside like they were twigs. Her heart froze in her chest for a beat before thundering back into life, beating seemingly twice as hard and fast as it had been. "Oh Merlin, oh shit oh god we're going to die." She reacted before Draco did for once, seizing his arm - he winced and snarled in pain and she remembered his burns too late - and running. He shook her hand off and kept pace with her as they fled back towards the castle over wet grass that their boots slipped on, dodging the remaining Inferi.
"We're going to die," Hermione gasped in between intakes of air, vaguely aware that the other fighters had fallen in around them, all of them running as fast as humanly possible. She remembered the two burnt fighters and the Auror guarding them, and guilt washed over her in a flood. She'd just left them. They had all just left them to die. But she couldn't change that now; she had to focus. "What do we do?"
"The Killing Curse," Draco breathed after a moment, and then yelled it louder over his shoulder for the others to hear, "The Killing Curse! Use the Killing Curse!"
"Killing Curse - doesn't always work - depends -" Remus called back breathlessly as he shot off orange sparks from his wand - a call for back up. "We have to draw them away from the castle! Wait for back up!"
They tried. They really did. But there were seven giants, slow-moving but covering a huge amount of ground with each stride. The fighters were afraid to pause long enough to cast the Killing Curse without being grabbed by one of the giants, and Hermione's breath was strangled in her lungs so much so that she couldn't even hope to speak it. Then Oliver Wood streaked ahead of them all despite his wounded leg, skidded to a halt and turned. He lifted his wand as Hermione and Draco dashed past him, and they heard his cry of 'Avada Kedavra' carrying on the wind a moment later. There was nothing for a second of mad running, and then they were thrown from their feet as the ground heaved beneath them, a tremendous boom rumbling through the earth.
"He got one!" Hermione gasped with fierce joy as she scrambled to her feet and began running again, Draco beside her. And then screams cut through the silence that followed the rumbling impact of giant on ground, and Draco glanced over his shoulder mid-stride and blanched. Hermione's blood ran cold at the screaming and the look on Draco's face, and she was going to look herself when Draco stopped her.
"Don't. Don't. Just run."
She didn't look, but her heart ached for Oliver.
The only sounds now were the unearthly wails of the few remaining Inferi, the crash of giant footsteps, and the rasps of their own breathing. Hermione's calves burnt as she pushed herself into a full sprint, ignoring her body's pleading for oxygen and the stitch in her side. She balled her hands into fists and pumped her arms for momentum as they tore up the steepest part of the slope. And then as she looked around she realised that she, Draco, Remus and Tonks had veered right, away from the others - a ridge in the hill turning them the wrong way.
The others, including Ron, were all off to the left, heading for the vegetable patch. There was no way that they would be able to reach the others' location before the giants got to them. "Just go," Remus screamed at the others who had paused to look back at Hermione and the other three. Then Remus gestured to Hermione and Draco, beckoning them on. "We have to go. Don't have a choice!"
So she ran again behind Remus and Tonks, up the path toward the glasshouses, Draco at her side. She risked a glance behind her to take in the situation, and what she saw only made her run faster. Three giants had been drawn off by the other fighters - who had already felled one giant it seemed - but that meant she, Draco, Remus, and Tonks had three giants on their tail. This was not good. Not fucking good at all. Maybe amongst the greenhouses they might get the chance to hide, which would give them chances to cast the Killing Curse before the giants grabbed them.
But no, she realised quickly - the giants would just destroy the glasshouses beneath their feet, the buildings would provide no protection. "Make for - the castle!" Remus yelled between pants for breath. "Back up is on the way - just have to get ourselves - to safety!"
They were racing up to the glasshouses, the giants' footsteps making the earth shudder under their feet enough to make them stumble every time, when suddenly a roar filled the air, and hot slimy fluid sprayed Hermione. Spittle, she realised and ran faster. The giants were steadily gaining on them, right behind them now, and Hermione kept her gaze fixed on Tonks' pink hair, a bright bobbing dot in the night well ahead of her and Draco. And then there was a whoosh of air and a thud as Draco grunted and - she turned her head to him and he wasn't there.
He wasn't there.
He just wasn't… A massive fist came down and tried to hit Hermione, to send her flying, and she dove and rolled. She tucked herself into a little ball, the ground hitting her hard, tumbling head over heels. The giant must have hit Draco, not eaten him, she told herself as she scrambled to her feet and veered left down amongst the glasshouses, trying to hide. She dashed down the narrow paths between the glasshouses, her mind stuck, stuck. Stuck on he has to be alive. Her body ached all over and the bite wounds at her throat were bleeding again, her ankle twisted under her as she slid around the corner of a glasshouse away from the giants' line of sight.
The giant must have struck Draco, not grabbed him, Hermione thought frantically as she crouched amongst the plants twining up the outside of the glasshouse she hid behind. The glass was icy on her back, and her shoulders heaved as her whooping gasps for oxygen shook her body. He had to be alive. He had to. She pictured him dead and bleeding in a crumpled heap. Pictured a giant crushing the life out of him and eating him. She stuffed her knuckles in her mouth to stifle her sobbing breaths and listened for screams. She heard none. She had to find him. She had to fucking find him.
And then a giant foot fell beside Hermione, and she jolted with electric fear and raised her head, hoping the creature hadn't seen her. Oh god. A giant stared down at her, a brutish leer on its enormous mouth, and she stared up at it with terror freezing her to the spot and blotting out all conscious thought. It bent, reaching for Hermione, and she finally regained her senses. "Avada Kedavra!" she cried at the top of her lungs, three times in a rush, and the green bolts hit the giant's stomach, and on the third bolt its mouth went slack, its eyes blank. Relief poured through her in a torrent - and then the giant began to fall.
"Oh fuck," she breathed, and then ran straight at it, barrelling through the gap betweens its legs and barely squeezing through, almost caught between them as its body twisted while it fell. The glasshouse roof gave way beneath the giant's weight with a cacophony of shattering glass and splintering wood. The ground heaved under Hermione's feet and she wobbled and staggered, twisting around and trying to throw up a shield charm to protect herself from any debris.
She was just starting to flourish her wand when a flower of pain blossomed bright in her skull, vision greying out, and she felt her legs go out from under her as everything went black.