Author's Note: I'm in a sort of unhappy mood because I'm stuck here, unable to go home for Thanksgiving… rather saddening. But I figured I should still post, since it's been a little while since my last update. So this is my treat for you guys. Happy Thanksgiving!

Chapter 92

"I imagine most of you do. Well, tonight, I have an even better show in store for you," the Dark Lord says. Then he turns to face me. "But before we get started on the main course, we have a few… appetizers."

Voldemort motions to Mulciber, who leaves and returns with a line of twelve people, all with bags over their heads. They're chained together, and Mulciber walks quickly, forcing them to keep up. He stops abruptly and laughs when they crash into each other.

He removes the first bag, and Potter reacts with a start. I force his outburst down—he'd wanted to call out her name.

It's not really her, you twit, I tell him. Don't believe everything you see, when it comes to Voldemort. Haven't you learned from losing your godfather?

I can tell that he's itching to retort—I can feel his frustration.

Control yourself, I say. It won't do to give up the plan over this. It's just the beginning.

Fake Hermione screams as Mulciber begins to use the Torture Curse on her. I keep my eyes on her calmly, not allowing Potter to take control over me. I won't let Voldemort have the satisfaction of seeing the effect that this has on me.

How can you do this? Potter asks, trying as best as he can to shut my eyes.

It isn't her.

But it looks just like her.

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

Then Voldemort stops Mulciber and brings the girl to me. He turns her to face the crowd of Death Eaters.

"You all recognize her face, the face of this vermin who is so loyal to the famous Harry Potter," he says. "She was the one who was released from Dartmoor, the escape for which Draco was tried last time."

Even though I try to suppress them, the memories from last time stubbornly rise to the surface. I remember the initial shock at seeing her face, the realization that she wasn't Hermione, the blank look in her eyes after she'd fallen to the ground, dead.

How… how could you? Potter asks.

I'm shaking slightly, and I realize that it's because he is shaking.

I had to do it. He can't blame me for it. I would have died, and we wouldn't be where we are now.

"The real Hermione Granger has proven to be… rather elusive," Voldemort continues. "So, like last time, a substitute will have to do. Now, who would like to have a hand in torturing her?"

He looks around the room. Some brave souls are actually stepping forward, and the Dark Lord smiles wickedly, signaling to Mulciber.

"Excellent," he says. "Release the others as well. I think we'll have need of all of them."

He can't be serious.

Can you not keep your thoughts to yourself, Potter? I snap.

Then Voldemort's in front of me again. "Let's remind this traitor of how Mudbloods should be treated," he sneers.

Then he leans closer, lowering his voice so that only I can hear him.

"Watch closely and remember this well," he says. "You'll be doing it yourself to the real Hermione Granger, no later than tomorrow morning."

Several screams sound out, and I decide not to let this get any farther.

And with all the people suddenly crowding the elevated space, this is the ideal moment to act.

As Voldemort starts to turn away, I look in Rowle's direction pointedly, and the man stands up. I lock eyes with Aunt Bella for a split second, and I realize that she looks suspicious.

My nerves are fired up, and Potter's anxiety isn't helping.

I take a deep breath.

Then a silver orb is soaring through the air toward Voldemort's back. I leap out of the chair as Voldemort whips around. I grab his arm and stretch my other hand out for the orb.

Cries of surprise fill my ears, and I briefly see a jet of light flying in Rowle's direction.

Then my hand closes around the cool, round ball, and I'm tugged rapidly through space, keeping a tight grip on Voldemort's arm.

We land in a small clearing, and I drop the now-useless Portkey to the forest floor.

Voldemort looks around. "Interesting, Draco. Interesting, indeed. Just what did you intend to accomplish by isolating us?"

"I will never work for you again," I say. "So if you're not planning to kill me, then I'm just going to have to kill you."

He looks at me for a moment, as though expecting me to declare that I was just joking. Then he laughs coldly. "Do you think you can defeat me, boy?"

"I'll give it my best shot."

I'll start off, I tell Potter. Feel the motions, and familiarize yourself with my skills.

I fire a Killing Curse at Voldemort, who sidesteps it with a grin.

"Did you really think I would make it that easy for you?"

"No, but it was worth a try."

A bright white ball of light flies in my direction, and I lunge to the side to avoid it, throwing two blasts of energy at him—they're just meant to propel opponents backwards.

Different-colored jets of light flash back and forth between us. I parry his spells and do my best to keep on the offensive, but it's difficult to stay ahead of his pace, and he steadily starts to decrease the time gap between his attacks.

It's clear that he doesn't intend on killing me—this is starting to feel more and more like just another practice session, especially since I'm always wandless during those, as well. Maybe I can use that to my advantage.

What the fuck, Malfoy? You know a spell to turn someone's intestines inside-out?

I duck a series of black pellet-looking objects, wondering what they are. Voldemort certainly hasn't taught me that one before.

Haven't had to use that one yet, I reply to Potter, retaliating with a few more Killing Curses. Tested it once on a pig.

Potter's clearly disgusted.

I was apprentice to the Darkest wizard of all time. Intestines were the least of my concerns.

About two minutes into the duel, Voldemort is maintaining the same tempo for his attacks, alternating between spells to throw or hurt me. He still hasn't managed to touch me, but I haven't gotten close to him, either. He looks entertained.

Even though I haven't quite started to feel tired yet, I decide it'd be prudent to retrieve my wand. I Summon it from the ground—I'd told Rowle to bury it here after making the Portkey.

Voldemort pauses, and disappointment crosses his face. "Ah, Draco. You would have made an excellent Dark Lord, someone to take over during my absences. Shame."

I fire a stronger spell at him, helped by the familiar feeling of my wand in my hand. He deflects it easily.

I'm ready, Potter tells me.

Are you sure?

Yes.

I dodge a jet of red light and am surprised that Voldemort would use a spell as elementary as a Stunning Spell. Then I relinquish control, and Potter takes over.

Our transition is fluid, and I watch nervously as my body moves without input from me. But Potter's apparently learned enough about my body—he seems to have adjusted to me alarmingly well.

When Potter increases the speed of his—my—our—attacks, I note that a slight frown appears on Voldemort's face. This is something that I wouldn't ordinarily do. Most of us in Slytherin prefer to wait for our opponents to tire out rather than get exhausted and vulnerable ourselves.

But Potter should know what he's doing. After all, he has to kill the Dark Lord—he should be the one in charge of the fight.

Suddenly, Voldemort's head twists to the right, as though he heard something.

Potter takes advantage of the distraction and fires several deadly spells in quick succession.

Somehow, Voldemort parries all of them and races right up to us, so fast that there isn't enough time to react, and we end up pinned against a tree, wandless. I know that astonishment—I can't even tell whether it's Potter's or mine anymore—is showing on my face.

"Did you really think I'd teach you all of my tricks?" Voldemort hisses. "Don't look so surprised."

I'm itching to take control over the fight, but I hold back. Potter reaches into my pocket ever so slowly and pulls out the pouch.

"Avada Kedavra!" shouts a voice extremely familiar to both of us.

Voldemort turns slightly toward the source of the spell. In that moment, Potter plunges my hand into the pouch, reaching around. I don't know what he's looking for.

The Dark Lord blocks the curse, and Potter pulls my hand back out of the pouch, something hard in my grip.

As Voldemort turns back to face us, Potter shoves a sword through his chest.

Bloody hell.

Voldemort looks down, a look of disbelief on his face, and seems to attempt to cast a spell on the sword.

"That's the Sword of Gryffindor," Potter says in my voice. "You won't be able to rid yourself of it that easily."

"You—"

"Remarkable, isn't it, how quickly the venom of the Basilisk penetrates the body?" Potter says almost mockingly.

What the fuck is he talking about?

But Voldemort seems to be affected by the words—his eyes widen by a fraction. He staggers back a few steps, the grip on his wand loosening.

"Too bad Fawkes isn't around. Then again, I doubt he'd cry for your demise," Potter continues.

The quickly weakening Dark Lord still manages to point his wand in our direction. Potter steps to the side, and a Killing Curse hits the tree behind us.

I snap the fingers on my left hand, Disarming Voldemort. His wand flies into my hand.

What was that? Potter asks, a bit surprised.

A handy trick.

"Do you think you've won? Do you—" Voldemort starts.

"It's over, Tom Riddle," Potter says aloud. "We've destroyed your Horcruxes. You won't be coming back this time."

"That may be true, but this is far from over," Voldemort says. He falls to his knees but continues, "Do you think it'll be enough to kill me, Potter?"

"It certainly was enough last time, wasn't it? This time, you'll be gone for good. It's over."

Voldemort laughs maniacally, and the sight is repulsive. "It'll never be over, Potter. Never."

Potter takes a large step forward and pulls the Sword out of Voldemort's chest. He gasps, and blood starts leaking from the side of his mouth.

In a final wave of fury, Potter says, "This is for my parents."

Then he swings his arm fast, horizontally, slitting the Dark Lord's throat. Blood spurts profusely from the wound. Voldemort chokes, splutters, and finally collapses.

I stare at him for a long moment, hardly able to believe my eyes.

Dead.

Finally, he's dead.

It's over. It really is over.

"Draco… Harry…?"

Potter spins me around. "Hermione?" he says.

She races over and throws her arms around my neck. The transition of control from Potter back to me happens almost instantaneously, and in the next moment, I drop both sword and wand, wrapping my arms around her and crushing her to me.

I can't believe that it's really over.

Erm… Malfoy? I'm still here, Potter says as I maintain my hold on Hermione.

I'm sure this hug is as directed toward you as it is toward me, I reply.

She backs up slightly to look at me. "I can't believe you really did it—both of you," she says, smiling radiantly.

"I don't think we would have managed it without your distraction," I say.

Definitely, Potter agrees.

She only smiles in response.

"How'd you get here?" I ask.

She glances back, and I see Naree peeking timidly from behind a bush.

"Come out, Naree. I won't punish you," I tell him.

"Naree is so sorry, sir," he says, stepping more into view. "Naree didn't mean—"

"Don't apologize. You did well," I say.

"Harry, Draco, I'm so, so proud of you. Both of you."

She's making me feel like a child in school, Potter thinks.

I chuckle. Same here.

"What? What did he say?" Hermione asks.

"He said thanks," I tell her.

She pouts. "Liar." Then she says, "Harry, Ginny is waiting for you at Draco's home. You should probably go back."

I'm off, then, Potter says.

I look down at the sword and wand that I'd dropped to the ground. I want to talk to you, next time we have a chance, I tell him. But until then… good-bye.

Bye.

"He's going," I say. Then I look over at Naree. "Go on back to Rowle's and make sure Theo's okay."

He nods and Disapparates with a crack.

"What's wrong with Nott?"

"He should technically be fine," I say. "I had some separate orders for him."

I told him to alert the Order and to give them the location of the room in which Voldemort's meetings took place. He was also told to let them know about the Disapparition Jinx around the room—if they could seal all of the Death Eaters inside and use some sleeping gas to knock them out, that'd be ideal.

"Orders? Are you ordering people around now, Draco?"

I grin. "I've always ordered people around."

She fixes her warm brown eyes on me, and for a moment, I forget about everything—all the schemes, concerns, and considerations fade to the back of my mind as I stare back at those perfect, compassionate eyes.

She steps a bit closer. "Is it just us, now?" she asks in an intimate voice, and I know she's asking me whether or not Potter's still around.

The tunnel's closed.

"Just us," I confirm.

She smiles and reaches up for me.

Author's Note: So, moody-me is back. If you don't want to read a snippy author's note, I suggest you click away from the page now. Oh and could you leave a review? I think it'd make me feel a bit better. (Yes, I added this first bit as an afterthought after looking at my author's note a second time).

Upon rereading and rewriting some of this chapter, I'm now wondering if it was too anticlimactic. But I'm in no mood to fix it now, because I just found out that my sister forgot about our plans for Thanksgiving away from home and decided to plan a road trip with her friends instead. So it'll be an even worse Thanksgiving break than I'd anticipated. Fuck.

Honestly I don't curse very often, but I think that sums up how I'm feeling right about now.