The hall erupts, a mass of screams and hysterics. A good deal of it is coming from the witch beside me, on whom I still have an iron grip. I wrap her into my chest as she doubles over, shrieking his name.

Ron's frozen. Ginny's frozen. Potter lays on the ground, face blank and eyes empty.

Then the Dark Lord grins, maliciously pleased. Maybe he was more cunning than I gave him credit for, knowing others would sacrifice themselves for Potter but that Potter would sacrifice himself for them, too.

The surefire way to kill Potter was to aim for the one he loved, and he aims right at Ginny again now for good measure.

"TOM!" comes a bellow from my right, a sonorous-enhanced shout to overcome the din.

I look up and over, as does almost everyone else - as does the Dark Lord. Heads swivel across the hall.

Harry Potter is standing on the stone rubble from the collapsed outside wall, his wand tip to his throat to shout the Dark Lord's given name, and I hadn't even known he'd arrived.

But Ginny Weasley understands.

Pain and recognition flash across her heart-broken face in a jumble, and Blaise Zabini provides just enough hesitation in the Dark Lord for her to take the kill shot.

"Avada kedavra," she screams furiously through her tears, and strikes the Dark Lord dead centre in the chest.

He falls, making quite the same sort of noise as every other fallen fighter tonight.

Nothing special, in the end.

In the ensuing chaos, I see Blaise step back down and out, slipping back into the outside shadows.

I leave them all to the technical victory, to mourn their fallen and to the mopping up of whoever may be left. Trusting Granger to her friends, to the comfort and mourning of those she loves and who love her, I climb over the rubble to find my best friend.

"Good timing," I say quietly, as we both lean against the castle wall and look out across the dark grounds. The cold air feels good, now, refreshing against the heat and sweat and strain of the battle. I wonder how long it's been since we even arrived; an hour ago? Two? Feels like eight.

Blaise coughs something out. "I guess. Stopped him killing her too, at any rate. At least I could do that."

"When did you get here?"

"A while ago, in fact. But my presence was confusing. When Snape told me what was happening, I debated not even coming, but I thought maybe there'd be a chance to contribute somehow."

"Well, I'd say you did."

Blaise ignores this. "The higher-level Resistance operatives knew about this part of the plan, how we were able to free Potter, but a lot of them had no idea how or why Harry Potter was walking around the grounds. I just stayed hidden and struck when I could."

"I guess you don't want to go in there?" I motion behind me.

I was being sarcastic, but I think we're all too exhausted for the proper tone or inflection for it. Blaise looks at me as if I'm insane. He looks like their fallen hero, right down to the circular glasses. Talk about a mindfuck for grief.

"Well, at least we won. It's over," he says heavily. "I'm going to split. I can't do any more good here."

"I don't know what the next steps are anyhow. Triage, I expect. You could do a lot of good there. We both could. How long on your Polyjuice?"

"Depends on what time it is, but probably another hour."

I push off the wall and aim my wand at him. I shave his head, transfigure his glasses to a more regular shape, and pause. "I need to give you a few cuts. Bloody you up."

"No need." Blaise pulls up his sleeve to show a deep gash that he rubs across his forehead, masking the scar. He scoops up some dirt to smudge around and I assess the progress. Not bad. I definitely wouldn't assume he was Potter, especially from a distance. Just another Resistance fighter I didn't personally know.

"Just stay close to me. We'll volunteer to check for the wounded in other parts of the castle."

I climb back up the rubble into the castle proper to see Granger having a screaming row with Ron.

I'm torn between letting her have it out with him and interrupting. Ultimately, I decide to break it up. Emotions are very high right now. They're probably both saying things they'll regret later. Nothing flung at each other here is likely to be productive, and I come up to her to put an arm around her shoulders.

"Come on," I start to whisper, and Ron whips out his wand.

"Get away from her."

"Not now, Weasley. This isn't the time." I feel like I'm a paragon of rational, mature behaviour. I'm rather proud of myself for it, in fact.

Granger undermines me by kicking Ron directly in the shin and he hops on one foot, holding his shin in his hands. "Fucking hell, 'Mione, this isn't you!"

She declines to continue arguing the point, turning to walk away with me instead. Her eyes are red and puffy, her face streaked with tears, and she wipes at them furiously. I offer her an alternative. "We're going to check the other parts of the castle for injured people. Let's step away from here for a little bit."

Glancing up, she stops in her tracks when she sees Blaise standing delicately off to the side. He's trying not to draw attention with his face averted, his shoulders hunched.

Her eyes run up and down him rapidly. She takes in his shaved head and the blood on his face, but of course she still sees Potter. Her eyes fill with tears again but she soldiers on with a small hitch in her breath, blinking the tears back as best she can.

But she accepts my tentative suggestion, nodding, and strides ahead of us both back towards the great hall we entered the castle from to begin with. We'd covered a lot of ground between there and here. Thinking back, it felt like a lot and like nothing at all, all at once.

We come across Ernie Macmillan first, slumped against the wall. Granger checks for vitals and shakes her head. She wipes at her eyes again and moves on.

She still hasn't spoken since whatever she was screaming at Ron. I got the gist of that without hearing the actual row but I am a little concerned. I'd like to know how she's holding up, if the Occlumency is helping. If she's even using it.

Her best friend just died in front of her and I remember how happy she was to see me/him in the library all those months ago. How she flung herself into his arms, how she'd felt the missing of him without even understanding why. How happy she'd have been to see him one last time here, before the battle, and how my actions had kept that from her.

We find people we can help here and there. Granger works fast, casting diagnostics and Healing charms, and I see the flat brown of her eyes. Clearing her throat, her voice is still hoarse and raw as she delegates to Blaise and me. We move well together, the three of us, quiet and efficient. Reflective.

Reaching the initial battle site, there are a lot of bodies to inspect. The Resistance had been trying to perform triage as they went between eruptions of duels, but there's much that can still be done.

We're the only three in this part of the castle and the solitude is calming in an odd way. I lose track of time, patching up wounds that I'm capable of handling and closing the eyes of people who were lost. When I next look up, Blaise is Blaise again.

Granger is more easily able to look at him now, and freely sends more work his way.

"Zabini." The voice cracks on the middle syllable and Blaise freezes. The expression on his face is abject terror.

Still motionless, his eyes move up to meet her face. Her beautiful, devastated face, red and swollen, streaked with tears. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, gripping the opposite shoulders as if she's manually holding herself together.

She looks like she's having trouble meeting his eyes, too, but Ginny croaks out, "Thank you."

Blaise backtracks so fast, he stumbles over his words. "Don't thank me. He was only here at all because of me, because of my stupid idea. He shouldn't have been here. None of this -"

He stops, choked up too, as he gestures around. Bodies everywhere.

Granger steps in. "This part wasn't your idea. We had nothing to do with the castle strategy, and the battle was going to happen one way or another. They'd have moved forward without Harry."

"But that makes it worse, don't you see? They could have moved forward and he wouldn't have been here," Blaise forcefully insists and I can tell he's preparing to dig in on this.

"Whatever!" Ginny shrieks, violently furious and unwilling to argue his culpability. "However things fell for this to happen, you gave me the shot I needed. So thank you."

She turns on her heel and stalks back out, tears sliding back down her cheeks in our last glimpse of her.

"It's not true, you know," Granger says quietly. Her eyes are still dull. "They'd have sent Harry here tonight the same way they sent Draco and I. He would have been here in one capacity or another, and he'd never have rested until he found Ginny and Ron. He was going to be fighting alongside her, regardless of when he arrived or how much of the plan he knew about."

I know this is true. So does Blaise, for the same reason I do; because in his place, we would have done the same. It cuts his argument off at the knees, and he looks off into the distance. I can see his throat move as he swallows.

Blaise didn't distract the Dark Lord tonight assuming Ginny - or someone - would take the shot. He did it to save her life. To stop the Dark Lord from killing her, even if it was only a momentary hesitation. An impulse decision, maybe, no followup plan of what would come in the next seconds, minutes. But it worked.

The only reason he hadn't run to find Ginny immediately tonight, to fight beside her, to protect and defend her even if she hated him, was because he still looked like Harry. But if he'd been himself, I know he'd have fought his way there anyway, taking her fury at his presence, but sticking by her side nonetheless. I know he wishes he'd had the chance.

Right now I wonder if he even wishes he'd taken the curse. What if the swap had been that effective, and he'd been there as Harry all along? Maybe Ginny wishes he had been, that the Harry who distracted the Dark Lord at the end was hers.

The miserable look on Blaise's face tells me he feels it, too. The wrong Harry died tonight.

Other people stop by to check our progress, look for the wounded. With Blaise looking like Blaise again and Granger's initial shock muting itself, we all make our way back towards the site of the final confrontation. Each of us levitates someone with us, beginning to consolidate the injured into one space.

Granger, astonishingly perceptive through her state of grief, pulls Blaise to the side when he stops in the doorway. Ginny is only a few metres into the room, surrounded by her brothers. George's arms are wrapped around her and I can tell by her shoulders that she's sobbing.

"You couldn't have been here, you know. It couldn't have been you," Granger tells Blaise. "If you'd suggested that you impersonate Harry to the Resistance, leaving him in the park - it would have sounded callous, hateful. They'd have never gone for it. Even if you'd joined the Resistance with Harry, if it had even been possible - which I was told very clearly it wasn't, that you had to be there just like I had to be in Malfoy Manor - even if both of you were here from the start tonight, he'd have still been right by her side. Nothing would have been different. And you couldn't have done it any other way."

Always logical, is Granger. She's right, of course, Blaise's survivor's guilt aside. I study my best friend's face, trying to judge if any of this is sinking in. It might be.

"I need to go to her," Granger says now. "Ron's not - well, I need to mourn Harry, too. And she loved him. I need to be with someone who loved him."

Looking at her face closely, I can tell she's pulling back the Occlumency. Her eyes are bright with tears and I kiss her on the forehead. "We'll be over there," I motion to the staircase. "Take as long as you need."

She clutches my hand quickly, wiping her cheek with her other hand. "I might be here a while. Can I just - can I meet you at home?"

Home.

She sees something on my face and her first impulse is embarrassment. "If - if that's okay. I don't have anywhere else to go, now that I think about it. I -"

I kiss her hard, urgently, quick. "Of course. Meet me at home. I love you." I trace her jaw with my fingers lightly, then step back.

I go to the staircase anyhow, planning to sit for ten or fifteen minutes. Blaise joins me. I don't know what the next steps are here, but we should look willing to be involved in whatever they may be.

Granger goes to Ginny and they both dissolve in tears, hugging each other tightly. Desperately.

Blaise is looking away, out the hole in the castle. The cold chill feels cold again, now, now that things have reached a point of calm.

"I'm glad I stayed," he says finally. "Thanks."

I shrug.

"How the bloody hell did you end up here, anyway?"

Barking out a harsh laugh, I realise there's probably a lot we each don't know. "My father sent me. He'd been working with the Resistance."

Blaise's eyes bulge and I elucidate. "I don't think it was anything ideological. He saw the writing on the wall. He knows we're all going to be tried as war criminals, and he was trying to give me a chance to prove my commitment here. With her," I finish quietly.

We sit in silence another moment or two, then I ask, "What did Severus tell you?"

Blaise pulls a face. "As much as he ever shares. That it was happening, that I should go 'contribute.' Maybe he saw a potential use for me being Polyjuiced here; who knows with Snape?"

Who knows, indeed. "What was he doing there? I haven't seen him here."

"I'm guessing he's busy cataloguing the park. Who did what? He's been in it since the beginning. He can sink everyone who ever had a hand in it."

This is probably right, but I can think of one major exception. "Well, Dolohov won't be tried. He's extremely dead."

"I did see him on the floor over there," Blaise comments. "Looked… thorough."

"There was a lot of that going around tonight. Not sure if you got a chance to notice much of that on your way in."

Angelina comes over with Lee and Katie, thanking us for our help. They all look considerably less reluctant to do this than they would have earlier, and I think maybe my father had been onto something.

A couple of other people trickle by, and Blaise actually has his hand shaken a couple of times. They thank him for his idea to get Potter his freedom, for risking himself in Potter's place, for giving Ginny the opportunity to land the final stroke. He looks supremely uncomfortable at all of this, but takes it in his quiet stride.

Alone once more, something else occurs to me. "Did you see Severus's Dark Mark?"

Blaise gives me an odd look. "I didn't notice one way or the other. Why?"

I show him mine. "It didn't take well to being ignored tonight. Granger attacked mine with the scar lotion we made, trying to restore the skin cells. We got it to a certain point before we had to move on."

"Bloody hell," he says, looking at the faded, distorted Mark more closely.

"Granger's theory is that it was designed to kill off the flesh. I wonder how Severus's and my father's ended up."

I should probably go check on my father, now that all of this is coming back to the forefront, and I move to stand. Catching Granger's eye, I give her a quick nod and tip my head towards the exit. She nods, too, and Blaise follows me out.

"What did you ever do with the stuff I gave you, for Ginny?" he asks suddenly, as we walk. "Did you give it to Granger like you thought you would?"

I stop. "Actually, no. They're down in my owlery now, set to deliver Monday to Molly and Arthur."

Blaise stops, too. "Smart."

"You don't have to sound so surprised," I smirk at him. "We didn't know how things would go. Want me to pull them back?"

It's only now the pre-dawn hours of Saturday morning. He thinks for a moment. "Let the letter I gave you go. Just pull back the second thing. The one I gave Snape. It's moot now."

Because he did not, in fact, die. I take a gamble. "Not sending it won't change what you dictated. You going to change it back?"

"Well, there's no rush," he shrugs, giving me a healthy side-eye. "Seems like rather a lot to throw on her though, wouldn't you say?"

I do have to agree with that. And no, there's no rush. It's not as if Blaise is getting married next month, needing to rework the legal intricacies of his family inheritance.

"Why'd you do it?" I ask quietly. I do understand, and hadn't I wished I could do it too? But I want to hear him explain it.

"Where else was it going to go?" Blaise gives me an incredulous look. "As if I'd rather it went right back to the Gringotts house fund, or into Ministry probate. It could have been - it could have been life-changing, for her. For her family. For all of them."

We walk along in the dark in companionable silence, making our way outside the anti-Apparition wards. I make a mental note to ask if the Resistance ever figures out how they were getting Dark reinforcements directly inside the castle. Doesn't matter now, I suppose. I'm still curious.

"And don't you dare send it anyway," Blaise asserts, putting a hand on my shoulder and stopping me. "I mean it, Drake. If she ever decides to speak to me again, I want it to be from the letter I wrote her, not from the other thing. It's a pressure that - it's not fair to put that on her."

I understand this uniquely. It ties perfectly back to my constant struggle to not remind Granger that I loved her, not wanting to put intrinsic pressure to respond to that. Now, in our case, it ended up being misunderstood. But I think Blaise is right on this one. It would feel manipulative to send the legal paperwork along with the rest.

"I won't do that. I promise. I'll get it from the owlery on the way back inside tonight."

We reach the end of the wards and exchange a final look. It's over, one way or another, for better or worse, and we both Apparate out.

It's still too far to Apparate home, Northern Scotland all the way to Wiltshire, and I pick outside the Laird & Dog as my mid-point. I rap on the door, hearing no one inside, and move in towards the Floo. It whirls me along for longer than I recall on the way here, and spits me out of my own fireplace.

Surreal.

Remembering my promise to Blaise, I head for the owlery after I scribble a quick note to Severus, telling him to use the lotion on his arm if he hasn't already thought of it. On the way, I keep my eyes and ears primed for my parents.

I hear nothing but I use a side exit to the gardens for efficiency. I quickly modify Nefertiti's ordained delivery to contain only Blaise's letter, sending the packet of legal documents to Blaise instead and sending a different owl off to Snape. I tell the owls they can go ahead and make their respective deliveries; no need to wait until Monday.

When I'm done, I practically jog back up. I'm increasingly uneasy at the Manor's silence and I go back through the main entrance so I can check more of it in a more direct route.

I find them both in the primary parlour, my mother prone on the chaise. My father is equally limp in a chair, but he opens his eyes at my approach.

"She refused to leave," he gestures at Narcissa. "Said if I was certain enough to send you to the front lines, I must be certain enough that you'd win to not send her to the chateau. After a while, she took a Calming Drought willingly enough, but I had to slip her a Dreamless Sleep Potion after…"

He trails off, looking at his arm listlessly.

"Is it numb? Cold?"

Looking at me, at my own left forearm, Lucius's eyes narrow. "How did you circumvent it?"

"Granger did. Come with me to the lab."

Lucius is openly unwilling to leave my mother, so I summon several vials to me. "This is going to hurt. I don't even know if it will help, this late. Do you want me to stun you?"

Alarmed, he considers. It must be bad if that's my recommendation. Reluctantly he nods, and rests his arm palm-up across his lap.

Come to think of it, if the flesh is dead and cold, will it hurt? I have no idea, but I stun him anyway. His arm feels cold and lifeless to me, and I wonder just how powerful the cell restoration can be. I take my time, rubbing it into both the Dark Mark and the rest of his arm, layer after layer.

I lose track of time, but I have nothing else to do anyhow, and I like to imagine I can tell a difference.

Granger finds me there, an untold amount of time later. There's light peeking through the windows, so dawn is finally breaking on Saturday.

"Hey," she says quietly from the doorway, and my heart leaps. She's really here. "The mist worked like a charm, although I almost landed on a table of orchids in the conservatory. Is it bad?" She gestures to my father's arm.

"Worse than mine, but I'm trying."

She comes in to take a look. "It might just need time. You know it sets over hours of application. Let's check it tomorrow. Come to bed."

She's exhausted. Of course she is; I am, too. But she's got the emotional weight of the night on her, too, and I rise from the chair. I ready myself to unstun my father and after a quick look at Narcissa, still asleep on the chaise, Granger casts a quick silencing charm on him first.

'Just in case,' her half-shrug says, but he barely stirs. Alarmed, Granger runs a quick diagnostic on him.

"Even stunned, it was a shock to his system." She puts a hand to his forehead and scans the diagnostic again more closely.

"I think he just needs rest and recovery. It's probably good to stop this for now and pick it back up later, if it seems like it helped. Otherwise…"

She doesn't finish this and I know what she means. Otherwise, we may have to amputate his arm. She lifts the silencing charm and conjures a glass of water to sit on the table next to him.

"Should we levitate him somewhere to lay down?"

I shake my head. "He wouldn't want to leave my mother. This is where he'd choose to stay."

I'm not crazy about leaving him in this chair like this, but I have to rest. Granger does, too. She splits the difference by reaching into a side table drawer and locating a quill and some spare parchment. She writes down what we've done, how he reacted to it, and what we still want to try and tucks it underneath the glass of water.

Taking Granger by the hand, I lead her through the dim hallways to our room. Only when we get there do I feel how wooden she is, how empty. Her eyes are red, her face puffy and swollen.

We climb into bed and she tucks into my side tightly, letting more tears come in the dark. I stroke her hair, her cheek, her back, and eventually she cries herself to sleep.

I wake up hours later, late-morning light blasting in the window. It's aggressive and rude, and I swipe the drapes closed with my wand. Granger isn't in bed, but I hear the shower running.

I feel confident I know why, and the last time I thought she might be crying in the shower, I'd stayed away. Not this time.

She's sitting on the floor of the shower stall, curled up. Her knees are pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Her head is buried in the crook of her elbow and her shoulders heave with her sobs. I slide in behind her, letting my knees come up on either side of her, and I wrap my arms over hers.

There's nothing to say. I just put my chin on the top of her head and let her cry while I hold her, while the water beats down.

"I'm so sorry you didn't get to see him one last time," I say quietly, as her sobs slow to eventual hiccups.

"Me too," she replies at last, her voice thick. "But I had been talking with him. We'd been writing. At least I have that."

I'd forgotten all about that and I'm glad she has that, too. His letters to her. She'd been in contact with her best friend after all. We sit here in silence for another few minutes, Granger sniffling occasionally.

"Sorry I woke you up," she says at last.

"You didn't."

More silence. Granger rests her head on the opposite elbow, face out of the spray. "I should check on your dad's arm."

"Not yet. You were right earlier; usually that lotion sets overnight, at least. Nine or ten hours, even. We should give it a chance to work first. And for him to rest. I wasn't thinking about how his body might take it; I might have overdone it on a first treatment."

She nods a little, chin bobbing on her arm.

"You'd make a good Healer, you know."

Surprised, she twists around to look at me. And it's slightly ironic, but this tiny, lethal witch would make a good Healer.

"You would. You thought about the lotion for my arm straight away. You were great, after the battle. You were great with my father earlier, the diagnostics and all. Your instincts are good. Maybe you should consider it, now that it's all over. You can do anything you want."

She'd told me long ago, back in the park, that she'd never given any thought at all to what she'd do after the war. It's time for her to start thinking about her life now; a real life. A free one.

"Come on. Let's go back to bed. I shut the drapes. I know I like a lie-in, but we haven't gotten nearly enough sleep."

Granger huffs something that might be a laugh and unfolds herself from the knot she's currently in. I wrap her up in a towel and take us back to the bed.

My father's arm is better when we check it. We have to continue stunning him. Granger tried only silencing him at his request, but as the cells regain life, so do the nerves.

Lucius had let the burning go several hours longer than I had. In the end, he loses three fingers. Granger's able to save his thumb and index finger, but he's right-handed like I am and not overly concerned about it. He's far more concerned about moving his wedding ring to his right hand and gives my mother anxious looks to see if she's going to protest the situation.

Narcissa and Granger exchange looks of their own, rolling their eyes.

Severus writes back, curt and crisp. He'd thought of the lotion. He is a potions master, after all, and he was much more familiar with my lotion experimentations. He thought of it early. He has it handled.

I roll my eyes at that.

Granger comes and goes as she wishes. She stays busy, visiting the Weasleys and anybody else she wants to. If there are more rows with Ron, she doesn't mention it.

She comes home to the Manor. She lives entirely in my wing of it now, with me. Our room, our potions lab, our wing. I sleep wrapped around her every night, her leg thrown over me in what are now her green silk pyjamas.

The mist lets her work around the Manor's anti-Apparition wards when she doesn't feel like using the Floo and I think how our society's spellwork will need to catch up to once again prohibit unannounced visitors to private residences. But for now, the only people who even have the mist are people we - or Severus - have given it to, so it's a non-issue.

She treats my arm several more times, too, and after a while the Dark Mark is a shadow of its old self.

Her own arm is perfect, flawless.

The Ministry - the Aurors - come for my father three days later. They come for us both.