They did not encounter any more Death Eaters on the way to the stone gargoyle. The thought of them prowling through the castle, defiling it with their presence, made Hermione feel ill, and her fingers tightened around her wand.

The gargoyle leapt aside for McGonagall and they charged into the office, breathless, to find Snape conversing lowly with Dumbledore's portrait. In the middle of the room, looking ready to tear his hair out, was Harry and, beside him, Ron. Harry started when he saw them come in.

"Hermione — you're okay —"

"I'm fine, Harry." She hid her scraped hands behind her back. "And — the snake — it's gone."

Harry grinned.

"You must remember, Severus," murmured the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, "not to let your own temptations —"

"My temptations —!" barked Snape. "For decades I have forsaken my own temptations for the sake of you and the cause. Not once have I strayed — even when it went against my own better judgement! — not once have I disobeyed your orders. I have sacrificed life and limb, and I will not be refused at the end just because a senile old man has forgotten where my loyalties lie!"

"Severus!" scolded McGonagall; Snape had begun shouting.

Snape turned, scowling, and apparently surprised to find the rest of them in the room. "I did not betray you," he said solemnly, though Hermione doubted he was speaking to anyone but the portrait of a dead man. "And there is something I need to tell Potter."

Hermione was speaking before she could stop herself. "It was me."

Everyone turned to her.

"I think — I think he — Dumbledore, that is — I think he thinks that you stole the ring, sir, from his desk. Gaunt's ring. The Horcrux. Because it's the Resurrection Stone. But you didn't. I did."

For a long moment, Professor Snape just blinked at her. Then, face blank with fury, he turned back to the portrait.

"The Resurrection Stone?" he repeated lowly. "You found the bloody Resurrection Stone? And you think that I — that I would risk it all to bring her back? That I would betray your trust to drive myself to madness?"

The portrait of Dumbledore looked an odd mix of cross and ashamed. "Is that so unreasonable, Severus? I myself nearly gave into temptation —"

"That's why you lost your hand? Your life? And you think I'm weak-willed!" Professor Snape shouted. It turned into a bitter laugh. "And that's why you were so disappointed in me, wasn't it, Albus? You thought I'd spoiled your plan to give Potter the Deathly Hallows."

"What?" gasped Draco. "Dumbledore wanted Potter to be Master of Death?"

"Of course he did," laughed Snape bitterly. "So that way he'll be protected when —"

"— when Voldemort has to kill me."

Everyone turned to Harry, dumbstruck.

"It's me, isn't it? I'm the last Horcrux."

"You're what?" demanded Hermione.

"I — I can feel it," explained Harry weakly. He looked so calm; Hermione wished he would be anything but, not if he meant what she thought he meant. "When I do my Occlumency… there's something in me. It's there when he's angry — like Hermione's scar, kind of. Dark magic inside me…"

Snape looked at Harry and Hermione thought he might be seeing him for the very first time. "Dumbledore knew," was all Snape said. "He'd known for a year when he died."

"You knew, Severus," snarled McGonagall. "You knew, too, and you didn't tell us!"

"I forbade it," said the portrait. Hermione had not heard Dumbledore's voice like that — so stern, so imperious — in over a year. It brought a painful emotion to the surface, as well as a stinging betrayal. Dumbledore had known this all along?

"The Deathly Hallows — they were meant to keep me alive?"

Dumbledore nodded sadly while Snape just looked furious.

"You could have told us!" cried Minerva at the painting. "For half a year now you've been rambling on about betrayals and relics and a lost wand — you could have just said so!"

"Lost wand?" repeated Harry.

"Dumbledore's wand —"

"The wand the Dark Lord tried to steal —"

"That's the wand from the story? The Elder wand?" Ron's eyes glinted hungrily.

"But mastery of the wand can only be won in combat," said Hermione. "Dumbledore was master of the wand when he died, so the mastery is lost…"

"But Malfoy picked it up."

Draco startled. "What?"

"You went to get the wand, remember? The night he died. Dumbledore dropped it in Hogsmeade. You were the first person to claim it."

"What are you saying, Potter?"

"I'm saying that unless you've duelled anyone and lost lately, you're the master of the wand You-Know-Who is currently using."

"And I've got the Cloak," pointed out Ron, nodding to the silvery bundle he held in his arms, "and Hermione had the Stone… so, mate, you may not have the Hallows, but you've got us."

"What," scoffed Draco, "you think that having us around will make Potter the Master of Death?"

Harry's eyes sparkled. "I think it's worth a shot, because I've got to go. Right now."

"No!" Hermione threw herself at Harry. "You can't! There must be another way — we just need time —"

"There is no time, Hermione," Harry insisted gently. "People are dying, and they're going to keep dying. There's nothing left to wait for. All the Horcruxes are gone. All but one. You — you don't have to come, but I've got —"

"No. I'm coming, Harry Potter." Hermione sniffled and rubbed her eyes. Harry's resolve had always been infectious. "I'm coming with you."

Harry smiled. "Ron, you've got the Cloak?"

"Yep."

"Good. Hang onto it."

And Harry marched to the door, right past a shiny-eyed Headmistress McGonagall and stoic Professor Snape, neither of whom made any attempt to stop him.

Harry all but flew through the castle as though possessed by euphoria. Hermione's thoughts could not keep up with what they were doing, what was going to happen; she could only run and fling counter-jinxes at the spellfire headed their way. Beside her, Draco and Ron did the same, the three of them following Harry in a diamond formation which made Hermione think of fighter jets instead of schoolchildren. She didn't look at the bodies on the floor.

Harry veered off to a side corridor and came to a stop.

"I don't want you three to get hurt. Get under the Cloak."

"But —"

"Do it, or I'm going on my own."

Hermione couldn't bear to argue and obediently slipped beneath the Cloak. With Ron the middle (he was tallest) and her and Draco on either side, they just barely fit, though Hermione doubted they would remain concealed for long. The boys beside her were all but buzzing with desperation to fight. Harry could be as noble and self-sacrificing as he liked, but this was their battle, too.

"Good." Harry nodded. "Now… let's go."

Hermione saw the moment he decided to be a martyr, when he knew this would not work. His chin tilted higher, his shoulders shifted back, and he set off down the stairs with resolute reassurance that made Hermione desperate to reach out for him.

But they couldn't — he was marching through the Entrance Hall, where fighting had ceased to watch in awe as he processed, seemingly alone. Bright white sunlight was coming through the empty doors and as they made their way onto the grounds, Hermione saw it had begun to snow.

While the castle itself was in dispute, it was apparent that the grounds were held by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Bodies littered the lawn while wizards and witches in black turned in awed surprise to the sight of the Chosen One walking into their midst, apparently alone. A dozen sleeves were pushed up, Marks were pressed, and then, Lord Voldemort appeared. He turned, as though in surprise, and took a step back when he found Harry waiting for him.

"Harry Potter," he greeted.

"Hi, Tom. I hear you're looking for me."

A smile toyed at Voldemort's lips, though it was not one of amusement. Hermione could hear her own frantic breathing. "Indeed, Harry Potter. And have you come to offer yourself to Lord Voldemort?"

"Something like that."

Voldemort's eyes searched Harry up and down. "You do not raise your wand," he observed.

"Nah. So if you're going to kill me, you may as well get on with it."

Hermione wanted to cry out, to tell Harry to take it back. Ron's hand tightened around her bicep, keeping her still.

"You have come alone, I see," remarked Voldemort. "How very uncharacteristic of you, Harry Potter, not to bring your friends into the line of fire."

"Yep, just me. No-one else needs to be hurt, Tom. You have what you want now."

Voldemort bristled at the name, but it was the movement under the Cloak which stole Hermione's attention.

"Fuck this," hissed Draco, and he stepped out from beneath the Cloak, appearing in full view behind Harry as he cried, "He's not alone!"

"What? This was not part of the plan!" But Ron shucked the Cloak as well. "Yeah! He's got me, too!"

"And me!" added Hermione, her voice shrill with fear and adrenaline as she now held the Cloak in her arms. A wintry breeze toyed with her hair and she imagined it was the cold making her shake.

Voldemort eyed them with genuine surprise, though his eyes lingered on Draco. In the growing crowd of curious, restless Death Eaters, Hermione spotted Lucius and Narcissa. The latter was hiding her face in her husband's chest.

"Draco," greeted Voldemort lowly, "do not make this mistake, my dear boy. Come, come. Your parents are waiting." He held out a hand in invitation.

Draco laughed but still moved, passing Ron as though he meant to cross the lawn.

But he didn't. Draco stopped at her side and Hermione felt his hand take hers. Gasps of surprise rippled through the crowd. Hermione could only stare at the sight of his fingers woven between her own. "No," he declared.

Voldemort looked at them thoughtfully and Hermione suspected they had genuinely taken him by surprise. "Your mother will be disappointed," he said after a long, strained pause. "Won't you, Narcissa?"

As though compelled by magic, Narcissa Malfoy looked up from where she hid against her husband and Hermione saw the vivid gashes across her beautiful face. Tears were running down her marred cheeks, stinging the half-healed wounds, but her eyes remained defiant, her posture imperial.

"Greyback was most displeased when you left us at the Ministry, Draco," Voldemort said by way of explanation. Narcissa returned to her husband's shadow, her hair obscuring her slashed face.

Draco had gone very quiet and very still, but he did not move from Hermione's side.

"Enough, Tom," said Harry gravely. "You want me and I'm here. You don't need to hurt them, too."

"Oh, but I do, Harry," said Voldemort with glee. "You see, they have angered me greatly, and it is important to set an example for these things. But first… but first they will watch you die, Harry Potter."

Harry held out his arms. "Go on, then! I won't fight you! Kill me!"

Hermione didn't know if it was part of Harry's plan — if Harry even had a plan — but she couldn't stop herself from raising her arms, from lunging forward to protect him, but it was too late: Voldemort had raised his wand, aimed it squarely at Harry's chest and cried with unrestrained, malevolent pleasure, "Avada kedavra!"

The light shot forwards and hit Harry so hard it knocked him backwards, his body nearly crashing into the three of them. Hermione was too late; she stumbled forwards just as he hit the ground, his eyes shut and his face a perfect mask of peace.

"No!"

Hermione went to run to Harry, but Draco's hand stopped her. She couldn't understand why until she saw Voldemort's wand still raised, his eyes surveying the scene with caution.

It was silent.

Until, finally, his eyes settled on Draco. "Check the body," he ordered.

Draco raised his chin. "No."

In a flash, Narcissa was on the ground, on her knees, gasping in pain. Voldemort's eyes never left Draco's. "Check the body, boy. Tell me he's dead."

Hermione felt Draco swallow, but his hand loosened in hers and he stepped forward, eyeing his mother as her whimpers echoed through the snowy clearing. Hermione heard gasps behind her and assumed members of the Order had come to see what had quelled the fighting.

Draco knelt on one knee where Harry lay and bent over his chest as though listening to his heart, then higher up, to his head. Hermione strained to see if Harry was breathing, but he was just too far away to be certain, and Draco was now blocking her view.

He stayed there for a long moment — too long for Hermione to bear — before he looked up to his former master and said, "He is dead."

"He is dead, my lord, Draco."

"You're no lord of mine," Draco spat, stumbling to his feet and pulling out his wand. "I'll kill you myself if I have to!"

"Draco!" screamed Hermione, running to his side and blindly aiming her wand. She had dropped the Invisibility Cloak.

Voldemort looked at them and laughed. "Oh, bravo, little Mudblood. Quite a pair, aren't you? The Malfoy and the Mudblood…" His lip curled. "You disgust me. Tell me, Lucius, are you proud?"

"N-no, my lord."

"No, I shouldn't think so. But what shall we do with you, is the question…" Voldemort tapped his wand — Dumbledore's wand — as though lost in thought. The rustle behind Hermione grew louder until suddenly dozens of people spilled out the castle, wands raised.

"Harry — is that Harry?"

"Is he —?"

"No — no, he can't be —!"

"Harry!"

Hermione didn't know who cast the first hex, but suddenly spells were flying. Jeers and screams echoed off the sticking snow, and Hermione barely ducked in time to dodge a nasty bolt of red magic. Her fingers tightened on her wand, stinging where she'd scraped her hand earlier.

"Protego! Stupefy!"

Somewhere in the crowd, Narcissa screamed Draco's name, but it was for nothing; Draco stood resolutely by Hermione's side, fighting off the onslaught of malevolent curses with frantic precision.

Hermione saw it a moment before it happened: Like Percy, a Killing Curse meant for someone else missed its mark. It was Neville — he danced out of the way just in time for Lucius to raise his eyebrows in mild surprise as curse struck him. Hermione sensed Draco beside her, the way his breath left him in shock, but there was no time, because suddenly Harry was amongst them once again, alive, the Invisibility Cloak in a heap at his feet.

"Better luck next time, Tom," he said, wand raised at Voldemort's face, who turned in surprise. "Expelliarmus!"

"Avada kedavra!"

It happened in the same moment: Voldemort's body fell backwards, as though adrift, and his wand flew into the air, sailing in a perfect arc until it landed contentedly in Draco's hand.