Chapter 20
a paperweight in shades of griege
"I will always find you."
–David Charming, Once Upon a Time
DRACO
Draco's limbs flailed, grasping at empty space as the ground hurtled closer. Fingers clawed at nothing, the burn of icy air biting into his skin. The rush of speed pulled tears from his eyes, streaking across his temples. His stomach twisted, caught in a queasy loop of denial and reality.
Every nerve screamed in panic, muscles locking uselessly as gravity dragged him toward certain destruction. The horizon tilted, disoriented and surreal, while shadows below grew sharp, menacing. The bitter taste of copper rose in his mouth as the jagged edge of fear cut deeper.
Draco plummeted through the air, the icy wind screaming in his ears. His mind, clouded by panic and pain, grasped for a single, desperate thought: Apparate.
Summoning every ounce of his dwindling strength, he focused on the nearest place he knew best—the Slytherin common room. The instant he felt his magic flare, his body twisted and jerked, and the suffocating wind replaced by the stifling silence of stone walls.
Draco collapsed onto the cold, emerald-green carpet, teetering on the edge of consciousness. The flickering light from the enchanted candles cast shadows across the room. His chest heaved with effort, every breath a sharp stab against his weakened magical core.
His hand moved to his abdomen, coming away slick with crimson from the wound his aunt inflicted.
Draco cursed.
Draco's vision blurred, the edges of the room smearing together in a haze of green and silver. The carved serpents along the mantle writhed, their stone gazes mocking him as his strength ebbed away. His fingers clenched his abdomen, an instinctive attempt to stem the bleeding. Warm, sticky blood seeped through his trembling hands. The metallic scent of it filled his nostrils, mingling with the faint traces of smoke and candle wax.
His breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps, each one sending a fresh wave of agony radiating through his chest. The room tilted, his surroundings becoming a kaleidoscope of distorted shadows and flickering light.
Draco cursed again, the word a ragged whisper. His hand slipped from his abdomen, falling limply to his side, as if even that small act was too much for him now. His body was leaden, his limbs unresponsive, a dull numbness creeping over him like the tide swallowing the shore.
Memories flickered behind his half-closed eyes—Hermione's laughter echoed, the warmth of her touch, the fire in her eyes when she stood up to him, to everyone, because she believed in something bigger. That fire seemed so distant now, like a star he could no longer reach.
His lips parted as if to call her name, but no sound came. The shadows pressed closer, their weight suffocating, pulling him down into a void where the pain no longer mattered.
A dull, throbbing ache roused Draco from the depths of unconsciousness, dragging him back toward awareness like a lifeline pulling him from deep water. His eyelids fluttered, heavy and reluctant, as the blurred edges of reality sharpened around him. The fabric of the couch pressed against his cheek, rough against his skin, and the sharp tang of blood still clung to the air and lingered in his mouth, metallic and unrelenting.
Alive. He was still alive.
The realization crept in, a distant awareness that spread through him in small, painful increments. Every breath burned, his body protesting against the effort, but the pain was a cruel reminder that he didn't succumb to the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole.
His trembling hand reached into his cloak, fingers fumbling against the fabric until they closed around the familiar, polished wood of his mother's wand.
Draco gritted his teeth, forcing his unresponsive body to obey as he shifted onto his side. His vision swam, black spots dancing in the periphery, but he clung to consciousness with stubborn grit. He pressed the tip of his wand against his torn flesh, muttering the incantation through gritted teeth, his voice a rasp.
"Vulnera Sanentur."
The spell crackled, a feeble shimmer of light emitting from his wand as it stitched the gash in his abdomen just enough to stop the bleeding. The magic was thin, his core still heaving from effort from the lingering effects of the potion, combined with his near-impossible amount of apparation. The spell summoned dregs of a well run dry, but it was enough. For now.
The pain dulled to a bearable throb, the effort leaving him weak and trembling.
Draco let his head fall back, his breaths ragged and uneven still. The room was impossibly large, the air pressing down on him as though mocking his frailty. He knew he didn't have the luxury of staying there. Not with the danger that loomed closer with every passing second.
Hermione and Theo. They must have made it out of the Astronomy Tower. They were both alive and conscious when he plummeted out of the tower, something he couldn't say for his aunt. He needed to find them.
His pulse quickened at the sound of hinges groaning, the faint creak of the portrait entrance swinging open. Draco's muscles tensed, and his fingers tightened around his wand. He forced himself to sit up, the motion sending a fresh jolt of pain through his side as he turned his gaze toward the source of the sound.
Footsteps grew louder. His body was alert, ready to spring as adrenaline surged, but Draco's mind remained foggy. As he blinked away the remnant of unconsciousness, he registered the familiar, lumbering figures of Crabbe and Goyle entering the room. He tucked his bloodstained hand within his robes.
"Draco?" Goyle's deep voice was tinged with alarm, his face pale as he took in Draco's dishevelled state.
Draco tried to speak, but his throat was too dry, his energy too sapped. His vision blurred. Crabbe and Goyle wore vacant, confused expressions. Draco's stomach churned.
"Where the hell have you been?" Crabbe's small eyes darted around as if he expected an attack at any moment.
"None of your fucking business." Draco managed a tense and sharp reply. He wasn't sure where Crabbe and Goyle stood. "What do you want?"
Goyle frowned, his thick brows furrowing in concentration. "We've got new orders, Draco, straight from the Dark Lord. Go to the Room of Hidden Things and stop anyone who tries to leave. No one gets out alive."
Idiots. They were still with the Dark Lord but nestled away at Hogwarts this entire time. They had no clue what Draco had done. No clue the Malfoy family was no longer in the Dark Lord's good graces.
Draco's jaw tightened. His mind raced, weighing his options. He could hex these two unconscious and make a run for it, but he wasn't sure if he had enough physical or magical stamina. He was lucky his wound knit together as much as it did, given the weakness of his spell. He'd likely end up bestedby Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.
He'd rather be killed by flobberworms.
"Fine," he bit out, his decision to play along made for him. He gritted his teeth through the pain as he stood, trying his best to look natural. "Let's go."
They ducked and dodged through the chaos of the castle. Draco kept an eye out the entire time, checking over and over for any sign of his best friend or his wife. Death Eaters swarmed the halls, sending curses flying, while students, teachers, and members of the Order of the Phoenix fought back with equal fervour. It was a war zone, every corner and staircase a new front in this battle for their world.
They ducked and dodged through the chaos of the castle. Draco kept an eye out the entire time, checking for any sign of his best friend or his wife. Death Eaters swarmed the halls, sending curses flying, while students, teachers, and members of the Order of the Phoenix fought back with equal fervour. It was a war zone, every corner and staircase a new front in this battle for their world.
Each step sent pain lancing through Draco's side as the healing spell struggled to keep his wound closed. His fingers itched to pull his wand and fight, to do something other than stumble forward like some shadow among the chaos. But without magic—without the strength to stand properly, let alone duel—he was worse than useless. He was a liability. Every dodge, every quick turn, threatened to undo the tenuous stitching of his injury.
Hermione. She pushed through the fog of pain and self-loathing. Where was she? Was she hurt, fighting, or worse? His heart clenched, panic threatening to overtake him, but he forced himself to focus.
Hermione was clever, resourceful. She had to be all right.
She had to be.
And Theo—Was he still alive?
Was this the last time Draco would run through these halls, blood pooling under his boots, the ghosts of his failures following him?
He couldn't let himself think that way, not if he wanted to stay upright.
The castle groaned, stone grinding against stone as another wall somewhere crumbled under the force of a stray curse. Smoke and ash choked the air, stinging his eyes and making it harder to breathe. Every turn was endless, every hallway stretched. Yet through it all, he pressed forward, his teeth gritted, his mind locked on one thing: finding her.
He just needed to figure out a way to get rid of Crabbe and Goyle. Then the strength to do so.
For all his pain and shame, one thing was certain. He wouldn't stop until Hermione was safe. Even if he had to drag his battered body through the rubble, even if it killed him.
His gut twisted as they approached the seventh-floor corridor. The tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy hung on the opposite wall, untouched by the chaos. Draco resisted the urge to wrap his arms around himself, his body clammy as he tried to hide the tremors that wracked him as they approached the stretch of wall that led to the Room of Hidden Things.
Crabbe paced back and forth in front of the blank wall. Draco did the same, willing the door to appear. He couldn't let on that his mind was elsewhere—on Hermione. He couldn't afford to let his guard down for a second.
The door materialized, and they hurried inside.
The room was as he remembered—dark, vast, and filled with piles of forgotten things. It was like a graveyard of Hogwarts' past, stretching out before them in shadows and dust. His eyes darted around, searching for any sign of life, any flicker of movement among the discarded relics.
"Anyone we find, we kill." Crabbe's wand ready, his eyes filled with twisted glee.
Draco fought the urge to hex him right there, but knew neither his body nor magic could withstand it. Instead, he kept his wand low, more of a prop than anything at this point, and his senses sharp, ready for anything.
A magical pulse emanated from Hermione's ring. Not in immediate, life-threatening danger. But one he expected due to the intensity of the battle raging within the school.
She was close—closer than he'd expected.
Merlin, Morgana and all things magical. Was she in this fucking room?
Of course she was. She always ended up in the most dangerous places. Her sense of self-preservation was non-existent.
He spotted movement among the mountains of junk. It was them—Potter, Weasley, and Hermione. And fucking Theo.
Draco froze. For a fleeting moment, the din of the battle faded—the explosions, the shouts, the clash of spells—all drowned out by the sight of her.
She was alive.
"Over there!" Goyle bellowed, pointing. "Potter and his friends!"
"And a blood traitor!" Crabbe shouted when he spotted Theo.
The next few moments were a blur of chaos and curses.
Crabbe wasted no time, shouting, "Avada Kedavra!" toward Potter, but the spell missed, hitting an old armoire and blowing it apart. Splinters and shards flew everywhere.
"Stop it, you idiot!" Draco's heart thudded in his ears as he pictured the curse hitting his wife or his best friend. "The Dark Lord wants Potter alive!"
"Get out of here!" Hermione yelled to her group as she sent a hex flying toward Goyle, who scarcely dodged it in time.
"Get out of here!" Hermione's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding.
Draco's head snapped toward her. Her wand sliced through the air, sending a hex blazing toward Goyle. He managed to duck, the hex singeing the edge of his robes as he scrambled back.
Her eyes found his, wide and blazing with purpose, fear, and something else—relief, maybe even longing. It struck him harder than any curse ever could, cutting through the pain in his body. She was here, fighting. A familiar feeling surged through him. Hope.
But the sight of her also brought a different kind of fear—sharp, suffocating, and undeniable. Spells streaked past her, danger pressing in on every side. His grip on his wand tightened, his own helplessness threatening to crush him.
He couldn't protect her, not like this, not with his magic weakened and his body wounded, failing.
She looked like she wanted to run to him, like she wanted to pull him out of this nightmare. He couldn't let her. His stomach churned, and he forced himself to tear his eyes away from her, to focus on staying upright, on surviving long enough to do something useful.
A blast of violet light illuminated the room, shattering the fragile moment between them. Hermione whipped her wand around, her focus snapping back to the fight. She was a force of nature, fearless and unyielding, and Draco's chest ached with the realization that he couldn't help her.
He gritted his teeth, swallowing the bitter taste of his inadequacy, and prepared to move. He needed to survive.
Crabbe muttered something next to him, his face twisted with concentration. Draco paused, frowning as turned towards Crabbe, attempting to decipher his former lackey's ramblings.
Draco's blood ran cold as he realized what was happening.
"No—Crabbe, don't!"
But it was too late.
"Fiendfyre!" Crabbe bellowed, and the world erupted into flames.
An inferno of magical fire burst forth, forming into a serpent, its sinuous body writhing with lethal grace. Flames crackled and spat embers like fiery venom, casting jagged shadows on the walls. The air turned searing, each breath scraping Draco's throat as smoke thickened, acrid and suffocating as the serpent devoured everything in its path. Sweat clung to his skin, stinging his eyes, as the relentless blaze radiated a stifling heat, like being thrust into a blazing fireplace.
The pain in Draco's side flared like a branding iron, each step jarring the wound Bellatrix carved into him. But then the world seemed to narrow, time slowing everything sharpening to a singular point: Hermione.
Adrenaline surged through his veins, cold and electric, unhampering his laden muscles and numbing the searing pain in his side. All he could see was Hermione ahead, standing statue-still as she gaped at the fire consuming the room.
"Run!" Draco shouted, his voice breaking through the roar of the fire.
Fear coiled tight in his chest, spurring him forward like a whip. His body moved on instinct, his boots pounding against the stone floor as though the pain didn't exist. Nothing existed outside of getting her out of the path of the fiendfyre. Nothing else mattered. Not the war. Not his wounds. Not even his own survival. Just her.
What the fuck had Crabbe been thinking?
"Go! Go!" Draco reached Hermione, grabbing her arm, pulling her along with him as he broke into a run. He'd fucking carry her if he needed to.
Theo, Potter, and Weasley were already running for the door, dodging the flames. The fiendfyre gained on them, twisting and turning with a terrifying intelligence, hungry for destruction.
Hermione stumbled, and he tightened his grip, a moment away from throwing her over his shoulder. Crabbe screamed somewhere behind them, but Draco didn't dare look back.
He just needed to get her out—get them both out—before the fire consumed them.
"There!" Potter called out, leading them toward the exit. The door was just ahead, almost imperceptible through the smoke.
They lunged, bursting through the door just as the flames reached out like a clawed hand scraping against the stone. They tumbled into the corridor, coughing and gasping for air. The fiendfyre roared, trapped behind the closed, vanishing door.
The five of them lay there, catching their breath, hearts pounding in their chests.
Merlin. Crabbe and Goyle hadn't made it out.
Smoke hung heavy in the air, curling in tendrils around them, reluctant to release them. Heat clung to Draco's skin, searing and clammy, each breath still carrying the acrid tang of ash. His lungs burned, but his entire focus narrowed on the woman beside him. Hermione's cheeks were flushed, streaks of soot cut jagged lines across her face. Her hair was wild and singed at the ends.
They were together. He was alive. She was alive.
Relief crashed over him like a tidal wave, so overwhelming it nearly buckled his knees. The world blurred—the distant roar of battle, the crumbling walls behind them, even the thudding of his heart—everything faded except for her.
Somehow, they'd escaped.
He didn't think. His hands moved of their own accord, rough and urgent as they framed her face. The touch of her skin grounded him, a calming warmth instead of a fiery inferno. Without a word, he pulled her closer, his lips crashing against hers.
It wasn't gentle or planned—it was raw, desperate. A signal to both of them that they made it through, a promise they would always make it through.
"Oh, come on!" Weasley made a loud gagging noise.
Potter groaned, shaking his head. "Now? Really?"
"What? Are they not ginger enough for you, Potter?" Theo laughed and Potter punched him in the arm.
Hermione pulled away from Draco, but he held her close, unwilling to release her just yet.
"The diadem?" She asked.
"I dropped it." Potter looked back at the now-empty wall. "While we were fleeing. But… I think the Fiendfyre destroyed it."
Draco scoffed. "Of course it did. Fiendfyre can destroy anything. A stupid tiara wouldn't be the exception, even if Rowena Ravenclaw owned it."
Potter shot a look at Hermione, but she just shook her head.
They were keeping something from him. His mind clawed at the realization, desperation fuelling him to demand answers.
The edges of Draco's vision blurred the world around him, distorting as if seen through warped glass. His breath hitched, each inhale sharper and more laboured than the last. Pain blossomed anew in his abdomen, radiating outward in waves, dulling the shouts and frantic movements around him. A cold sweat slicked his skin, a dichotomy from the previous boiling the fiendfyre caused.
"What—" His voice came out fractured, weak, like a splintered wand threatening to snap.
Then the ground tilted beneath his feet, and gravity claimed him. The distant echoes of shouts, of movement—they all blurred into a suffocating silence as the world spiralled away from him. Darkness wrapped around him, cold and unrelenting.
HERMIONE
The group stumbled into a small, unused classroom near the Great Hall, locking the door behind them. Smoke still clung to their clothes, their faces smeared with soot, and the acrid smell of Fiendfyre lingered in the air. Harry set so many protections and wards on the door Hermione would be surprised if Voldemort himself could get in without giving them at least a five-minute head start.
Hermione's breath caught as she lowered Draco's limp form to the floor, her stolen wand trembling in her hand. She tried to steady herself, but it was too much—too heavy.
She wasn't prepared for this.
The cold, musty air of the empty classroom hung like a crypt. Draco crumpled like a puppet whose strings were cut—she caught herself just before that thought pulled her under. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound deafening.
No, she thought, I won't lose him.
Her hands hovered above him, but for a split second, she couldn't bring herself to touch him. He looked so fragile, so utterly vulnerable. The man who fought so hard to stand against everything—against his past, against his father's grip on him—was lying here, broken, with barely a breath escaping his lips.
The air in the abandoned classroom was suffocating, the shadows creeping in on all sides as if mocking her helplessness. Time was ticking down—she could feel every second slip away, like water flowing through cupped hands.
She would save him. There was no other outcome she'd permit.
With a shaky breath, Hermione knelt beside Draco, her hands trembling as she pressed her fingers to his neck.
Weak. Too weak.
Her mind raced, scrambling for anything that could help. She'd read the texts, studied the spells. She had the knowledge.
But this was her husband, lying cold on the ground.
"Hermione, do something," a voice urged. Theo, maybe. She couldn't tell, couldn't hear past the roaring in her ears.
There was no room for mistakes, no time for hesitation. But her heart—her heart—betrayed her in that moment, fear gnawing at her insides as she gazed down at him.
He was her world. She couldn't lose him.
His breathing was shallow, and every time his chest rose, it felt like a fleeting miracle.
Stay with me, Draco. Stay with me. You promised you wouldn't leave me. You promised…
A hand rested on her shoulder, grounding her, pulling her from the panic she was succumbing to.
"You know what to do, Hermione." Harry's voice was calm, reassuring. "If you can't , let us try."
She drew a deep breath, realization dawning that she hadn't breathed. Black dots spotted her vision as she pulled herself back from the brink.
Draco fucking needed her.
"I'm here." She shook her head, voice steady, her resolve firming like steel. "I'm here, and I'll save him. I'll do whatever it takes."
And with that promise, she bent over him, hands working with urgent precision.
She cast the diagnostic spell, reading through the results with a skill she'd honed while searching for horcruxes. Low-grade burns marred his body in places. He was dehydrated, and a depleted magical core. But it was the wound at his side, sending alarms throughout the diagnostic sheet.
"Shit." Hermione released the spell. "Help me remove his cloak. I need to see his side."
The three men in the room jumped into action, Draco's stomach bared in less than a minute.
Hermione swallowed hard. But it was the wound churned her stomach, the edges puckered, a hastily mended mess that could easily get worse without immediate care. He'd done a number on himself with that appeared to be a haphazard healing spell. Likely too weak to do much more than add a thin layer of skin above the wound, which he'd torn running from the fiendfyre.
If only she had her bag. It was still stocked with enough potions to heal a small army.
The wound was red and swollen, a sign that infection would set in if left untreated. She glanced at her husband, biting her lip. This was going to hurt like a bitch.
She watched the soft rise and fall of Draco's chest, the only thing assuring her he was still alive.
Stay unconscious, she thought, just a little longer. Please.
She drew a sharp breath and set her jaw. There was no time to waste, and no room for error. Her fingers danced above the wound, calling upon the complex healing spells she perfected in moments of preparation.
With a determined flick of her wand, she cast the first spell. "Serpens Corpus."
The spell was designed to close deep tissue wounds, a difficult spell that required precise control. It would bind the tissue together but at the cost of immense pain. She'd seen this spell work in controlled conditions—on someone who could handle the trauma. But Draco? His body was already frail, his magic unstable. This wasn't going to be easy.
The spell worked immediately, and the wound tightened, the jagged edges pulling together with a sickening squelch. Draco's body stiffened beneath her, his hands curling into fists, but he didn't wake. She needed to move quickly.
Next, a delicate charm designed to purge infection before it had a chance to set in, but it too came with a cost. The spell sent a pulse of energy through Draco's body, light flickering briefly over the wound. She watched as the new skin bubbled and sizzled, the magic scorching the infection out.
Draco's body tremored. Hermione's throat tightened. The worst of it was over, but there was still more to do.
"Breathe," she whispered, pressing her palm to his chest, feeling the slow rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her fingers. "Just a little more, I promise."
She turned back to the wound. A final spell, something to stabilize the damage done. It likely wouldn't be needed if not for Draco's lack of finesse with his own attempt at healing. But with his core so weak, and his body fighting the remnants of the potion, the burns, exhaustion, his wound… In order to awaken to survive this battle, he needed more help.
Her mind raced for the most effective solution—one that wouldn't be too much for him to endure.
"Vita Salva."
The incantation flowed easily from her lips, designed to channel life energy into the wound, drawing from the caster's own vitality. The moment it hit, she felt a sharp jolt in her chest, the life force transferred to Draco's body in a quick burst. She'd never used it before, wary as it could leave the caster drained.
Draco's body twitched violently, his back arching as if struck by lightning. The burn on his side seemed to settle, the red and swollen skin softening. He let out a pained groan, but his breathing became deep and steady.
Hermione felt the spell take root. It would hold for now, get them through the battle. The strain on his body, the toll of the injuries, the damage to his magic—it would take weeks to heal properly, maybe months.
But for now, he was alive. He was with her. And that was all that mattered.
She squeezed his hand, willing him to wake up. She was startled when she felt his hand tighten in response.
"Draco?" Her gaze shot to his face.
"Hermione?" Draco's voice was hoarse and weak.
His eyes flickered open, the blue of them dull with pain, confusion clouding his gaze. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She leaned closer, brushing a lock of his platinum hair from his forehead, her fingers grazing his skin as if touching him could anchor her in this moment.
He blinked up at her. There was no mask, no facade—just Draco, her Draco, looking up at her with raw vulnerability.
"What happened?" he croaked, moving to get up.
Everyone else in the room, including Ron, stepped closer as if to catch him. Draco frowned at them, the colour returning to his face.
"You fainted." Hermione studied him for any sign he might collapse again. "Draco, why didn't you tell me that you were wounded?"
"There wasn't really enough time for all that." Draco seemed to be stable, frowning as he took stock of his wounds, or lack thereof.
"Probably could've mentioned it before you made out with Granger," Theo offered.
"Like you wouldn't do the same." Draco rolled his eyes at his friend.
Hermione slumped against a nearby desk, legs far too wobbly to hold herself up. She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back.
Merlin. How many close calls would she and Draco have before their clock ran out? This was far too close.
"I'm alright now, Love." Draco reached out, his fingers curling around hers with an ease that felt almost surreal after everything. He scooted closer, his gaze soft but still tinged with the exhaustion. "Likely thanks to you."
Hermione let out a jagged laugh, shaking her head. "I'm going to fucking kill you when this is over, Draco Malfoy."
"As is your right," he replied, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. It was a fleeting touch, but it was enough to settle some of her tension.
The stillness that clung to their bodies, the fear and the urgency of the hurried healing, broke like the snap of a spine. Everyone exhaled at once, shoulders sinking as if they'd all held their breath. Relief, however fleeting, made their limbs feel light again.
But that relief was short-lived.
Harry's voice sliced through the fragile peace with a stark reminder.
"We need to destroy the cup." His eyes darted toward the door, the urgency in his tone unmistakable. "As much as I don't want to press, we're losing time."
Hermione's heart gave a sharp twist, Draco's presence still grounding her. She squeezed his hand tighter, trying to hold on to the fleeting moments of calm, but reality snapped her back.
There was no time for rest, no time for celebration. They were still in the thick of it, and she knew the darkness outside their small circle wasn't going to wait. They couldn't afford to let up now.
They just needed to destroy the cup. The basilisk fang lay in the pilfered messenger bag still resting across her body, ready to be used as a weapon. They just needed to get the cup.
Hermione's heart sank as the realization struck her.
The cup was in her beaded bag. The same one she sent to Draco when she encountered Bellatrix at Grimmauld Place.
"Dammit," Hermione cursed again. "It's in my bag at the safe house. I sent it there to stop Bellatrix from getting it."
"I've got it." Draco reached within his robes, his movements returning to normal, and produced the small, beaded bag with a flourish. "This thing has everything anyone could ever possibly need inside it. There was no way I was leaving it behind."
Hermione took the proffered bag, opening it to find the cup still nestled within.
But also the list from Lucius and the books she took from the Black Library. Her gaze flicked to the golden chalice again. Its surface gleamed, belying its dark, oppressive aura. Her stomach clenched.
"Wait," Hermione said, shutting the bag as she took a moment to think.
She needed to think!
All eyes turned to her. Harry frowned. "Wait for what?"
She hesitated, her mind racing. "Before we destroy it… I need to isolate the magical signature."
"What?" Ron's voice was incredulous. "Hermione, now's not the time for academic research! We're in the middle of a battle!"
"It's not just research!" Her voice rose, frustration lacing her words.
Draco's silver eyes narrowed. "What are you doing, love?"
She ignored him as she opened the bag again. Her fingers closed around the leather-bound spines of the books Kreacher retrieved from Grimmauld Place. She yanked them free, the titles gleaming: Sigillum et Vinculum Magicae, Magiae Vincula, and two others filled with diagrams and theories on magical signatures.
"You're trying to extract his signature." Draco frowned. "Now? How?"
Hermione's gaze flickered between the cup and the books as she closed the bag, leaving the cup inside. "If I don't do it now, we'll lose the only known source of his magical essence—at least, the only inanimate one."
"What?" Draco's eyebrows furrowed as he looked between Hermione and Harry with dawning horror. "What the fuck does that mean?"
Harry stepped closer, his jaw tight. "Hermione, this is dangerous. We can't risk holding onto it any longer than necessary."
"I know that!" she snapped. "We had the locket for months, Harry. Trust that what I'm doing is important enough to warrant this."
The room fell into silence.
Ron sighed, running a hand down his face.
Harry studied Hermione before nodding. "Do what you need to do. But make it fast."
Hermione didn't hesitate. She flipped open one of the books to the index, her eyes scanning the pages before settling on a spot in the middle. She found the section she needed and turned to it, her mind racing as she pieced together the final elements of her theory. The quill she pulled from her bag danced across a scrap of parchment, moving almost as fast as her thoughts.
"Is someone going to explain all of this to me?" Draco fumed as he glared at the books.
"I think we're all running on half information," Ron commented, watching Hermione work. "Well, everyone except 'Mione."
"Don't call her that, Weasley." Draco all but snarled.
Ron raised an eyebrow. "I'll call her whatever I want. What'll you do about it, Malfoy?"
Draco opened his mouth, a retort ready and sharp, when Harry cut them off. "Enough. Let Hermione work in peace or I'll silencio the both of you."
Both Ron and Draco cast a deep-seated glare towards the Chosen One.
Grabbing a secondary book, Theo glanced at her notes and flipped to the index. "Magical signatures and binding?"
Hermione nodded without looking up. "That someone can use to bind objects… or people to themselves with."
Theo frowned, but then used his finger to locate a section and flipped to it.
"It could be unstable," Hermione muttered, almost to herself. "If I don't do this right, the signature could degrade—or worse, it could lash out and…" she trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought.
"Kill us?" Theo suggested, earning a sharp glare from Draco.
"Helpful, Nott." Draco's voice held an undercurrent of anxiety, warbling a bit.
Minutes ticked by, each second feeling like an eternity. Ron paced back and forth, worrying his lip in his mouth as his eyes darted between the door and Hermione, looking like she and Theo were having a cramming session before an exam right in the middle of a battle. The battle.
"II think I have it." Hermione sat up, looking at her notes, at the final incantation she'd discovered. She pushed it towards Draco and Theo.
"This could work." Draco picked up the parchment as delicately as a dried flower. "Holy fuck, Hermione. This could work."
Theo grabbed the parchment from Draco with much less reverence as his eyes scanned it, his eyes racing across the page. "This is like creating an artifact. A magical object. Well, the same base theory at least. Only in reverse. I can help."
Hermione nodded, relieved she didn't need to attempt the removal alone.
"Guys, whatever you need to do, let's hurry," Harry warned as the sounds of battle increased, getting closer.
Hermione straightened, a white-knuckled grip on her wand. Theo wielded his wand, making a strange motion as he muttered the incantation from the parchment. A glass-like orb, almost like the Remembrall Neville owned in the first year, began to form. First like a drop of floating water, then hardening into something more substantive. The glass was clear, but the inside was murky, like a crystal ball.
"That was impressive." Ron looked at Theo wide-eyed, like he didn't expect Theo could do much of anything. Draco rolled his eyes.
"Wingardium Leviosa." Theo hovered the orb above the centre of the nearest desk.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Hermione turned to Draco. "Can you retrieve the cup and put it under the orb?"
Draco opened the bag, placing the cup in its designated spot.
"Ready?" Theo asked, his voice low as he caught Hermione's gaze, his eyes sharp with anticipation.
"Brace yourselves. I'm not sure if this will work," Hermione warned, her voice betraying a flicker of doubt. But there was no time for second-guessing. There was no other choice but to push forward.
With a deep breath, Hermione raised her wand, her fingers trembling as she started the string of incantations, each word laced with urgency. Her voice was steady, the confidence of years of excellence and defeating death belying the growing trepidation deep in her chest. She focused every ounce of concentration on the cup before her, willing the magic to obey.
A faint, shimmering thread of black smoke rose from the chalice, twisting and writhing in the air like a serpent disturbed from its slumber. The dark energy felt alive, thrashing against the force of her spell with an almost sentient rage.
"Hold it steady!" Hermione barked, her eyes flicking to Draco.
The cup jerked, threatening to topple over, but Draco's hand shot out, his fingers gripping the chalice just in time. His jaw clenched, muscles taut, as the dark magic fought against the delicate weave of Hermione's incantations.
The air grew heavier, thick with the acrid tang of the magical battle of wills. A bead of sweat traced its way down Hermione's temple, her pulse quickening as the dark essence inside the cup grew stronger, more violent. Her breath was shallow, but she didn't dare falter.
It was fighting this hard because it was going to lose. The last strike of a dying animal.
The room hummed with raw power, building to a climax, when a sudden, violent pulse of magic ripped through the air, slamming into the orb. The ground beneath them shuddered, sending tremors through their bodies. The lights flickered, and a deep, guttural noise echoed from the cup—a sound that wasn't quite human yet filled with profound malevolence. The dark essence within the cup swelled, pushing against the fragile walls of Hermione's spell, fighting for freedom.
For a heart-stopping moment, the smoke surged toward Draco, swirling around him like a dark cloud, tendrils of it brushing against his skinagainst his left forearm. Like calling to like. His breath caught in his throat, eyes wide with fear as the magic pressed against him, but Hermione didn't have time to react.
Theo jumped in, his wand held aloft but containing the dark energy, pushing it back towards the cup and Hermione's magical trap.
She could feel the strain in her limbs, the magic threatening to snap her focus, but she held firm.
Focus, Hermione. Keep it together.
Then, with a sudden, powerful snap of energy, the orb drew the smoke toward it, the dark tendrils spiralling in on themselves as though the magic were being forced into submission. The cup quivered, the air crackled with static electricity at the friction, causing Hermione's hair to stand on end. The last of the smoke was sucked into the orb, a swirling mass of inky magic that glowed in the air.
The room's oppressive aura—the suffocating darkness—eased, like the breath of a storm dying down.
Hermione stood frozen for a heartbeat, her eyes locked on the orb as the swirling signature settled inside, a pulse of power now contained within. The glow from the orb dimmed as the magic stabilized, leaving only the faintest echo of its presence in the air. Theo reached out and yanked it from the air, shoving it into Hermione's bag.
She exhaled, her shoulders sagging in relief, her heartbeat still racing.
"We did it." She took a shaky step back, her body already heavy with the toll of the magic she channeled.
Harry wasted no time. He raced forward, grabbed the basilisk fang from Hermione's bag and plunged it into the cup. The resulting screech made her stomach turn, the dark magic inside the cup reacting rearing up once more, ready to destroy. The room exploded with sound, a high-pitched keening wail, as another wave of darkness swirled out from the cup, tendrils of pure malice pushing back.
The screams from the cup—loud, agonizing—reverberated through her, shaking her to bones. She gritted her teeth against the onslaught.
Draco's eyes widened with horror as he watched. Theo's face so ashen that ginger hair might have suited him.
The noise became unbearable, a screeching, wailing crescendo until, at last, it stopped.
Everything fell silent. The cup fell over, rolling off the table and plummeting to the stone floor with a resounding clatter.
"Is it—?" Ron's voice cut through the silence.
"It's done," Harry said. "One more down."
Hermione's legs nearly gave out beneath her. Draco caught her arm, steadying her as they stared at the destroyed relic.
The once-glorious cup was now unrecognizable. Voldemort's essence left its mark on the relic in ways almost too horrible to comprehend. The metal, once gleaming, was now blackened and scorched, streaks of burnt silver running like veins through its surface. The delicate curves and intricate designs that had once defined the chalice were twisted and mangled, as if the fabric of the artifact had been corrupted from within.
Theo and Draco exchanged looks, their faces twisted with horror and confusion as they processed what they just witnessed.
"What the fuck was that?" Draco asked, still staring at the remnants of the cup. "And how did it have the Dark Lord's magical signature, Hermione?"
Hermione met Harry's gaze before looking at the Slytherins.
"I'll explain later," she promised. "When this is over… when we win. I promise."
From somewhere beyond the ruined walls of the castle, a cold, chilling voice echoed across the grounds, amplified and distorted, sending a shiver down the spine of every soul who heard it.
"You have fought valiantly," Voldemort's voice boomed, filled with that unnatural calm that was more terrifying than a scream. "Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. Let me speak to the boy who lived… still lives."
Harry's breath hitched beside Hermione. She could see his face, streaked with dirt and blood, eyes wide with realization and fear. She clutched her wand, bracing for whatever was coming.
"I give you one hour." Voldemort's voice continued, slithering into every corner of Hogwarts. "One hour to gather your dead and mourn them. To tend to your wounded. I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you."
Every word scraped against her bones, cold and insidious.
"You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me or given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you… and I shall kill every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."
The voice cut off, leaving a deafening, eerie silence. The wind whistled through the shattered windows, carrying with it the faint cries and moans of the injured.
One hour. A reprieve. A moment to catch their breaths.
An hour for Harry to do the self-sacrificing shit he was always trying to pull.
"Harry," Hermione said with a knowing, frantic tone. "You can't."
"We have an hour, Hermione. We'll figure it out." Harry's tone was calm, his face was stony.
"Isn't that what you three always do?" Theo leaned against the wall. "If I was a betting wizard, and I am, I'd bet on you three every time."
"Uh, thanks, Nott." Harry scratched the back of his head, a light blush staining his soot-covered cheeks.
Standing next to Harry, Ron glanced over at Hermione, her eyes locked on Draco. Draco looked pale as death, his silver eyes wide with a thousand fears and horrors. His hand twitched at his side as if he wanted to reach for her but was frozen in place, the silent battle within him warring on his face.
Ron tapped Harry's shoulder. Harry turned his head and followed Ron's gaze. Without a word spoken, the two of them seemed to reach an understanding.
Ron cleared his throat, his voice soft.
"We'll just… keep watch outside for a minute," he said, nodding toward the door. "Give you two some space."
Harry nodded, his hand squeezing Hermione's shoulder before turning away, grabbing Theo's shoulders and pushing him along with them.
Once alone, Hermione's restraint shattered. She wrapped her arms around his neck as if he might vanish. She buried her face against his neck, her entire body trembling.
"Draco…" Her voice broke. She could feel his heart pounding beneath her cheek, erratic and fearful.
He stood stiff and unresponsive, his breath ragged as if he were struggling to hold himself together. Then, with a shuddering exhale, his arms came up around her, pulling her close. His hands pressed into her back, clutching at her as if she were his last lifeline.
"Hermione," he breathed, his voice thick. "I thought—"
"I'm here." She pulled back, her hands cupping his face. His skin was cold, and his eyes were a storm of emotions—fear, anger, desperation. "I'm here, Draco."
He let out a broken sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, his forehead resting against hers.
"I wish you weren't," he said. "I'd rather you be at home."
Hermione's thumb brushed against his cheek, wiping away a smudge of soot. She swallowed, her tears threatening to spill over.
"Either way, it's almost over."
For a long moment, they simply stood there, surrounded by the crumbling walls of Hogwarts, their old home, the place that shaped their past, their future. It was a battlefield, a sanctuary, a place of firsts and broken moments, where their paths crossed—often as enemies and then, unexpectedly, as something more.
Standing together amidst the ruins, they were a testament to everything they overcame, to a love that defied the expectations of their bloodlines, their upbringing, and even the war raging around them.
It was impossible. It didn't make sense. Yet it was real. Their hearts beat in unison, and despite everything that happened, the brokenness they endured, they found each other.
Draco's hand tightened around the one she held to his face, and warmth surged through her, chasing away the icy tendrils of fear gnawing at the edges of her mind. Right now, everything felt possible.
They would survive this. They had to.
But reality came crashing back in. The wails of the wounded, the sobs of those who had lost loved ones. The time Voldemort gave them was ticking away like sand through an hourglass.
"What are we going to do?" Draco sighed, dropping her hand. "What's the plan?"
"Trust that Harry will come up with something. He often does."
"More like you often do. I don't trust Potter." Draco's voice was laced with the faintest trace of bitterness as he glanced at the door. "But I do trust you. I always have."
Her heart swelled, and she felt a few stray tears slip down her cheek, mixing with the grime on her face. She brushed Draco's hair back, her eyes locking onto his. "Then trust me now and stay close. No matter what happens, stay with me."
"Always." His lips brushed against her forehead in a fleeting kiss.
They stood there for a moment longer, clinging to each other like the last two people on earth. Because as the world around them crumbled into chaos and darkness, that's exactly how it felt.