Chapter 21

change the prophecy

prophecy

1. an inspired utterance of a prophet

2. the function or vocation of a prophet

- specifically: the inspired declaration of divine will and purpose

3. a prediction of something to come

DRACO

Hermione ultimately decided to go with Draco, promising Potter and Weasley they would meet before the imposed time limit.

Draco was glad. He didn't want to be parted from her.

Draco's gaze flickered to Hermione, noting the tight line of her mouth and the purposeful set of her jaw. She chose to come with him—chose him—over Potter and the Weasel. It was a victory. But it felt like a weight, heavy and unrelenting, pressing against his already frayed nerves.

She chose him. He couldn't fail her.

Hermione worried her lip as she took in the destruction of Hogwarts.

Theo, as usual, kept up a steady stream of commentary to cut through the sombre silence.

"Merlin, did you see that map? Can you imagine what we could've done with that in fifth year? I mean, getting into the Restricted Section alone—priceless."

Draco was loath to admit it, but the Marauder's Map was a remarkable piece of magic. He wasn't surprised a Black helped create it.

"Focus, Theo," Hermione said, though her tone lacked its usual bite. Her eyes darted everywhere, scanning for movement, her wand ready despite the tentative cease-fire.

"Just saying." Theo raised his hands in defence. "Could've avoided at least three detentions…"

Draco's mind returned to the common room as they approached, a place that used to be his sanctuary, where laughter, scheming, and camaraderie filled the air.

Would it feel the same after everything that occurred? He couldn't imagine finding comfort in its green glow, not now.

"Wait. Is that how you two became experts at finding hidden spots to fu—?"

Before Theo finished, Draco smacked his head.

When they reached the hidden entrance to the Slytherin dorms, Theo paused, gesturing for Draco.

"After you," Theo said, his smirk not quite reaching his eyes.

Draco stepped forward. The words for the password toujours purs—simple, mundane—felt strange on his tongue. They once rolled off so easily, without thought, but now striking a discord deep within him. The portrait opened to reveal the familiar green-hued space of the Slytherin Common Room.

Most couches and chairs were empty, but three figures sat clustered near the fireplace, their faces tense and pale in the emerald light. Pansy was curled up in the corner of a couch, her usual sharpness muted by the shadows under her eyes. Blaise leaned against the armrest of the same couch, his expression unreadable but his posture tense. Daphne perched in an armchair, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes fixed on the flames.

They looked up in near unison as the trio entered.

"Theo!" Pansy's voice cracked as she sprang to her feet, rushing towards them. "You're alive—thank Salazar. I thought—" She broke off, her eyes flicking to Hermione with poorly concealed suspicion.

Draco raised a hand to stop her before she could continue. "Pansy, don't."

Her mouth snapped shut, and she stared at him, confusion and hurt warring on her face. Blaise, as always, was the first to recover.

"Theo, thank Merlin. He found you." His eyes slid from Theo to Hermione. "And Granger. I take it you're not here for nostalgia."

"We're regrouping," Hermione said. "There's still a war going on."

"Regrouping with Draco and Theo?" Daphne asked. "Shouldn't you be with your two stooges?"

"Exactly." Pansy nodded, her tone clipped. "Waiting for Potter to save the day isn't a strategic approach. Especially one I would expect from his Mudblood."

"That's enough," Draco snapped, his voice low but sharp enough to make Pansy flinch.

Theo stepped in, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

"Let's all take a deep breath, yeah? We're all on the same side here—more or less." His gaze flicked to Pansy, his smirk returning. "Pans, you're not still mad about that time in fifth year, are you?"

Pansy glared at him, her attention shifting to Draco. "Draco, what's going on?"

Draco's throat tightened. How could he explain his choices, the lines he crossed, and the things he wouldn't take back? How could he make them understand it wasn't about sides anymore? He just needed the people he cared about to survive.

Hermione stepped forward, her presence commanding. "We're here to fight."

The faint crackle of torches punctuated the heavy silence in the Slytherin Common Room. Indecision filled the air, burdening each person with impossible decisions. Draco stood at the centre, his mother's wand dangling in his hand; his mind was anything but relaxed.

"This isn't our fight." Daphne broke the quiet first, her voice trembling. "It's not supposed to be our fight. We should leave. You've done enough, Draco." She reached out as though to pull him with her. "We can all go. We can apparate away and find somewhere safe."

Draco shook his head, his throat constricting. "There's nowhere safe. Not for me. Not anymore."

Daphne faltered, glancing around for support. Finding none, she hesitated, then nodded, her lips trembling. "Then stay safe, everyone. Please."

The wards on Hogwarts had long since fallen with a flick of her wand, Daphne Disapparated, the echo of her departure ringing through the room like a gunshot.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

"Well, she's got the right idea," Pansy said, her voice sharp and brittle. She leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed over her chest. "Draco, we needn't be here. None of us do. Do you think Potter's going to save us? Save her?" She threw a pointed look at Hermione. "Why not just give him to the Dark Lord and be done with it?"

Hermione's wand was in her hand before Pansy finished speaking, her grip white-knuckled as she raised it. Theo was faster, stepping between them with his hands outstretched in each direction, palms forward.

"Alright, alright," Theo said, his voice calm but edged with steel. "Let's not start hexing each other. We're all on edge."

Pansy's glare softened, though her lip still curled as she glanced at Draco. "I'm just saying what we're all thinking. We were raised to fight for one side our whole lives, and now we're expected to turn around and die for the other? It's madness."

"No," Hermione said. All eyes turned to her as she met Pansy's glare head-on. "Madness is standing by while he kills and tortures innocent people. Madness is thinking you can survive by doing nothing. You have to choose. If you're complacent, you're part of the problem, not the solution."

Pansy looked away, her jaw tightening. Blaise leaned back on the couch, his dark eyes reflecting deep contemplation.

"Choosing's easy for you." Blaise gestured at Hermione with a flick of his wrist. "You've got the moral high ground. Us? We've got families and expectations. No matter how it goes, the end of this war won't be the end for us."

Draco's voice was deep and resolute. "I'm not asking you to switch sides. I'm asking you to do what Slytherins do—be cunning. Winning doesn't mean siding with him. Not anymore."

Blaise studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Fine. I'm with you. For now."

Pansy's lips pressed into a thin line. She looked at Blaise, then Theo, and finally back at Draco. "If this gets me killed, Malfoy, I'm coming back as a ghost to murder you."

Theo chuckled, breaking some of the tension. "Fantastic. Drake doesn't have enough people aiming to kill him."

Draco exhaled, his grip on his wand easing. The battle wasn't over; the future was anything but certain. But there was a moment to breathe for now. His friends were by his side. His wife was with him.

It was more than he dared hope.

The hour Voldemort gave them was almost up. The castle trembled as if it, too, was holding its breath.

Draco's gaze swept over his friends. Blaise was detached, as always, though his jaw clenched. Theo gave a reassuring nod that made Draco's chest ache. And Pansy, arms crossed, her tough exterior cracking as she avoided his eyes.

Draco's throat tightened, but he forced himself to focus. "We have to go. Potter and Weasley are waiting."

Pansy's brow furrowed as she looked between them, her gaze flicking to Hermione's hand. Her eyes widened as they landed on the unmistakable Malfoy ring, no longer glamoured. They no longer needed the ruse. Pansy turned back to Draco, shocked and disbelieving.

"Seriously?" Pansy's voice was sharp, but something else was there—hurt, confusion. An accusation. "This is what you've been hiding? You married her?"

Draco didn't flinch.

"Yes." He stood taller. "And I won't apologize for it."

Pansy stared at him for a long moment, then sighed.

"You're impossible, Malfoy." Her voice was quieter now, almost resigned. "But… good luck."

"I'll stay here with Blaise and Pansy. Make sure any lingering Slytherins make it out alive," Theo said, nodding to the Malfoys. "Try not to die out there. We can't afford you to mess it all up now."

Draco forced a smirk, though his heart felt heavy. "Right back at you, Nott."

Hermione touched his arm, grounding him. They didn't need words—just the reassurance of each other's presence.

Blaise's gaze was steady. "Don't make us look bad by getting yourselves killed."

Draco chuckled. "Not a chance. See you on the other side."

Theo clapped Draco on the shoulder. "Take care of each other."

Draco's expression wavered before he nodded. Turning to Hermione, he met her faint, reassuring smile. Together, they stepped through the door, leaving his friends behind and plunging back into the chaos, their promise to return a fragile thread of hope.

HERMIONE

The castle walls closed around Hermione, the shattered stone and dust creating a suffocating fog. She clutched the Marauder's Map in her hands. The parchment crumpled at the edges from the ferocity of her grip. Her eyes scanned it over and over, desperation growing with each pass.

"Where are they?" she said under her breath, her voice shaking. "Where did they go?"

"Hermione." Draco tried to get through to her, but she was too frantic to listen. She shook her head, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

"They were right there, Draco!" She tapped the map with her wand again. "Harry and Ron were just here! And now they're—they're—"

Draco gently pried the map from her trembling fingers.

"We'll find them." He tried to keep his voice steady despite his rising anxiety. "Just—just take a moment and breathe, okay?"

She turned to him, her eyes wide and wild.

"We don't have a moment, Draco! What if they—what if they went to You-Know-Who? What if they're planning to—"

"You know Potter." Draco's hands closed over hers, holding them as he forced her to meet his gaze. "He wouldn't go off without a plan. Not now. Not when he knows what's at stake."

Hermione laughed because that's exactly what Harry James Potter would do.

She should never have left him and Ron alone. But they promised her they would meet up before the hour.

She glanced back at the map, her mind racing. "Then where did they go? Why aren't they on the map?"

"I don't know, but—"

The sudden appearance of a shadow cut Draco's words off, hurrying through the debris-strewn corridor. Hermione's heart leapt into her throat, and she raised her wand instinctively.

"Easy." But Draco held his own borrowed wand at the ready as well.

The figure stepped into the light, and Hermione's stomach dropped.

"Father?" Draco's grip on Hermione's hand tightened.

Lucius stood before them, his face gaunt and eyes wide, almost feral. His once immaculate hair was dishevelled, and his robes, though still finely tailored, were dust-covered and torn at the hem. He was unshaven, a clear shadow over his jawline. Hermione saw a desperation unlike anything she'd seen before.

"Draco." Lucius's voice was strained, almost pleading. "You shouldn't be here."

Draco squared his shoulders, his jaw set. "I'm exactly where I need to be."

Lucius's gaze shifted to Hermione, and his lip curled slightly, though it lacked its usual disdain. It wasn't hate or ire—it was fear.

"Hermione," he said with an almost courteous nod. "I suppose you're the reason you are both here, risking your necks."

Hermione didn't bother to answer, her focus on the map still gripped in Draco's hands. She couldn't care less about Lucius Malfoy or his opinions at the moment. All she cared about was finding Harry and Ron.

"You need to come with me." Lucius tucked his wand back into its cane holder, leaning on it more than before. "It's not safe here."

"Safe?" Draco's eyes blazed with fury. "Nowhere is safe for us, Father. I'm not leaving her."

Lucius's eyes flicked to Hermione.

"Of course we're not. She's a Malfoy," he said matter-of-factly, as though the thought hadn't crossed his mind. "We need to move. The Dark Lord will not show mercy to anyone. There's no victory here—only survival."

"Survival?" Draco repeated, incredulous. "Is that all you care about, Father?"

"Yes, survival!" Lucius snapped, his mask of cold indifference slipping. "Survival is all that matters now, Draco! You need to come with me. Both of you. Now."

"You said there will be no victory." Hermione's head whipped up, her eyes narrowing. "What are you talking about?"

Lucius took a step closer, his voice lowering. "No matter which side prevails, our family will be torn asunder. We are enemies to both at present. You must both leave with me now. We can escape. Disappear. Stay together. Survive."

"You want us to run?" Draco seemed shaken. "To abandon everything and everyone?"

"There is no winning against him, Draco!" Lucius motioned around to the rubble of Hogwarts. "Not anymore. He will kill Potter, and everyone who stands against him will die when he does. We have to survive—our family must survive."

"And what kind of life is that, Father?" Draco shot back, his voice rising. "Hiding, running, always looking over our shoulders?"

"A life!" Lucius's eyes were wide and intense. "A life in hiding is better than no life at all."

Hermione stepped forward, her wand still gripped tightly. "You're asking Draco to abandon his friends, everything he believes in—"

"I am asking him to live!" Lucius interrupted, his voice breaking with desperation. "And you too, Hermione. You both must see this is the only way."

Hermione looked at Draco. She could see the conflict in his eyes, the war raging within him. His hand trembled within hers, his grip growing tighter, as if anchoring himself to her.

Draco's base instinct was the same as his father's: the need for survival.

He was conflicted. Conflicted between fleeing and looking out for himself—for his family, for her—or fighting for something greater.

Because if he went, he would force her to go with him through any means possible.

But he knew her enough to know she would never forgive him.

"Draco," Lucius pleaded. "Please."

Draco took a deep breath, his eyes searching Hermione's. She saw the fear and uncertainty there, but also something more potent. A resolution.

A decision.

"No," he said, turning back to his father. "I'm not running. I'm not leaving my wife here to whatever fate she faces alone. And you know she won't come willingly."

Lucius's face contorted with anger and despair. "You don't understand—"

"No, you don't understand," Draco cut him off, his voice steadier now. "I'm not going to spend the rest of my life hiding. I won't watch everything I care about get destroyed just because I'm too afraid to fight for it."

Lucius's eyes flashed, his jaw clenching. "Then you are a fool."

"Maybe." Draco's eyes blazed, but he stood firm. "But at least I'm a fool who knows where he stands."

Hermione swelled with pride.

"We're not running, Lucius," she said. "We're fighting. We're not going to let Voldemort win."

Lucius stared at them, helpless. He looked like he might argue again, but then his shoulders sagged. He looked away, his face twisted in a grimace of pain.

"Then you'll be lost." His voice sounded hollow. "And so will I."

Because he would never leave them here alone.

Draco opened his mouth, face twisted with concern and sadness, but Voldemort's voice boomed around them from the courtyard.

"Harry Potter is dead!"

Hermione's blood froze, her heart stopping mid-beat. She turned, her eyes wide with horror, and saw Narcissa Malfoy standing in the distance, past the courtyard, her face pale and grim, but her eyes were searching… searching for Draco.

"Draco." Hermione clutched his hand as she realized there was a real possibility they weren't leaving this battle alive.

The courtyard was a battlefield of shattered stone and broken bodies. Hermione's vision blurred with tears; a crushing weight seized her chest as she watched Hagrid bear Harry's inert form. Hunched over, Hagrid's shoulders shook with deep, guttural sobs that echoed across the stillness. Hermione's cries joined his as her trembling hands struggled to steady her wand.

Draco pulled her into his arms, his grip firm but desperate, cradling her head against his chest. His heart pounded against her ear, his fear causing her to cry even harder. She turned her face into his robes, breathing him in like he was the only thing tethering her to the earth. His breath was warm against her hair as he stared ahead in muted horror.

Lucius stood nearby like a statue, his eyes wide and unseeing, his lips parted as if caught mid-breath. He looked like a man who foresaw the end of everything he knew.

This wasn't just Harry's death.

This was the demise of hope.

It was the end of everything they'd fought for. It was a death knell for the resistance and a death sentence for them all.

Draco's arms tightened around her, his fear a tangible force. She knew what he was thinking—a life of doomed servitude under Voldemort's rule. A life where he'd be nothing more than a slave to darkness.

And that was if they survived Voldemort's initial sweep of executions, which was unlikely, especially for Hermione.

She squeezed back, her arms a vice around her husband. They'd have to pry him from her cold, dead hands, though she knew the Death Eaters would be all too willing to oblige.

Neville's voice cut through the sobs, shouting from across the courtyard. Wiping her eyes, Hermione turned just in time to see him charge forward, his face twisted with fury and defiance. The Sword of Gryffindor glinted in the light, a streak of silver as he swung it with all his might.

In one swift, decisive blow, Neville severed the head of Nagini, Voldemort's final horcrux.

"Draco." Hermione's breath hitched. Her eyes went wide. "Nagini was the last one."

Draco's head snapped toward her, confused. "The last what?"

"Nagini was like the Cup of Hufflepuff." Hermione stared at the body of the snake as Voldemort bellowed. "That means we can kill that fucker."

And then Harry's body shifted in Hagrid's arms, rolling out of the giant's grip and landing on his feet.

Gasps and screams erupted around them. A witch nearby fainted, her knees buckling beneath her.

But Hermione's world zeroed in on one thing—Harry was alive.

Alive and defiant, his eyes blazed with an intensity she'd never seen.

The sight of Harry, unbroken and ready to duel, sent hope surging through her, strength and adrenaline flooding back in an instant.

"Come on!" Draco grabbed her hand. They couldn't waste a second. They broke into a run, her feet pounding against the stone. Lucius's voice rang out behind them, desperate for Draco to stop, but they paid him no heed.

They sprinted through the chaos of battle, dodging curses and hexes that lit up the sky like deadly fireworks. Spells zipped past her, searing hot and her skin tingling with every close call, but they didn't touch her. Her ring cast an invisible shield surrounding her, blocking the curses before they could strike. She stayed close to Draco, covering his back and sending Stunning Spells and Blasting Curses at anyone who dared cross their path as they raced toward Harry.

Then she spotted him in the courtyard, standing alone, his face carved with steely resolve.

Holding Draco's wand.

He must have kept it as a backup after disarming Draco at Malfoy Manor—a wand she thought was lost. He didn't mention he kept Draco's wand.

She was glad she didn't; the thought of Harry alone and wandless was a terror she couldn't fathom.

The air was charged, vibrating with magic, as Voldemort circled Harry, his movements deliberate, predatory. Harry matched him, step for step, his every muscle coiled. Hermione wanted to shout and run to him, but her feet were rooted, caught between panic and hope.

Draco stood rigid beside her, his mother's wand hand twitching at his side. His face was pale, but his silver eyes were wide with a desperate, helpless fear.

She couldn't breathe as she watched Harry and Voldemort circle each other.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry's voice rang out, clear and strong, echoing off the ancient stone walls of Hogwarts.

Voldemort's high, cold voice shrieked, "Avada Kedavra!"

The two spells met in the middle with a blinding flash of light, a sickly green beam crashing into a burst of red. The courtyard fell into a deathly hush, the only sound the faint crackling of raw magic in the air, hanging like the blade of a guillotine.

And then, an earth-shaking explosion, a vortex of energy spiralling outwards. A rush of wind tore through the courtyard, whipping at their clothes and hair. Hermione e watched, her eyes wide and unblinking.

For a fraction of a second, everything was suspended in time.

Then Voldemort's wand wrenched from his hand, sending it flying.

His eyes widened in shock, his snake-like features twisting in disbelief. His mouth opened, a silent scream forming on his lips, and then he fell. His body collapsed; his knees buckled. He hit the ground with a finality that resonated through the very bones of the castle, his eyes staring blankly up at the sky.

Voldemort was dead.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her lungs frozen as she gripped Draco's hand tight enough to feel his bones pressing against hers. Her mind whirled, trying to process the sight before her.

Voldemort—gone.

His reign of terror—ended.

A sob broke from her lips, a sound torn from deep within her, and she felt tears spill over her cheeks, hot and fast; absolute relief released the pent-up emotions that welled within her.

"We did it." She couldn't believe the words as they left her mouth. "Merlin, we did it."

Draco's face was pale, his eyes locked on Voldemort's lifeless form, still trying to grasp what happened. He turned to her, his expression awe, relief, and something else—something that looked like hope.

"It's over." His voice trembled a terrified whisper. "It's really over."

Draco's words hung, fragile and disbelieving, as if saying them aloud might shatter the reality they'd fought so desperately to achieve. Hermione's chest ached, her breath catching as the truth sank in. It was over. The war, the fear, the unrelenting weight of survival—it was all behind them now. Her vision blurred with tears as she reached for him.

"Draco." She cupped his face with shaking hands, tracing the lines of his cheeks, his jaw, needing to feel that he was real, that he was still hers, still alive. His breath hitched, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer.

Their lips collided in a desperate, fervent kiss, an outpouring of everything they'd held back for so long—fear, pain, longing, and finally, joy. She melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if she could fuse them.

The kiss was salty from their mingling tears, but she didn't care. She smiled against his mouth, and he smiled back, his breath warm and ragged against her lips. The chaos of the battlefield, the cries of victory and despair around them, all faded away.

They won.

A profound silence permeated the Great Hall, a cold stillness. It felt like a mausoleum, the dead pressing heavily on those who remained. Rows of bodies lay under sheets, their silent forms a stark contrast to the indistinct murmur of the survivors, who huddled in clusters at tables, their whispered conversations a desperate attempt to push back the enormity of what happened.

Hermione sat beside Draco and his parents. Her fingers traced the rough texture of the wooden table absently, grounding herself in its cool solidity. The adrenaline of battle was gone, leaving every part of her aching—her body from the battle, her soul from the loss of life and innocence. She couldn't even look at the shrouded forms lining the room.

She remembered their faces from before the shrouding. Colin Creevey, Remus, Tonks, Professor Snape, Lavender Brown, and too many more to name.

Across the table, Lucius sat, rigid with paranoia. His silver-grey eyes flickered, scanning the room, his cane clutched in his lap like a lifeline. Narcissa, in contrast, exuded an unsettling calm, though her hand never left Draco's arm. Her fingers gripped him with the kind of fierceness that spoke of relief and fear intertwined.

Draco was silent, his head bowed. His face was streaked with soot and dried blood, and his usually sharp eyes looked hollow. Hermione could feel his tension, his arm free pressing against her, their hands entwined. The contact was more comforting than either of them would admit.

Hermione never expected to find herself here, sitting with the Malfoys of all people, but things changed. They all changed.

But her moment of uneasy reflection shattered when the double doors burst open, the sound reverberating through the stillness like a gunshot. A dozen Aurors strode in, their faces hardened, their robes stained with battle. With deliberate, predatory movements, the Aurors drew their wands.

Hermione's stomach clenched, her instincts screaming. She rose halfway to her feet, her heart hammering as she glanced at Draco, whose pale face flushed with sudden alarm. His gaze darted to his parents. Lucius's face set into an icy mask, while Narcissa's grip on Draco's arm became white-knuckled.

The Aurors didn't pause, their eyes sweeping the hall, their intent clear.

"This is a secure zone." Their leader, tall, stern-faced, projected authority through a commanding voice. "We're here to ensure that everyone present is accounted for."

Accounted for. The words were a thin veneer over the truth—they were looking for someone. Perhaps several. Hermione's breath caught as she realized who might be among their targets.

Draco's expression was blank. His face schooled into the pureblood mask he'd worn for so much of his life.

An Auror's gaze locked onto them, and he moved forward, his wand held low but ready. It was unnecessary; Draco was drained, and his magic was still out of reach. Lucius was in a similar situation, having continued the potion that day.

Hermione shifted, placing herself between Draco and the approaching figure.

"Miss Granger," the Auror said, his tone clipped. "Step aside."

"They're with me." She didn't move.

"Protocol requires that we—"

"Protocol?" Hermione's voice rose, the edge of her exhaustion and fury spilling over. "These people—" she gestured to Draco and his parents "—just risked their lives, the same as the rest of us. They didn't participate in the battle. They just came to get their son. You can't treat them like—"

"They're Death Eaters," the Auror snapped, his tone icy. "Or did you forget that?"

Hermione's jaw set. "I didn't. But where were the Aurors for the last few months when we needed protecting from said Death Eaters? It's awfully convenient to show up now, acting like heroes."

A deadly quiet fell over the small group. Lucius stiffened, and Narcissa's lips pressed into a thin line. Draco stood, his movement sharp and deliberate, his height looming over the Auror.

"If you want to accuse me, do it outright," Draco said, his voice cold but low. "Otherwise, fuck off."

"Draco." Hermione tugged at his arm, but he didn't look at her. He fixed his gaze on the Auror.

The tension hung like a tight wire, ready to snap.

"Lucius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." The Auror's voice rang out like a gavel pounding judgment. "You are under arrest for involvement with the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord."

Hermione's heart stopped.

"No!" She stepped forward, her voice cracking. "No, you can't—"

The Auror's wand rose sharply, pointing at her. "Stand aside. This is Ministry business."

Before she could respond, Harry was there, his presence solid and fierce. With Draco's wand pointed at the Auror, Harry's voice carried an edge as sharp as steel.

"You'd better think carefully before threatening her," he said, his tone equal parts warning and challenge. "Point your wand elsewhere. Last I checked, your job wasn't terrorizing survivors. Especially war heroines."

The Auror faltered, his eyes flicking between Harry, Hermione, and the Malfoys before his gaze settled back on the elder and younger Malfoy.

"Even you can't pardon war crimes, Potter," he said, though his voice had lost some of its edge.

"I'm not asking you to." Harry glared at the offending ministry official. "But if you point your wand at Hermione again, I'll hex you into the next century."

Ron emerged behind Harry, towering and grim, his face streaked with ash and blood, his expression darker than she'd ever known. The Auror, the trained Ministry Auror, faltered under the combined threat of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, fresh from battle.

Hermione would be impressed if she weren't so terrified for her husband.

Draco's demeanour was deceptively calm as he stepped between Hermione and the Aurors.

"If you're going to arrest me, do it," he said, though a flicker of defiance sparked in his grey eyes. "But you leave Granger and my mother out of this."

Narcissa clutched Draco's arm like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her pale face betrayed her terror, but her voice was steady, trembling only at the edges.

"You can't take him," she said. "He's just a boy. He—he fought against Voldemort. He—"

The Auror's gaze flicked to Narcissa, then back to Draco.

"He'll have his trial," the Auror said. "It's out of our hands."

Draco didn't flinch as two Aurors stepped forward and grabbed his arms, pulling them behind his back before cuffing manacles on them. Draco moved stiffly, his face a stone mask, but Hermione could see the cracks in his composure—the tightness in his jaw, the slight quiver of his hands. His grey eyes met hers for a fleeting moment, and she saw it: fear. Real, raw, suffocating fear.

Hermione's fists clenched at her sides, her magic buzzing at the edge of control. Her hair started to electrify. The pulse of static electricity ran over her skin as her magic gathered.

As if sensing the build-up of magic, the Aurors froze, turning back towards Hermione.

Harry's wand remained trained on the Aurors, a silent promise in his stance. The room felt poised on the brink of chaos.

Draco's eye connected with hers.

"It's okay," Draco said, his voice calm, though it wavered. "I'm okay. Stay with my mother." He glanced at Narcissa, who remained pale and wide-eyed. "I'll be fine."

But it wasn't okay. Hermione burned as anger and helplessness roared through her. Her hair sparked at the edges, tiny embers crackling as her magic threatened to spiral out of control.

"Hermione," he said, his voice firm now, cutting through her panic. "Listen to me. It'll be okay."

"No, it won't," she said, her voice shaking. "This isn't justice—it's punishment."

His arms tensed in the Aurors' grip, but he forced a smirk, one corner of his mouth lifting. "I've survived worse, Granger. Don't let them see you lose control. Not for me."

Her magic flared again, but she clenched her fists, willing the heat back. The sparks faded, though her eyes burned with unshed tears.

"I'll come for you," she promised.

The room closed in on her, with the walls pressing tighter.

She felt like screaming, her fury and helplessness coiling inside her like a living thing.

Dracotumbling from the Astronomy Tower.

She promised herself she would gain control of herself. She needed to leash this power before it hurt anyone else she loved.

She found Draco's gaze a gain, his muted determination grounding her even as her heart shattered.

Harry's grip on the wand tightened, but Draco turned to him, giving a faint nod.

"Potter," Draco said. "Look after her."

"I will." Harry's expression was stormy.

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but the Aurors tugged him back before he could speak. Narcissa stepped forward, her face a mask of icy resolve, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"What a tragic day for the Ministry of Magic," she said to the lead Auror, her voice low and cold. "Dragging children away in chains."

The Auror hesitated for the briefest moment before he motioned for Lucius. "Take him too."

Lucius stepped forward without a word, his head held high. His gaze flicked to Draco, and though he said nothing, the unspoken message between father and son was clear: strength and dignity.

Hermione's knees weakened as the Aurors led them away. Ron noticed and steadied her shoulders in his large, warm hands.

Draco glanced over his shoulder, his eyes locking on hers one last time.

The Malfoy men were bound in chains and escorted from the Great Hall.

Hermione collapsed on the bench behind her, her body trembling with the effort of holding herself together. Narcissa joined her, her hand finding hers and squeezing.

"We'll get them back," Narcissa said, her voice quiet but firm, the steel beneath her composed exterior glinting through her words.

Hermione nodded, but the words felt hollow. She wanted to believe her, but uncertainty bore down on her, heavy and unrelenting.

She glanced at the bodies lined up under sheets across the Great Hall. The dead were gone, their battles over, their futures decided. Yet, Draco and Hermione's battle was far from finished. It just changed. And if she let herself falter now and gave in to the fear gnawing at her, she'd lose the strength to keep going.

Her jaw tightened as a flicker of resolve reignited inside her.

She wasn't going to let them take him without a fight. She wouldn't let this war steal one more person she loved.

The Great Hall remained quiet as a crypt. Hermione closed her eyes, inhaled, and opened them again.

"You're right." Her gaze hardened as she glanced toward the closed doors where Draco had disappeared. "Because Malfoys always come out on top."

She would bring him back no matter how long it took or what she had to do.