Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ War of the Wizarding World ❯ Chapter 6

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Draco was halfway down the manor’s main staircase, a formal, curving affair with a large landing in the middle, when he was brought up short by the sight of his father. He had been flying down the steps, taking them two at a time, and had just skidded around the curved landing- and there was Lucius, standing in the marble foyer at the bottom of the stairs, completely at ease, with a smile on his face and his wand already trained on Draco’s heart.

Draco stopped short, breathing hard, eyes locked on his father, his arms instinctively tightening about Hermione for just a fraction of a second- then he backed up, just two steps, one foot and then the other, until he was against the wall, standing directly beneath a large, ornate stained glass window that overlooked the landing. Slowly, warily, his gaze never leaving his father’s face, he dropped to one knee and deposited Hermione gently on the floor, propping her up in a sitting position with her back to the wall.

“Draco-?” she whispered, barely half conscious, as yet unaware of Lucius’ presence.

“S’alright, love,” he murmured, never looking away from his father. “Just hold on. Hold on, bookworm, okay?”

“’kay,” she breathed, her voice barely audible.

And then Draco was on his feet again, in another of his quick, fluid movements, placing himself directly in front of Hermione, shielding her from Lucius’ view- and from his wand. Though he really need hardly have worried on that account. There was little Lucius could do to Hermione, after all, that was not already being accomplished by the poison. The wand remained trained unwaveringly on Draco’s chest.

He swallowed hard, bit back his seething hatred for the man standing before him- for the time being at any rate- and, drawing in a deep, shaking breath, managed to compose himself enough to ask the question that was foremost on his mind. When he spoke, his voice was remarkably even.

“Father...is there an antidote?”

Lucius’ smile broadened. “Well, son. Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Draco closed his eyes, fighting for control. His hands were clenched into fists of rage- he wanted nothing more than to curse his father into oblivion, but he knew that Lucius had all the advantages in this situation. For one thing, there was the matter of the wand pointed at him. The second he went for his own wand his father would gladly incapacitate- or kill- him. There was no way he could draw fast enough to prevent this- after all, as quick as his reflexes were, he had inherited them from his father. Lucius was more than a match for him, and he knew it. And, just supposing he beat all the odds and managed to fire off a curse at Lucius- he would never then learn anything about the poison that was even now killing his beloved.

By cursing Lucius, he would seal Hermione’s fate.

His eyes snapped open, flat dark gray. His voice too was flat. “Look at me, father. Here I am. I came as you asked, you can do as you like with me, I don’t care. But if there’s a way, then just- Put. Her. Right.”

“Ah, young love,” Lucius drawled, “isn’t it grand? Look at you, Draco, so selfless, so protective.........who are you and what have you done with my son? The boy I raised to fight for the family’s causes, uphold the Malfoy honor and oh- right- not go around falling in love with filthy mudbloods?”

“Goddamn it,” Draco said through gritted teeth, his voice rising despite himself; control slipping. “You wanted me, you have me. Let’s keep this in the family, father. She was just a means to an end, and you’ve achieved that end. So will you PUT HER RIGHT!”

“Now, Draco,” Lucius taunted, “what sort of father would I be if I didn’t accept the love of my only son’s life into the family? Your little mudblood girlfriend is as much a part of this as you are, I’m afraid. And in answer to your question, no son, I do not deal in antidotes. The mudblood is as good as dead. And so are you.”

Draco’s face contorted with fury; his self-control was hanging by a thread, as Lucius could very well see. It would take only one more choice comment to send him over the brink, and the elder Malfoy knew just what button to push.

“I’m almost sad to see her go,” Lucius said with a smirk. “She is, after all, a very pretty girl, as I’m sure you are aware. Although-” he cocked his head to the side, giving Hermione a brief contemplative look before Draco shifted position to once again block her from view- “I must say, I rather prefer her without the shirt- son.”

That, of course, did it. Draco could take no more.

With a cry of rage he launched himself at his father.

Who, with a smug little smile and a flick of his wand, spoke just one word-

“Crucio.”

Draco, already in motion, was unable to dodge. The spell hit him full-on and he fell hard. Having just reached the edge of the landing, he pitched over it and tumbled down the remaining stairs to land in a heap at his father’s feet, the wind knocked out of him, his head impacting the hard marble floor with a sickening crack. But the pain of the fall was nothing to the pain of the curse, the shrieking agony that had invaded every inch of his body.

Even so, he made no sound. But whether he kept silent through an act of will, or whether it was because he had no breath with which to cry out, it was impossible to say- even for Draco himself, who was, at that point, well beyond analyzing his own actions. All he knew was pain.

Lucius might well have kept the Cruciatus on Draco until, with all the air knocked from his lungs and unable to draw breath due to the intensity of the curse, he blacked out, or worse- but it was at that moment, when all of the elder Malfoy’s attention was bent on gloating over his broken, writhing son, that someone else entered the foyer through a side door, moving quickly and silently as only a Seeker could. A furious, snarling black- haired blur, Harry threw himself at Lucius from behind, ramming into him shoulder-first and causing him to lose both his concentration and his balance. With a startled oath, Lucius stumbled and would have fallen under Harry’s weight had he not managed to grab a hold of the nearby banister.

As Draco finally dragged in a deep, shuddery breath and lifted his head from the floor, willing the room to stop spinning, Lucius turned his attention- and his wand- onto Harry, who, made rash and clumsy by grief, had himself overbalanced as a result of his attack. Pale, cold eyes locked momentarily onto bright green ones half-crazed with sorrow and loss- then, as Harry righted himself and went for his wand, Lucius, who still had his in hand, leveled it at the dark-haired boy and with a flick of his wrist sent Harry flying through the air to slam into the wall over the landing. Having just barely missed crashing straight through the stained-glass window, Harry slumped to the floor of the landing not three feet from where Draco had left Hermione.

Groaning, he immediately wrapped both arms about his midsection. Something was seriously wrong there. From the instant he had hit the wall, it felt as though his entire ribcage was on fire. He tried to breathe and found that he couldn’t- at least, not properly. All he could manage were tiny, hitching gasps that caused burning, lancing pain to radiate through his torso.

“Unh,” he grunted, fighting to remain conscious, and twisted onto his side, his green eyes, now dazed and out of focus, coming to rest on- “Huh-Herm- hione?”

She looked back at him, her eyes wide and dark in her pale face, and spoke just two words; “Harry...wand.”

*****

Lucius, meanwhile, had returned his attention to Draco, who had managed to push himself onto his knees, but, stunned and weakened by the fall and the effects of the curse, had not yet drawn his own wand and was therefore helpless against his now maniacally grinning father.

“Well, Draco,” Lucius drawled out, “it seems the little mudblood was correct when she told me you make no sound under the Cruciatus. Impressive. However, I think that given enough time we can break through your barrier of silence. What do you say, son?”

Draco, his silvery hair spilling forward, a thin, bright ribbon of blood trickling from his nose down over his lips and chin, raised his eyes to Lucius and gave him a look that was pure, unadulterated loathing.

“That’s the spirit, boy,” Lucius said gaily. “I do so love a challenge, as your mudblood has already learned! Remember, Draco, the moment you cry mercy, I’ll stop.”

He raised his wand again. “Crucio!”

Draco crumpled once more, thrown from his knees flat onto his back by the force of the renewed curse, but still, not a sound escaped him. And this time, his continued silence was indeed the result of sheer will. He would not beg his father for mercy.

He would rather die.

Fortunately, his suffering this time was short-lived, due to what had been transpiring up on the landing.

*****

Harry, at Hermione’s words, had pulled out his wand and attempted, using the wall as leverage, to push himself back to his feet...and had failed spectacularly. He had managed to drag himself about halfway up, leaning heavily on the wall all the while, but then a spasm of pain had ripped through his ribcage so intense that he had fallen back to his knees- then, arms once more wrapped around himself, had pitched forward, doubled over, and come to rest right beside Hermione.

Who had been gathering herself together to the best of her ability since having been left there, had heard Lucius’ cold, taunting words a moment ago and understood that Draco was in serious trouble, and who now realized that Harry was currently in a gray place, hovering between consciousness and oblivion, in no condition to give assistance.

Blinking hard to focus her eyes, which she found increasingly difficult to do, she made a conscious effort to clamp down on her own pain and, reaching out, grasped Harry’s wand and pulled it from his hand. Then, biting her lip hard against the waves of poison-induced agony that were rolling over her, she crawled on her hands and knees to the edge of the landing and looked down the stairs.

Lucius, who was once again focused wholly on Draco’s suffering, convinced that neither she nor Harry posed a threat any longer, never saw her raise the wand, her hand shaking so badly that she had to steady it with the other one before she managed, gathering all her remaining strength and concentration, to cry out, “Stupefy!”

Lucius heard, but not in enough time to deflect the spell. He had only just begun to turn his head toward her voice, astonishment dawning over his features, when the jet of red light hit him full on, and he fell like a stone.

*****

Draco lay gasping at the foot of the stairs, his heart pounding crazily, blood now pouring from his nose and the room swimming sickly before his eyes. He was marginally aware of his father now sprawling beside him. He drew in a particularly deep, shaky breath, coughed weakly as some of the blood from his nose went down his throat, then rolled onto his side, into a protected little ball, his back to his father, his body shuddering violently from the prolonged torment it had just been subjected to.

There was no telling how long he might have lain there had he not at that point heard a familiar and much loved voice calling his name from somewhere far above.

“Hermione,” he croaked, raising his head from the floor to see her kneeling at the edge of the landing, her face deathly pale and drawn tight with pain, her wild, dark hair tumbling forward over her shoulders as she peered down at him.

“Draco,” she said again, her voice, which had been strong when she’d flung the spell at Lucius and then called his name a second ago, now fading back to a hoarse whisper.

And then as he watched, her eyes rolled back and she slumped over sideways in a dead faint, Harry’s wand falling from her hand and clattering down the steps.

“HERMIONE!”

He was halfway up the stairs, scrambling on his hands and knees, before he was aware that he was moving at all. Reaching her, he rolled her onto her back, his movements still jerky and uncoordinated- an aftereffect of the curse- and, gripping her by the shoulders, shook her gently.

“Hermione. Hermione?”

No response.

“Shit. Oh, shitshitshit! Sweetheart, please!”

He fumbled for his wand, intending to Ennervate her as he had in his room, but was distracted by a sound from close behind him. He whipped about- his reflexes beginning to return at last- and saw Harry in the process of pushing himself slowly into a sitting position, his glasses askew and his green eyes dull and cloudy with pain.

“Potter,” Draco said, as Harry visibly clamped down on a cry. Leaving Hermione’s side, albeit reluctantly, he crawled over to where Harry now half-sat, half-lay against the wall, breathing in shallow, rapid pants. “Potter- what is it? Where do you hurt?”

“...chest,” Harry gasped out. “Think...broken...rib. N-never thought...it would hurt this bad.”

Now Draco did pull out his wand and, after a moment’s concentration, cast a pain-deadening spell on his injured friend. It didn’t take away all the pain; it was too intense to be banished entirely. But it offered a degree of relief and allowed Harry to breathe a little easier.

Draco glanced back over to where Hermione lay. “We have to get her back to Hogwarts, Potter. Now. My bastard father poisoned her. He says there’s no antidote, but I don’t think he would tell me if there was one. Maybe Snape will know something- I have- I have to believe...but we’ve got to hurry. She’s- Christ, she’s dying, Potter.” He glanced all around, somewhat wildly, then- “where the hell is Weasley, anyway?”

Harry didn’t reply. But his silence, coupled with the lost, haunted look in his eyes, gave Draco all the answer he needed.

Draco’s stomach flipped over. He felt suddenly very cold. “No. Oh, no. Bloody hell. Potter- are you sure?”

Harry ducked his head, abruptly raising a hand to shade his eyes, but not before Draco saw the twin tears streak down his face. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, “yeah, Malfoy, I’m sure.”

“How?” Draco asked in a small voice.

“It was meant to be me,” Harry whispered bitterly. “The killing curse- he knocked me out of the way. He-” Harry stopped, choking on a sob, and dropped his face into both his hands, unable to continue. Draco reached out and gently clasped him on the shoulder as the dark haired boy’s entire body began to heave with deep, convulsive sobs. Draco knew that if Harry did indeed have a broken rib, then crying this way had to be immensely painful for him, and quite possibly damaging as well. But he also knew that there was nothing he could do to prevent it, short of Stupefying his friend. Harry’s grief was beyond measure. It had to out.

“God...damnit...Ron...” Harry choked at length, between great, body-wracking sobs, “you bloody...stupid...bastard...WHY? It should have been me, it should have been ME!”

Draco watched, aghast, this display of grief so deep he could barely fathom it. He mourned Ron’s loss too, but he had never had a friend as close as Ron had been to Harry. He couldn’t imagine feeling a grief this profound unless-

“SHIT!” he cried suddenly. The news of Ron’s death had distracted him for a moment from the situation at hand, but now one word pounded into his head with all the force of a bludger knocking him from his broom; HERMIONE. He would feel a grief this profound if he lost Hermione, and he would lose her if he didn’t get her back to school, RIGHT NOW.

“Potter, we have to go,” he said urgently. Harry would have to do his grieving later, or else on the move. There was no more time to be lost. When the distraught boy failed to respond right away, Draco forced himself to harden his voice. “You’ve already lost one best friend,” he said. “Do you want to lose the other one too? Did you hear me say that Hermione’s been poisoned? Potter, we have to get her out of here now!”

This finally caught Harry’s attention. “Hermione,” he said, raising his head. He looked over to where she lay. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Draco said, “come on, Potter.” Standing, he helped Harry up, then went to kneel once more beside Hermione. Harry limped over to stand beside him, leaning heavily on the banister.

Glancing up at him as he gathered Hermione into his arms, Draco said, “we’ll get her back to school, then come back for Weasley, okay? I don’t like the idea of leaving him here, but- with you injured, it would take too much time to get him and Hermione both out past the gate. And we haven’t got time. You understand that, Potter? This can’t wait.”

Harry nodded dumbly. Either he was in agreement or was so far out of it in pain and grief that he was past caring.

As Draco staggered to his feet with Hermione once again clasped to his chest, she let out a small whimper. Both boys grimaced as though feeling her pain.

“I can’t lose her too,” Harry whispered. He was looking past Draco with faraway, empty eyes and seemed to be speaking to himself. “It’ll kill me.”

“You and me both, Potter,” Draco muttered, and started down the stairs.

*****

Only to stop suddenly, confronted by the sight of his father, Stupefied on the marble foyer floor.

He had completely forgotten about him.

He simply stood and stared for a long moment, halfway down the stairs, Hermione cradled in his arms, as the rage and hatred he felt toward this man built and built within him until, as had happened to Harry on that fateful day over a year ago in Voldemort’s throne room, Draco literally saw red.

The girl he loved more than his life- more than his soul- was dying in his arms...he could still feel the poison-induced tremors coursing through her otherwise limp body- and the man at the foot of the stairs was the cause of it. Never mind what he had done to Draco himself, or to Harry, or even to Ron- Draco’s entire world had narrowed in that instant to include only two things; the pain-wracked body of his lover in his arms, and the man who had caused her pain lying at his feet. It was time to make Lucius pay.

It was time to make Lucius die.

He would never remember later descending the rest of the steps- it seemed that in the next instant he was simply there, once again kneeling to gently deposit Hermione on the floor, whispering to her, though he didn’t think she could hear him any longer, that this would only take a moment- there was just one last thing he needed to do and then he’d have her out of here- just a moment more, bookworm, okay?

Pressing a brief kiss to her forehead, he stood, and moved to tower over his unconscious father. He pulled out his wand and though his body was trembling with rage and hate and the last lingering effects of the Cruciatus curse, his hand was perfectly steady as he trained the wand on Lucius’ heart.

“Goodbye, father,” he said.

And that was when Harry spoke from just behind him.

“Malfoy! You can’t murder your own father while he’s Stupefied!” He had followed Draco down the stairs, retrieved his wand from where it lay, and was now standing at the blond boy’s elbow, apparently aghast at what Draco clearly intended to do.

“Can’t I?” Draco’s voice was flat. His pale eyes, when he turned them on Harry, were equally so. “Speak for yourself, Potter. You don’t have it in you to kill an unconscious man, no matter what the provocation. All right. I respect that about you, I really do. I, however, am not you. I’m no hero, I never claimed to be. And let me assure you, I can kill him. And I will.” So saying, he returned his attention to Lucius’ prone figure and sucked in a sharp breath, in preparation for speaking the curse.

“MALFOY!”

Draco’s whole body jerked, as though Harry’s shout had been a physical blow. He turned his head very slowly this time toward the dark haired boy, and his eyes were narrowed to dangerous slits. He was breathing hard. His voice, when he spoke, was a snarl.

“Potter. This bastard has already cost you one best friend. He’s about to cost you the other one, if you don’t stop wasting. My. Bloody. TIME! WHY are you defending him?!?”

“I’m not doing this for him, Draco! I’m doing this for you! Because I don’t care what lengths you go to in order to hide it, I KNOW you have a conscience in there somewhere, and if you murder your father while he’s Stupefied it will eat away at you for the rest of your life! You don’t deserve that! He’s not WORTH that! He’s not worth a lifetime of regret!”

The two boys stared at each other, quartz-colored eyes locked on green, for a long moment, then Draco abruptly turned away again, his eyes slamming shut and both hands coming up to clench in his pale, fine hair. He stood that way, fighting for control of himself as Harry looked on, his body still trembling, until finally he took a deep, shuddering breath and, opening his eyes, stared down at his father sprawled out at his feet.

“Potter-” his voice was a ragged whisper- “if she dies-”

“Do what you need to do, Draco,” Harry said quietly. “He deserves death. I’m the last person who would ever tell you otherwise. Only not while he’s Stupefied. For your own sake- wake him up first.”

For a moment Draco did nothing. Then he gave a barely perceptible nod and trained his wand once again on his father.

“Ennervate,” he said, in a voice made almost unrecognizable by hate.

Lucius had just opened his eyes when Draco gifted him with a good, swift kick to the ribs.

“Hello, father,” he drawled, as the elder Malfoy scrambled up to his knees, snarling. “Time to rise and shine. We’re going to have ourselves a little duel, you and I. On your feet.”

Lucius glared from Draco to Harry- both of whom had their wands trained steadily on his chest- and back again as he stood. “You really want to take me on...son?” he asked in a low voice.

“With Harry here to make sure you play fair, yes, father, I do. If you try to curse me prematurely, he will kill you. After what you’ve done to both his best friends, I don’t doubt for a minute that he has the will to do so- and neither should you.”

Lucius looked again to Harry- and saw death looking back from the green depths of his eyes. Yes, Harry was prepared to kill.

Lucius swallowed hard.

“Well, father?” Draco prompted. “This is how it ends. You are armed, so am I. Harry will not act unless you attempt something dishonorable. So- are you ready to take me on man-to-man?”

The older man’s lip pulled back and he met his son glare for glare. Then, without another word, he whipped his wand sharply up and then down in a quick salute.

Draco followed suit, then turned on his heel to pace off the prescribed dueling distance.

Lucius, for his part, turned as well-

And fled.

Harry gave a shout and Draco reacted instantly, whirling back around, thinking that his father was attempting to curse him while his back was turned. When he saw what was, in fact, occurring, he gave a snarl of outrage and fixed his wand on Lucius’ retreating back. He saw that Harry had done the same. A look as quick as lightning, and as powerful, flashed between the two boys, and just as Lucius reached the door he had been making for, they cried with one voice,

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

The two jets of green light emitted from their wands merged into one before hitting Lucius in the back, sending him sprawling forward onto the floor where he lay as he had fallen, utterly still.

For a moment, EVERYTHING was utterly still- Harry and Draco both deep in shock, trying to process what had just happened so quickly. Then,

“Oh my God,” Draco breathed, and staggered backward. He would have fallen if he had not fetched up against the banister of the stairs. He was ashen- the palest Harry had ever seen him, and that included the time he had very nearly bled to death, thanks to Harry himself.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, and then, more gently, “Draco-?”

Draco turned toward Harry then, his eyes so huge they seemed to take up half his pale face. “Potter,” he whispered, “check him, will you? I can’t.”

Harry believed this. It appeared to be all Draco could do to hold himself upright at the moment. He advanced warily on Lucius, wand still out and trained on the body, ready for anything- all his previous encounters with dark wizards had taught him that there was no such thing as too much caution in situations like these- but deep down, he knew, just as Draco seemed to, that it was over. Lucius was not playing dead.

This was the real thing.

Reaching the body, Harry kicked Lucius over onto his back and stared down for a long moment into the glazed and totally lifeless eyes. Then he dropped to one knee and checked for a pulse; there was none. Seizing a corner of Lucius’ black cloak, he flipped it up and over the dead man’s face, concealing it. He turned back to Draco, who, he saw, had sat down heavily on the lowest step and was hunched forward, elbows on his knees and face buried in his hands.

“Draco.”

There was no response. Harry stood and approached the blond boy, who did not look up. “He’s dead.”

Draco sucked in a long, shuddery breath and finally raised his head. His eyes, when they met Harry’s, were haunted.

“I looked up to him,” he whispered.

Harry said nothing; he could not think of a thing to say.

“All my life,” Draco continued, “I looked up to him. I idolized him. I wanted nothing more than to please him, to be like him, to...to make him proud. And he was nothing but a fucking coward, a coward to the end! I didn’t want to curse him in the back...I had no choice, he- he couldn’t even face me like a man. God, Potter. And I’d still be looking up to him if it weren’t for...for last year, if it weren’t for...oh, bloody hell! Hermione!”

He launched himself from the step he’d been sitting on, moving so fast that he appeared to materialize at her side as if he’d apparated there. By the time Harry had fully registered the fact that he’d moved at all and had turned toward where they’d left Hermione, Draco was in the process of standing with her once again cradled securely in his arms.

“Come on, Potter. We have to get out of here! Now!”

And without another word he was running for the front door. Harry, right behind him, waved his wand at the double doors, causing them to fly open just before Draco reached them.

“Thanks, Potter,” Draco said, not looking around or breaking his stride. He took the manor’s front steps two at a time and then was racing across the grounds, toward the gate past which they could portkey back to Hogwarts. He didn’t even miss a beat when he felt Hermione’s arms come up and clasp loosely about his neck, just muttered “oh, thank God!” and then murmured softly to her as he ran, “that’s it, sweetheart, stay with me now, we’re almost there.”

Then he was skidding through the gate, turning even as he did so to watch Harry’s approach- he had fallen a short ways behind, despite his best efforts to keep up, and no wonder, really- even with Draco’s pain-reducing spell he had to be in agony, running with at least one broken rib, and, Draco suspected, probably more like two or three.

As Harry reached him, sinking to his knees with both arms clasped protectively about his body, breath coming in rapid, pained gasps, Draco fumbled the portkey out of his pocket and went down on one knee beside Harry, shifting Hermione in his arms so that he could get a secure grip on Harry as well as on her. She seemed to realize something of his quandary and tightened her arms about his neck, making his job slightly easier.

He smiled into her hair. “Hermione? You with me, love? You awake?”

“Mmh.”

“Good. I want you to try to stay awake now, okay? We’re nearly there. All we have to do now is portkey and we’ll be back, we’ll be...home. So just hold it together for a minute longer, all right? Hermione? PLEASE stay awake now, stay with me- Hermione?”

He felt her nod against his chest, just before another shudder ripped through her body.

“Potter,” he said through suddenly clenched teeth, “grab the portkey. Right now.”

Harry pried one arm away from his body and did so, grimacing. His head fell forward onto Draco’s shoulder, his jet black hair mingling with Hermione’s. He held onto the egg cup as if for dear life as Draco placed it against the smooth skin of Hermione’s cheek.

“Hold on, both of you,” Draco said- then, “activate.”

*****

Draco landed hard on his back at the top of the stone front steps of Hogwarts. Though the wind was knocked out of him by the rough landing, he instantly scrambled to his knees, looking frantically about for Hermione. He located her some distance away, lying face-down, halfway down the steps. Her dark hair was fanned out about her head, and she wasn’t moving.

“HERMIONE!” Not pausing to see where, or even whether, Harry had landed, he scrambled on his hands and knees down to where she lay. Bending close over her, he gently pushed her hair back from where it fell across her face. “Hermione?” his voice was a strangled whisper- “Hermione- Goddamn it, I told you to stay awake! Shit! Hermione...please.” He rolled her onto her back, gathered her into his arms, and struggled with her back up to the top of the steps.

Laying her flat on her back on the landing, he slipped one hand beneath her head to cushion it and with the other, began stroking her cheek, his tears again beginning to fall unchecked onto her still face.

“Malfoy,” came a voice at his elbow. He raised his head to see Harry there, staring down at Hermione, ashen-faced.

“Potter,” he croaked, “go get Snape. Tell him- the poison...smells sweet, like licorice...but tastes foul...takes two hours to show effects. I think it’s a pretty new potion- maybe one of my father’s original creations. Tell him if he knows what it is- if there’s an antidote- to bring it, quick!” Still Harry stared at the lifeless form of his friend, seemingly in shock. “Potter, for God’s sake, go- NOW!”

With a great, shuddering breath, Harry stumbled to his feet and made for the front door. He was bent nearly double, with one arm wrapped tightly about his middle, but though his jaw was clenched and his face betrayed the excruciating pain he was in, he still moved remarkably quickly. In a second’s time he was through the door and gone. Draco knew that he himself, being for the most part uninjured, could doubtless move even faster, but he couldn’t go. He could no sooner leave her there than rip out his own heart and leave it lying on the cold, hard stone.

“Hermione,” he whispered; “oh God, please wake up.” He fumbled his wand out of his robe one-handed, the other hand still cushioning her head. Placing it against her chest, he again murmured “Ennervate,” just as he had back at the manor. Her eyelids fluttered and she gave a tiny moan; that was all. She had to be really far gone, he realized despairingly, in order for the spell to fail to revive her.

Harsh sobs began to wrack his body. Gently easing his hand out from beneath her head, he laid himself down beside her and buried his face in her chest, his whole body convulsing with the power of his sobs. “Hermione,” he gasped, “don’t leave me here!” Suddenly he remembered a quote from a book he had read earlier in the year in Muggle Studies class, which he had finally enrolled in, after years of shunning it, in order to learn about the culture that had produced the woman he loved. The book was an old muggle romance called “Wuthering Heights”. He had found himself identifying surprisingly well with the story’s protagonist, Heathcliff; a brooding loner who had somehow managed to win the love of a most remarkable woman.

Now, tightening his arms about Hermione, he groaned, “do not leave me in this abyss where I cannot find you! Oh God, it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!”

A second later he jerked his face up with a gasp of surprise, feeling a feather-light touch on the top of his head. Hermione, amazingly, had regained consciousness and was stroking a hand gently through his hair. She smiled when he met her eyes- she didn’t appear to be in pain an longer; only very, very tired. She let her hand fall back to the ground.

“Wuthering Heights,” she whispered; “a bit melodramatic...don’t you think, Malfoy?”

“Hermione,” he breathed, cupping her face in both his hands.

“Don’t compare me to Catherine,” she said then, very seriously. “I never liked her much. She had a good thing and she let it go, and then spent the rest of her life whining about it. Whereas I-” with a great effort she raised her hand again and lightly caressed his cheek- “I have no regrets. And if our time together came at a price, that’s to be expected, really. Most good things do. It was-” she paused as pain flashed briefly behind her eyes- “it was worth it. I love you, Draco. So, so much.”

“No,” Draco choked out; “Hermione, please no. Don’t do that. Don’t say goodbye!”

Tears started in her eyes. “I can’t...fight this anymore,” she whispered sadly, and he saw that indeed, the light was fading from her eyes again. “I’m so sorry I...couldn’t be stronger for you...I would have loved to marry you. But I’m weak-” the tears escaped then, though she tried to blink them back, and rolled down the sides of her face to lose themselves in her hair as she gazed up at him.

“You are NOT weak,” Draco said fiercely. “You are the strongest, bravest, smartest, most beautiful and independent woman I know. Do you think I would accept any less for my wife?”

She smiled up at him through her tears. It was a sleepy smile- her eyes were growing heavy-lidded....

“Wait,” he cried desperately. “Hold on, love, just a moment more- I have something for you. Wait-” He groped for his wand where he had dropped it on the steps, and finding it, pointed it in the general direction of Gryffindor Tower and muttered, “Accio!” He had just time to lean down and plant a kiss on the tip of Hermione’s nose before he was alerted by a whizzing noise and, reaching up, snatched a tiny object out of the air with the same precision he had always used when catching the golden snitch. This object was no bigger than a snitch; it was a tiny, black velvet jewelry box.

“Hermione, look,” he pleaded, holding the box in front of her face so that she couldn’t help but see. She blinked slowly, once; twice- and seemed to regain at least a measure of focus in her eyes.

“Draco...what-?”

“Shh- just look.” He popped open the box, revealing the ring within. A single, pear-shaped diamond graced a plain, slender platinum band. The stone was not large- but it was flawless, and in impeccable taste. “What do you think?”

She took a deep, hitching breath, clearly rallying herself to speak. “Draco, it’s...beautiful. But you shouldn’t give it to me. Keep it; you’ll find someone else for it. I don’t want you...to waste your whole life mourning me. It’s not-” and a tiny smile flitted across her face- “it’s not practical.”

Draco’s face literally contorted for a second with agony; he looked quickly down and away, not wanting her to see his pain. Why burden her with it now? When he spoke, still looking away, his voice was hoarse with emotion. “This ring belongs to you, and no one but you,” he said, and raising her left hand, slid the ring onto her finger.

Oh God Oh God, he thought despairingly, glancing wildly toward the closed front door of the school, where in the HELL are Potter and Snape?!?!?

Glancing back down at Hermione, he saw her eyes had again drifted almost completely shut. “NO!” he cried, grasping her by the shoulders and shaking her. Keep her talking! His mind screamed frantically, and he cast about desperately for a topic.

“Hermione, tell me- tell me-”

“What?” Her voice was barely audible.

“The wedding,” he said, his eyes lighting on the sparkling stone on her finger; “tell me about our wedding. Every detail. Whatever you want. Name it and it’s yours.”

“Wedding?” she echoed, in a faint, puzzled voice.

“Yes,” Draco half-sobbed, his voice now tinged with hysteria. “Girls love to plan weddings, right? Pansy had her wedding to me planned halfway through first year!”

“Oh...right. I suppose so.”

Draco got the distinct impression that she was simply trying to humor him now. (I should have posed her an arithmancy problem instead, he thought distractedly.) But let her humor him. He didn’t care. Just so long as she kept talking.... “So, what do you want?” He racked his brain for the components of a wedding. “The...dress, the flowers, the...the cake, tell me!” Again he cupped her face in both his hands, leaning over her so close their noses were nearly touching, willing her to keep her eyes open, to keep looking up at him.

A small frown creased her brow as she appeared to think it over. “I want...a cliff, by the sea, at sunset,” she whispered finally, and even as close as he was, he had to strain to hear her. “I...want...two best men, because I could never choose...between them.”

Oh Jesus, Draco thought sickly, Ron- she doesn’t know about Ron....

“I want a dress...that floats out behind me- silver-white like your hair...a dance, to our song...and...and a...cake, shaped like...a stack of books...because it all...started in...the....”

And then it happened. Her body gave one last convulsive shudder, her hands clenching into fists- she gasped and her eyes flew wide, as if in surprise, as if, despite everything, she really HADN’T actually expected it to come to this- and then the light in them was, completely, all at once extinguished, and with one final exhalation, she went perfectly still.

“No,” Draco breathed, stunned.

“Oh.

God.

No.”

Suddenly, violently, he pulled her into his arms in a crushing embrace and began rocking back and forth with her, not even realizing what he was doing, out of his mind with grief.

“Hermione,” he gasped, “don’t go. PLEASE DON’T GO!”

Then he did something he had never done before, in his entire life, as far as he could remember. He began to sing.

“Sometimes when we touch...” he choked out, his face hidden behind the dark curtain of her hair, “the honesty’s too much, and I have to close my eyes and hide...I want to hold you til...til...I....” he couldn’t go on. Laying her gently back on the ground, he reached down with one shaking hand and closed her lifeless eyes, then lifted her left hand, with the engagement ring flashing on her finger, to his mouth and kissed it tenderly.

Then, still clutching her hand, doubled over with a grief so acute he felt it as a searing physical agony, he did something else he had never done before.

He screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

When Harry and Snape burst out of the front door some thirty seconds later, Snape clutching a small crystal vial in one hand- the antidote he had been working feverishly to prepare ever since Lucius had called him to the manor a week ago to ask for his input on a new poison he’d been brewing, hinting with malicious glee that he had a very special victim in mind for it- Draco was still screaming.

Snape, instantly realizing that they had arrived too late, shoved the vial back into a pocket of his robes and threw himself to the ground beside Draco, who was on his knees, rocking back and forth and continuing to cry out his soul-deep anguish. He had dropped Hermione’s hand and both his own hands were fisted in his silvery hair. Snape pulled him into a crushing, immobilizing bear-hug, then managed to drag him a few feet away where he held him tightly, murmuring to him, trying to comfort him. But Draco remained oblivious to his mentor’s attempts to calm him; he was gone far beyond reason- nearly beyond sanity.

As for Harry, he hurled himself down beside Hermione and began checking for breathing and pulse, muttering fiercely all the while, “no, not you too, I’m not gonna lose you too, Hermione, NO! I won’t let you go, do you hear me, I will NOT let you GO!”

Finding neither breath nor pulse, he fought back the urge to follow Draco’s example and begin screaming, then struggled to remember what he knew about CPR, which did not exist in the wizarding world, but in which he had taken a course for free over the summer, at the Little Whinging Community Center, as an excuse to get out of the house and away from the Dursleys.

Fifteen chest compression to two breaths, he thought, willing himself to calm down and think clearly. Stop and recheck pulse once per minute. Okay, I can do this; I have to. Won’t lose her too, won’t lose her too, won’t lose her too....

With this one thought running through his mind, he straightened her body, tilted her head back and, sealing his mouth over hers, began the process of breathing for her. After two breaths- as deep as he could make them, considering that breath was, for him, in short supply at the moment- he pulled back, pushed Draco’s shirt up, exposing her chest, fought to clear his mind from the dizzying wave of fury that threatened to engulf him at the sight of the bruises and welts that covered her, and, placing one hand atop the other between her breasts, began the compressions.

One...two...three...four...he had lost Ron; he would not, COULD NOT lose her too...five...six...seven...eight...the pain in his ribs was tremendous- almost overwhelming- but he wouldn’t stop- he would do this forever if he had to...nine...ten...eleven...twelve...his vision was darkening around the edges- but he wouldn’t give up...thirteen...fourteen...fifteen...BREATHE!

“Potter, what in the bloody hell are you doing?!” Harry had never heard the potions master swear before. Glancing in his direction, he saw that Snape was staring at him, aghast. Of course, he thought distractedly; he’s wizard born and bred. He doesn’t understand- but he couldn’t waste time, or breath, talking. He began the compressions again.

“C...P...R...” he managed to grunt out between chest compressions; “It’s a...Muggle...tech...nique. I’m...forcing...her heart...to keep...beating...and blowing...air...into...her...lungs.” As if to punctuate what he had just said, he bent down and gave her two more deep breaths.

“And this will revive her somehow?” Snape asked in disbelief; “Muggles know how to revive the dead?”

“Only...if they’ve...just died...and only...if it’s...done right...and not...always...even then...but sometimes...sometimes....” Though he was unaware of it, tears began coursing down Harry’s face as he spoke these words. Sometimes- sometimes- this had to be one of those times, it HAD to.

Not allowing himself to succumb to the white-hot agony in his ribs that seemed to burn brighter with each compression, not stopping to think about just how high the odds were stacked against him, he fought. The Boy Who Lived fought against death with every fiber of his being. He fought for his best friend’s life, which meant more to him than his own.

And it wasn’t enough. He surely would have failed even so...if he had not unknowingly received help from a most unexpected source.

Ron.

*****

“Hermione? Hermione. Wake up. Hermione.” That voice- she should know that voice. She tried to place it, but couldn’t.

She was lying on her side, curled tightly into a fetal position, on a hard, cold surface- the ground? Eyes still closed, Hermione rolled onto her back with a soft groan and turned her head toward the voice, which was coming from just above her and slightly to her left. She felt a hand stroke her hair gently back out of her face, and instantly a feeling of safety and contentment washed over her. Draco, she thought foggily; he was leaning over me just a moment ago. What happened? Did I fall asleep? And why did he seem so...what had he seemed, exactly? The details were hazy. Worried? Her brow furrowed as she struggled to remember. No, more than worried- frantic. He had been...he had been...CRYING....

Suddenly, her memories returned in a flood; her captivity, the poison, Draco’s rescue, the portkey, lying at the top of Hogwarts’ front steps and Draco...desperate...pleading...the ring...and then pain, such PAIN-

“DRACO!” she cried out, sitting bolt upright. Instantly strong arms wrapped around her. “Steady there...guess again,” came a voice in her ear, and now she recognized it; it was a voice she knew and loved, but not Draco’s voice, no. Funny, she didn’t remember him being there when she was lying on the steps, but this was definitely-

“Ron?” she whispered, finally opening her eyes to be met by her best friend’s deep blue gaze. “Where’s Draco?” And then, glancing quickly around, eyes widening, “Where- where are WE?”

“Between,” Ron said simply, as Hermione took in the fact that they appeared to be nowhere; nowhere at all.

It looked as if they were in a black void. If she hadn’t felt the solid ground beneath them, she wouldn’t have known it was there. She could see no walls, no ceiling. All was featureless darkness that seemed to stretch on forever. She shouldn’t have been able to see Ron, because there was no light source whatsoever as far as she could tell. Yet she could see him; clearly, brightly against the blackness, because- and this was really disconcerting- he was glowing softly. And so, she realized, looking down, was she.

“Between...what?” she asked, in a very small voice, with the distinct feeling that she didn’t really want to know the answer.

“Between life and death,” Ron replied, “although if I know you, you’d probably guessed that already.” He gave her a small smile, but there was a deep underlying sadness in his cobalt eyes.

“The poison,” she whispered, one hand automatically rising to press against her throat; “oh my God.” And then, as full comprehension dawned, “Oh, Ron- oh no- what happened to YOU?”

“Lucius,” Ron said flatly- then added, almost as an afterthought, “the bastard.”

With a choked cry, Hermione flung her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. For a long moment she stayed that way, just drinking him in, his warmth, his solidity, his scent, his hand gently, soothingly, stroking her hair. Ron. One of her two best friends, since practically forever. Since he and Harry had braved a troll to save her during first year. They had only been eleven- just children- but they had risked their lives for her, a bossy little know-it-all girl they hadn’t even liked. And now after all the years of friendship, years of loyalty and camaraderie, of intrigue and adventures, of spectacular fights, and overall, of deep and fierce and abiding love, now here was her cherished friend. Dead. Because he had once again risked his life to save her- and this time, had lost it. To Lucius Bloody Malfoy.

A scream of anger and despair escaped her before she could quell it, and, balling her hands into fists, she pounded them against Ron’s broad chest, raging against the injustice of it all. And still Ron simply held her, silently stroking her hair.

It was a long time before she recovered enough composure to speak again. “So what happens now?” she asked at last in a shaking voice, raising her head to again meet his eyes. “You said we’re between life and death. Where do we go from here?”

“Different places,” Ron answered quietly. “I’m going on- but you’re going back.”

“How can that be?” she whispered, her brow knitting in confusion. “I can’t come back from the dead.”

“But you’re not dead,” Ron said, now adopting his patented long-suffering tone. “At least- not irreversibly. I’ve just got through telling you- you’re between. You can, and will, go back from here.”

Now Ron could almost see the wheels in her head turning as she took in what he had just said. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Wait a minute. I can and will go back? What about you? I’m not going back without you.”

Ron shook his head. “It’s not an option for me, Hermione. You and I arrived here under very different circumstances. I was Avada Kedavra’d; there’s no cure for that. But you were poisoned, and there IS an antidote- as soon as you’re back in your body you can take it and be healed. Harry’s even keeping your body ready for you. I think he senses somehow that you’ll be back. I don’t know how he’s doing it- some sort of Muggle technique, I heard him say. Pretty amazing, really. He’s making your heart beat for you, and breathing air into your lungs. I can even overlook the fact that he’s pushed your shirt up to your chin and every time he does that breathing thing it looks like he’s snogging you-”

“Oh my GOD!” Hermione cried out, horrified. “But Draco- he’s right there- and he won’t understand, he’s never heard of CPR- what must he THINK?!”

Ron gave her a long, measured look. Then, “Hermione,” he said, very slowly and clearly, as though attempting to put an important concept across to a very small child, “you just DIED in his arms. Trust me when I say that he neither knows nor cares what Harry is doing at the moment. It’s lost on him. He’s-” Ron’s voice trailed off and his eyes went distant and unfocused for a minute. He stared past Hermione, plainly seeing something that she couldn’t. Then, abruptly, his attention returned to her. “Screaming,” he said; “he’s screaming.”

“You can see him?” Hermione demanded. She turned to look in the direction Ron had been staring, but saw nothing except unending blackness. “How? I can’t see anything.”

Ron smiled at her, but his eyes remained solemn. “The same way I can see what Harry is doing to you,” he said. “There are a lot of things I can do here that you can’t, because my soul- my essence- is all here, and yours isn’t. Harry is keeping you tied to the physical world, thank God.” He shrugged. “I could take off and fly right now if I wanted to- there’s only one thing that you can do at this point that I can’t; go back.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, in a very small voice, as though the wind had been knocked out of her. Then, as tears began to stream freely down her face, “I don’t want to go back without you, Ron!”

Ron began caressing her face, wiping her tears away with his thumb as she had done for him on the night, over a year ago, that she had fallen from his broomstick as they returned from killing Voldemort. “Listen to me,” he said softly. “Malfoy is screaming. Screaming, Hermione. Does that strike you odd? It should. Because Malfoy doesn’t scream. He didn’t scream when he was under Cruciatus, or when Harry stabbed him nearly to death- but he’s screaming now. Because he thinks he’s lost you. I used to have doubts as to whether he truly loved you- was even capable of loving you the way I do. And when he said those cruel things to you, I was ready to tear him apart. But now I understand what he was trying to do and Hermione- I don’t doubt it anymore. He loves you so much he’s gone half-mad with grief, and if you don’t get back there post-haste, I think he’s gonna end up in St. Mungo’s- permanently, if you know what I mean. He needs you, Hermione. If he’s going to keep his sanity, he needs you back.”

Hermione dropped her face forward into her hands and began to sob in earnest. “Oh Draco,” she gasped; “oh, RON! How...can I...choose? I don’t...want to...leave...either of you...ALONE!”

Ron pulled her back up against him, so her head rested on his shoulder. “There’s something you should know about Harry as well,” he said, once her sobs had subsided a bit. “He’s hurt, Hermione. Pretty bad.” She stiffened in his arms as he continued, “this thing he’s doing to keep your heart going- he’s doing it with three broken ribs. Every time he presses down on your chest, he’s hurting himself more. Every time he breathes into your lungs...can you imagine how hard it is to breathe for ONESELF with three broken ribs? Let alone for another person too? By all rights, he should have passed out by now- or worse- but he’s fighting to stay conscious, to keep doing this...incredible thing that’s going to allow you to go back. That’s how much it means to him; that’s how much YOU mean to him. Hermione- ” he slid his hand under her chin and tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his gaze again- “he needs you too, more than ever now that I’m...going on. They both need you far more than I do. I’m not afraid. I caught a glimpse of where I’m going, right after I died- I could have gone straight there, but I wanted to check on you and Harry first. When I saw you, I realized that you’d be coming through here and would need me, so I waited- and making the decision to wait was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I don’t know that I COULD have done it for someone I loved any less than Harry or you. Because what I saw was amazing...indescribable. It’s right for me to go there- to be there- and it’s right for you to go back. I’m sure of this. Trust me?”

Hermione swallowed hard, tears still streaming from here eyes, then, very slowly, she nodded.

“I caught a glimpse of where Lucius was going, too,” Ron said then, a look of grim satisfaction coming over his face. “He came through here not long after I arrived, and he wasn’t happy about it. Was being dragged kicking and screaming, in fact.” The expression on his face made Hermione think better of asking him just exactly WHAT had been doing the dragging. He couldn’t suppress a small shudder as he added, “I wouldn’t be happy about it either, if that were my destination. He’s earned it, though; it’s nothing if not just.”

They sat in silence for a moment more, Hermione letting her forehead drop once again to Ron’s shoulder, suddenly exhausted and overwhelmingly sad- more sad than she had thought it possible for a human being to be.

Abruptly, however, Ron shook his head as if to clear it, and an expression of determination came over his face. “Right, then,” he said, getting to his feet and helping her up after him, “we don’t have much time. Harry’s strength is fading fast- he’s gonna pass out soon, and once he stops doing the- what do you call it again?- right, the CPR- once he stops doing the CPR, you’ll no longer be able to return to your body. Just a couple of quick things before you go. Give Harry a message for me- tell him not to worry about me, and not to waste a single moment feeling guilty or blaming himself- you know how he can be. But I made my own decision and I stand by it; in the same situation, I would do it again, as I know he would have done it for me. Tell him he has to be twice the best friend to you now- I’m counting on him for that. And give a message to Malfoy for me as well- ” Ron was talking faster now- “tell him to remember what I said to him at the top of the marble staircase on the night he was resorted. Tell him if he ever- EVER- hurts you again, I will know, and so help me, I will find a way make good.” He grinned down at her. “Got all that?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“That’s it, then- except for one last request from me to you.”

“Anything, Ron,” she managed to choke through her tears; “anything you want.”

“Just a taste of what might have been.”

And as she opened her mouth to ask what he meant by that, he bent his head and kissed her- fully and deeply. Her eyes widened and she stiffened momentarily in shock, but in the next instant she relaxed into the kiss, letting her eyes fall shut. If Ron’s last wish was to have a kiss from her, then by God she would give him a kiss to remember- wherever it was that he was going.

Her hands came up to wind through his hair as his arms wrapped tightly around her and pulled her closer, deeper into the kiss. She had never before kissed anyone but Draco, and Ron’s kiss was entirely different. It was quite possibly the sweetest kiss she’d ever experienced. Draco’s kisses were full of fire, passion and urgency- when he kissed her he revealed a depth of feeling that he went to great pains to conceal at all other times. When Draco kissed her, she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he loved her madly- even though he had never said the words but twice, and both in desperate situations; on the night they had gone after Voldemort, and again today, when he had found her so near to death. She had always loved kissing Draco for this reason- it was thrilling to feel some of his iron control slip, allowing, against his will, those carefully buried emotions to show through. It caused her to shed her own inhibitions in return- kissing Draco was intoxicating. It drove her mad with desire.

But this- kissing Ron- it was like the kiss of a noble young knight out of some Arthurian legend; a kiss both loving and pure; both romantic and chaste. Again, it was- there was no other word to accurately describe it- sweet. It was slow and infinitely tender- exploratory and yet, at the same time, almost...shy. There was no pent-up emotion behind it, because, unlike Draco, Ron’s tendency was to wear his heart on his sleeve for all the world to see. So his kiss was uncomplicated and inherently boyish- something Draco’s kisses had never been.

It was that very boyishness- and the knowledge that now he would never be anything else, would never progress past the age of seventeen- that caused a fresh wave of grief to crash over her, so intense that her knees buckled beneath the weight of it and she would have sunk to the ground had not his arms been wrapped tightly about her.

At this, Ron finally broke the kiss. “Thank you,” he said simply, and though she could feel his body still pressed, warm, against hers, his voice sounded as though it was coming from a hundred miles away. She opened her eyes, and gasped- the light with which Ron had been suffused had gone out. He was only visible now as a dim silhouette against the greater darkness.

“Ron-?” Her voice had an unmistakable edge of panic to it.

“It’s okay,” he said, and she thought she heard a smile in his voice; “look down.”

She did, gasped again, and slammed her eyes shut. Her own body was now shining so brightly it was practically blinding. It seemed that she had somehow taken Ron’s light and added it to her own. Letting her head fall against his shoulder, eyes still shut, she stammered, “what just- how-?”

She felt Ron rest his chin atop her head. “I just passed you all my energy,” he said quietly- his voice seemed to be fading more by the minute; “my life-force. I don’t need it anymore, but you will- you’ll need it all to get safely back. And now it’s time for us both to go.” She felt him straighten up, and she did likewise, though she was now shaking so badly it was a miracle she managed to support her own weight. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to dazzle herself with her own light again. Ron withdrew his arms from where they had been wrapped around her, instead laying his hands gently on her shoulders. He dipped his head and placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

“I love you, Hermione,” he murmured in her ear; “never forget that. And don’t cry for me. We’ll see each other again, I promise, just not for a while. Not for a while. Now, go.” And he did something that caught her completely off-guard; he gripped her shoulders tightly for a second, and then thrust her forcefully away from him.

She fell backward, but instead of hitting the ground, she just kept falling. “RON!” she screamed frantically, but there was no reply. Just the endless blackness through which she was falling- falling- falling-

Then, THUD.

“Potter, cease what you are doing this instant!”

Snape’s voice was tinged with frustration and the beginnings of panic. He could plainly see that Harry was doing himself more damage with each passing moment, and for what must surely be a lost cause- Muggles, raise the dead- honestly! He wanted to put a stop to it, but he dared not let go of Draco, who was still wild with grief. He feared that without his strong arms to immobilize him, his former star Slytherin would do something...well, drastic. Though he couldn’t bring himself to put his fear into words, even mentally, he could see clearly that Draco. Wanted. Death. So he held on with an iron grip, and was powerless to put an end to what was, in his opinion, Harry’s self-destructive foolishness.

As for Harry, he ignored his professor completely, no longer having the energy to reply. His head was spinning- the world tilting dangerously around him, and large black starbursts were now blooming before his eyes, but he would not- COULD not- stop.

Forever...he would do this forever...if he had to....

Thirteen...fourteen...fifteen...BREATHE!

And then-

Oh, and then.

Harry had just given her one breath and was pausing, gathering himself with difficulty for the second, when her entire body jerked violently beneath him, her head coming up off the stone landing and then slamming back down onto it, her eyes simultaneously flying wide open. Instantly she focused on him and held his gaze as she dragged in a great, shuddering breath- then she struggled up onto her elbows.

“Harry,” she said hoarsely, “Ron sent me back.”

But before Harry, who was staring at her in utter blank astonishment, had a chance to gather his wits sufficiently to think of a reply, her face contorted with agony. Her hands flew to wrap around her midsection and she fell back to the ground, literally writhing with pain. She managed to turn onto her side, and pulled herself into a tight little ball, struggling to breathe.

“Hermione!” Harry cried raggedly.

“Harry,” she managed to choke out as he bent close over her, straining to hear and understand; “p-poison. Help. Please!”

“Professor!” Harry screamed as horrified comprehension dawned. “The antidote- oh God, Professor PLEASE!”

Snape was beside them in an instant. Years of working in dangerous undercover situations had taught his body to react quickly when called upon, even if his mind was- as it now most assuredly was- reeling. He still could not grasp the concept that she was actually alive, yet he was fumbling in his robes, pulling out the vial of antidote with shaking hands, yanking out and casting aside the tiny jeweled stopper, grabbing the suffering girl’s head and pulling it around to face him just as roughly as Lucius had done when forcing her to drink the poison in the first place (time was of the essence after all, and she was thrashing wildly), holding the vial to her lips and pouring the precious liquid down her throat. He then gathered her into his arms, smoothing Draco’s shirt back down, covering her body, holding her tightly as her poison-induced shudders slowly began to subside.

“Potter,” he gasped over his shoulder, “-Draco!”

Harry, understanding perfectly the two-word command, turned toward Draco. What he saw caused his eyes to widen, aghast. The moment Snape had let him go, Draco had crawled the few feet to where his wand lay, seized it, and was now, as Harry looked on horror-struck, raising it slowly to his temple.

With a feeling of sick dread in the pit of his stomach, Harry realized that Draco, too overcome with grief to even realize what was going on with Hermione, must be preparing to Avada Kedavra himself.

“NO!” he shouted wildly, and threw himself toward Draco, at the same time pulling out his own wand. “Accio!” he cried, as it became apparent that he wouldn’t reach the blond boy in time. Draco, who had his head bowed forward and eyes squeezed shut against what he was about to do, was caught completely off-guard as his wand went flying out of his hand and into Harry’s. He jerked his head up and his pale eyes, lighting on Harry now clutching his wand, narrowed to slits, blazing with rage and despair.

“Potter,” he snarled, and launched himself at Harry. He was weak and slow, but Harry, hurt and exhausted as he was, was weaker and slower still, and so failed to get out of the way in time. Draco crashed into him, knocking him backward- over the edge of the steps. The two boys tumbled, locked together, rolling over and over each other, all the way down.

Harry, with three ribs already broken, had the extreme misfortune to land hard on his back, cracking his head against the bottom step, with Draco thudding heavily on top of him. He felt, quite distinctly- though distantly- everything seemed strangely distant all of a sudden- the sickening crunch that meant yet more ribs had cracked, one of them (though of course Harry did not realize it at the time) punching straight through into his lung.

As Draco heaved himself up and off him, Harry attempted to sit up- but all he managed to do was to raise his head a couple of inches, and even then he could only hold it up for a second or two before it fell heavily back onto the step.

“Ow,” he said weakly.

Draco was still furious. Now kneeling beside Harry, he seized the front of the injured boy’s robes, thrust his face very close to Harry’s and spat out, “you had no fucking right, Potter!”

Harry blinked hard, trying to focus on the Draco-blur of silver hair and snarling mouth that was swimming sickly before his eyes. He managed to drag in a shallow breath- a task which he suddenly found to be nearly impossible- and whispered, “couldn’t...let you do it, Malfoy. Hermione would...kill me.”

This had the effect of enraging Draco still further. “Are you trying to be funny, Potter? Is that your idea of a fucking JOKE?!? Hermione is dead!” And he gave Harry a vicious shake.

Shaking a person whose jaggedly broken ribs are currently causing massive internal damage is not a good thing. Harry had opened his mouth to reply, but now all that came out was a great spout of bright red blood. It drenched the front of his robes, and Draco’s bare chest, and caused Draco to let go of him, suddenly horror-stricken.

“Aw, fuck, Potter, FUCK!”

Harry’s clouded green eyes registered only a distant, mild surprise. “Malfoy,” he croaked, “I don’t feel so good.”

“Potter...shit.” Draco’s head was spinning. He pressed the heels of both hands to his temples, trying desperately to calm himself and think of what to do next. It was useless. Rational thought was beyond him; he was adrift in a sea of grief over Hermione and a new and piercing remorse for what he had done to Harry. He might have stayed that way for hours, eyes closed, rocking slightly, had Harry himself not snapped him out of it, reaching up- a monumental effort- and grabbing his wrist to get his attention.

“Malfoy,” Harry whispered, when Draco’s slate colored eyes snapped back open to meet his, “you have to get Ron. I was...gonna do it, but- I don’t think I can now. You gotta apparate back to the manor- but make sure you take the portkey with you...so you can get Ron home.” he paused as more blood bubbled up out of his mouth and flowed, a crimson river, down over his chin- “bring him home. Please. I promised him. Can’t leave him there...can’t...Draco. Swear.”

Draco felt his rage dissolving. All he felt now was empty and lost. Lost without Hermione. Lost without a reason to go on. At least retrieving Ron’s body was a task he could set his mind to. And Harry was right; they couldn’t just leave Ron there.

“It’s all right, Potter, I’ll go,” he said. “I’ll go now. Harry. I swear.”

Harry’s hand fell away from his wrist, and the green eyes fluttered closed.

“Christ, Potter, I’m sorry mate,” Draco muttered, fully aware that Harry, now deeply unconscious, could no longer hear him. He would not have apologized otherwise.

*****

After retrieving his wand from where it lay on the ground near Harry’s prone form, Draco trudged slowly back up the steps, three simple thoughts cycling over and over in his mind. Get Snape to help Harry. Find the portkey. Go get Ron. Get Snape to help Harry. Find the portkey. Go get Ron.

After completing these tasks, he could find a secluded place- go deep into the forbidden forest, perhaps- and finish what he had started before Potter had interfered. As he climbed the steps, his shoulders were slumped, his head bowed forward, his feet dragging. He looked weary, and defeated- something he had NEVER looked before- and twenty years older than he was. He looked much the same way as he felt; like an empty shell of a human being; like a walking corpse.

Reaching the landing, he raised dull eyes to search first for Snape and then for the portkey which would carry him back to the manor. He found Snape first, but what he saw then wiped all thoughts of the portkey from his mind; caused his eyes to widen and his jaw to drop, and all the air to leave his lungs in a sudden forced rush, as though he had just been hit in the stomach by an invisible bludger. Because Snape was kneeling next to Hermione- and Hermione was- SITTING UP.

Draco stood stock still, staring, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Was Snape somehow holding her in that position? No. The Potions Master was rubbing her back gently in calming circles, but appeared to lending her no support whatsoever. She was sitting up on her own- legs drawn up to her chest, her arms clasped around them, head resting on her knees, her face obscured by her tumultuous hair. And her whole body looked to be shaking violently, as though- as though she was crying.

But that was impossible. Utterly impossible.

He dragged in a deep, hitching breath.

Sensing his presence, she raised her head. Her eyes, huge and dark in her pale face, still streaming silent tears, latched onto his.

“Oh my God,” he said, his voice halfway between a groan and a whisper.

He took a single, faltering step toward her, and his legs went out from under him. He fell heavily to his knees on the cold, hard stone of the landing, barely registering the pain this caused. His eyes were still locked on Hermione’s.

Impossible.

He had watched her die.

He had died with her.

“Oh my God,” he said again.

And she started toward him.

He felt himself listing to the side and flung out an arm to steady himself as he watched her crawling- impossibly- towards him. Other then that, he found himself unable to move, either toward her or away, and he wasn’t sure at the moment which direction he would move in if he had that choice. He wasn’t sure if what he should be feeling right now was wonder- or horror. Because she was dead. She was dead. She had to be dead.

In the end, it didn’t truly matter which of those emotions he ought to have felt, because he felt neither; his mind was still too busy trying- and failing- to grasp the reality of what he was seeing. And then she had reached him, stopped only inches away from him.

“Draco,” she whispered, and raised a hand toward his face, the engagement ring glittering on her finger- and his decision was made then, unconsciously; he flinched back and away.

“No,” he said in a choked voice, as hurt blossomed in her eyes- those gorgeous warm honey-brown eyes, those eyes he had watched the light fade out of, those eyes he had closed with shaking fingers; “no. You’re not real. You’re just a trick- a cruel trick.” His voice broke as he cried out, “stop torturing me!”

She dropped her hand back to her side, and dropped her eyes from his. “Draco,” she said again, head bowed forward, hair falling, disheveled, across her face, and his name came out as a sob. Her voice sounded as lost as he felt. He realized that, close as she was, he could feel the heat radiating off her body; could smell her, even- blood and sweat and salty tears, but under it all there was still her familiar, sweet smell; the Hermione-smell he had thought was forever lost; she smelled of strawberry shampoo and old dusty books and chocolate and ink and peppermint humbugs.

But how could this be? HOW could this BE?

“I came back for you,” she whispered, “because you were screaming.”

Distantly he realized that in fact, this was absolutely true; he had indeed been screaming. And he also realized that there was no possible way she should know that. Then again, there was no possible way she should be here telling him that she knew this impossible thing because she was dead, damnit, and the dead don’t come back no matter how one screams for them- do they? DO they?

She was speaking again.

“I couldn’t leave you like that,” she whispered, still looking down, her face still hidden behind her thick curtain of hair; “not screaming. Not like that. I love you too much- I- I-” her voice dissolved into sobs. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she cried as if her heart would break.

And Draco reached out.

It was when he heard her say she loved him that his conscious decision was made. To hear that voice he had thought never to hear again, speaking those three most precious words- I’ll take her, he thought; I don’t care anymore what she is. If she’s an illusion I hope she never fades. If she’s a dream, I don’t want to wake up. If she’s a demon sent from Hell to torment me, she’s still better than the alternative; better than the wasteland my life would be without her in it. And if she’s real- oh God, if she’s REAL-

He reached out a trembling hand, cupped her chin and tilted her face up toward his. “Hermione,” he breathed, as their eyes met once again, and a jolt like electricity passed through his body at the feel of her skin, warm under his fingers and the sight of her eyes; the light, the life, the love in her eyes. His other hand came up then too, seemingly of its own accord, and suddenly he was touching her everywhere; running his hands over her face, through her hair, down her arms encased in the baggy, overlong sleeves of his shirt, grasping both her hands. “You’re real,” he whispered in an awed voice, unaware that tears were now flowing freely down his face; “you’re bloody real!” And he pulled her suddenly, almost violently to him, his arms wrapping about her fiercely, clinging to her with the desperation of a drowning man seizing hold of his last chance at salvation.

“I love you, Hermione,” he gasped, “I love you I love you I love you and oh GOD, don’t ever leave me again!”

Then he buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her, and they cried together.

*****

Snape climbed slowly to his feet, eyes on the young couple locked in a desperate embrace. He was completely and utterly shell-shocked. Hermione Granger had been dead and Potter had brought her back. Impossible as it seemed, he had watched it happen- and anyway, the proof was right before his eyes; the girl, very much alive, clasped in her lover’s arms, neither one of them looking as if they ever planned to let go.

Potter had done this, but how- how? He had to know. And speaking of Potter- Snape glanced around- where was he? He wasn’t anywhere in sight, and yet he couldn’t have gone far, not in his condition. Snape ran a hand quickly through his black hair; an anxious gesture. Something was wrong here- very wrong. Where could Harry have gone? WHY would Harry have gone anywhere? All he had asked him to do was- shit. Oh shit. All he had asked him to do was look after Draco. Who had been, at the time, completely deranged. And who had just come climbing up the steps (which Snape couldn’t recall him ever descending, come to think of it)- COVERED IN BLOOD.

Oh, no.

Snape walked slowly, fear like a ball of molten lead in the pit of his stomach, to the edge of the landing, and looked down.

“Oh dear God, no! Harry, NO!”

He failed to realize, in his distress, that he had just used Harry’s given name for the first time in his life.

He virtually hurled himself down the steps. Falling to his knees beside Harry, he checked for pulse and breathing, which thankfully were both present, though weak and irregular. Harry’s chin and throat were scarlet with blood, the front of his robes stained and tacky with it, and a small puddle of blood was collecting beneath his head where he had smacked it hard on the bottom step.

Snape quickly concluded that the blood, except for what was pooling beneath Harry’s head, appeared to have come from his mouth, and thus indicated severe internal injury. Muttering every swear word in his extensive vocabulary, he seized the front of Harry’s robes both-handed and ripped them down the middle, exposing the boy’s chest, which was one massive and ever-spreading purple-black bruise.

Briefly, he closed his eyes against the painful sight. Then, bending close to Harry, he spoke to him in a low, urgent voice. “I don’t know how to do what you did for Miss Granger, Harry, so don’t you die on me. That is NOT an option. Do you hear me? Do not die on me, Harry Potter!”

Standing, he pulled his wand from within his voluminous robes and magicked Harry onto a floating stretcher. As he raised the stretcher with a gesture from his wand, Harry groaned softly. Brow furrowed with effort, he lifted his right arm, which had been dangling limply over the edge of the stretcher, and laid it protectively across his mangled chest.

“Ow,” he whispered for the second time, wincing and clenching his jaw.

Ow? Snape thought distractedly; look at the boy, the state he’s in, and that’s all he has to say for himself, Ow? He’s rather similar to Draco in that way, isn’t he? Yes- more like Draco than I’ve ever given him credit for, I think. Coming from Snape, who loved Draco like a son, though he rarely showed it outwardly, this was high praise indeed.

“Harry?” Snape said, leaning over him, dark eyes intent on the boy’s pale, strained face. “Are you awake? If so, open your eyes.”

Brilliantly green eyes blinked slowly open, focusing with difficulty on Snape’s face which was (though he did not know it) haggard with worry. Harry wetted his lips with his tongue. “Professor?” he croaked.

Snape’s eyes closed again momentarily as he released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Hermione-?”

“She’s fine. I’m-” he paused. He had almost said, I’m more concerned about you at the moment, but why risk alarming the boy? “I’m sure she’ll be just fine,” he repeated lamely.

“My- my wand.”

Snape cast about on the ground and found the wand lying nearby. Picking it up, he slipped it gently into Harry’s right hand, which was loosely curled on his chest.

“Thanks,” Harry whispered. Then- “professor?”

“Yes?” Snape asked again.

“You call- called me Harry.” The green eyes held an expression of mild inquisitiveness- but they appeared to be losing their focus. A dark red stain was spreading out like a halo on the white fabric of the stretcher beneath Harry’s head.

“Listen, Potter,” Snape growled, his fear mounting again as he began to climb the steps, the stretcher floating beside him, “I’ll call you bloody Roxanne if you want me to, just stay awake now, okay? Potter- okay? POTTER!”

Harry’s eyes had drifted shut again and he was no longer responding, though the faintest ghost of a smile lingered about his lips, suggesting that he had heard, and appreciated, Snape’s last comment.

“Shit,” Snape breathed; “shit, Potter, hold on.”

Draco and Hermione really might have remained in one another’s arms, kneeling on the cold, hard stone for hours had not Snape crossed the landing just then, heading quickly for the school’s massive front door, bending low over the floating stretcher beside him and murmuring constantly to its occupant, who was wholly unresponsive.

Hermione raised her head from where it lay against Draco’s shoulder and immediately stiffened, her eyes going wide. She stared in horrified silence for a second, then cried, “HARRY!” and, disentangling herself from Draco, scrambled to her feet. Draco leapt up after her, steadying her as she swayed dizzily, but then she shook him off and half-ran, half-stumbled over to the stretcher.

“Oh no, Harry,” she breathed, “Harry, no. No.” She caught his hand between both of hers. “What happened? Professor, what HAPPENED?”

Snape, however, was in no mood to waste time on explanations.

“Potter needs to get to the hospital wing, Miss Granger,” he said curtly, “and so do you, for that matter. Please stand aside; time is of the essence to Harry’s survival. I trust that you will follow me up to hospital, with Draco’s assistance if necessary.”

Hermione, in shock, her eyes huge and locked on Harry’s face, still did not move.

“Stand aside, girl, if you value your friend’s life!” Snape cried, more harshly than he had intended- but Potter was DYING here; he could sense this was true. With a wave of his hand, he caused the great double doors to the school to crash inward and, as Hermione stepped shakily backward, out of his way, swept hurriedly through them, Harry floating, near lifeless, beside him.

*****

She had lost Ron. The thought that she might now lose Harry as well was too much. Her legs gave out and she sat down hard on the landing.

“Hermione!”

Draco was there in an instant, still on his knees, wrapping strong arms around her from behind.

“You heard professor Snape. Let’s get you up to the infirmary. You’re-” he faltered, swallowed hard- “you’re not well. Can you stand?” She didn’t reply. Instead, she let her head fall back against his shoulder with a deep, shuddery sigh. Her eyes were still open, but glazed over with shock.

“Draco,” she said, sounding dazed and mildly surprised, “I hurt. Everywhere. And I can’t lose Harry. Ron’s dead because of me and if Harry- if-” her eyes fell shut, and she gave a tiny moan. “Oww, I hurt so bad.”

Each word was like a stab to Draco’s heart. She wasn’t even making sense, but one thing was perfectly clear; she was in horrific pain, both physical and emotional. He squeezed his eyes tight shut against the threatening tears; he had to be strong for Hermione, and for the work that was still ahead of him; he hadn’t forgotten about his mission to retrieve Ron. Breaking down now would not help anyone. “Come on, love,” he murmured gently; “we’ve gotta get you upstairs.”

He stood and pulled her up with him, his arms still locked around her from behind. Once they were both on their feet, he turned her gently to face him. “Hey bookworm,” he said softly, “can you walk? Or should I carry you?”

She blinked and her eyes cleared a bit; she seemed to come back to herself somewhat. “I- I think I can walk,” she said hesitantly, “but Draco? Don’t let go.”

“Never.” His voice was emphatic. “I’m never going to let you go again.”

*****

She only made it halfway up the marble stairs before losing consciousness again; suddenly, silently beginning to crumple, her eyes rolling back as she slumped bonelessly against Draco, who fortunately had, true to his promise, kept one arm firmly about her and so was able to prevent her from falling completely by first tightening his grasp, pulling her hard against his body, and then scooping her easily into his arms right from her half- standing position.

“Hold on, love,” he whispered, and ran up the stairs toward the infirmary.

He reached the long ward and deposited Hermione on a bed, unnoticed in all the fuss that was surrounding Harry at the moment. Madam Pomfrey was rushing about in a state as close to panic as the brisk little mediwitch ever got; Snape, glowering fiercely, was, astonishingly enough, refusing to leave Harry’s side, and McGonagall and Dumbledore had just arrived on the scene, McGonagall firing off questions rapidly at Snape, who was snarling at her, as Dumbledore bent close over Harry, studying him with a grim expression on his face. So far none of the adults seemed to have registered Draco’s presence in the ward at all, which was how he wanted to keep it; the odds were very good that if they discovered him there, they would prevent him from going back for Ron. Or they would try, at any rate. Nothing was going to stop him from seeing this last mission through, both because he had promised Harry and because he knew how much it would mean to Hermione, even though she currently was in no state to tell him so. He knew. She already blamed herself for Ron’s death- she had said as much out on the landing- so imagine the agonies she would suffer if his body were not recovered. She didn’t need that pain; she had enough to be going along with, thank you.

When he pulled away from her, removing the warmth of his body, she shivered, and he noticed that her forehead was now beaded with perspiration. Oh God, he thought despairingly, it’s the fever- that elf said she was sick and now her fever’s back- or more likely, it never rightly left. God, I don’t want to leave her like this.

But he had to.

He shook out the blanket that lay folded at the foot of the bed and covered her shivering body with it, then bent and kissed her forehead.

“Be okay, bookworm,” he murmured; “for me. I can’t live without you, so just rest and- and be okay. Please.”

And straightening up, he turned to go.

“Draco.”

He whipped back around at the sound of his whispered name. Hermione was looking up at him, her pale face creased in a frown. She attempted, weakly, to push herself into a sitting position, but winced and fell back against the pillow. Draco could see in her fever-bright eyes that she was in a world of hurt.

That knowledge hurt him too, right down to the core.

But he hid this from her, being, as he was, adept at hiding any and all emotion, should he choose to do so. Smiling wanly, he sank back down onto the edge of the bed and clasped her nearer hand in his.

“Hey love,” he said quietly. “There’s something important that I have to do right now- but I’ll be back as soon as I can. You can count on that.”

He saw fear kindle in the wide, dark eyes he loved so very much. God, he hated seeing her look like this.

“Don’t go,” she said.

He leaned closer, until their noses nearly touched. “I want nothing more than to stay with you,” he replied, “but even so, I have to go. Hermione- I have to get Ron. He was left back at the manor. We should never have left him in the first place- it was just bloody wrong. But you were...we had to get you back here fast, we were desperate, it was all that mattered at the time. Now though- I’ve gotta go back for him. It’s the only right thing to do. There’s no choice. Please say you understand.”

“Ron,” she whispered, stricken; “oh, God.” Twin tears spilled from her eyes; Draco wiped them away before they could streak down the sides of her face and get lost in her tangled hair.

“You understand?”

“Yes.” Her voice was barely audible. “But Draco, I’m scared. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“I’ll be careful and quick. I’ll come right back to you, love. I promise. All the demons in hell couldn’t keep me away. I’m not gonna lose you again.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“But you realize that Ron must be recovered?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes were slipping slowly shut. He realized that she was fighting hard to stay awake- to stay with him. It was time to go- to let her rest and to get his mission over and done with so he could return to her and never leave her again. He bent and kissed her lightly on the lips by way of farewell.

Instantly her eyes flew wide, sudden terror standing out in their dark depths. She sucked in a sharp breath and flattened herself back against the pillow as if trying to escape him.

“Hey- bookworm, what’s wrong?” he asked- surprised, puzzled and hurt. She had reacted in much the same way when he had first Ennervated her, back at the manor. What the hell was going on? She had seemed to accept his explanation about the breakup- hell, she had accepted his proposal of marriage- so what was causing her flinch away from him like this? Why was it that, whenever he caught her off guard, she seemed to be, well, afraid of him?

He would have dearly liked to know, but Hermione wasn’t talking. A veritable flood of tears seemed to have been unleashed from her eyes and, without another word, she turned her back on him, curling herself into a tight little ball on her side, and sobbed brokenheartedly.

Draco stood up. “I love you, Hermione,” he said. “You have no idea how much. I’ll be back just as soon as I can, and then you are going to tell me what’s going on. I’m not going to stand by and watch you let whatever it is tear you up inside.”

With that he turned, grabbed a folded blanket off the foot of the bed next to Hermione’s, and headed, somewhat stealthily, for the door. Reaching it, miraculously unhindered by any of the adults in the room, who were still completely engrossed in trying to save Harry’s life, he ducked through it- then stopped. Just as no one had realized that he had been in the ward, no one was aware now that Hermione was there- and though her condition did not rival Harry’s in seriousness, still she did need attention; she did need help.

Pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the ceiling over Hermione’s bed and muttered a short spell. A bright green distress flare shot from the end of the wand to hang in the air over where Hermione lay crying. A shout from McGonagall told him that he had been successful in alerting the room’s other occupants to Hermione’s presence. That was all he needed to know. He whirled about and took off down the corridor at a dead run.

He fled through hallways, down the marble stairs, and out the school’s front doors, calling upon all his reserves of speed. He had no doubt that once the teachers in the infirmary put two and two together, they would realize he was making a break for it, and he would be followed. On the front landing, he cast about desperately for the egg cup; he had dropped it upon arriving from Malfoy Manor with Harry and Hermione, and it had no doubt rolled away somewhere. Please God, let me find it quickly, he prayed frantically. He remembered that he had landed at the edge of the steps, and Hermione halfway down them. Was it possible that the egg cup had rolled down the steps and into the grass? He virtually flung himself down them, moving so fast that he skidded in something slick on the bottom step- holy shit, he realized, horrified; Potter’s blood- and landed on his hands and knees, already searching, searching for that gleam of white ceramic- THERE!

It lay in the thick green grass that bordered the gravel path upon which he was now kneeling; the path that led from the foot of the steps down into to the grounds. He snatched it up and thrust it into his pocket, then shot back to his feet, ignoring the pain in his skinned knees. It was a very small pain compared to some he had experienced in the past. He half turned, making ready to run again, and then-

The school’s front doors crashed open and Snape stood there, on the landing, breathing hard, his dark eyes fixed on Draco.

Draco turned back to face him, adrenaline surging, breath coming in shallow, rapid pants, disheveled silver hair hanging in his eyes, poised for flight.

He took a step backward, then another. “There’s something I have to do, professor,” he said flatly, “and I’m not going to let you stop me.”

Then, before Snape could even reply, he turned and ran- more then ran, he virtually flew- down the path toward the edge of the Hogwarts grounds, where he could apparate to the manor. He heard Snape shout his name and was vaguely aware that the older man was racing after him- but Snape lacked Draco’s speed-born-of-desperation, and his voluminous professor’s robes hampered and slowed him. Draco passed under the grand stone archway that designated the beginning- and end- of the school’s grounds-

and vanished mid-stride.

Snape’s frantic, last-ditch effort to halt him, a hastily fired Impedimenta spell, streaked through the air where Draco’s solid body had been a fraction of a second before. Having hit nothing tangible, it quickly dissipated.

*****

Draco arrived some feet from the iron gateway of manor’s grounds, his body still in motion since he had apparated while running. He stumbled forward and fell, once again, to his knees. He stayed kneeling on the ground for a long moment, bracing himself with his hands, his breath coming in ragged gasps, heart pounding against his rib cage, waiting for the massive adrenaline rush to pass.

Finally, he got slowly to his feet, still panting and feeling slightly shaky all over. He looked through the gate at the imposing manor beyond- his one-time home- took a deep breath, and walked through it. Once on the other side of the gate, he leaned back against it and murmured a complicated spell his father had taught him; a spell that would scramble the manor’s apparition coordinates for several hours, in order to throw off pursuit. Only he, his father, and his mother knew how to cast- and remove- the spell. Snape would have to realize where he had gone; now he didn’t have to worry about being followed. This done, he pulled out his wand, laid it flat on the palm of his hand, and closed his eyes. Pale brow furrowed in concentration, he worked at pulling up the most vivid images he could- of Ron.

Images that were highly charged with emotion, so they shone clear and bright in his mind. Images of the red-haired boy who had been his bitter enemy for so many years, and had just lately, briefly, been his friend- friend yes, but rival still.

There was Ron in second year, right after Draco had first called Hermione (the girl he would now kill or die for without hesitation) a mudblood- trying, in his impulsive and childish rage, to curse Draco with a broken wand, which had backfired. There was Ron hunkering down next to a blood- soaked, barely conscious Draco as Harry and Hermione had taken on Voldemort, asking, “how you holding up, Malfoy?” There he was aiming his killing curse squarely at Voldemort’s groin- the moment in which Draco had first begun to actually respect him. There was Ron shaking hands with him at the top of the marble staircase right before Draco’s resorting, both of them clad in white pajamas; Ron had just told him that if he ever hurt Hermione, he would rip off his balls and feed them to him. Draco had believed him. Ron earlier this year, as the Gryffindor Quiditch Keeper, triumphant as he thwarted yet another Slytherin goal- Draco had seen this upside-down, as he tumbled toward the ground thanks to a particularly vicious Slytherin bludger, just before everything went black. The rage in Ron’s dark blue eyes when Draco had dared to speak harshly to Hermione as she lay cradled in the redhead’s arms after fainting; his voice low and dangerous as he had said, “she doesn’t need this right now, Malfoy; back the fuck off.” Ron laughing after he had once again trounced Harry in one of their chess marathons, then turning to Draco and saying, “let’s see what you’ve got, Malfoy.” And finally Ron as he had been just earlier that day; full of life and purpose when he had questioned the house elf and realized what Draco himself, in his distraught state, had not; that they had the means of going to Hermione’s rescue right there before them, thanks to the little creature. If Ron had known in that instant- known absolutely and without the shadow of a doubt- that going after her would result in his own death while preventing hers, he still would have done so. Of this Draco was sure.

Once he had Ron fixed firmly in his mind thanks to these myriad powerful memories, almost as vivid, almost as solid, as though he had been standing right there in front of him, he opened his eyes and whispered to his wand, “point me.”

The wand did not hesitate to give him a clear direction. Now all he had to do was follow it to Ron.

*****

Draco dropped into a crouch beside Ron’s still, lifeless form. He lay just as he had fallen, his eyes closed by a sobbing Harry before he had rushed to Draco’s aid. The closed eyes did not mask the mild expression of surprise on Ron’s face; not fear or horror, no; just surprise- a look that said, well bugger me, I never expected it to turn out like this.

“Aw, Weasley,” Draco said, laying a hand, in an astonishingly tender gesture, on Ron’s cool forehead, “you deserved better than this, mate. Christ, but you deserved better.”

Gently, he moved Ron’s outflung arms to lay them across his chest, then prepared to levitate Ron out of the mansion and back to a point beyond the gate where he could portkey to Hogwarts with him. Suddenly, however, he stopped, head cocked to the side, thinking hard. He had remembered something; Harry’s invisibility cloak. He had dropped it on the floor of his bedroom and then forgotten all about it at the sight of Hermione half- dead, suspended from the canopy of his bed. That had truly been a sight to drive all other thoughts from his mind; a sight that he suspected would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. As for the cloak, presumably it still lay right where he had let it fall.

He knew that the cloak was the only thing Harry owned that had once belonged to one of his parents, and how much that meant to his friend.

It was just upstairs.

He remembered the promise he had made to Hermione; that he would return as quickly as he could. And so he would- but not before completing this one final task. He had left Harry’s most prized possession behind; he had to get it back. It was not negotiable. Besides, it should take all of ten minutes more.

And anyway, it would make it easier to get Ron back to the school, because Draco knew he could remotely activate the portkey from right there within the manor, as long as it was being used to transport only inanimate objects. And Ron was now an inanimate object. This lapse in the manor’s portkey security wards had been deliberately engineered by his father, specifically for cases when a dark arts object, or even a body, had demanded quick removal from the grounds. It was fitting, Draco thought, that this time it should be used for the purpose of recovering a body, rather than disposing of it.

After he had the cloak, he himself could apparate back.

So he slipped the egg-cup into one of Ron’s cold hands, carefully closing the fingers about it. Standing, he shook out the blanket he had brought from the infirmary for just this purpose and covered Ron with it from head to toe. Aiming his wand at where he guessed the porktey was beneath the blanket, he muttered the spell that would remotely activate it.

Sure enough, Ron’s blanket-shrouded form vanished in a brief flash of blue light. Draco only hoped that Snape would still be outside the school and would therefore discover Ron quickly once he appeared on the landing. It would be horrible if some hapless first-year were to stumble upon him- but not as horrible as leaving him here would have been.

As for Draco, he would recover the cloak, then make his way back out of the manor, past the iron gate that signified the boundary of Malfoy land, and apparate back to Hogwarts. The short walk he would then have to make from the edge of the school grounds up to the castle itself would be a small price to pay for the peace of mind that would come from the knowledge that he had sent Ron’s body safely on ahead and would be bearing, when he returned, Potter’s precious cloak. Even if Potter were dead by the time he arrived back, which he realized with a cold, clenched feeling in his gut was a distinct possibility, the right thing to do was still the right thing to do- and he would rest easier knowing he had done it.