A/N: So here it is, finally. This chapter has been surprisingly hard to write, and not only because real life’s been insanely busy. But it’s finally here and before you all race off to read, here are three little things for your notice:

I’ll start writing the epilogue as soon as I can, but since I plan it as a longish story, the update might take long. It will arrive, however.

There’s no sequel in sight yet, mainly because I simply don’t have time. But because I can’t simply leave this story behind, here’s the deal: Many of you have mentioned scenes they would have loved to read. Tell me about them, or about any other scene you missed during or after the story, and I’ll try to write them as short stories (I guess you could call this a sort-of-challenge).

Potterficweekly is discussing the ‘Lioness’ in their podcast at the moment. So if you’re interested in other opinions about this fic, google their site and download the podcast!

And now here’s the last chapter:

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Now and in Time to Be

0o0

Too long a sacrifice

Can make a stone of the heart.

O when may it suffice?

That is Heaven's part, our part

To murmur name upon name,

As a mother names her child

When sleep at last has come

On limbs that had run wild.

What is it but nightfall?

No, no, not night but death;

Was it needless death after all?

For England may keep faith

For all that is done and said.

We know their dream; enough

To know they dreamed and are dead;

And what if excess of love

Bewildered them till they died?

I write it out in a verse -

MacDonagh and MacBride

And Connolly and Pearse

Now and in time to be,

Wherever green is worn,

Are changed, changed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

From W.B. Yeats: Easter, 1916

She felt his touch in her mind, icy cold and yet oddly hesitant. This was a situation he couldn’t understand – and Voldemort feared what he didn’t know.

In the safety of her siege tower, the master spy bared her teeth in a snarl of a laughter. She would have to draw him in deeper, present him with a challenge he simply couldn’t refuse.

As if she only now noticed their mental contact, she made her body shudder and her head snap back. Inwardly, she hastily erected a defence barrier, right atop the set of false images that truly protected her mind, so flimsy and full of gaping holes that it was obviously the work of a beginner. But then Voldemort had never known that she was an Occlumens.

The barrier, clumsy and glaringly obvious, caught his attention just as she had expected, and the sheer impertinence of her effort turned his wariness into rage.

Gone was all caution, all suspicion. He dove into her, claws of steel ripping apart her fake defence, and she cried out, fell to her knees and let her head hang limply from the attack.

She felt blood coating her nose and lip, felt the Death Eaters’ stare on her and Harry’s and Ron’s presence by her side, and then she let go of her outer body, knowing that she would need every ounce of strength and wit to win this battle.

The echo of her own pained gasp still in her ears, she raced down, down, past Voldemort’s icy presence, past her barriers and traps, into the very foundations of her mind, where her magic lay hidden like a dormant beast. She tickled it awake, and as it roared in anger at the intrusion, she smiled. Time to show Lord Voldemort what he was really up against.

As she melted into her core, became one with the shields that protected her mind and her secrets, she was for the first time grateful for what had happened to her. She could not have stood against him with her old shields. No normal Occlumens could stand against the Dark Lord and win.

But she was different now. Her mind had shattered and had been rebuilt by a master. Flawless. Complete. Without weakness or inconsistency. No one had ever possessed such shields. She would show him what she could do.

With pinched fingers, she selected images from her mind, secret talks with Severus, intimate whispers with Lucius, things not even the Dark Lord himself had known about his servants. She made them thin and transparent, like ghosts on the wind, and sent them out to search for him, to find him, dance around him and confuse his senses.

She was one with her shields now, and so she could track his mind-self across the flat expanse of her first layer, could see him sift through the harmless images of a schoolgirl, searching for an explanation of her presence in vain.

Then, her messengers found him, reached out to him, and he tried to catch them, only to have them fall away, sink down into the endless well of her mind. She opened all defences for him, let him follow the images down, down, past her mind garden, past her hidden secrets and thoughts, well protected by invisible barriers.

He didn’t even notice them. All his concentration was fixed on the images that could explain everything to him. He was ruthless, single-minded in his pursuit of knowledge and power, and it was this weakness that she exploited now.

He thought her defeated, thought the thin barrier she had put up everything she would throw against him.

In her tower, she smiled. In her tower, she readied her real weapons.

With a sweeping gesture, she encompassed all her mind, all those moments of pain and fear and panic, the humiliation she had suffered at his feet, the despair she had experienced in his presence.

She gathered them.

Once, only a fraction of her past had been enough to teach Ron how to hate. Now, she would use everything against Voldemort.

Down he raced, ripping through thoughts and memories and falling deeper into the darkness of her mind, and all the time she hammered her memories, forged them into spikes, sharp, cold, unforgiving and harder than anything man or wizard could make.

Carefully she layed her trap, lined it with blades and hooks and spikes, surrounded it with steel and clad it in blackness to conceal her true purpose.

But she couldn’t trust in his blindness. Powerful as she was, he was the Dark Lord, and she would not leave the fate of this battle to his ignorance. She had to distract him.

Leaving a trickle of herself inside her protections to keep up appearances, she rose to the forefront of her mind in a single, fluid motion, rising while she felt his mind chasing after the treacherous images, deeper and deeper into the caves of her thoughts.

She raised her head, and while her eyes remained fixed on Voldemort’s burning gaze, she only needed her peripheral vision to keep track of the Death Eaters, to see them shocked and yet spellbound by her unexpected appearance, to see Lucius slowly backing away from them, his face twitching like a broken clock, and to see two other dark shapes advancing towards her and the Dark Lord.

She saw awareness in his eyes, too. He had noticed her rise to the surface, and without even thinking, part of him had followed her up. Without even thinking, his natural mistrust had caused him to return a fraction of his mind to his body, just enough to guard.

Just enough to weaken the presence in her mind.

And still, the larger part of him was inside her, was chasing down after those memories, trying to see who had betrayed him, trying to know why his well laid plans had been interrupted.

Claws of steel ripped into her mind, hands of fire brushed aside whatever lay in their way.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to keep this up, not for long, but then she wouldn’t need to. All she needed was a minute, just this one, precious moment…

Closer, closer, deeper, deeper… now!

Voldemort’s real body stiffened as she sprung the trap, and in his eyes she could see the sudden knowledge of what she was doing.

It was too late. The hardened spikes of her memories slammed into him, riddling his mind-self with painful wounds, grabbing him with hooks of pain and panic, while all around him, steel walls closed in seamlessly, leaving no nook or cranny to escape.

She growled as she tightened the defences, and as she set the cage moving, her body rose to his feet as if on auto-pilot, only half conscious of what she was saying or doing but determined to give the Death Eaters the show that would distract them for the few moments the others needed.

Inside his cage, Voldemort’s mind-self howled with anger. Outside, a red trickle appeared against the white of his skin. She had drawn first blood.

She dragged him down with her, down into the black waters of her despair, down where the monsters roamed, and no claws of his, no magic or power was strong enough to withstand the thousand hooks that had caught him.

He had hardened those spikes that now held him. He had forged them with his cruelty and his madness, and there was nothing in his mind that could stand against his own terror.

When the waters reached his face he jerked away, convulsed upwards in a last refusal to give in, and she slammed her determination down on him, a plate of steel and light and pushed, pushed… until the waves closed above his head.

Upwards she raced, reconnecting with her nose and ears and tongue, and she couldn’t help the smile dancing on her lips as her eyes found the body of Lord Voldemort, empty for now like an abandoned house.

“You’re so fucked,” She whispered, giving the codeword she had set, and all around her, the cliffs exploded into well-rehearsed action.

0o0

With another flick of his wand, Remus sent word down to the aurors, who would need several minutes to join the fight. He felt every muscle in his body vibrate with tension as he watched two of the Death Eaters not too far behind Voldemort spring forward and draw their wands. One of them began firing curses towards his fellow Death Eaters, while the other began to mutter an incantation.

Suddenly, a glowing barrier sprang up around the Gryffindors, Voldemort and a small portion of Death Eaters, surrounding them like a bell jar and leaving no exit. It looked magnificent, much more impressive than when Filius and Minerva had described the effect to them, and the crystals that anchored it held such strength that not even Voldemort could bring it down quickly or easily.

Well done, Remus thought, and as if on cue, two of the Death Eaters removed their masks and hoods, revealing the faces of Draco, who was still decimating their enemies with cold-blooded accuracy, and Severus, traversing the base of the magical bell jar with long strides, Death Eaters dropping left and right to his spells.

Remus’ eyes flickered once more towards Harry and Ron, who had by now given up any pretence of being surprised or frightened and instead joined the fight. They and Draco had positioned themselves around Hermione to shield her from any spell that might fly her way or break her concentration.

For Hermione, silent as she stood there, was fighting harder than any of them, making sure that Voldemort was incapacitated for the moment.

Another glance assured him that Severus had nearly reached the frozen form of his former Lord and he nodded, convinced that the young Order members would be safe.

Then, Remus jumped to his feet and cancelled the cloaking spell on their hiding place. Kingsley, Moody and Tonks at his side, he ran to meet his enemies, one last time.

0o0

Behind the golden glow of their barrier, Harry could see Order members and Death Eaters engage in battle. He saw Remus race past and caught a glimpse of Albus and Minerva, fighting back to back, but most of his attention was fixed on Voldemort and the Death Eaters they had shut in with themselves.

It had been the only way to do this, and though Harry had liked this part of the plan least of all, he now saw that he needn’t have worried. With Draco and Severus fighting alongside them, the dozen or so Death Eaters were an easy match.

But then they had been surprised, he thought as he got one with a Petrificus and bound him with another flick of his wand, and they had no idea what was happening to their Master.

Harry executed a perfect cutting curse and dropped to one knee to avoid the answering Avada Kedavra. Even to him, who knew exactly what was going on, Voldemort looked strangely frightening, just standing there like a frozen puppet.

But that would change, Harry thought with a dark smile and picked out another Death Eater. Voldemort wouldn’t remain standing much longer.

The Death Eaters inside their magical bell jar were down to four when Harry felt Hermione to his left shudder.

“Now!” She cried out hoarsely, and suddenly, Severus was by Voldemort’s side, killing his two guards with barely a thought.

Everything seemed to slow, every movement sharply pronounced against the background of battle, as Severus swung his wand in a wide arc, slicing through skin and bone, blood spurting from the sudden wound like a fountain.

Where the Dark Lord’s wand hand had been, only a stump stretched out threateningly towards Hermione. Severus had cut it off like a reed.

Bile rose in Harry’s throat as he watched the twitching hand, wand still clenched in useless fingers, and he suddenly remembered Pettigrew’s hand, so many years ago, sinking into the cauldron like a dead thing.

Voldemort screamed, rage and pain echoing in his voice, and Hermione screamed alongside him. Her body was trembling wildly now, blood trickling from her nostrils and reddening her lips.

“Hurry,” She whispered. “I can’t…”

“Severus!” Harry bellowed and the black-cloaked man whirled around, struck out and threw the hand.

Harry caught it easily, his stomach turning at the slimy texture of Voldemort’s skin, and reached their little altar with three hasty steps.

He dropped the hand into the cauldron and watched the liquid inside turn a deep dark red.

“Right,” He whispered to himself. “Let’s do this.”

0o0

Severus saw Hermione fall to her knees in pain, saw Harry drop the hand into the anchoring potion and begin the chanting, and turned back around just in time to see the light of awareness return to Voldemort’s eyes.

He raised the Dark Lord’s wand, 13½ inches, yew, phoenix feather core. A once beautiful wand, but now twisted and corrupted like his owner.

He saw Voldemort’s eyes widen, saw the stump of his arm twitch as if he tried to grasp it.

And Severus snapped it in two.

The sound was oddly loud, and for one moment, the chaos around them was gone, leaving only him, his former Lord, and the remnants of his broken power.

Then Voldemort howled in pain and anger, a sound more fit for a beast than a wizard, and for the last time, Severus felt the pains of what could have been echo inside him.

“Severus!” The Dark Lord roared. “I will kill you for this!”

“No, my Lord,” Severus answered calmly, feeling oddly sad. “I don’t think you will.”

He struck out and his fist hit Voldemort’s nose with a most satisfying crunch. Voldemort stumbled back, his one remaining hand raised up in disbelief.

He sent a gust of ice and wind towards Severus, but he blocked his spell easily. Voldemort was still disoriented from his mental fight, dazed with pain and disbelief, and weakened from the blood that was still pulsing from his wound.

He was no match for Severus.

“Look around yourself,” Severus said, almost tenderly, and like a child in a nightmare, the Dark Lord followed his command.

His eyes travelled along the bell jar, found his followers outside fighting against Order members and aurors, and only now realized that the tables had turned that he was alone and wandless, closed in with his worst enemies.

For the first time, Severus saw fear on the snakelike face.

“Welcome to the battle, my Lord,” He whispered. “It will be your last.”

0o0

“Five seconds,” Harry shouted, just as Ron bound and gagged his last Death Eater.

He whirled around, his eyes once more flickering towards their anchoring crystal to make sure it was safe. Their plan stood and fell with the magical barrier Minerva had called their safety-bell jar, and while Severus and Draco had placed the activating crystals among the Death Eaters not too long ago, only this one, hidden behind the altar, could be used to deactivate the barrier again. It was Ron’s job to keep it safe, to keep them isolated from the rest of the battle long enough to finish with Voldemort.

Ron suppressed another shudder at the thought that he was standing opposite Voldemort for real. He had heard Harry’s stories, of course, and seen Hermione’s memories, but this was something else entirely.

He could feel Voldemort’s power swirl around them, could feel his magic creep into their souls even now, even though the wizard was hurt and confused.

For a moment, Ron felt awe at the thought that his friends, Harry, Hermione, even Snape, had stood up to this wizard time and again, and he lost hope that they could ever defeat him. But so far, their plan had worked perfectly, and Ron still couldn’t quite believe that Voldemort had fallen for Hermione’s trap that easily.

They had outwitted the darkest wizard of all times, and he, Ron Weasley, had been a part of it. Ron remembered his mother’s brothers, his father’s mother, the scars on his sister’s soul. Three generations of Weasleys had fought against this evil, had fought and died, and he would finally help end it.

“Now, together,” Harry bellowed, sounding just like Moody for a moment, and Ron took a deep breath.

His wand seemed to draw the awful pattern into the air all by itself.

“Avada Kedavra,” He hissed, focusing all his anger, all his hate at their world’s suffering, and saw a thick beam of green light leave his wand and hit the Dark Lord’s chest, joined by Harry’s, Hermione’s, Draco’s and Snape’s spells.

Voldemort stumbled, a pained gasp on his lips. But he stayed upright.

“Again!” Harry shouted. “Concentrate! Avada Kedavra!”

And again the ugly green lights shot from their wands, but this time they seemed to melt together, growing darker and at the same time impossibly bright, and hit Voldemort with the sound of a thousand voices screaming in anger.

In his last moment, the Dark Lord raised his eyes to them, to the united front of his enemies. Ron Weasley, blood traitor. The son of his right hand and his former potions master, their black cloaks billowing in the wind. Hermione, the girl that had betrayed him to his doom. And Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the boy he had feared like none other.

All standing together, joined in their conviction, and perhaps Voldemort realized in this moment that he had never had a chance, that a power like this could never be defeated by terror, that it could never be brought down with fear.

Perhaps he realized that he had never fully understood what he had been fighting for.

Then he crumbled to the ground, the stump of his wand-hand cradled against his chest, a look of wonder on his face.

The Dark Lord was dead.

Ron felt like fainting.

0o0

Draco felt his heart beat wildly in his chest as he watched the Dark Lord fall to his knees, then tilt slowly backwards, downward, until he lay on the ground, silent and very still.

The moment they had hoped and worked for ever since Hermione had sat by his side at the Great Lake, so many months ago, was finally there.

Voldemort was dead, and for a moment, Draco felt the entirely irrational impulse to lower his wand in respect, to honour this moment that would change everything.

But although the light in his eyes had gone out they were not finished yet, and already precious time was running through their fingers, lost forever.

“Harry,” He shouted. “Start the ritual, quickly!

Harry looked up from the cauldron, and over the altar, their eyes met.

Draco could see Harry’s fear, his panic that something would go wrong at the last second. Draco didn’t envy him. Up to this moment, their plan had been a team effort, but now the responsibility rested on Harry’s shoulders alone. Only he could do this. And Harry was afraid he would fail.

But after an endless second, he nodded, his hand clenched around his wand, his lips white with tension.

“Risen from grave and from ashes, risen from blood and from bone,” He began to chant, his voice rising and rising until it was a shout over the battle noise. “Your body and soul disconnected, I call thee once more home.”

“It’s started,” Weasley yelled, and Draco whirled around, wand raised, to see a sort of white smoke forming over the corpse of the Dark Lord. It swirled up and down, like ground fog, and Draco had to suppress a shiver.

This was creepy. Dark artefacts, slightly mad wizards, unforgivable curses, well he had grown up with that, but even a wizard should stay dead. This amorphous smoke, slowly coalescing into the shape of a human, this soul mist was wrong on an existential level.

Draco felt its horror deep in his bones, and the thought that Harry had faced this when just eleven made his admiration for the Gryffindor rise another notch.

“Now,” Hermione shouted, her face, too, filled with horror. “He’s nearly ready to rise!”

And Harry, standing all alone at the altar, nodded, raised a silver knife and cut into his arm, very close to the point where Pettigrew’s blade had one pierced him. He let the blood drip into the cauldron.

“Blood of your enemy, blood of your blood, magic of faith and of love,” He shouted hoarsely, magic swirling up around him like a cloak. ”I anchor thee, I anchor thee, I anchor thee with magic and blood!”

The mist began to writhe, trying to move away from Harry and the cauldron, but unseen hands seemed to drag him closer. White darkened to the green of the killing curse, and the mist formed a face, the eyes black holes, the mouth gaping wide, in the silent parody of a scream.

Suddenly, the ground under Draco’s feet began to vibrate, and a high, piercing sound permeated the air, growing louder and louder until it filled his head, making it impossible to think. Draco saw Weasley to his left fall to his knees and protect his ears with both hands, saw the battle outside their bell jar cease, all eyes turning towards them.

He saw the green monster darken and grow, fill out until it loomed over them, now more a skull than a face. The very earth seemed to groan in pain. The air tasted of magic and blood.

Still Harry chanted, though his face was ghastly white, still he chanted, repeating the words of the ritual without fail, his wand steady in his hand.

And slowly, inch by inch, Voldemort’s spirit was drawn to the cauldron.

He raged against the pull, the ghastly mouth opened in a silent roar, the unnatural form shuddering and convulsing.

But he was powerless against Harry’s magic, powerless against the blood that had flowed in his own veins. Three years ago, on the last evening of the Triwizard Tournament, Voldemort had risen with the help of Harry’s blood. He had marked him as an equal, as an enemy worthy enough to partake in the ritual.

And equal they were now, Harry’s will matching his step for step, his determination to end Voldemort’s reign just as strong as Voldemort’s desperate fear of dying.

But Harry had his friends, standing at his side, giving him strength. He had the love of those around him, and of those that had died to protect him, and in the lines of his face, in the rigour of his back Draco saw the will to honour that love.

Harry would not fail.

And in the end, even the strength of a near-immortal being, of the most powerful and evil wizard their world had ever seen, could not match that will.

With a wail of utter sorrow, the soul mist lost its form. It was sucked into the cauldron, sucked into the hand that had once belonged to it, and with a last effort, Harry sealed them both back together, the body and the soul, the magic and the will.

Flames burst from the cauldron, white and hot, consuming it too fast to be natural, boiling the potion, melting the silver, eating up the hand until nothing remained, not even ashes.

The Dark Lord was destroyed. Never again would he walk this earth.

0o0

For one moment, Harry closed his eyes. He took a deep, steadying breath, his mind and heart so full that he didn’t know what to think.

He wanted to laugh and cry, to hug everyone around him and to sleep for a week.

But then he became aware of the battle that was once again raging outside their bell jar.

Some of the Order members had argued that the Death Eaters would surrender once their Master was dead, but it seemed that Severus and Hermione had been right again – if anything, the Death Eaters were throwing themselves more fiercely into the fight than before, knowing well that there was nothing to protect them this time.

Most were wanted men, and few had the resources left to buy themselves out, not with the eyes of the public on them. Since the wards were still up and holding, their only chance was to defeat them now and flee the country. From merely following their Lord’s will, this battle had now turned into a fight for survival, and Harry didn’t have to see the strain on some aurors’ faces to know that the Death Eaters had yet a chance to win.

Harry couldn’t afford to be relieved yet.

He met his friends’ eyes in turn, saw Ron’s worry, Draco’s absolute pride in him, Severus’ fierce concentration and the battle fever that was coursing through Hermione.

“Ready?” He asked quietly and received their nods. “Ready.”

His hand was steady as he aimed at the crystal and started bringing their protection down.

In a way, this felt like the beginning of a Quiddich match – everything just a bit louder, the colours sharper, the adrenaline filling his body with life.

He flicked his wand to finish the spell and darted left at the same moment, more feeling than seeing the barrier come down. Their little group was scattered in a heartbeat, using rocks and mounds for cover just as they had learned.

He saw Hermione dancing past him, fire roaring from her palms and engulfing her first victim, saw Death Eaters fall to Severus’ curses like puppets, and suddenly, he felt a fierce grin bloom on his face.

Yes. Just like Quidditch. Only that he had caught the Snitch already. The rest would be just cleanup.

0o0

Remus wasn’t sure how long the battle had raged when the aurors joined them.

One moment, the Order had been barely holding their own, the next moment men and women in battle robes were pouring out of the entrances to the caves, filling their ranks and turning the tide.

Remus attacked and defended, he ducked and charged, all the time aware of the small group inside the bell jar. He saw the pain on Hermione’s face, the fierce triumph on Severus’, the fear on Harry’s.

He saw the Dark Lord destroyed, and for one single, endless moment, he was young again, attending James’ and Lily’s wedding, his best friend Sirius at his side. The world opened up to him, all those possibilities and chances he had long forgotten, even his curse easy to bear with the prospect of a life with his friends before him.

Perhaps it could be again.

“It is finished,” He whispered, saw Sirius’ contagious laugh, James’ constantly ruffled hair, Lily’s warm smile. “You can rest now.”

But there was one more thing to do tonight, he thought as he dropped and bound another Death Eater, as the barrier came down with a hiss.

One more thing before he could live on.

“I’ll protect your son tonight,” He swore softly to the faces in his mind. “I won’t disappoint you.”

0o0

In the end, war was nothing but a complicated potion. An intricate set of actions and counter-actions, and every wrong step would be poisonous.

But if you possessed the talent, if you had the skill – well, all it took was concentration and precision. Advance, slash and duck – Severus didn’t move a muscle as blood splattered across his face.

One step to the side to avoid that Avada, another to the front to bring his next enemy into reach.

One sideways flick and a Death Eater attacking Tonks was immobilised. She shouted her thanks, too busy to turn around. He dropped to one knee and shot a low curse under the body shield of another black cloaked man.

Precision. Concentration. War had no time for emotions, no space for theatricals.

And never hesitation. Chop a dragon liver, kill a man. Stir the potion, protect the back of a friend. Slash and curse and hex and slice. Never hesitate, or you’ll be dead before you hit the ground.

That one aims for Harry – catch him before he notices you. That one is trying to get into Minerva’s back. Cut him off.

His wand was in his right hand, his knife in his left, and he used them both, not caring what got his enemies, as long as they didn’t rise again.

His eyes found Hermione, a snarl on her lips, gutting one Death Eater and slicing his partner open with a hex at the same time.

That had never been his way – battle lust and rage, although he was an angry man most of his life. But on the battlefield he was as cold as a surgeon.

No time for satisfaction as he met Yaxley’s eyes, just long enough to make him hesitate. Never hesitate.

Never.

He had forgotten Yaxley before his head met the ground.

Duck. Attack. Burn. Rip.

Hermione tore through the ranks of her enemies like a force of nature. Moody dropped into their middle and held them off by sheer force of will. Albus let fire and waves crash them to the ground.

But he preferred to pick them off one by one.

Methodically. Precise. Just preparing a potion, mixing it, stirring, bringing it to the boiling point. Keeping absolute control.

But no one had accused him of mercy yet.

0o0

I can do this, Draco thought, jaws clenched so tightly it would hurt like hell in the morning. I was trained for this. I was born for this!

Screams and crashes, blood all around him, flashes of spells illuminating the night. The Death Eaters were losing ground, but still they were fighting, and not all bodies littering the earth wore the black robes of their enemies.

Still they were fighting, and just one curse was enough to kill his friends, just one wound could slow you down and make you an easy target.

He stuck as close to Harry as he could, knowing that Hermione was relying on him todo this. She was somewhere in the thick of it, too much an object of hate to guard Harry efficiently, but in his black robes and silver hair he was inconspicuous. Many Death eaters did not even register him as an enemy until it was too late. And he was making good use of that.

Then, suddenly, three of them descended on him, fury in their eyes, their wands raining curses down on him.

Get cover, Draco commanded himself, but there was no cover. Only curses.

One caught him in the shoulder, another one grazed his thigh and he went down on his knees, his shields barely holding now.

I am sorry, He thought, I am so sorry, Harry. I promised you we would all get through this. But it seems that I lied.

He saw the cold green light of the Killing Curse form of the tip of a wand, knew that it could not miss him. But he refused to look away.

If this was his end, he would meet it with open eyes.

He would die as a Gryffindor.

The curse left the wand and flashed towards him, reached the climax of its curve and descended on him…

…only to impact on a plank of wood that was conjured between him and the curse at the last moment.

Draco looked up into the mirror-faces of Fred and George Weasley, who were even now petrifying and binding his attackers.

“Careful there, young Draco,” One of them said. “We can’t let…”

“The only blond honorary Weasley…”

“Come to harm, now can…”

“We?”

“Thanks,” Draco whispered hoarsely, but they were off already, racing across the battlefield, one shielding the other, explosions illuminating the night where they passed.

“Thank you,” He whispered again and turned around to step back into the fight.

Only to meet the cold eyes of Lucius Malfoy.

“Father,” He gasped, feeling his presence like a punch in the guts.

“Draco.” It was a miracle to Draco how his father, in the middle of all this chaos, with his Master fallen and his future smashed to pieces, could still sound so controlled, so unbelievably arrogant.

“I don’t believe I invited you here,” Lucius drawled, blocking his way as if it was the most natural thing to meet like this on the battlefield, his robes in tatters and his hair wild, but still holding himself like a king.

“You didn’t,” Draco answered, not caring that he was drenched in blood and sweat, not caring that his face showed more emotion than his father had ever tolerated. “But I came anyway.”

And he whipped his wand up, to aim straight between his father’s eyes.

“I see,” Lucius answered, and there were a myriad of hidden things in his words. “I see.”

For a moment, his face lost the façade of cultured disinterest, betraying how weary his father was, how old. For a moment, Draco remembered his childhood and how his father had been his hero, not capable of doing wrong.

For a moment, he wanted to lower his wand. But then he remembered Hermione, writhing under the Cruciatus and how Lucius had laughed. How Draco had joined in.

“So, my son. Are you going to kill me now, or are you too weak to even finish your betrayal?”

“I am not weak,” Draco hissed, fury clouding his mind, a deadly curse ready on his lips. “And I have waited for this for a long time.”

Still, Lucius seemed more amused than worried.

“Then do it,” He whispered. “Murder your own father, Draco. Do it.”

He noticed Harry’s presence at his side immediately, noticed it without having to look. His friend smelled of blood and flames, but he was steady to his left, and his voice somehow pierced the red haze of anger.

“Don’t,” He said quietly, and Draco could breathe again.

0o0

Harry saw the Death Eaters close in on Draco and wanted to scream with impotent rage. He was too far away to reach his friend, too far away to do anything, and he couldn’t watch this!

But then the twins were there, saving Draco with their trademarked ease and racing off before he could recover. Wherever they passed, Death Eaters changed colour, body parts morphed or explosions lightened the area. Severus had been very right to commend them as members, Harry thought dazedly.

He assured himself that Draco was out of danger, then turned in search for other dangerous spots. But the battle was winding down even as he looked, and some aurors had already started collecting their prisoners.

Only in the vicinity of Hermione and Severus the fight was still on, and it was a fierce, ugly fight, powered no doubt by the hate most Death Eaters must feel for the traitors from their midst.

They had to know by now that defeat would be inevitable, but it seemed that they were determined to take the one responsible for their downfall with them.

Harry would have worried if not for the inhuman efficiency with which both Severus and Hermione were decimating their enemies. Both didn’t seem to mind whether they wounded or killed, but where Severus was all cold precision, Hermione was the madness of battle itself.

Severus was obviously trying to stick close to Hermione, more concentrated on that objective than on incapacitating his former colleagues, but Hermione was laughing and killing with equal relish, a madwoman in a playground of death.

For a moment, she reminded Harry of Bellatrix as she stood there, screaming her challenge into the wind, killing and maiming and not caring, and Harry shuddered.

But this wasn’t Hermione, he reminded himself, this was the persona she had named the master spy, and just as she had so many weeks ago, when she had killed Theodore Nott, she would snap out of it in the end.

She would be Hermione again, just as Draco had assured him back then.

Without meaning to, Harry sought out Draco again, perhaps to strengthen the memory, perhaps to reassure himself that his friend was still safe. His eyes found him half across the battlefield, still standing where the twins had left him.

And opposite, like a cruel, twisted mirror that showed what could have been, stood his father.

Faster than any thought, Harry was racing across the fields of Tintagel, barely pausing to check that his way was safe, shooting off curses to drop Death Eaters fleeing left and right.

He wasn’t sure what he was more frightened of, that Lucius would kill his son or Draco his father, but he knew, deep down, that both of it mustn’t happen, that Draco wouldn’t come out of this battle whole if he did something to his father.

Draco’s wand was up and pointing at Lucius when he reached them, and he didn’t need to see Draco’s face to know that he was close to the breaking point. Just seeing Lucius’ face for the first time after Hermione had vanished was enough for Harry to lose control himself, and only worry for his friend stopped his own wand from joining Draco’s.

Instead, it seemed once more his duty to calm an infuriated friend.

“Draco,” He said quietly. “Don’t. This isn’t worth it.”

Lucius’ eyes narrowed in rage and hate, but still that cold smile was on his lips.

“I must say I am rather disappointed, Draco,” He drawled. “I would have understood money or power, but to betray me for that…”

His eyes slowly travelled across Harry’s form. They made him feel dirty, but they also increased his fury. He opened his mouth to retort, but someone beat him to it.

“Not quite right, Lucius,” Hermione’s voice purred, and Lucius’ mask shattered. “Draco didn’t betray you only for Harry.”

0o0

In the midst of blood and battle, Hermione danced.

Yes! She would fight them until none were left standing, she would send every single one of them to hell, all those bastards that had tortured her and laughed! She would rip their throats out, cut their heads off and feed them to the dogs, she would slice, slash and burn until there was no one left to kill!

Around her, Order members and aurors fought and won, some fiercely, some with worry in their eyes, but all taking care to inflict as little harm as possible before they disarmed and bound their victims.

Not Hermione.

With her real self tucked away safely in her mind, she didn’t care if any of the Death Eaters survived the night. What was the fun in fighting if you couldn’t deliver the killing blow? Why hunt a prey only to let it survive at the last moment?

Her path crossed that of Minerva for a while and they fought back to back, her former Head of House graceful and lethal like her animagus form. Her black and grey hair had escaped her tight bun and her robes were torn and bloodied, but she was as fierce as Hermione, and nearly as reckless.

They parted with barely a look and less than a smile and Hermione was off again, dancing across the cliffs, leaving dead and dying wherever she went.

The battle was nearly finished but she didn’t notice. There were enough enemies surrounding her, and no matter how many fell, there were always more.

She would kill them all!

She threw her head back and roared with laughter, felt life burn through her veins and saw her enemies back away from her.

There was fear in their eyes.

She whipped her wand up and sent a flash of lightning among them. Over the thunder of her spells, she screamed a challenge at them, shouted for them to come and get her, to show the mudblood what they could do.

But they were running away from her.

She cocked her head to the side, disappointed and slightly confused. She would have none of that. How could she kill them if they ran away?

For a moment, she contemplated the best way of rounding them up without the aurors getting in her way.

But then she saw him, and lost interest in all else.

Across the field she stormed, not bothering to engage the fleeing Death Eaters in battle. Killing them was stale satisfaction in comparison to what he promised her.

He had hurt her. He had broken her. And now she would rip him to pieces for it.

By the time she reached him, Harry was there, standing at Draco’s side, vibrating with anger but still holding back. All the better. It meant that there was more of Lucius left for her.

“Not quite right, Lucius,” She purred and saw delicious pain contorting his face. She would enjoy this. “Draco didn’t betray you only for Harry.”

She stepped forward, blocking Draco’s firing line and invading Lucius’ personal space as if they were meeting on a dancefloor.

“There was also me, you know?”

0o0

Severus had just ducked a bludgeoning curse and answered with a Sectumsempra when he saw a sudden change go through Hermione.

Like a cat losing interest in her prey in favour of a larger one, she turned away and raced across the field, hair and robes billowing behind her. Tracing the aim of her intense concentration, his eyes fell on two heads of silver hair, facing each other in silent hate.

He sent his Patronus off with a message for Albus and then he was after her. He was cataloguing the wounded and the dead as he sped past them, noticing with relief that their losses had been very small, but most of his attention was fixed on the form of Hermione, running ahead of him.

He felt worry gnaw at his insides, not because of what she would do – she had a right to that, as far as he was concerned -, but because she was so bloody reckless when the battle fever took her.

This fight was virtually over, and while the aurors wouldn’t dare question them for a few Unforgivables employed in a tight spot, torturing a prisoner after the battle had ended would not go over so well.

But he had planned for this, thank Merlin for his paranoia. He would keep her safe and let her do what must be done. They would bury her demons here, tonight, to let her live in peace for the rest of her life.

He reached them in time to hear her words and see their effect on Lucius.

His stomach twisted in disgust, and he could hear a low growl on the wind. It took him a moment to realize that it came from his own throat, and even longer to notice that his wand was aiming at Lucius. Rather lower than his face.

“No,” Hermione hissed, not once moving her burning eyes away from Lucius. “He’s mine. You will not take this from me.”

“Hermione…” Harry began, obviously planning to calm her down, but Severus shook his head in warning.

“No,” She hissed again. And then: “Did you miss me, Lucius?”

“Hermione,” Lucius whispered, his voice broken and painful to hear. “I thought…”

“You thought I loved you?” She laughed, harsh and cold. “Well, you thought wrong. All that time, Lucius, all the secrets you were whispering into my ears, and I only ever used you. In the end, it was you who really betrayed the Dark Lord. Does it hurt to know that?”

He met her eyes, no understanding in his face, no dignity, no pride.

“I see it does,” She whispered. “Good. Crucio!”

His painful cries echoed from the cliff and drowned in the rolling waves of the Northern Sea.

Hermione didn’t notice when Draco, Harry and Severus formed a tight group around her, protecting her back.

She didn’t see the members of the Order, who, bruised and dirtied from the not long finished battle, moved in to shield her from view. No auror from the Ministry’s side would see this. No one but her friends would know.

“You should have let us see what was going on!” They later protested, but the Order swore that they had seen nothing at all.

“She found Malfoy lying dead in the field. It must have happened during the battle”, Dumbledore would retort mildly. They would all agree to that, and something in their eyes would make the aurors think again about questioning them further.

But now, they turned their backs to the Ministry people, and their eyes away from what their master spy was doing. Only Severus watched her, his eyes burning with dust and weariness.

And Hermione watched Lucius, her eyes drinking in his pain. She seemed to grow, something that had been broken straightened again, something she had lost returning to her.

“You are a miserable creature, Lucius Malfoy,” She hissed, suddenly ending the stream of curses and hexes that had kept his body twitching, “But your power over me is at an end. Do you know what will happen, Lucius? My dearest?”

She grinned, baring her teeth like an attacking animal. She was a frightful sight, and Severus heard a whimper escape the lips of her Death Eater prisoner.

She heard it, too, and chuckled, a low, growling sound that raised Severus’ hackles.

“This will happen,” she continued, walking closer to Malfoy so that she could meet his eyes, huge in the deadly white face. There was blood staining his silver hair. “I will kill you now, Lucius, enjoying it greatly. And then…” Her wand was drawing little circles on his chest. He was trying to crawl away from her, panting in fear, but on of her boots stopped him in his tracks. “Then I will go home. And forget you.”

She moved away from him and lifted her hand. A ball of fire was forming in her palm, growing bigger and bigger, until it had the size of one of Hagrid´s giant pumpkins.

“Sleep well, Lucius,” She whispered. “And just so you now: You were a miserable lover.”

She threw the ball of fire. A scream, long and drawn out, echoed across the cliffs. Then silence.

Quietly she stood for a moment, swaying slightly in the cold North wind. Until now, Severus hadn’t noticed how cold the night was, how clear the skies and how brilliant the rising sun.

Dawn was coming, and for the first time in too many years, it would be a day without fear.

Suddenly, his heart ached with all the possibilities in front of them. He felt dizzy with relief.

“It is over,” She said, and Severus could see her change before his eyes. The fierceness was fading, giving way to the woman she had become. The master spy was crawling back into her tower. He hoped she would remain there forever.

He met Harry’s and Draco’s eyes across the battlefield, taking in all they had been through and all they had done. He took stock of their allies and friends, relieved to see so many familiar eyes looking back at him.

Some were missing, but there would be another day to mourn them.

For now, there was only this: relief, and freedom, and Hermione.

He drew her into his arms and she clung to him, their black clothed bodies melting together in the other’s view.

They walked away, towards the cliffs that rose high against the early morning sun. No one made a move to stop them.

The battle had ended, and they had survived, the master spy and the spymaster. They would go home.

And they would fall asleep together and wake together. And there would be birds singing in the courtyard.

And there would be peace.

A/N:

It feels strange to finish this, especially after so many years. But finished it is (except for the epilogue), and I want to take this last chance to thank all of you, for your caring, your patience, your support.

There were some difficult phases writing this, not least because real life made several ugly appearances, but you have no idea how much it helped to know that you were here with me, reading this, loving it as much as I do.

And so here’s my final thanks, for all of the reviews, comments and thoughts, and also my final request:

If you’ve reached this end, if you journeyed so far with me, please, let me know. Drop me a line, a review, whatever. Just tell me. I’d greatly appreciate it to know that you’ve been along for the ride, and that it meant something to you.

Wishing you all the best,

Kayly Silverstorm.