Darkness. He was gone. Gone. Dracaena had felt a rush of hope mixed with fear when Potter had appeared, stepping into the firelight of the clearing where Lord Voldemort awaited him. The reprieve Voldemort had given the defenders of Hogwarts was nearly run out, and even Voldemort himself, once so certain Harry would arrive, had given up on him. But at the last moment, he appeared. The clearing stood still for a long moment, as even the wind held its breath. And then, chaos. Dracaena had been dimly aware of Hagrid’s shout, of the exultation of the Death Eaters. But none of that mattered to her. She found his face, his eyes. They were steeled. He had come to die. He was going to do it. To sacrifice himself for everyone else. She watched his eyes flick to hers briefly, filled with a complex mixture of emotion, before his face set like flint once more, his eyes fixed on Lord Voldemort and his destiny. Potter didn’t waver as Voldemort uttered the curse that ended him. He fell. It should have been a graceful thing, something fitting the end of the Boy Who Lived, the one destined to face the Dark Lord, but it wasn’t. Instead, he collapsed in a heap, the strings of life cut. Dracaena was vaguely aware of the Death Eaters rushing forward, towards Voldemort. Had he fallen as well? No matter, she had eyes only for Potter, even as her vision blurred and heart shattered. How could this be? Potter always pulled through, he was a walking miracle, something she knew all too well. She’d spent years tormenting him, trying everything she could think of to get him into trouble, and every time he managed to slip his way through, somehow or another coming out ahead. He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be! It had to be part of some greater plan. Right? He couldn’t leave her now. Hogwarts needed him. The whole wizarding world needed him. She needed him. But no. It was real. She’d heard the curse, seen the tell-tale flash of green light, the life leaving his eyes. A heavy weight sank in Dracaena’s heart. It was over. They had come so far, fought so hard, only to lose at the moment of victory. Before her, Dracaena noticed Lord Voldemort stirring on the ground. She heard his voice cut through the worrying of the Death Eaters, “That will do.” They backed off, all but Bellatrix, who knelt at his side, even as he rose. “I do not require assistance.” His voice was cold, harsh, as he cut her off. “The boy… Is he dead?” The clearing was silent again. Nobody volunteered. Voldemort flicked his wand, and a spark of magic struck Dracaena’s mother, huddled to her left. She let out a small, involuntary shriek of pain, as Voldemort said, “You. Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.” Dracaena’s eyes were too full of tears to see her mother rise, but she wiped them as her mother crossed the clearing to where Potter lay. Was it too late to hope for a miracle? Might her mother find life in him yet? She began leaning forward subconsciously, and felt her father’s hand tighten on her shoulder, steadying her. Her mother was a long moment in examining Potter, longer than Dracaena thought necessary, her ear at his mouth, hand at his breast. But, then, the words she feared. “He is dead!” Dracaena’s heart fell again, and she felt tears well anew, all while the Death Eaters began to shout and yell in triumph, wands pointed skyward, letting out streaks of red and silver light. “You see?” Voldemort screeched over the din of celebration. “Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now! Watch! Crucio!” “No!” Dracaena gasped, lunging forward, but her father and mother, returned to her side, caught her before she could move. Potter rose in the air, body flopping as he bounced once, twice, thrice. Lord Voldemort’s red eyes found hers, regarding her with a cool rage. “Quiet, you, and witness the rise of Lord Voldemort. Afterwards, I shall deal with you for your failures.” Then, turning to the crowd, “Now, we go to the castle, and show them what has become of their hero. Who shall drag the body? No... wait...” The Death Eaters began laughing, and Dracaena could just barely see well enough through watery eyes to see him gesture at Hagrid. “You carry him. He will be nice and visible in your arms, will he not? Pick up your little friend, Hagrid. And the glasses! Put on his glasses, he must be recognizable!” Dracaena felt her stomach twist as one of the Death Eaters, she couldn’t tell who through his hood, picked Potter’s glasses from the ground, where they’d fallen when Lord Voldemort had defiled his corpse, and jammed them roughly back on his face. Then Hagrid took him up. He cradled Potter with a gentleness that would seem impossible to any who didn’t know him. Unbidden, memories of time spent with Potter visiting Hagrid came to mind. Dracaena felt a fresh wave of tears, along with shame for having been so cruel to the man for so long. Truly his heart was as large as his frame, and she’d missed it for what? Pride? She almost laughed as the group began moving. What was pride worth now, so broken as she was? She had tried for too long to straddle both camps, to do as Lord Voldemort asked, while holding onto her heart’s desire, and it had cost her everything. Pride? She would throw it all away just to have him back. Even for just a moment more. Dracaena’s mother and father guided her forward, following the crowd of Death Eaters. Their fate was bad enough as it was. If they tried to run now, Voldemort would only hunt them down when it was over, and his fury would be all the greater for it. No, they were to die for having failed him so, but better to make it quick, painless, in the wake of his victory, rather than anger him, and so cause him to draw it out, to break them further before their end. Dracaena felt her parents drag her to a stop, hands still clutched to her shoulders, and she realized that they had made it out of the forest while she’d been deep in reminiscing. Lord Voldemort strode forward, and his voice boomed out, magically enhanced to echo through the castle and over the grounds. “Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.” Liar! A bolt of rage struck Dracaena, surprising herself as her head snapped up, eyes boring holes in the back of Lord Voldemort’s head. Was it not enough that he kill Potter? That he defile his corpse and parade it around like a trophy? Must he lie as well? “The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.” Dracaena only half heard his speech, her anger burned so brightly, and she didn’t need her parents’ push to continue up towards the castle as Lord Voldemort began his march again. She was going to kill him. It was unreasonable. Who was she? A virtual nobody. A failure. She didn’t even have her wand!How could she possibly kill Lord Voldemort? But reason had been shed in the fires of rage. The group stopped again, before the front doors of the school. “NO!” The scream of despair cut through Dracaena. McGonagall. Always so collected, reasonable, put together. Dracaena could think of but a few times she had shown negative emotion beyond a steely eye or a compressed mouth. That McGonagall had just screamed in despair, and it pierced through her rage, giving her space to collect herself and observe. She no longer cared if she lived—what was her life without him? But if she wanted her life to mean anything, she couldn’t waste it. The other panicked cries washed over her as she took in Lord Voldemort. His snake, Nagini, rested over his shoulders, a living scarf. The final Horcrux. Potter himself had confirmed it was the sole remaining one after the diadem was destroyed. Was there something she could do to reach it? Dracaena clenched her teeth, biding her time, waiting for an opportunity. “SILENCE!” Lord Voldemort’s voice boomed over the screams, quieting them at once. “It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!” Tenderly, Hagrid arrayed Potter on the ground, and Dracaena felt her heart ache for him, while wondering if there was some way she could signal him, get his help. “You see? Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!” “He beat you!” Dracaena heard Weasley’s voice break the spell of silence. Lord Voldemort gestured with his wand, attempting to quiet them once more, but someone had broken from the crowd… Neville!? Dracaena had to admit, the boy had proven himself brave enough for Gryffindor in recent years, but she wouldn’t have expected this. She threw off her parents’ grips, ready to join him, but his mad charge was over before it even began. With a loud crack, Lord Voldemort had disarmed him, Neville’s wand sent flying, Neville himself tumbling to the ground. “And who is this?” he said in a low hiss. “Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?” Dracaena heard a shrill, delighted laugh, even before Lord Voldemort had finished speaking. “It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord!” Bellatrix, of course. “The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?” “Ah, yes, I remember.” Lord Voldemort had strode forward, now standing over Neville as he struggled to rise on shaking arms. “But you are pureblood, aren’t you, my brave boy?” “So what if I am?” “You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom.” “I’ll join you when hell freezes over! Dumbledore’s army!” Dear brave Neville. Dracaena felt her heart ache for him, as it had for Hagrid. How had she ever looked down on the poor boy? How wrong he had proved her, the first in line to defend Potter’s honor. Before even his best friends. Before even herself. “Very well.” Voldemort’s voice had gone low and smooth like silk, and Dracaena could only barely hear it from her position at a distance. He was speaking to Neville alone now. “If that is your choice Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head be it.” He waved his wand and dramatically cried, “There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School!” A loud crashing sound drew every eye to a high window of the castle, where a dark object flew through the air and settled over Neville’s head, its floppy brim low over his eyes. The Sorting Hat. “There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield, and colors of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for all. Won’t they, Neville Longbottom?” He turned to the watching crowd. “A demonstration, for what happens to those foolish enough to continue in their opposition.” Lord Voldemort flicked his wand in Neville’s direction, and the Sorting Hat burst into flames. Neville’s screams were inhuman, raw. Dracaena had only ever heard their like in those under the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, and she could feel her stomach twisting in knots at the sound. Now was the time though! Lord Voldemort’s attention was entirely on Neville. If Dracaena could just get to Harry to retrieve her wand… But before she could move, a great uproar split the predawn hush that had only been interrupted by Neville’s screams. It came from the school boundary? It took Dracaena a moment to understand the sound. Reinforcements had arrived! “HAGGER!” Grawp, that giant half-brother of Hagrid’s lumbered around the castle and tackled one of Voldemort’s giants, wrestling it to the ground before it could react. The other joined the fray in time for the pounding of hooves and the twang of bows. Centaurs poured forth from the forest, a volley of arrows raining upon the Death Eaters, who scattered. Dracaena’s mother waved her wand overhead, casting a shield above her family, deflecting arrows away from them. But Dracaena’s eyes were drawn to Neville, whose screams had changed from those of agony, to ones of exertion. Her gaze landed on him in time to see the Sorting Hat fall from his head, and with a flash of silver and spark of ruby, Neville struck the head from Nagini. Lord Voldemort screamed in fury, a sound drowned out by the pitch of battle around them. He was vulnerable now! He cast a curse at Neville which, miraculously, deflected. Where had the shield come from? But, before Dracaena could investigate, Hagrid’s bellow cut through the din. “HARRY! HARRY! WHERE’S HARRY?” Her eyes found the patch of ground where Harry’s body had lain. He was gone! Panic, who could have taken him? Rage, why would they take him, would they desecrate him further? Then, blossoming like the dawn come early, hope. Tears found Dracaena’s eyes once again, but not the tears of grief. “He’s alive,” she whispered. She turned to her parents, eyes wide in a frenzy, “He’s alive! Harry’s alive! We have to find him!” She turned, hope and courage filling her with equal measure. He was alive! She could find him. She would find him! Where would he go? Where else? After Voldemort, of course. She couldn’t find Harry, he had his Cloak. But she could find Voldemort. Dracaena surged forward, her parents pulled by invisible strings in her wake. He would have gone into the castle, and Dracaena followed, the pull of the crowd making it easy to find her way into the Entrance Hall. As she crossed through the doors, a hand found her mouth and midsection, pulling her aside, her shriek muffled. “Dracaena, it’s me!” Only then did she realize where she was, what was happening. Potter had pulled her under his Invisibility Cloak with him. He whispered a bit louder to Dracaena’s panicking parents, “I’ve got her. My cloak will keep her hidden from Voldemort’s sight. I can’t protect you as well, so stay away from his path for now.” Then, quieter, to Dracaena alone, “I have to confront him. Only I can defeat him. We don’t have time for a reunion now, I’m afraid.” And then, before she could speak, before she could protest, before she could insist the two of them leave this madness behind and flee, Potter had placed a guiding arm around her, drawing her into his side, and pulling her with him into the Great Hall after Voldemort. Dracaena could tell that important things were happening, the battle raging around them, but she had eyes only for Potter. His eyes were different than earlier somehow. Calm, despite the ocean of chaos around them, gleaming with determination and purpose. She liked that look. It was good on him. She realized that he was casting spells periodically, and with an inward laugh was suddenly glad he had her wand. She was so distracted, it wouldn’t have been much use in her hands. They came to a sudden stop, halfway up the Great Hall, and her eyes followed his. On one hand, Voldemort, dueling with McGonagall, Slughorn, and Kingsley. On the other, Bellatrix fighting Granger, the Weasley girl, and Lovegood. She could feel he was torn. He should confront Voldemort, that was where he was needed most. But Dracaena knew his heart was drawn to the girls who were so like sisters to him. But then, his decision was made for him. “NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!” With a shout of rage Dracaena had never heard the match of, Mrs. Weasley bounded across the hall, shouldering the three girls aside. Bellatrix grinned in twisted amusement, but it quickly faltered, becoming a snarl as the duel proceeded and she was pushed back. “What will happen to your children when I’ve killed you?” Bellatrix taunted, clearly trying to unnerve Mrs. Weasley. “When Mummy’s gone the same way as poor Freddie?” “You will never touch our children again!” Mrs. Weasley snarled over Bellatrix’s exhilarated and insane laughter. And then her laughter cut short, her eyes bulged. One of Mrs. Weasley’s curses had pierced her defenses, struck her squarely in the breast above her heart. As Bellatrix toppled, Dracaena heard Voldemort scream in rage. He was alone, his Death Eaters now routed with the fall of his final and greatest lieutenant. His fury exploded through his wand, sending McGonagall, Slughorn, and Kingsley flying back, clearing the space around him. He directed his wand towards Mrs. Weasley, and Dracaena heard a whisper in her ear. “Stay hidden, stay safe. He wants your life almost as much as he wants mine.” And then Potter was gone. He slid from the Cloak, careful to keep Dracaena covered, leaving her alone, invisible. Dracaena spotted her mother and father, sidling along the walls. Saw their eyes converge on the spot from which Potter had appeared. Watched their recognition as they knew that she was there. As Potter emerged, he directed his wand to the space between Lord Voldemort and Mrs. Weasley. “Protego!” Voldemort spun, his red eyes wide with shock. “There are no more Horcruxes, Tom. It’s just you and me now. Neither can live while the other survives. One of us is about to leave for good.” “One of us?” Lord Voldemort jeered, but his body was drawn taut, like a cornered snake ready to strike. “You think it will be you, do you? The boy who lived by accident alone, puppeted by Dumbledore’s strings?” Dracaena felt a rush of fear. She had been so focused on the fact that Potter was back, that she hadn’t considered he might not win. But this was no fairy tale, his victory was not guaranteed. “Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me?” The pair had begun circling, each watching the other for openings. “Accident, when I decided to fight in that graveyard? Accident, that I didn’t fight tonight, and yet survived and returned to fight again?” “Accidents!” Lord Voldemort screeched. Dracaena had spent enough time around the Dark Lord by now to recognize that he was unnerved by the turn of events. “Mere chance and the fact that you hide beneath the robes of greater men and women, permitting me to kill them for you!” “You won’t be killing anyone else tonight.” Potter, in contrast to Voldemort, was almost supernaturally calm. He was still guarded, yes, but his movements were easy and assured. Maybe he did have a plan? “Don’t you get it? I was ready to die to stop you from hurting these people-” “But you did not!” “I meant to, and that’s what matters. Haven’t you noticed how none of your spells are binding? You can’t touch them anymore.” He shook his head, looking like nothing more than a teacher, disappointed in his student. “You never learn from your mistakes, do you, Riddle?” “You dare-” “Yes, I dare. I know things you don’t, Tom Riddle. I know some important things you don’t. Would you like to hear some, before you make another mistake?” Lord Voldemort didn’t speak at first, merely prowled around the circle opposite Potter, pondering what he might have to say. “Is it love again?” He finally asked in a hiss. “Dumbledore’s favorite solution, which he claimed conquered death. But love didn’t stop him falling from the tower and breaking like old waxwork, did it? Love didn’t prevent me stamping out your Mudblood mother like the cockroach she was, did it?” He gestured around the hall. “And, would you look at that, nobody here seems to love you enough to run forward and protect you from my curse, do they? So what will stop you from dying now when I strike?” Dracaena moved before she was conscious of choosing to do so, before Voldemort had even finished speaking, and stood at Potter’s side, her arm embracing his waist. “No, Dracaena!” Her mother. Dracaena’s eyes found hers briefly. Beside her mother stood her father, face pale with worry mixed with resignation. He gave her the briefest of nods, and Dracaena, tearing up again, returned their look with a smile before turning back to Lord Voldemort. “You!” He hissed. Then, addressing Potter again. “You see now the foolishness of love! I would have given you the world as one of my own, Dracaena. Now, instead, you will die!” Dracaena squeezed Potter tighter. “How can you give me the world, when I have it all right here?” Lord Voldemort’s face paled with rage, but she had no eye for him anymore. She turned and met Potter’s gaze. His voice was a whisper, for her alone. “You should have stayed safe.” “I belong here, with you,” Dracaena murmured back. She saw tears swim in the corners of his eyes as he nodded. He put his left arm over her shoulders, and, taking her wand together,they faced Lord Voldemort as one. All at once, a red-glow burst lit the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall above, the dawn breaking at last. Lord Voldemort and Potter sprang into action at the same instant, Dracaena joining her voice to his: “Avada Kedavra!” “Expelliarmus!” Something between them swelled, magic greater than Dracaena had ever felt, overwhelming, yet warm and comforting. A great blaze erupted from her wand, golden flames streaked with crimson, consuming the flash of green which was pale in comparison. The blaze should have been hot, hot enough to leave burns, but instead it felt as refreshing as a summer’s breeze. Lord Voldemort, though, flinched back, fright crossing his red eyes as the flames washed over him. They consumed him entirely, body turning to ash, then dust, swept away on the wind that followed the fire. The Great Hall was silent, except for the clatter of a wand striking the stone floor. Dracaena was stunned to silence herself for a long moment. Then, the emotion of the day rushed over her all at once. Fear, despair, rage, hope, joy. She turned to Potter, letting go of her wand. She pounded a balled fist against his chest. “Don’t you ever go and die and leave me again!” She punctuated each word with another punch. “Do you hear me Harry Potter!?” He gave her that look. That infuriating look he made whenever she was trying to get him to understand something important. “I love you too, Dracaena.” She opened her mouth to yell at him, to really give him a piece of her mind, but she was stopped when he kissed her. She resisted a moment, as the Great Hall erupted in cheers, indistinct yelling to Dracaena, whose whole world had narrowed to just her and Potter. She melted into his embrace, and when they parted, she whispered, through streaming tears, “Stupid Potter. Kissing me in front of all these people.” Then, even quieter, “I love you too.”