Isolation

47. Power

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At the mention of her best friend's name, Hermione's heart soared up into her throat. The cheers of the crowd grew louder, and all the while she could hear people saying Harry's name, reaffirming that he was alive. She craned her neck and leaned forward on the tips of her toes, trying to see over the horde and follow their eyes to the commotion at the centre of the Great Hall, but it was futile. All she could see were the heads and shoulders of everyone else, blocking her view like a barricade of bodies. She cursed her short stature.

"I can see him," said Draco beside her. "I can see Potter."

Hermione's eyes darted to him. "You can? He's alive?"

"Yes," he nodded, and then he turned to her with the slightest of smiles. "I told you he was immortal."

"Oh my God. Really? He's really there?"

"Come here, short arse." Tugging her close, he wrapped his arms around her hips and lifted her off the ground. "See him now?"

"Yes!" she gasped. "Yes, I see him!"

Draco didn't really understand why he suddenly felt relieved and almost pleased, but he decided it was because she looked happy. And when Granger was happy, she glowed. It touched everything close to her, like the heat of sunrays, and he inevitably felt her warmth.

Glancing to the side, Draco frowned when he found his mother had moved away from his side and was meandering her way through the crowd, searching. He wondered if she was looking for Lucius amongst the collection of battle-worn witches and wizards, but Hermione spoke and he looked back to her.

"What?"

"Harry's confronting Voldemort," she said, squirming impatiently in his arms. "Put me down, please. We need to get closer. I need to see what's happening."

Draco lowered her to the floor and the moment her feet landed on solid ground she pulled his elbow, dragging him forward and meandering them through the others trying to witness what was taking place. Limping due to the lingering pain still throbbing in his ankle, he struggled to keep up with his lover as she pulled him this way and that, colliding with several people along the way. But it was working; they were getting closer and Draco could hear the raised voices of Potter and Voldemort as the crowd hushed to listen.

"Hermione, over here!"

Ron ushered them over to a platform of debris near the centre of the Great Hall where he, Neville Ginny, Luna, and Blaise were all perched, watching the scene from their slightly elevated vantage point. Climbing up the fallen bricks and crumbled parapets, she still clutched Draco's hand, practically yanking him up there with her, stumbling with her desperation to see the exchange between Harry and Voldemort, and, inevitably, the outcome of the War.

She knew this was it. The climax. The final battle. Everything that they had been fighting for would be decided now by her seventeen-year-old best friend and this clash with one of the most dangerously powerful wizards that had ever lived. She'd never been more terrified and excited.

As Hermione and Draco found their balance atop a stable stack of stone beside Ron and the others, Draco scanned the area and did a double-take when he spotted his mother comfortably standing beside Molly Weasley and McGonagall. He thought back to his encounter with Snape, remembering his disclosure about his mother helping the Order, and he wondered if McGonagall had known. Another question to add to his list that he would ask if they won the war.

Where was Snape? Surely he would be here, just like everyone else.

Sweeping his eyes across the hall, he caught sight of Miles, Millicent, and Tracey, huddled amongst a group of Hufflepuffs. All seemed fine, which was good. Miles caught his eye and dipped his head with acknowledgement, but Draco could detect his nerves despite the distance between them. The girls looked nervous, too. He wondered if any of the masked Death Eaters hovering on the other side of the room were their parents, or if any of his fellow Slytherins had suffered a similar confrontation to the one he'd had with Lucius.