The boy in the hammock

Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

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Lucius and Narcissa were leading the small group in the direction of the garden, everyone running with a mix of determination and fear. This was the deciding factor, wasn't it? The outcome of this fight meant everything. Would Voldemort be killed? Would Harry?

The manor being the size that is was, there was a fair amount of running through other battles to get to the entrance to the garden. They helped where they could - Neville knocked out a Death Eater who was dueling Luna Lovegood, and Luna threw him a grateful smile. She looked drained, her hair singed and smokey from the aftermath of a fireball hex.

Draco saw Ginny Weasley struggling angrily under the weight of a huge Death Eater, and realized the bastard was intent on raping her. Fury shot through him. These were his people now. That was Ron's sister. With a perfectly-aimed spell, the man was blasted off the girl. "Hello little Weasley!" he said with a cheerful wave, still running to keep up with the group. She sent him a shocked grin before whipping out a dagger and stabbing an oncoming female Death Eater in the eye.

Ugh, she's certainly not squeamish, Draco thought, uncomfortably. His spells were nice and clean, even when they ended in death. He was a bit of a neat freak that way; quite different from his parents. But stabbing someone in the eye? Nasty.

Actually, if the little Weasley is anything like Ron, a dagger probably suits her just fine. Weasleys fight like fucking brutes.

The entrance to the garden was getting closer. Draco could see the glass French doors in the distance, and a hint of manicured hedges just beyond. Soon they would be at the main fountain. Soon they would be in front of the Dark Lord he had betrayed.

He glanced over at Hermione as she ran beside him, his heart straining happily at the sight.

She was completely in her element. Her hair, undone again and streaming out behind her, made her look like some sort of goddess of battle. The blood stains on her hands and cheeks looked more like war paint the way she carried herself - confident, angry and beautiful. Her ring glinted in the scattered light.

She's going to be my wife.

He gazed at her just long enough to miss the hex that was sailing towards him, seeing it only milliseconds before Hermione calmly blocked it with a shield spell. She had barely even blinked, and he remained unscathed, as they ran onwards.

"Focus, Draco," she said with a grin, catching his eye.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he said, "It's a little embarrassing how many times I'd be dead if it weren't for you."

She snorted with laughter, but quickly sobered, as the group reached the doors.

Abruptly, she shivered and looked around, puzzled. "Did you feel that strange ward?" she murmured, more to herself than anything. Draco shook his head, wondering what she felt.

Together, they walked to the front of the small crowd to take in the astounding sight in front of the fountain.

The scene before them was tense, the air thick with anxiety and desperation.

None of those emotions belonged to Harry.

He stood in front of Voldemort in a standoff, wand up, looking every bit the legend that he was born to be. His posture was perfect, and his demeanor was ferocious. For the first time that Draco could remember, Harry looked commanding. Like a leader about to punish a tyrant.

Voldemort, having always looked deformed, evil and vile, still had those qualities, but there had been a staggering physical change in him since Draco had fled the manor all that time ago. He now looked ancient, like a hundred-year-old version of himself. His shriveled skin and sunken eyes only made him look more deranged, and his posture was hunched and fragile. His eyes were darting around in a panic.