A/N: Last chapter! Thank you to all who have taken a look at this - I had great fun writing it. My next project is an eighth year fic, which I'm really excited to start. JKR owns the Harry Potter universe; I'm just playing. Enjoy! :)

"Ron...Ron, there's nothing we can do!" Hermione's voice is thick with tears, the salty drops still cascading down her face, but her friend is much worse. He looks ready to launch his own attack, and she knows she has to calm him before he gets himself killed too. "Please," she whispers, her heart aching for the broken men before her. "We've got to stay strong...for Fred..." She bites her lip, but somehow, she gets through to Ron. Harry helps him haul his brother's body into an out-of-the-way nook as Percy takes off in pursuit of the Death Eater responsible.

"We've got to end this," Ron whispers, his voice cracking but deadly. The others nod, raise their wands, and race off in the opposite direction of Percy - the snake is all that's left now.

Draco hurtles down staircase after staircase - where he's going, he has no idea, but getting away from the Acromantulas overrunning the upper floors seems like a good start. He jumps half a flight of stairs, several of them broken, and narrowly avoids taking someone down with him. The person turns, and Draco finds himself looking into the masked face of a Death Eater.

"Ah, the little Malfoy." Thanks to the mask, Draco can't tell who he's facing, but the sneer in the man's tone definitely isn't friendly. "Come to play?"

"I...what are you talking about?" Draco asks.

"I haven't seen you since this whole thing started." The man's voice drips contempt. "Decided you don't want to join in the fun?"

"I...no!" Try as he might, Draco can't stop his voice from shaking.

"I thought not."

"But you know who I am!" Draco says desperately. "I'm on your side!"

"Hardly. We don't have room for deserters." The Death Eater raises his wand.

"STUPEFY!" The shout rings through the corridor and Draco's would-be assailant topples over backwards, splayed out across the landing. Draco turns towards the sound but joins the body on the floor almost instantly when a fist connects sharply with his face.

"And that's the second time we've saved your life tonight, you two-faced bastard!" The voice belongs unmistakably to Ron Weasley, although he can't see the redhead anywhere. An exceptionally good Disillusionment charm? Or maybe it's that blasted cloak of Potter's...the sound of several pairs of feet travels down the stairs, and Draco wipes blood from his nose. Looking down at the Stunned man next to him, he realizes the trio has done him more than one favor as he grabs the fallen Death Eater's wand. The wand feels foreign and not particularly friendly, but it's better than nothing. Without a backward glance, he continues his descent.

The Entrance Hall is mass chaos - jets of light fly in all directions, Professor Trelawney hurls crystal balls from the top of the marble staircase, and Neville Longbottom possesses a large amount of some deadly looking plant, the tentacles of which are currently reeling in several Death Eaters. Draco ducks as a blast of light hurtles over his head, shattering the Slytherin hourglass with a deafening crash. Glass shards fly through the air and emeralds tumble to the floor, mixing with puddles of blood and the already-spilt Gryffindor rubies in some sort of twisted yuletide nightmare. For a split second, Draco contemplates breaking the remaining two hourglasses just to get rid of the image, but he decides against it - a war zone is no place for something as innocent as a rainbow. Instead, he tears off into the grounds and takes up with the first foe he finds.

Hermione gasps for breath and clutches her side as she slides down the wall in the Entrance Hall. The castle is eerily quiet at the moment, the Death Eaters having retreated nearly an hour ago, and she's trying desperately not to think about the plethora of familiar faces lying amongst the dead in the Great Hall. She lost track of time ages ago and desperately needs a shower and a good night's sleep, but neither of those can come until the battle ends for good, and even then she's not sure the latter is possible after the night's traumatizing events. Raucous shouts direct her attention to the main doors, and a crowd quickly gathers on the front steps as a group of black-robed people approaches. In front of this group walks Hagrid, and in his arms is...Harry. No...no...

"Harry Potter is dead!" Voldemort's voice cuts through the black night like a knife, and Hermione's heart drops out of her chest.

"He's lying," she says to herself. "He has to be lying..." She refuses to look at the body at Voldemort's feet, refuses to even think of it as a body, because that would be accepting that he's...

"I'll join you when hell freezes over. Dumbledore's army!" Neville's shout brings her back to reality, and she can't help but admire her housemate's daring move. She's not sure where this new Neville came from, but she's pretty sure he's more courageous than the rest of her house combined.

The next few minutes are tense - Neville and Voldemort exchange words, and it seems like Neville's time is up. Just as the Sorting Hat goes up in flames, Neville reacts, drawing a magnificent silver sword from the ragged hat's depths and slicing off Nagini's head in one swift stroke. Hermione cheers with the rest and resolves to thank Neville profoundly if they get through this - if he only knew the significance of what he'd just done...

"Harry! Where's Harry?" Hagrid suddenly shouts, and mass pandemonium erupts. The front doors are thrown open as the battle resumes in full force, Death Eaters and Hogwartians dueling their way into the Great Hall. Hermione soon finds herself side-by-side with Ginny and Luna, the three of them fiercely battling Bellatrix Lestrange. The crazed witch cackles madly as she recognizes her torture victim, and Hermione wants nothing more than to wipe the mad smirk off the woman's face. However, it's no easy task - Bellatrix has incredible skills and a full arsenal of dark spells Hermione's never heard of, and it's all the three teenagers can do to stay on their feet as they block curse after curse.

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!" Molly Weasley leaps into the fray, and Hermione has never seen her so angry. She, Ginny, and Luna back away as the two elder witches start dueling furiously, the speed of their spells the likes of which none of them have ever seen. Everyone in the Hall seems momentarily fixated on the battling witches, in awe of the ferocity of their fight. Hermione senses what's about to happen a split second before it does - Bellatrix lets out a great bark of laughter just before a jet from Molly's wand strikes her square in the chest, and she topples to the ground almost gracefully, a look of enraged shock upon her face. Voldemort lets out an angry roar at the death of his loyal servant and sends a jet of green towards Molly.

"PROTEGO!"

The shield charm absorbs the curse and Hermione's heart leaps with joy - she knows that voice! Sure enough, Harry Potter, very much alive and whole, throws off the invisibility cloak seconds later to face his foe. The Hall falls silent as the two circle each other in a deadly dance.

Hermione doesn't understand most of Harry's proclamations - he seems to have watched Snape's memories in the pensieve - but some things are indeed clicking into place. She gasps softly when Harry mentions the elder wand and fights the urge to be sick as she realizes just how Voldemort acquired it. She'll have to ask Harry to explain the finer details again later; she's still too much in shock.

"Does the wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does, then I am the true master of the elder wand."

A sharp intake of breath ripples through the room as Harry and Voldemort raise their wands and send forth what everyone knows will be their final confrontation:

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Hermione wants to laugh at her friend's choice of spell - his signature move, through and through - but instead, she watches as the two spells collide in a flash of gold and a bang like a gunshot. When the smoke clears, she sees Harry, holding two wands instead of one and looking tired but otherwise unhurt, with Voldemort at his feet, unmistakably dead.

The roar of the crowd rivals that of the Fiendfyre as the onlookers surge forward in celebration. Hermione pushes her way through and throws her arms around Harry, tears streaming down her face as she rejoices. Ron joins them for a group hug, and they nearly suffocate as everyone tries to get closer. It's over - it's finally over.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Hermione sits beside Neville at the Gryffindor table, quietly munching on a piece of toast. Harry went up to bed ages ago – goodness knows he needs the sleep, and the quiet – and Ron is with his family. Her heart goes out to them for all they've lost, as well as to everyone else suffering from the irreversible effects of war. Unable to stomach any more food, she instead surveys the scene in the Great Hall. The dead have been moved to the platform normally occupied by the high table, which Professor McGonagall temporarily removed about an hour ago, and Madam Pomphrey commands a small team of assistants as she studiously tends to the injured. Firenze seems to be recuperating just fine, although he still can't walk, and many others sport serious injuries, but no one seems to be in mortal danger any longer, and for that, she's grateful – she's seen enough death tonight for several lifetimes.

The house tables are littered with battle-weary students and Order members – Hermione and Neville are at the Gryffindor table simply because that's where they'd ended up when all was said and done; nobody is sitting by house anymore. She wouldn't have cared less if she'd ended up sitting on the floor – she's just glad she has something to eat that she didn't have to cook. Most everyone else seems to be thinking the same thing – minus the part about her cooking, of course – since plates are piled high and the sound of gently clinking silverware fills the hall.

A trio across the room draws her attention, their actions so different from everyone else's that they can't help but be conspicuous. No plates sit in front of the Malfoy family, and the three blondes look completely lost, as if uncertain about whether they should even be there in the first place. All three look distinctly disheveled, and Narcissa's face is turned towards the ceiling, eyes closed as if in prayer. Hermione frowns for a moment, contemplating her goals during the war, and makes a decision.

"I'll see you later Neville, alright?"

"Sure thing, Hermione. Go get some rest; you look like you need it."

"Don't we all," she replies with a small smile. Before she can change her mind, she stands up and makes her way towards the Slytherin table. Up close, the Malfoy men look much worse – Lucius's hair is caked with mud and his robes are in tatters, and Draco sports a black eye and dried blood around his nose, probably from when Ron punched him. Judging by her comparatively normal state, Narcissa doesn't seem to have seen much of the actual battle, but the dark circles under her reddened eyes betray her calm façade.

"Come to gloat, Granger?" Malfoy asks quietly.

"What?" she asks incredulously.

"Why else would you-"

"Malfoy-"

"I don't want to hear-"

"Malfoy…"

"Granger, just get it over-"

"DRACO!"

The fact that she snaps at him catches his attention, but it's her use of his given name that shocks him into silence. She sighs exasperatedly and runs her fingers through her hair before continuing.

"I don't want to fight anymore," she says finally.

"I…what?"

"I don't want to fight anymore," she repeats firmly. "I've done more than enough of that today, and I have no desire to continue. I can't keep holding onto these stupid school grudges, not when I've seen so much worse."

"Whoa, hang on a second, Granger." He holds up his hand, index finger raised in a 'give me a minute' gesture, and studies her closely while considering her words. She's definitely in a lot worse shape than he – she's covered in dirt, sweat, and blood, and her too-thin frame betrays her malnourishment while on the run. The knees of her jeans are ripped, she's torn off a sleeve of her shirt to use as a makeshift bandage on her forearm, and her hair is falling out of her ponytail, the damp strands plastered to her face. Though her eyes are dry, tear tracks cut through the grime on her cheeks. Despite her haggard appearance, however, she stands with the grace and confidence befitting the Gryffindor Princess, and he can't for the life of him imagine what she's doing here.

"I don't get it," he finally says.

"What don't you get?" Hermione asks.

"What are you doing here?"

"Talking to you," she replies, as if it's obvious.

"Well, yes…but why?" She sighs again and wipes sweat from her brow, leaving a streak of dirt behind.

"Can I sit?"

"What? Oh, um…yes." She takes a seat on the bench opposite him and worries her bottom lip with her teeth for several minutes before speaking again.

"You saved my life," she says quietly. Draco looks at her sharply.

"Granger, I teased you mercilessly, called you names, I wished you dead for Merlin's sake."

"At one time, yes," Hermione agrees. "But that time is long gone. I don't think that Draco Malfoy exists anymore – if he did, he would've jumped at the chance to hand over Harry Potter and company, and I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you. I'd probably be dead," she finishes matter-of-factedly.

"Granger, I stood back and watched while my aunt tortured you. I did nothing." He nearly spits the last word, his voice full of something that sounds like…regret? His father shoots him a questioning look and Draco glares at him, telling him with his eyes to stay out of the conversation. For once, Lucius nods and backs down to his son.

"Honestly Malfoy, what would've happened if you'd done something? We all know that would've gone over real well with your dear aunt – there'd be no 'probably' with regards to my death, and you'd be part of the body count as well. You might see it as 'I did nothing', but I disagree – you chose not to identify us when you bloody well knew who we were, and that definitely counts for something." He's surprised at the fierce determination in her declaration, the brief return of the sparkle in her brown eyes that says, 'I'm not giving up on this one.'

"What I'd like to know, though, is why you didn't turn us in," Hermione continues thoughtfully. His response tumbles from his lips before he can stop it.

"Because I'm a coward," he says, and he can feel the angry flush in his cheeks. "I couldn't watch someone I knew die."

"There's no cowardice in letting someone live, Draco," Hermione replies quietly. He has no response to that.

"Harry told me what you did for him, in the forest," Hermione says, now addressing Narcissa. Draco raises his eyebrows at the two witches – what did his mother do for Potter? – but both shake their heads almost imperceptibly. Perhaps he will know later, but now is not the time.

"I did what had to be done," Narcissa says a little coldly, her blue eyes peering into Hermione's brown ones. Hermione ignores the woman's chilly tone, knowing what lies beneath the polished exterior.

"He also told me why you did it," she continues, her gaze briefly flicking towards Draco again. Narcissa bites her lip and breathes deeply, and Draco is confused. How could such a simple statement have such a profound effect on his normally stoic mother? Hermione can tell she's unsettled the older witch and doesn't want to force her to respond, so she merely offers two words:

"Thank you." Narcissa nods, seemingly getting the message, and Hermione focuses on Draco once more.

"Thank you as well," she says. Draco opens his mouth to protest but Hermione holds up a hand to stop him. "Don't try to counter me, Malfoy. I owe you my life; deny it all you want, but it's the truth and you know it. And because I intend to repay you, I will say what I know when the time comes." His eyes widen when the full impact of her statement hits him.

"You'll…you're going to testify for me?" he asks uncertainly. He knows he'll be put on trial, defector or not, but this false hope is almost too much.

"Yes," she says firmly. Then, glancing at his parents, she adds, "for all of you."

"Granger, I still don't get it. You're the Gryffindor Princess; I'm the Slytherin Death Eater. Why would you do something like this for someone like me?"

"Two reasons, Malfoy," she says simply. "One, as I've already said, you saved my life, and I intend to repay that debt; and two, I believe in looking beyond labels." She stands to leave and offers him her hand. "I expect I'll be seeing you soon." He shakes her hand, still reeling from her words.

"See you soon then, Granger." With a final nod, Hermione leaves the Great Hall. Draco remains seated, thinking hard about what she's said. None of it makes any sense – she's Hermione Granger, Golden Girl, Princess of the Light; he's Draco Malfoy, Death Eater, aligned with the Darkest of the Dark. Her final words replay themselves in his head: I believe in looking beyond labels. Trust Granger to be so noble…but in a world where everything was black and white for so long, he's beyond grateful for her willingness to embrace the gray.