Draco frowned, pursing his lips. His uncle was sprawled inelegantly over the couch, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He took a long sip, ignoring Draco, and just got comfortable. The bond Prince was pulling his hair out, pacing up and down the Solar room. He had nothing to rely on. His wife was a dry, obnoxious bitch that only cared for gossip and lying in bed with her was dreadful. At his wedding night, Draco realized how he had signed for doom, as Astoria just lay there, not moving not making a sound, just waiting.

And right now, his most loyal servant was training outside, in the woods, with Lieutenant Weasley, who seemed to enjoy training with a woman far too much. Apparently, Draco was not the only one infected with the addiction to her skin, as he noticed the redhead Lieutenant brushed his hands against her body at any opportunity he saw, claiming to be correcting her posture and what not.

War was coming, and his father didn't believe the red signs, preventing them from planning out tactics and getting ready. Draco was going crazy, insane. He couldn't stand another tea party with shallow conversation, another night with his wife, another useless meeting with his father trying to persuade him to prepare before the Longbottoms had time to attack. And watching Potter wander in the shadows around the castle had him on his last nerve.

He could no longer trust anyone. Papers filled with plans, tactics and maps had gone missing. Draco could swear he felt the devil breathing down his neck, waiting for the right moment to attack.

The deep sound of his uncle chuckling reached his ears, and he couldn't help but turn to glare at him. "Draco, nephew, I think you are overreacting. Calm down, tomorrow at dawn we'll head west."

"You think I'm overreacting, uncle? Well, I think you are over-drinking!" the young man replied, irked.

"Yes, certainly," Sirius stood up and poured himself another drink, ignoring the fact that his nephew was just a breath away from madness and that he had downed half the bottle, and it was barely noon. Taking the glass to his lips, he continued. "I think, that the fact that your best pal has an heir and your beautiful wife is yet to be pregnant has you in a… frenzy."

Draco stood there shocked. Indeed, Theo had welcomed a child the day before, a boy, an heir. It just seemed so natural to him, everything in perfect timing. But of course, Draco had to be the friend with the bad luck. The one with the boring wife. The one with no heir. There was no one to take the throne if he were to die, if the war did happen.

"But then again, it would be much easier to produce an heir if you weren't so keen on drooling over a nice lady like an eleven-year-old," the dark-haired man muffled a laugh against his glass, returning to the sofa.

He straightened his back out of habit, as his stone façade took over his features. "I think you are implying things that are not true, uncle."

"Oh, please!" rolling his eyes, his uncle stood up -again- and grabbed him by the shoulders. His strong, raw, hands pushed him towards the back window, where the forest stood, ancient trees blocking his view. "I know, for a fact my dear nephew, that you like a certain rare flower of this vast garden. Do you think I'm stupid? Who on earth would believe you pathetic reasons? Telling everyone you need help on the front. What, are you training her to seduce the enemy? Pathetic. I'm aware that she has you wrapped around her finger."

Draco just scoffed and shoved him off, clenching his jaw to stop the knot forming in his gut.

"I don't have time for this. They'll be waiting for us. War may not be yet declared, but it doesn't mean it isn't upon us."

He approached the desk, shoving away the papers covering the map. Sirius sighed behind him.

"Just tell me what you are thinking, nephew."

"I am… I'm thinking about our Legion. I want the best with me. We used to be the most powerful army on this side of the sea, and we've let our wards down. But I will not tolerate that no more."

"But, nephew…"

Draco grabbed the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white. He shook his head with his eyes shut.

"NO!" he spat, slamming his fist. "If my father is not willing to do something about this, then I will. I refuse to see my Kingdom succumb under the Longbottoms."

Sirius didn't dare to speak. Panting, the Prince turned to face the General. His young, handsome face was twisted with power, longing for enemy's blood and anger. His veins were pulsing, hot blood rushing through his body, his muscles tensed.

"I want the best soldiers. The ones with no soul. The ones that do not spear a life. The Legion will be as before. I want them ready to go tomorrow. I don't care if you must force boys to enlist," a wicked smirk turned his pale lips, and for the first time Sirius feared his nephew. "I bet none of them want to see their mothers and sisters raped by Deneb's soldiers."

The General placed his glass down, staring at the darkness in the gray irises in front of him. The weight of the crown had turned Draco quickly into a man and the care for his people transformed into a vicious necessity of keeping them safe. The innocence of the boy that once was had emptied the body of the twenty-year-old Prince.

"I want the noticed read at the central plaza. And I hope to see a line of men waiting outside the castle to get ready."

The old man pursed his lips but didn't attempt to change his nephews view. Draco heard how the door closed behind him. Piece by piece he tore apart a letter from the Consul of one of the western provinces, asking for aid, as Deneb's soldiers were in town. Apparently, they'd just stopped by after a long travel to rest, but Draco was not stupid. He knew they were just waiting for a command to begin their destruction.

He rested his forehead against the window, the hot glass scorching against his pale skin. But his eyes caught sight of a certain rare flower emerging from the woods. Her hair pulled back, her hand dragging a sword, the sharp tip opening the earth, leaving a trail behind.

It was even before sunset, the sky turning a deep shade of red, a hundred young men were queued on the archery butt, waiting for their turn to prove they were worthy of being in the army. Hermione just stared out of the window of one of the hallways. The tea was getting cold sitting there in the tray on her hands. But she couldn't move. She was hypnotized by the sight of arrows flying and swords clashing together.

"So, you are leaving tomorrow," a tired, sad voice whispered next to her, and Hermione's breath hitched as she jumped back, almost dropping the silver tray.

She turned and stumbled upon a pair of green eyes. Guilt twisted her gut and she looked away. Bravery left her body, she felt like a child once more.

"Nini…" the word left her lips as a whispered plea.

The old woman shook her head slowly. Eirene's green eyes stared out of the window, watching as young men fought on the field. Her gray hair was pulled back in an elegant knot, her posture straight as ever, but her eyes were sad. Sad as the lonely woods. Sad as the calm ocean on Autumn.

"I was going to tell you tonight. I wasn't going to leave without saying goodbye—"

Her wrinkled hand went up, squeezing Hermione's shoulder.

"You don't have to say anything. It was my fault," she smiled weakly. "I tried to tame your soul, but you can't tame fire without burning yourself."

Hermione clenched her eyes, trying not to cry. A huge lump was forming in her throat, and the air was fighting to reach her lungs.

"I refused to believe the whispers down-stairs, thought I had done a good job guiding you on the good path. But maybe that was not your path at all."

A single tear rolled down her cheek, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to clean it and soon another followed.

"What they say… it's true," Hermione muttered. She felt the hot blush creeping up her neck, guilt and shame making her sick.

Eirene just gave her shoulder another squeeze.

"We both knew that you were not made for this life. You were not born to be held captive in a castle. You are as wild as the daisies that cover the fields in spring and as free as the cold winter air."

They stood by the window for a few minutes, not making a sound. Hermione was biting her lower lip, almost to the point of bleeding. It was obvious that some people were suspicious about what happened behind the closed doors of the Prince's chambers, even more now that everyone was waiting for an heir. Both, Draco and her, had been careless, not even bothering to cover for their indiscretions. Of course, Eirene had heard gossip that concerned Hermione. Ladies were always waiting to grab on something juicy. But what made her wish one of the arrows went through her head in that moment, was that no matter how she hated gossip, she could not deny it. She was guilty of everything they were saying. She was guilty of warming a married man's bed.

"Are you angry?"

"No, I am not. I'm just… disappointed. I believed you would be better than your instincts," Eirene forced her to turn. "Just be careful. A mother would never recover after witnessing the execution of her only daughter."

Hermione felt as if the air had been knocked out of her lungs, as if blood had been drained from her body. Daughter. The green-eyed woman took the tray from Hermione's hand, and turned on her heels, walking towards the Queen's chambers.

"What's this!" King Lucius demanded, throwing the notice that was plastered all around Civitas to Draco. The young Prince didn't bother to turn to acknowledge his father. "You can't take decisions without consulting me. I am the King!"

"Well, father, you'll be surprised at how many people from the Court agree with me. They expressed their concerns at the meeting we had half an hour ago."

"You can't hold meetings that concern the Kingdom and its people without the King!"

"I can, and I did."

The blond prince looked up, emotionless, to stare into his father's eyes. Once, his father's cold eyes had terrified him. Lucius had been able to control him with one stare, putting at bay any behavior he didn't consider right. Draco had been an obedient child, always doing what he was told, never questioning his duties. But he was no longer a child. His preparation for the throne had been completed years ago, and now it was only a matter of time for him to go up the stairs and rule Aerglo. He was not power hungry, but he would not follow commands he didn't believe in, either.

"Draco, I am the ruler. You do as I say. Don't you realize you've risen panic around our streets? How do you think our people feel after you've told them that we are at war, when in fact no threat has been said or done?"

Draco clenched his jaw, placing his hands flat on the desk and slowly raising up, his eyes never leaving his father's. "If you are going to wait for a threat to protect your Kingdom, then you'll meet with our streets bathed with innocent's blood." He took a couple of slow steps around the desk, approaching his father. "I will not wait for our women to be raped and children to be murdered to act. I will do what I see fit to protect my people. And if I must sit on a throne to do so, then let it be. I will not hesitate to assume my future duty early to protect Aerglo."

The words lingered in the air, the implications very clear. Draco could not be King unless the position was available, and Lucius knew that his son was talking seriously. That his son was no longer afraid of him, and that his blood ran ice cold through his veins.

"You are going mad."

"No, father. I just know what I want and how to achieve it."

Grabbing his sword and the papers on the desk, Draco left the room with the intention of going straight to his uncle's study.

The sun wasn't even up yet, but the soft noise of feet going around the grounds could be heard. In less than an hour they would be marching to face the enemy.

Hermione stood up in front of the mirror, the light of the few candles reflecting her image. The delicate, long dresses were gone, and now she stood wearing a long-sleeved white shirt, trousers and leather, knee-high boots. Her hair was tied back, but no longer reached her waist. She had pulled out a dagger and ran the blade through her hair. Caramel locks fell around her, but she didn't regret anything. Now, her hair was barely past her shoulders.

Her armor was placed on top of the wooden table, waiting to be laid on her body. She ran her fingers over the cold metal, tracing the pattern of the Malfoy Coat of Arms. A shiver ran down her spine, the anticipation running in her veins.

The door creaked open, a low voice greeted her. "Ready, my little flower?"

Hermione turned to face General Sirius and softly nodded.

"I thought," the old man continued, closing the door behind him as he entered the room, "that you may need something to fit you better."

He unsheathed a sword, offering it to her. Hermione curled her fingers around the handle, gripping it into her hand. It was lighter than the swords she used for training. The blade was thinner and more elongated, more feminine. Softly, she brushed the sharp edge with her finger. She raised her brows at the sharpness of the blade. A thin, sharp blade would divide anything, or anyone, with a swift move. Her hand moved the sword around, and it felt like an extension of her arm, made just for her. Her eyes caught the engraved metal at the bottom of the blade. A wild daisy.

"Thanks," she whispered breathlessly, looking up to her General.

He showed her a fatherly smile. "A great warrior needs a great sword."

A warm emotion spread in her chest and she threw her arms around his shoulders. The General stood there, without moving, and just after a few seconds passed he patted her shoulder softly.

"Now, I'll be waiting for you at the gate. Don't forget that we will be riding side by side."

He opened the door, letting Ginny in, and with a last glance he left the ladies alone.

"You should see the chaos upstairs," the redhead said as she helped Hermione put the pauldron on. "Everyone's taking sides. Accusing the Prince of going mad and wanting to take over the throne. Others accuse King Lucius of being careless of Aerglo."

Hermione felt the metal on her body as Ginny clipped the armor together. "But it seems you chose your side, even before this started."

"I've sworn loyalty, Ginny," Hermione pointed out, adjusting the plackart over her chest.

"You've sworn to serve him here. Not to follow him to the front lines."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Loyalty is anywhere you are. You can't be loyal here and not outside the kingdom. If he needs me in the front, so be it."

"You should tell that to Lord Potter," Ginny shrugged, and Hermione turned to face her.

"What did you just say?"

"That you should tell Potter about your concept of loyalty," the pale lady rolled her eyes. "He cares only for the King and prevents the Prince from getting too close to his father. I've seen him going around the Prince's old chambers and into the private part of the library many times. I bet he'll do anything to keep the Prince from taking the crown before his father dies."

Hermione didn't reply to this. Instead she adjusted her sword belt and gave her friend a long good-bye hug before heading to the gates.

They had been on the road all day, marching as the sound of the sound of their feet against the hard earth filling the air. The harsh summer sun was finally settling down, tinting the sky a deep blood red.

"I think we should camp tonight. We'll arrive to the Province tomorrow after midday. Fighting the enemy at night is never a good idea, and now we have new soldiers that are still not used to complex tactics. We need to inform them how we'll proceed before we throw them into the lion's mouth."

As always, Theo was right. He had not seen his uncle Sirius in all day, as he was marching in the front with the younger soldiers. If Draco was honest to himself, he was feeling anxious. After all, this was the first time he was leading the legion on his own, without his father's support. But maybe this was the way things needed to be done, and he prayed to every god to let him be right about his decision of going against his father.

The bond Prince turned to face Lord Nott and nodded. His friend quickly sent an armorer to inform the General.

He heard orders being shouted, and soon the tents were erected, and the campfires started as soldiers began to get ready before the dark night fell. Draco got off his horse, splashing some of the fresh water that was offered to him in his face. The main tent was ready for the first meeting, before everyone headed to sleep. The red sky was turning darker by the minute. Eyeing the thick forest around them, he knew they would have to stand watch for the night. After all, they could expect the enemy to be hiding in between the trees.

"I was worried, you know, son. I actually thought you will lead these inexperienced soldiers towards the enemy on a moonless night," Draco heard the low voice of his uncle behind him, chuckling. The sound of hoofbeats made the Prince roll his eyes.

"My-my, don't we have our own amazon," whispered Theo next to him, elbowing Draco on the ribs.

Frowning, he turned to see what Theo was mumbling about.

Sitting on top of a black horse was a woman that surely could've fought along the amazons in an old legend. She was not ridding the delicate way ladies did, but with each of her legs on a side of the horse, holding firmly to the saddle. Her skin was glowing gold, after spending so many hours under the sun. Brown locks pulled back, away from her face, which gave him a better look of her features. Freckles over the nose, full red lips and a pair of golden eyes, strong as steel and wild as the fire. Her armor was not silver, like the color that represented his kingdom, but a soft golden copper. The Malfoy Coat of Arms engraved on her chest, glowing proud with the last sun rays.

Hermione got off the horse with a swift move. "I'll do the rounds with the young boys," she informed Sirius, who just smiled, before she marched to the far end of the campsite.

For the next two and a half hours, Draco sat in front his uncle, Theo and a couple Lieutenants discussing which was the way to confront Deneb's soldiers. But, as his father once said, no war had happened since he was crowned, no one knew how the Longbottoms managed their legions. The only one that had an idea was Sirius, who fought against them when he was barely twenty. But tactics changed through the years and they were facing the unknown.

"As no war is officially declared," Sirius spoke, refilling his cup with Whiskey, "if they do fight us when we arrive, we'll get a full glance to their way of fighting. They are not waiting for us, they don't have a second plan. But we shouldn't give them the same advantage. We'll use the Kings tactics first, to fool them about the way our Legions move. Only if necessary, we will implement our new plan."

A mix of words of approval left everyone's lips.

"I just have a last question before we conclude," Lieutenant Lupin, his cousin's husband, spoke. "What about the girl? To which rank does she belong? Will she be in the front line with the Auxiliaries, or will she stay back with the more experimented soldiers?"

"None," Draco was quick to respond, and everyone turned to see him, curious about his reaction.

Sirius shook his head. "What my nephew means, is that she is a special soldier. Our ace under the sleeve. She only takes orders from me or the Prince himself, but don't worry, as she's not allowed to give orders to anyone. No one had the obligation to follow her command, not even the Auxiliaries. If they do, it'll be because of their desire to do so."

"I still don't understand why you brought a woman to such an important mission," Lupin frowned, and Draco clenched his jaw.

"I'm afraid you won't understand that until you see her handling a sword. I've never seen such swift and clean moves. After all, no man, not even the enemy, can resist a true beauty."

The words lingered in the air and the men laughed. Draco felt his stomach flip at the thought of offering Hermione to the enemy, like a candy, to win war. He started to regret his decision. Allowing her to come was crazy. She would be the prey of hungry men, and they will drag her away from him alive. A dead woman would not serve their wicked purposes, or maybe they were even more wicked than he'd imagined. The imagine of a man forcing his way into her as she screamed for help made him shiver.

"What are you doing?" his voice came out huskier than he imagined.

She snorted, annoyed, but didn't turn to face him. "It's my turn to do the watch."

Her tone stated as if it was the most obvious thing.

"You are not a soldier. You are not supposed to have turns."

Hermione turned to face him, her caramel eye glaring at him with anger.

"I offered to take tonight's shift, if you don't mind Master."

Draco narrowed his eyes, staring at her intently. She was not supposed to be a soldier, but boy he knew she was molded for that role better than many of the men sleeping in the tents. A wave of hot summer night air blew between them and he was engulfed in her fresh lavender smell. The same smell that had lingered in his bed when he woke up in the morning. The same smell that peaked around the corners of his library.

For the last two weeks he had hardly seen her outside of her main duties as Lady-in-waiting. Sirius usually took her to the grounds in her free time to train her. And standing there, in the darkest of nights, so close to her made Draco realize how much he had actually missed her. Not because his mother was breathing down his neck. Not because Astoria was as warm in bed as the winter snow. Not because he was low key jealous of Theo. Not because he was sick and tired of his father's stupid decisions. But because he missed Hermione. He missed the way she would run her finger through his hair, the way she would kiss him with such passion and fire, the way he felt so at peace when he was with her.

Stepping closer to her, he lifted his right hand to cup her cheek. But before his skin could feel hers, Hermione stepped back. She looked around, making sure no one had seen their actions.

"You shouldn't do that in public. Your wife's cousins are here, I really don't want to face another lashing," she whispered, her eyes finding his in the dark. Her soul was not burning, it was a faint flicker of light behind her chocolate irises.

"You know that I have forbidden Astoria to command punishments without consulting me first," he frowned.

"I know. But don't you think everyone thinks it's weird?" she whispered harshly. "You have been making excuses for us to happen. Keeping me as you Lady, banning anyone to order me, forbidding them from punishing me, allowing me to come with you."

"Do you want to be lashed every other day? Is that what you want?" Draco half whispered, half yelled while throwing his hands in the air in exasperation.

"No! Of course not," closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. "I'm very thankful for everything you've done for me. You don't know… you don't know everyone knows. Even Eirene."

A sad laugh escaped her lips, and she shook in her armor, pretending to adjust it. She placed her right hand over the handle of her sword, tracing the flower engraved on the metal. She stepped closer to him, tilting her head up, so she could see him properly over their height difference.

"They know. I know one day my body will be hanging from the central plaza, in the middle of the town. They'll probably say I were to be executed because of theft."

"They can't do that. They can't prove nothing, and no one can hurt you without my permission."

"It's different now!"

She turned, clutching her head between her hands. The grass crunched beneath her feet as she paced up and down. Draco stood there, watching her, hoping that no prying eyes were watching them. Finally, she let a long breath and straightening her back, she turned to face him once again.

"Look, I was not supposed to tell you this. Astoria is pregnant. The physician told her two days ago. Tomorrow a letter will arrive telling you the news, she wanted to do it 'in a romantic way that got you excited to go back'. I'm sorry for telling you, but it's different now. You'll have an heir Draco, you could claim the throne before your father dies. And you know no lover of any king has survived to tell the story. It's too risky for the crown."

Draco felt like no air was reaching his lungs, like when you are drowning and you only gasp at the painful sensation of water filling your lungs. He just stared at the rare flower in front of him. Her face trying to stay firm, but the fear was clear in her weak smile.

"You called me by my name. You called me Draco."

The words were out of his lips before he realized. She looked away, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh of her lower lip.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, before turning and walking away from him, closer to the edge of the forest.

Hermione was right. First thing in the morning, before most of the soldiers were up an envelope addressed to him came. He did not dare to open it. The envelope was pushed down his bag.

He was mad at himself. Draco felt angry for not feeling the relief (or excitement) he expected to feel when Astoria would finally get pregnant. No, he didn't feel anything good. He just felt that this was another nail embedding the crown more to his head. Another barrier keeping him away from Hermione.

During the morning as they marched towards the province, he felt the air getting thicker. The sun burning his skin. His uncle riding on his left, Theo on his right. Astoria's cousins before them. Hermione on the front lines guiding the younger soldiers, following her every command.

They had been mesmerized, like everyone else, not only by her beauty but by the way she handled the sword. They had seen her and Sirius training just as the first rays of the sun brightened the horizon, and her skillful right hand showed them that she had been born to hold the blade. Now they imitated her moves and listening to everything she had to say. On top of that, they respected her as rumors of her being the daughter of the General were going around. Sirius just chuckled when hearing what speculations soldiers had about the only woman on the Legion, but had made no effort in stopping the nonsense. Instead, he just played along referring to Hermione as his daughter to anyone that asked.

Sirius whistled, and the soldiers stopped abruptly. Moving aside, the men allowed the Prince to make his way to the front lines, Sirius, Theo and others just on his heel. Hermione guided her horse to line up with them, standing beside Sirius.

Before them, the General of Deneb's Legion stood proudly on his horse. His gold and red armor shining under the sun. His soldiers appeared to be calm, but no Legion would be calm if they were facing the enemy. Draco could almost taste the wrath on the air, their desire of blood, of winning.

"Greetings, your Royal Highness," the General smirked, bowing his head mockingly.

"Greetings, General," Draco said, proudly.

"What brings his Majesty to these lands, so far away from home."

Draco raised a pale brow, his icy eyes staring at the black ones before him.

"Shouldn't I be asking that question? I think you are a little lost, General. You see these lands belong to Aerglo, not Deneb. I can only wonder what you and your men are doing in my Province."

The Deneb's General glared at him, and Draco saw how the soldiers behind him shifted in their positions.

"We are only passing. We've just returned from far away and needed to restock our supplies before heading on the long way home," his dark eyes shifted briefly towards Hermione, as she pushed her hair over her shoulder.

"Then I recommend you to get going, as I'm sure your King is worried about his soldiers."

"Will be back home, after we finish our duties."

His hand grabbed the gold handle of his sword, dragging it out. But before the General could give a swing on Draco's direction the sharp sound of a blade cutting the air reached his ears, and soon Hermione's sword had chopped off the man's arm.

It only took a second for the army to attack, swords crashing against another, horses going forward, men facing the enemy. Thick, red liquid quickly tinted the earth, as men fell, their lives leaving their bodies.

Draco saw soldiers dressed in red, running towards him. With his left hand clutching the reins and his right hand handling the sword, he cut a man in half around the waist before beheading another.

"Watch out!" Theo yelled as he stabbed a man, while attempting to approach Draco.

The bold Prince jumped off the horse, swinging his sword at any men dressed in red that approached him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sirius and Lupin racing in their horses, knocking the enemy out. Their swords shining red with blood.

The sound of grunts and moans, as bodies hitting the ground and swords clashed together was overwhelming. The air smelled like earth, sweat and blood. He could feel the droplets of the red liquid that had splashed his face.

A horse ran past him, almost knocking him. As he looked up from his now dead victim, he realized that no one was riding it. His gut clenched as he realized the copper colored buckle on the saddle. He pushed a Deneb's soldier, before stabbing him directly into the heart, as he ran towards the direction the horse had come.

Hermione was not riding her horse and no were to me seen.

He ran deliriously, trying to spot her between the men battling and the men laying dead on the ground. His mind rushing, his pupils dilated. Was she dead? Did she finally perish under the sword of the enemy? Was she laying cold on the ground, under the burning sun?

I knew letting her come, letting her fight was a bad idea, his own voice screamed in his mind. He had let his rare flower come willingly to die in the enemy's arms. His flower that had slowly blossomed in the castle's grounds, surrounded by vines and weeds. The picture of her body on a pool of blood, her pretty face wounded and her fire eyes dead, clouded his mind.

Hermine was his flower. Even though her fire soul would never allow him to possess her. Even though he was not allowed to care for her. Even though he was being selfish by risking her life in order to spend one moment with her. Even though he had duties to his Kingdom that forbid him from wanting her so bad. Even though the gods were mad at him for breaking every rule he should've followed. Even though that, Hermione was his. Not because she wanted to be his. But because he loved her.

He had fallen for the quiet girl with the fire soul. The bright mind that wanted to fight. He had fallen for her taste, her soft skin and the way she seemed to complement him whenever they were alone. Because even if she didn't understand what troubled his mind, she embraced him with her soul giving him the peace he needed. Because she was the only one that truly cared for him and not what he represented. She was the only one that stuck by his side during bright and stormy days.

His gray eyes found his precious flower, laying on the ground, a soldier dressed in red holding her down. Blood dripping from the open wound just above her brow. Her caramel hair wild as she struggled to get the man off from her. The man just grabbed a dagger and raised it on the air, aiming at her heart. Her face was wild, fear and anger twisting her features.

Draco started to run, his body burning, trying to get to them before it was too late.

A/N: HELLOOOO! Plz don´t kill me for leaving you at a cliff hanger. Thanks for all you reviews, likes and follows. This is story is for you! I write this so you can indulge a little after a long day 3.

I know I took forever to update but I had exams (failed one miserably and got high marks on another so not really sure how do I feel), had a car crash (I just had a bad bruise but it hurt A. LOT.), and just had a lot to do at uni. So sorry for taking so long, but I hope you liked it.

I read ALLLLLL your reviews but I actually feel like a creep sending you a message to thank you, (so if you want to chat just tell me plz because I would like to chat with you guys).

PLEASE DON'T LOSE YOUR HOPES ON ME, I SWEAR I'M TRYING MY BEST TO UPDATE. Love u! Hope you have a wonderful day/week/month/life and hope to read you on next chapter! bye :)