Prologue (PoV: Narcissa Malfoy, Battle of Hogwarts)

The Forbidden Forest is bitter cold despite the fire blazing in the center of the semi-circle of followers around the Dark Lord. It's as if a shadow were placed over the fire, filtering out all warmth and it can do nothing to fight the cold, just as the students of Hogwarts can do nothing against the Darkness in this doomed battle. How could they even be asked to try? They are children! No doubt the death toll is already staggering. Narcissa almost staggers herself, thinking of it. Yet the orange flames flicker on, spastically, mirroring her nerves, and send up black smoke through the trees where it is lost to the dark sky.

"Don't," Lucius barely whispers from where he stands beside his wife, and Narcissa realizes she has just opened her mouth to once again beg the Dark Lord to let her go after her son. "You will only anger him."

She squeezes her mouth shut and stares up at her husband. Besides his glistening brow, nothing gives away his panic. He avoids her gaze, not knowing how to answer the question she is asking with her eyes. What can we do to save our son?

Narcissa tries to focus on keeping her body from shivering as the chill breeze blows straight through her robes. The cold seeps unnaturally deep into her bones, stealing any body heat she has left. She can feel the magical hatred behind the wind, and knows they do not belong in here in this forest. They are invaders. Like her son, they are behind enemy lines.

She looks around at the other Death Eaters, silently pleading for someone to speak up, implore the Dark Lord on her son's behalf, but knowing no one will. The normally statuesque rank of the Dark Lord's closest followers is fraying. Everyone shifts erratically. The adrenaline left from the fighting makes it so difficult to wait. They wait for the battle to start again or for Potter to come in surrender. No one considers Draco. To them, he might as well be dead.

Narcissa turns her charmed bracelet to send another message to Draco. Please, answer me.

Even despite her own panic, she can feel the nervous energy of the people around her. They're cold and anxious, but also afraid. Excluding her sister, of course. Bellatrix looks as bloodthirsty as ever as she eyes the empty spot on Dark Lord's right hand side. She meets Narcissa's gaze and doesn't even bother to look sorry for her, and more importantly Draco's, predicament. Instead Bellatrix's eyes are filled with lusting after Severus's vacant position beside the Dark Lord. Where is Severus? Narcissa hadn't even noticed his absence.

Where is Draco?

She can only spare the missing man what amounts to a blink in her focused concern. The hour is almost up and Potter has not come. Soon more hellish chaos will let loose and Draco will again be surrounded by imminent danger. She turns her bracelet, sending yet another desperate inquiry. Draco?

Maybe that's where Severus is. Protecting Draco. He did make the Unbreakable Vow to do so, after all. Narcissa imagines the Potions master telling her to relax in his deep and disgust-tinted voice, saying that everything was handled smoothly and Draco was never in any danger.

Her fantasy is cut short when she feels the slight sting on her wrist. She turns her bracelet in the reverse direction and hears Draco's voice in her head: Potter saved my life. Twice.

As relieved as the mother is that her son is still alive, his tone sends a new kind of worry through her body. His voice was bewildered, as though shocked. But there is also apology in his tone.

Narcissa feels her jaw go slack and she forget about the cold when she realizes that his message was not just information, but also an explanation. Draco has made a rash decision. He's shocked and confused. He'll defect and, should the Dark Lord win this battle, he will suffer for it.

If she were concerned before, she now feels sick to her stomach with petrifying worry. A chill rushes through her, causing her body to finally rebel against the cold and begin trembling. Lucius hand is instantly on her shoulder, steadying her.

She prays that Potter will not come, that he will not give up the fight. According to the prophecy, if the Dark Lord kills the Chosen One, it is over, and then Draco will be tortured and killed as a traitor.

She's about to send her son a warning when she sees a flicker coming from somewhere beyond the fire she has been staring into. Her eyes dart to Lord Voldemort who is bowed intensely. All eyes are on him now, just as the hour closes.

"No sign of him, my Lord," Dolohov reports with barely concealed impatience. There's a long pause before the Dark Lord looks up and stares straight through the fire.

"I thought he would come. I expected him to come. I was, it seems . . . mistaken."

"You weren't," says a confident yet weary voice. Harry Potter steps out of the woods, eyes on Lord Voldemort. He stands tall with both arms humbly at his sides, no wand in sight.

Narcissa blanches. She knows that she's supposed to hate this boy, but even now as he destroys her son's chances of survival by surrendering, she cannot. Instead, she is mystified by his sacrifice and quiet valor.

"Harry Potter," the Dark Lord croons, an expression strangely close to glee on his features, "The Boy Who Lived." And he raises his wand.

Narcissa tries to force herself to move, to scream, to disintegrate, anything. But her calculating thoughts are in the way and she thinks: what can I do, really, that would save him?

The words are spoken, the light flashes, and Potter is blown backwards.

In the process, Lord Voldemort is also thrown back. Everyone scrambles, trying to decide how to react amidst the cries and bellows coming from the half-giant. Narcissa seizes the opportunity made by the distraction to try to slip into the forest and race for Hogwarts, thinking only of Draco.

Suddenly a curse hits her and she yelps as it burns her side. She looks around to see the Dark Lord pointing his wand at her.

"You," he spits, "examine him. Tell me whether he is dead."

Narcissa rushes the remaining steps towards the body of this boy no older than her son. If not for his slightly skewed glasses, his face shows no signs of his violent death. He seems to be merely dreaming.

Respect turns into reverence as she kneels down. She places her hand on Harry Potter's forehead.

"Thank you," she mutters, remembering Draco's report of being saved by the boy twice. She opens his robes and presses her hand onto his chest.

His heart is beating.

Her own heart slams against her ribs in a jolt of hope. Draco still has a chance! The Dark Lord could yet be defeated!

She stands fluidly and faces the Dark Lord.

"He is dead!" she declares, and she knows she did well.

The Savior and the Demon

Throughout this war, I have thought many times that if it came to it, I'd be ready to die. I've fantasized about an afterlife free of fear and force- free of duty. The ideal image of death was incredibly enticing.

But then, when the flames lapped all around me and the smoke drowned my lungs, I screamed for my life. I don't know why. Perhaps some cursed stubborn sense of self-preservation that still lingered, even after everything. Or maybe it was just because fire is a horrific way to go.

Whatever it was, I couldn't stop my hand from grasping Potter's when he swooped down through the smoke on a broom to scoop me up like an over-sized snitch.

I don't understand. Potter could have died trying to save me. Me who was only there to foil his plan. And why me? If anyone, why hadn't he tried to save Crabbe or Goyle? Surely he has less against him than he has against me!

Confused and distracted by what just took place, I walk down hallways newly ravaged by the ongoing battle. Hogwarts is in chaos, but I hardly register the rush of people as I pass. There are less paintings on the walls now than there are strewn about the floors, and most of them are empty. Knights are the only paintings still remaining in their frames. They scream out old battle strategies and quotes on bravery.

"Don't let the cowards past! Fight them off! Never retreat! Victory to the strong of heart!"

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I'm being vastly stupid by walking wandless through a mass duel. I should run, hide..

"OY! Look out, Soldier!" I hear the painting scream, just as I practically collide with a masked Death Eater. The tip of his wand jabs at my chest.

"I'm Draco Malfoy, I'm Draco, I'm on your side!" I say, raising my hands. I don't know why I bother. My name hardly protects me anymore.

The Death Eater just laughs from behind his mask. He starts to pronounce a curse, but in the next instant he crumples to the ground in a heap. I look around, imagining my mother or father or Snape, the only ones likely to be my rescuer.

A punch to the gut sends me backwards, tripping over the stunned corpse.

"That's the second time we've saved your life tonight, you two-faced bastard!" Weasley's voice calls from further away. He says "we", but somehow I doubt he had anything to do with it.

I look after his voice, but there's nothing there. Numbly, I stumble to my feet and take the wand from the grip of the stunned man, not even bothering to lift his mask and see who it is.

What is this? I don't even have the malicious energy to extract revenge?

No, I'm too dazed. I can't process the possible reasons Potter would have to save my life, now twice. Partly because there are none, other than an overdeveloped sense of heroism. Did he really value life enough to risk his own for an enemy's? Why? He wouldn't have been bothered if I had died. In fact, he'd be ridding himself of a rather nasty headache, no doubt. We had been there to detain him in what appeared to be an urgent quest, after all.

Why would he go out of his way to save me?

I look over the balcony at the battle going on below and it is obvious Potter's side is going to lose. Students aiming to stun against Death Eaters aiming to kill do not stand a chance. Potter will be murdered by the Dark Lord. The one who saved my life after all I'd done against him, and again when my own side turned against me, will be killed. And then what? Who really believes that in the end, purebloods will remain to be ruled peacefully by the Dark Lord?

No, the Wizarding world is doomed without its Savior.

What I do next cannot be explained. Did I not just say Potter was losing?

I cast a disillusionment charm on myself and wait until I'm completely blended into the stone wall of Hogwarts before I leap over the railing into the fray of the battle. Despite my solid landing, my feet immediately feel so much lighter than they have since the Dark Lord branded the dark mark on my arm.

Quickly, I weave through the witches and wizards locked in ridiculously noble duels with Death Eaters. I flatten myself against the wall and immediately blend into it. To stay hidden, the only thing I move is my wand arm that feels as light as a feather as I cast curse after curse at the masks that darkened my world.

My curses are all green.

I almost want to laugh as the Death Eaters slowly realize they are being attacked with an Unforgivable by someone unseen. Their eyes bulge in fear palpable even through their steel masks. They scan their surroundings trying to spot their more devious opponent.

I kill three within the first twenty seconds, but that's all I get anyway before his hissing voice reverberates through the castle and stills everyone in the room.

At the words "I command my forces to retreat immediately," all five of the remaining Death Eaters in the room whirl for the door. I seal it in an instant and watch as they look around for another escape route. Stunning curses fly their way from various spots around the room and every one of them falls down as I disable their weak shields.

"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then the battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."

Something inside of me that had begun to almost float as I fought, falls heavily back down with a thud. Did my heart just sink?

The Dark Lord is making the right move. Of course, Potter will go. The Savior will offer himself up with out a fight, the Dark Lord will win, and for my twenty seconds of treachery... I have to stop Potter.

I run down the hall leaping over bodies in the way. Gripping my Malfoy crest, I send a long overdue message to my mother: "Potter saved my life. Twice."

I know it's enough to make her understand.