The instant Draco let the truth settle — that losing Hermione would mean losing himself — a searing jolt shot through his chest.
Not fear. Not anger.
Pain.
Real, blistering pain that tore through every nerve.
He staggered, gripping the edge of McGonagall's desk, choking back a gasp.
"Draco?" Mia cried, rushing toward him.
But Draco's eyes snapped shut. He felt it.
Felt her.
Through the bond neither of them spoke about — the magic born from love, deeper than any Unbreakable Vow, stronger than old blood laws.
Hermione's fear.
Her pain.
And worse… her silent, burning defiance.
He could feel her fighting — feel every lash of the Cruciatus curse striking her, rebounding along the thin, invisible thread that connected them.
His vision swam. His pulse roared.
"She's alive." The words clawed from his throat. "But they're… torturing her."
Mia's face went pale. "Dad—"
"I have to go." Draco's voice was hoarse, but steady. "I have to bring her back."
He didn't go alone.
Within the hour, the Room of Requirement had transformed — walls lined with maps, magical tracking charms burning in the air.
Harry was the first to arrive, his green eyes dark with a familiar fire. "I knew Lucius would never stay in the shadows forever."
Ron slammed his fist into his palm. "Bloody hell, Malfoy — you should've called us sooner."
"I didn't want a war," Draco admitted, eyes like steel. "But if this is one… I'm done fighting it alone."
Neville arrived next, sword of Gryffindor slung across his back. Luna followed, a soft smile on her lips, her wand glowing faintly.
Dean, Seamus, George, Ginny… one by one, the faces of the old Dumbledore's Army walked through the doors — older, stronger, forged by battles past.
Mia stood near the door, gripping her wand, eyes shining. "I want to fight."
Draco shook his head softly. "Not this time."
Mia opened her mouth — but Harry rested a hand on her shoulder. "Your mum would never forgive us if we let anything happen to you."
Mia pressed her lips together… then gave a sharp nod.
As the final plans formed, Draco stood slightly apart, gazing at the map glowing in midair.
The image of Malfoy Manor flickered — wards swirling, Death Eater signatures marked in red.
Harry stepped beside him. "You alright?"
Draco met his eyes. "I don't care if I have to burn that place to the ground." His voice was low, lethal. "I'm bringing her home."
Harry gave a grim smile. "Then let's bring her home."
The strike force stood ready at the edge of the Forbidden Forest — wands drawn, hearts steady.
Draco glanced toward the horizon, the wind stirring his robes.
For the first time since the war, he wasn't standing in someone else's shadow.
He wasn't the Malfoy heir.
He wasn't the reformed Death Eater.
He wasn't even the Hogwarts professor.
He was Hermione's husband.
Mia's father.
And a man willing to tear down the world for the people he loved.
With a soft crack of apparition, they vanished into the storm.