'Ophiuchus' means 'serpent bearer' in Greek, and is a large constellation that crosses the celestial equator. In Roman mythology, he represents Asclepius, a healer who could bring people back from the dead. In Greek mythology, he represents Laocoön, a priest who warned the Trojans about the Trojan horse. He was killed by the gods as punishment.

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🖤

Neville's voice had faded into the background.

He looked back at Angel from across the distance. Her brown eyes were large and glossy with sorrow. And yet, her mouth twitched into the faintest smile. I understand, it's okay.

No, it was not. This was all wrong. He had only come because of the fear and panic in his mother's eyes. He wasn't ready to leave. Not yet, not ever.

Voldemort was watching Neville, his inhuman eyes sharp and alert, like a cobra waiting for its prey to be at its most vulnerable.

No one was paying attention to anything else. He would run back. Did he dare? The ground rumbled below his feet with an energy, channeling it into the muscles of his legs. He pressed his arm to his side, feeling the wand in his pocket, and the silver Hippogriff that weighed like lead.

"They didn't die in vain," Neville carried on. "But you will! Because you're wrong! Harry's heart did beat for us. For all of us! It's not over!" He unsheathed the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat.

At that moment, Harry leapt from Hagrid's clutch, very much alive. There was a sickening pause, and time slowed like a dying music box.

He was Ophiuchus, and he belonged to her, forever. 

He ran.

"Potter!"

This was just Quidditch. The wand was nothing but a Quaffle in his hands. Harry caught his eye, as he had many times on the pitch before - he was open. In one heartbeat, Draco gauged the distance, the wind, the strength of throw. Then he tossed the wand into the air.

It hung at its apex for a moment, as if pausing to soak up the shock of its audience. Then it arched down, landing right in Harry's open hand with dead-accuracy, and his fingers closed firmly around it.

Confringo! he heard Harry shout behind him. Explosions sounded. The Death Eaters were in an uproar.

But Draco did not turn. He was running to Angel. She had pushed past the others to the front. Her arms stretched out, ready to receive him.

Three more steps.

"Avada kedavra!" He did not recognise the voice.

Two.

His mother, screaming.

One.

The space around him lit up in the brightest flash of green he had ever seen.

He fell into Angel, and the only thing he knew in that moment was her embrace, and that his love for her was as immortal as the galaxies.