"We do not understand Death, merely endure it." - Lucius Malfoy

Nobody challenged Draco when he went back to his room. He had to wait for a lull to cross the bridge, but then just walked across. He didn't break step when casting a spell with a flick of his wand to casually slap away the Somnium spell fired blindly over a green barricade. Nobody noticed. The living don't notice the dead during a war. At least, not when busy surviving.

Draco ducked into his room and picked up his letters from the last three days. He opened the first letter, but the screams outside his room ruined his concentration. He packed them all up into his pouch and trudged back across the bridge. The return trip didn't take as long, as the battle roved down inside Slytherin. Draco considered turning around, but who knew when people would come flying through his doorway, spells raging. He headed to the library.

Once there, Draco skipped a rather odd looking letter from Gringotts to open up the latest missive from Robert Jugson. Draco skimmed a brief report of spell research and then slowly read a longer discussion of the problems involved with setting up a muggle company. Draco took out his notebook and made several observations.

"How'd you die?" said Hermione. Draco sat up with a start.

"Have you heard the fable about the Veela and the Howler? Don't sneak up on people like that, Hermione." Draco shuffled his letters back into a semblance of order and dropped his quill on them. "There was a battle at breakfast and I got shot down. I shouldn't have gone, but I was hungry and the truce had held up before. In my defense, we were outnumbered two to one. And ..." Draco's voice just trailed off, and he shrugged.

"I suppose I did well, all things considered. I mean, look at the math. I killed four more people, not even counting my plots. You did well, too. Gregory told me, you had a pretty amazing death and I know you killed at least five. It still gets on my nerves to just get gunned..." Draco's voice suddenly cut out as some shouts erupted from the library stacks behind them and several fourth years ran by in a tangle of purple and green robes. Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled out her Advanced Potions book and started reading. Draco went back to his letter for a few minutes.

"I know what you mean," said Hermione and Draco realized that it had been silent for a minute. "I mean, it didn't hurt dying in any of the battles. Not like it did with Voldemort. Then ... I knew it was real, and it hurt so much and I knew I'd be gone and I thought I'd never be back and that I'd miss it and I was too young. But it was important, and I had to put on a brave face so that Harry didn't ... so he wouldn't blame himself or do anything stupid. I felt horrible, but I didn't have time to be sad or angry. Dying felt too important. In the games it feels trivial."

Draco's memory flashed back to the forest, to the Triffid and it's grinding vines and teeth. He nodded. "Well, it is just a game. And you have to admit it's working. Even without dealing with Voldemort, those of us in the armies," - for some reason Draco couldn't bring himself to just say soldiers - "are years advanced. The three of us would probably be advanced in any case, but Neville? The Parvatis? Everyone. The armies provide motivation and knowledge, not wisdom. Compared to your death they don't mean anything. Even I feel that way. I couldn't quite put it into words, but since the trial and the events, it's just a motion we go through. Just exciting homework. It's still motivating..."

"Oh I know. We both hate losing too much. But then when it's over we grouse about it for a few minutes."

"And then go to the library," Draco finished.

They sat in silence, Hermione reading and Draco shuffling through his correspondence, writing out letters and answering questions from his solicitor before pulling out his homework and spending some time on that. Another battle came through the library like a whirlwind of shouts and jinxes before disappearing as quickly as it had arrived. After it left, Draco looked up.

"Hermione, you just gave me my next lesson. Can you help me refine it?"

The first years quieted down as Draco and Hermione walked into class. Normally only a single second year lectured and they'd long since stopped treating Draco or Hermione as anything other than a student outside of halls. Although they still seem in awe of Harry. But the sight of two Generals entering the lecture hall got attention. Draco went up to the front and cast a Sonorus while Hermione took a seat.

"There are many stories from the battle, and I could easily take up the full lecture listening and commenting. Some stories are tragedies, like what happened to Mr. Creevey, who died through no fault of his own but the gullibility of a teammate who wasn't nearly as clever as he thought. Some are triumphs, although in war one person's triumph means tragedy for at least five others. Still others are comedies. At least today they are comedies where death is just a temporary setback, so our laughter doesn't feel like a sacrilege. Some are bewildering tales that makes no sense, yet there's a rhythm, a truth. Even though I can't tell what happened."

Draco let his gaze linger on Luna Lovegood for that last one, and she smiled serenely. Professor Lockhart shifted uncomfortably from where he stood at the side of the classroom, leaning against a wall. Draco normally coordinated his lesson plans with Professor Lockhart, but hadn't. Not this time.

"Our battles and wars provide stories. We see winners and losers, and they motivate us. We laugh and gloat, rage and commiserate, scream and comfort. We die and are reborn. And that's something of a problem. Because in real wars and real battles, we won't be reborn. With one notable exception, in any case. Maybe we live in an age of miracles. General Granger is here, and that is a miracle. I have both of my arms, and that is a miracle. When the Triffid ripped my arm off, it didn't hurt at the time. I was too busy staring at it. It mostly hurts at night, now. Mostly. The healers tell me its just nerves. Some say I should talk about it, some say I shouldn't. But this isn't for my therapy."

"Going over the stories from this battle or the last one. They are just stories. We're looking for patterns, for tactics that we can use and strategies that we can use. Because the stakes are so low we fight, and lose, and 'die' and fight again. It's a luxury we have, that people in real wars don't get. Our dead don't smell, don't bloat up in the street. Birds don't peck out the tastiest parts, and insects don't crawl over their bodies. And so while I discuss General Weasley's brilliant tactics in Gryffindor Tower that struck a stunning blow for Green on Saturday morning, many of you will sulk, because Ginevra killed several of you in this room. Then she died several hours later."

"In this classroom we study fighting. But true excellence in warfare pales in comparison to excellence in diplomacy or strategy that would prevent fighting. The Dark Arts are Dark not because of how they work, but because of their casual indifference to the soldiers who end up rotting in the streets. And make no mistake. Those soldiers come from all sides, not just the losers. There is no shame in getting shot out of the sky, there is no shame in dying because of someone else's stupidity, Mr. Creevey, only shame in dying of your own. There is no shame in losing because you have been out-prepared in some obscure area such as underwater broomstick riding, Miss Granger, or when your opponent has spent hours setting a trap. There is no shame in getting double-crossed, Mr. Smith, by someone who'd given you no reason to doubt their loyalty."

Draco saw Professor Lockhart relax, but watching him strangely. Hermione had subtly motioned Draco, she thought he was overdoing it, and he'd seen similar reactions from the students. They are only first years, after all. He moved towards his point, although his training in rhetoric told him the roundabout way was better.

"We feel shame because we have the luxury of living. We didn't actually die. So we go over and second guess ourselves, what if I did this? If only I'd noticed that, I should have planned for this. There are mistakes made, and there are lessons we can learn. But don't look for a lesson in every story. Because here's the truth that General Granger and I believe. Strange things happen in war. You can't predict everything, you can't plan for everything. War is not simple, like Chess, and even there the best that you can do is try to make moves that give you lots of options while at the same time restricting your opponent. A novice chess player may make a move and only then notice that it lets his opponent take his piece. A novice general may get flanked and routed. But once you achieve a basic level of competency, sometimes the battle goes to the person who knows a fact you were never in a position to learn. You may find yourself fighting a Dark Wizard who has read every tome written in Aramaic and there may be a legend there of a spell that disappears your bones, and you may find yourself boneless unable to raise your wand and that will be the last thing you see."

Draco had gone over the rough outline of what he wanted to say with Hermione. She'd suggested he invite Alastor Moody to give this speech, and that idea wasn't without merit. But Draco didn't want to be in the same room with the man. At least, not until he was an Occlumens. So he'd told her he could give the speech effectively, without being the walking horrorshow of the damage that could befall a victorious wizard, much less the loser.

"So you may say, 'Well, my fault for not studying hard enough.' But that legend could be written in Chinese. Or Russian. Or Sanskrit. You only have seven years in school, and only so many hours in every day. I hope we fill our lives with more than warfare, no matter how much fun it is."

"Professor Quirrell has ensured that we won't be outflanked. We won't make a rookie mistake, not on a real battlefield, not when it counts. But that doesn't mean we'll survive. And that doesn't mean that every story has a point, in war. So, when you discuss these battles here in the classroom and out there among yourself, I want you to remember that there are three options, not two. Yes, it could be that you were clever. Those stories will get told repeatedly, believe me."

That got a laugh rolling through the lecture hall.

"And maybe you were stupid. In that case give thanks that our wars are fought for nothing more than pride, and learn. But always consider the possibility that battles and wars are complicated, and even if you are clever and skillful, you can't know everything. General Granger could outduel any of you. It wouldn't be fair, or close. Professor Lockhart could easily handle General Granger plus the rest of the room. And he would tell you himself, there are people who could destroy him without breaking stride. If you follow Professor Lockhart into battle and he gets killed that would be devastating but not a huge surprise. It wouldn't make him a failure. It wouldn't make him a failure or a hero."

Draco saw that Hermione was nodding, but her eyes flashed with something akin to pride. He'd wanted to say something about Hermione's death, but she'd told him to not mention that too often. And he wasn't sure he could get through it easily.

"It would just mean he's dead. Adjust what you know, regroup and carry on. Bad things happen in war. Sometimes we assign blame or grant House Points. But often its just a big complicated mess that nobody can predict. So when you hear about some battle, consider the third option: Maybe it was just the normal chaos of war that let you win or got you killed. Please save those stories for outside class."

Draco coughed once.

"Sorry, I took too long making my point, so let's limit our discussion to actual mistakes and actually clever gambits not just retell stories about the Fortunes of War. Let's start with the Battle of Gryffindor Tower. on Saturday. Now, I wasn't there to see it, but I believe General Granger can give us the broad outline..."