Title: Whiskey Lullaby

Author: Fallen Angel of Hell

Related Song: "Whiskey Lullaby" by Brad Paisley feat. Allison Krauss or Carrie Underwood

Rating: PG-13 or T; mild sexual situations, language, alcoholism, suicide

Summary: After three long years Draco returns home hoping to start his life with his beautiful wife, Hermione.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters. I do not own the song Whiskey Lullaby either.

Continuation: one shot

Whiskey Lullaby

Draco sat in the back of the Knight Bus staring down at a photograph of her. It was their last day together before he left for the war and he remembered it as though it had been yesterday. She wore a white sundress with little pink flowers stitched a few inches above the hem. She smelled of sweet honeysuckle. He held her for what seemed like hours not wanting to let go of her. When he finally broke away from her she stared into his piercing blue eyes with her brown ones.

"Come home," she whispered touching his face. "Come home to me and we will start our family."

"I will," he replied, "I promise no matter what. I love you." He bent down to kiss her gently, "I will always love you. No matter what. Until the day I die I will love you."

Only the jolt of the Knight Bus coming to a screeching halt in front of his home brought

Draco to the reality that stood before him. He looked out the window a moment at the home he and Hermione had made for themselves before he was called away. When they had it built Hermione wasn't interested in the glitz and glam he had to offer her. Instead of a large fifty bedroom mansion that they had been offered in the past they chose to build a small four bedroom home in the country. She had told him that she lived in the city all her life and wanted to get away from all the hustle and bustle. He would do anything for her as long as she was happy and with him.

"Sleepy Willow Lane!" The middle aged bus driver called. Draco looked up toward the front of the bus and nodded gathering his things and sliding the glass framed photograph of his beloved wife back into his robes. Taking a deep breath he strode to the front of the bus.

"You look so nervous!" the driver said hiding a slight chuckle.

"I haven't been home for so long," Draco said smiling, "I don't know if my wife even knows I'm still alive."

"If she's a good woman she would hold on forever."

Draco smiled and looked back one last time at the men and women who once stood up with him in battle. Several gave encouraging smiles as he turned away and left that life behind. In a few steps he would walk in the door of his home to find his wife in the kitchen reading the Daily Prophet drinking a cup of tea.

He opened the screen to their home and crossed the threshold. Looking around he noticed that very little had changed. Turning he saw the photographs that lined the foyer walls; dancing on their wedding day, her with her three best friends, the five all graduating from the academy, powdering her nose on their wedding day looking into the mirror. A small thud on the floor told him that his wife was not in their kitchen as he had imagined she would be. Setting his bags on the floor he stood proudly and walked upstairs toward their bedroom.

The door was mostly closed, there was a crack of light where the door had not latched closed. He swore he heard a giggle come from within, but he believed that he was imagining things and brushed it off. He pushed the door open and heard a gasp.

A scantily clad Hermione was not alone. Beside her was Ron one of her best friends.

"Draco," she breathed.

"Hermione," Ran said slightly frantic, "I thought you said that he was dead."

"It's not what it looks like, Draco I swear," she said scrambling from the bed. She went to push herself into Draco's arms and he backed away raising his arms.

"No," he said in a spooky voice, "I'm afraid it is exactly what it looks like."

He glanced at the red headed man in his bed then to his unfaithful wife. Shaking his head he turned on heel and left stomach lurching. Hermione chased him out the door pleading with him not to leave. He gathered his bags at the door and looked at the photograph of them dancing on their wedding. He punched the glass and felt as it shattered instantly just as his life had in a few brief moments. Storming out the door he marched up the walkway throwing out his wand hand the Knight Bus appeared.

"Please don't go," Hermione pleaded from the porch with tears rolling down her face.

Pretending not to hear her voice he climbed the stairs of the bus shoving gold into the hand of the young man who was standing ready to give him prices to his destination. Heaving a great sigh Draco collapsed onto one of the chairs. Looking around he noticed that all of the faces of people riding the bus had changed. He was receiving questioning looks from several of the new faces. He looked away ashamed of the fool that he had suddenly become.

"Where you headed to?" the young man questioned counting the gold in his hand.

"Where's your next stop?" he said in a very hollow voice.

"Diagon Alley," he replied. Draco nodded his head and watched out the window as the Weasley who had weaseled his way into his bed came out onto the porch to comfort his lover who shoved him away.

The bus bolted away. That part of his life was over now and without her he didn't know what to do.

She put him out

like the burning end of a midnight cigarette

She broke his heart

He spent his whole life trying to forget

We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time

But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind

Once Draco reached the busy streets of Diagon Alley he paid for a room at the Leaky Cauldron for the month. The new owner looked at him and shook his head as Draco walked away. Suddenly there was an odd feeling almost as if everybody knew what she did to him. He put his in the room and looked around. The room was very plain: a bed, an old table and chair, washbasin, bathroom, a dusty window that looked over the streets of muggle London.

He sighed and pulled off his robes catching the faint sweet scent of honeysuckle. Shuddering he threw the robes onto the floor and heard a crack sound. His brow furrowed as he dug through the pockets of the robes. A piece of glass cut through the flesh of his hand as he pulled out the photograph of Hermione and his last happy day together. A single tear slipped down the young Malfoy's face as he set the broken frame on the table.

He walked downstairs to the smoky bar and sat down at the end of the bar. The bartender walked up to him and set a glass down.

"What'll it be?" he asked gruffly.

"Firewhiskey," Draco said in his hollow voice, "and keep it coming."

"Alright," the bartender said reaching under the bar for the bottle. He filled it to the rim. "Drinking somebody away are we?"

"You could say that," he muttered downing the first shot. It burned the whole way down and as requested the bartender poured another glass. "How much per bottle?"

"Five galleons," he replied. Nodding Draco loosened the knot on the moneybag hanging from his belt-loop and tossed the whole bag onto the counter.

"I want three bottles to take up to my room," he said. "That should be more than enough to cover the bottles, every shot I drink here and a generous tip."

"Very well sir," he replied retrieving several bottles from the back room. He returned setting each one down individually. "She must've hurt you pretty bad."

"Just pour the whiskey," Draco said.

It was well after midnight when a drunken Draco Malfoy stumbled up the stairs to his room. He set the bottles on the table and began digging through his bags. When he was fighting during the war he discovered a quick way to kill his enemies. His fingers found the ice cold bottle of a poisonous potion. In small amounts it could kill a little bit at a time. In one large dose a man would be dead in a few hours.

Stumbling over to the table he opened every single bottle and poured the potion into only one of them. Slowly he closed all of the bottles and set them on the table. He crawled into bed and fell into a deep restless sleep.

The next morning he awoke to a pounding on the door of his room. He climbed out of bed and stumbled to the door his head pounding, stomach incredibly sore.

"Draco!" he heard her yell through the wood. "Please let me in!"

"Go to hell!" he yelled back through his drunken haze stumbling over to the table where his whiskey sat. He opened one of the bottles and drank deeply. A click sounded at the door and he turned to see his cheating wife standing before him. She didn't look as composed as she usually had as she stood before him. He knew that he looked like hell, but he didn't care. There was nobody left in the world for him to impress.

"Please hear me out," she said coming in and shutting the door. Draco sat the bottle down and stumbled over to her shoving her into the door.

"You proved to me that you couldn't be trusted," he slurred. "I loved you, I married you and made a promise to always be faithful. You waited for the first opportunity I was gone I'm sure. How long did you wait? A day? A week? A month? A YEAR!?"

Hermione let out a tiny sob and pushed him off of her. She walked to the bed and sat down.

"I don't know how it happened," she said quietly.

"It doesn't matter how it happened! The fact of the matter is that it happened and it seems that you didn't think twice did you?" he yelled. "I spent nearly three years away from you and not once did I stray from my vows Hermione. NOT ONE TIME! You know I did nearly die once and you know what came to my mind?"

Hermione shook her head curls bouncing lightly as she did so.

"You. On that last day I was with you," he took another deep drought that seemed to burn even more than the previous. " 'Come home to me and we will start our family.' Did you mean it?"

"Every word," she whispered. "I didn't want it to happen Draco. Please believe me. I didn't want to bury your memory before I knew. But, you have to understand. He was there for me, I was so scared that I wouldn't let go at all and I would spend the rest of my life alone in that house with no children and no husband."

"Well it looks like you are getting what you bargained for," he said holding the bottle up to her mocking a toast. "I hope the two of you are happy with one another. He is really perfect for you you know. A weasel, that's what he is. A dirty weasel. And you, how dare you come to me you filthy little Mudblood, begging my forgiveness. I can't believe I ever saw anything in you. Whore."

He spat at her feet. Hermione burst into tears.

"Please," she pleaded through her tears, "please give me another chance. I love you. I want to be with you and nobody else."

"No, you ruined it," he said taking another long drink that caused him to stumble and slop some of the whiskey onto his shirt. "Get out!"

She sat there as though she was refusing to leave. A bold move for somebody who had betrayed his trust so much. Draco stood there waiting. A large part of him wanted her to suffer every little ounce of pain. A pain that he was suddenly suffering because of what she had done to him. Then there was that tiny voice in the back of his mind that was telling him to put the bottle down and take her into his arms and apologize for the hurtful things that he had just said. That part of him wanted to forgive her and give her another chance. Three years had been such a long time he imagined..

"Get out," he repeated. "The mere sight of you makes me want to vomit."

Hermione heaved a deep sigh and wiped a few tears away from her cheek. Then a fire seemed to ignite in her stomach. She glared at him as she walked out the door. She paused a few feet away to listen. Hearing nothing she turned to see that he was standing in the door frame watching her. When he saw her look back at him the door slammed closed causing her to jump slightly.

Draco returned to his bed squeezing the bottle between his palms. He became aware of a dull pain that he felt in his hand. Setting the bottle down he turned an open palm toward his face and looked at it. Then he remembered the cut that he had received digging through his robes to find what had broken. The cut had scabbed over and began to show some vague signs of healing. His hand may be healing, but his heart never would.

The scent of the firewhiskey was potent. He wondered which bottle held the poison. Since he knew that there was a one in three chance that he was drinking from the poisoned bottle he made the choice to not care. Instead he stumbled to his luggage, whiskey bottle swinging in his hand and kneeled down beside it and began to dig through the contents looking for a piece of parchment and a quill. If he was going to be dead by nightfall he was going to document his reason why. His hand brushed against the soft feather of the quill and the parchment. Pulling it out he felt a tear slip down his face. Why she cheated on him was beyond him, but she did and a part of him was angry. Unfortunately that anger was so minuscule it shouldn't have bothered him when she appeared to him just a few minutes ago.

He slammed the bottle down on the floor and felt some of the liquid splash out of the bottle. A noise escaped his lips that was so loud he was certain the people could hear it in the streets and collapsed onto the floor. He sobbed freely though he wiped away his tears. He knew that he shouldn't be crying over her, but he couldn't help himself. They should have never have been together to begin with, but there was something so wonderful about her that attracted him to her. He drifted into a restless sleep within an hour.

There was a pounding at his door. Draco roused his head aching, stomach still fairly sore. He felt bloated and hungry.

"Who is it?" he said loudly picking himself off the floor. He half expected the maid to answer him with the question of if it was a bad time to come in and clean the room.

"It's Harry," a male voice on the other side of the door said.

"Go away Potter," Draco growled picking up the bottle and setting it on the table. Several hours had passed as far as he could tell.

"Please let me in Malfoy," Harry said from the other side. Annoyed Draco stomped over to the door and threw it open..

"What do you want?" he growled.

"You look like hell," Harry said inviting himself in.

"Come to gloat," Draco spat closing the door. He looked over the man who lived through a great hell. He was handsome despite several new scars that accompanied his lightning bolt. He was clean and shaven.

"Actually I haven't," he answered. "I came to say that I'm sorry. Ron really didn't know that you were alive. Everybody really did think that you were dead. Majority of our soldiers were sent back home after the Death Eaters executions."

"Well then I do suppose that I was in the minority." Draco looked at himself in the mirror. Harry was right, he really did look like hell. His eyes were red and swollen he needed to shave and his whole face had swelled up like a balloon. "I can't accept the apology that you just gave me. It has to come from Weasley himself."

"I thought that you might say that, but he also figured that you might try to kill him if he even came near you," Harry's eyes scanned the room and rested upon the half empty bottle on the table. Draco caught his glances and cleared his throat.

"It doesn't matter Potter," he said, "I loved her so much and she ripped my heart out and stomped on it without so much as a second thought."

Harry sighed heavily knowing that he would never be able to change the young Malfoy's mind. He thought that it had been worth a try.

"For what it is worth," he said, "I know that she didn't want to give up on you. She loves you."

"I doubt that," Draco spat. He didn't mean that and he knew it. However, Harry did not know what he was thinking and that is what mattered. Harry stood still for a moment before walking very slowly to the door. He had placed his hand on the knob and began to turn it when he stopped.

"You still love her," he said. "Nobody can deny that. You wouldn't be trying to drink her away if you didn't."

"Just get out." Harry turned the knob and walked out without so much as a goodbye.

Once again Draco was all alone with his thoughts. He hoped that nobody would disturb him anymore as he sat at the small table with a quill, bottle of ink, and a long piece of parchment.

Until the night

He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger

and finally drank away her memory

Life is short but this time it was bigger

Than the strength it took to get up off his knees

We found him with his face down in the pillow

With a note that said: "I'll love her til I die"

And when we buried him beneath the willow

The Angels sang a whiskey lullaby

'To whom it may concern:

If you are reading this it is entirely possible that I am dead. I have died of a broken heart not that anybody cares. All I ask is that all that you find of me in this room is returned to my wife, Hermione Jane Malfoy, so that she may do with it as she wishes. I leave everything to her since she deserves it. No matter what she may believe she meant the world to me no matter what I told anyone and I owe everything to her. I'll love her until I die, just as I promised.

Sincerely,

Draco Lucius Malfoy

Careful to not smudge any of the ink Draco folded the parchment, placed it securely in an envelope, and put into his pocket. It wasn't much of a last will, but his head was pounding and therefore he couldn't think of any other way to say what he really wanted to. He looked over at the bottle sitting before him and reached for it feeling the smooth cool glass against his fingertips. He began to drink from the bottle hastily stopping after a few seconds to take a breath. The liquid burned worse that usual this time. He stood stumbling slightly as he walked across the room to grab the small glass on the side of the sink. He made his way back to the table and set the glass down. Squeezing his hand into a fist he remembered the photograph of him and Hermione and went to get it out of his trunk.

He returned to the table and sat. Before him was his wife with a man that he once knew. Unconsciously he reached for the bottle before him and began to pour the amber liquid in the glass. One by one he downed each shot feeling more and more loose and tired. He could feel that his heart was racing and his breathing had quickened. Sleep was all he wanted now. A nice long night of rest.

All the blood rushed out of his head as he stood. He stumbled with the remainder of the second bottle sloshing around. Something didn't feel quite right in his body. He remembered vaguely that he still hadn't eaten all day, but he didn't care all he wanted to do was sleep now. The bottle that had been swinging carefree in his hand hit the floor bouncing slightly before falling sideways and rolling underneath the bed. He collapsed into the pillows and feel to sleep.

The next morning came and went peacefully. The once Slytherin Prince did not stir nor did he breathe. He had gotten his wish to be free from the world.

Early on the morning after his soul has deserted him, his body was discovered by the maid and the inn keeper who had begun to worry about the man in the room. The two carefully turned him onto his back. He looked peaceful now unlike the afternoon when he checked in. The inn keeper noticed the parchment envelope and tugged it out of his pocket.

"Gertrude," he said in a low voice, "could you please gather all of his things. I am going to contact his wife to come get them."

Hermione Malfoy stood alone next to newly dug up soil near the willow tree in her yard facing her inlaws, Draco's old school friends and several other people who knew Draco in one way or another. She felt like she was facing the worst part of the world now with nobody on her side. She noticed a couple of the guests lean over to whisper in one another's ears. One of them looked at Hermione with a look of disgust. She swore that she could hear their whispers over the preachers words of goodbye to Draco. Three young wizards stood off to the side their wands at the ready to give Draco a final fairwell.

When the funeral ended she bent down and placed three white roses on his grave and looked at the headstone and read:

Draco Lucius Malfoy

December 5, 1980 - March 15, 2002

Devoted husband and Soldier

Rest in Peace

Very suddenly she was angry with herself. Why she had done what she had was beyond her comprehension, but the fact that remained was that she had cheated on her husband and what made it worse was that she got caught. Now she had to live with whispers and taunts. She sucked in the cool morning air a few tears slipping down her face.

Narcissa Malfoy strolled to where her now ex-daughter-in-law stood. She watched several tears slip down her face. She knew that it was Hermione's fault that her son was dead, but at the same time she understood what it must have been like watching witches and wizards coming home and rushing into the arms of their loved ones after three long years. If only she had waited just a little longer before she decided to move on nobody would be standing there that morning.

"Hermione," she said in a cool tone. Hermione sniffled and looked at her.

"Yes?"

"I blame you for everything that we are going through today," she said icily though she was nearly anguished when she heard Hermione take a sharp breath when she said it. Surprisingly the young woman had nothing to pose argument for.

"Believe me," she said slowly, "I know."

The rumors flew

But nobody knew how much she blamed herself

For years and years she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath

She finally drank her pain away a little at a time

But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind

A little more than three years later Hermione found herself sitting in a bar in the little muggle town not far from her home. Slowly she sipped from a glass filled with a bitter amber liquid pondering the past. Finishing the glass she signaled the bartender to pour her another glass pulling some money out of her pocket. She turned to look at several drunk men and women laughing happily, making toasts, dancing or at least attempting. Turning back she placed the money on the bar and accepted her drink.

Since the funeral Hermione Jane Malfoy had been known as the Mistake to several of her peers. She knew that had she been married to somebody from a less prominent family her affair and his death would not have made such an impact. But she had been married to a Malfoy, one of the most prominent wizarding families in all of Europe.

Her ex-mother-in-law's reaction had been anticipated at his funeral, but at the same time Hermione wished that she hadn't been so harsh. Even though when Draco entered the room on the fateful morning that she and Ron were together, she still loved him. Ron had just happened and when her husband strolled through the door it was something that she seriously regretted.

When she thought about it she wondered if she and Draco were supposed to be together at all. She was a muggle born from a blue collar family, best friend to Harry Potter, bookworm, and defender against the innocent. He was as pureblooded as he could possibly get, the Slytherin Prince of their year, and had betrayed the Death Eaters and Voldemort without thinking twice. They had gotten together by pure accident if anybody had asked, but nobody cared anymore.

She drank deeply from the glass and sat it back down on the bar once again signaling the bartender to pour her another glass as she fished more money from her pocket. Her pocket full of muggle money was dwindling smaller and smaller by every glass full, soon she would have to leave and make her way to a small wizarding pub. She was trying to avoid going to wizard pubs due to all the stares that she received. Witches still whispered to one another about the harlot that he had married. Hermione attempted to ignore them, but it was so difficult when they would walk by her a yell obscenities at her and each time she heard the words mudblood whore she nearly cried. The words would cut through her slowly like a dull knife through rubber. Yet she knew mudblood and whore were among Draco's final words to her as he was throwing her out of his room.

In three years time she never forgot their final conversation. She wanted to make it work with her husband, but she knew that when he saw her and Ron together his heart shattered into a million pieces. No matter just how many pieces she found it would have never been enough. The two had fallen in love and married in a whirlwind of passion. No sooner had they said their vows he was called away to fight those he would have been standing next to had he been able to kill Dumbledore. She would never forget that he had told her that he would always love her until the day he died.

Five more glasses of whiskey and she realized that she was out of money. She thanked the bartender for his hospitality and navigated her way through several drunken patrons. Several threw drunken cat calls at her. Two actually had the audacity to grab her rear. One followed her out onto the streets.

"Hey there Hotstuff," he called once they were outside, "where's the fire?"

She ignored him walking along the sidewalk hands crossed across her full chest trying to concentrate very hard on the steps she was taking. Years of drinking had caused her alcohol tolerance to build up, but tonight even her tolerance was being pushed and the man following her was catching up.

Suddenly she felt his hand take hold of her arm and push her up to the wall. She gasped in pain and looked into the eyes of her captor. They were a cold blue color with grey and green mixed in around the edges and toward the middle. He was pale, his hair was blond, and his breath smelled of whiskey, but he looked similar to Draco.

"Get off me," she snarled shoving his hands off of her. Though she doubted that he would be the type to give up easily she hoped that he might get the point and leave her alone. Much to her dismay he wasn't giving up. He shoved her against the wall again and this time placed his hand on the soft cotton cloth of her red dress and began to pull it clumsily up her leg.

"I asked you where you were going," he said slurring slightly, "it would have been polite to just answer me. Now look at what you're making me do."

Hermione was a little scared, but once again she shoved him off of her, balled her fist and hit him hard in the jaw. He fell to the ground holding his jaw, from the looks of it she had dislocated it but there was no time to admire her work she kicked him in the knee and ran ignoring the pain that she was feeling in her hand. Once she felt that she was safely away from the man she disappeared behind a dumpster and apparated back to her home a few miles away.

She stood over her sink looking out the window. In the livingroom the clock chimed ten and she reminded herself that it was still very early in the night, but the ordeal she had just went through in town wasn't worth getting back out just to endure taunts. Sighing she listened for footfalls she knew wouldn't be there.

Harry and Ron visited very rarely these days. The last time she had seen Ron it had ended in a great deal of yelling and Hermione blaming him for Draco's death. She knew that her blame was misplaced, but if he hadn't seen her the night before Draco's return then nobody would be where they were currently sitting. Draco would probably be sitting at the table reading the Evening Prophet while she cleaned the kitchen. Maybe she would have had a child by that time.

Harry on the other hand had no time to spare for a casual visit anymore since his hands were full with his growing family. Soon after his return he married Ginny and within a year she gave birth to twins Lily and James. In the last letter she had received Ginny was pregnant once again, this time with a son they were going to name Sirius. On his last visit she had fallen to pieces after unwrapping her fifteenth peppermint and popping it into her mouth. These days nobody wanted to see her and she understood their reasoning. When somebody dropped by she was either drunk or had recently woke from her recent binge. She was certain that she smelled horrible, but she smiled and excused herself to put on a little perfume. For her breath she used peppermints. However, nobody was fooled and they knew that she was drinking herself to death.

Until the night

She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger

And finally drank away his memory

Life is short but this time it was bigger

Than the strength she had to get up off her knees

We found her with her face down in the pillow

Clinging to his picture for dear life

We laid her next to him beneath the willow

While the Angels sang a whiskey lullaby

She remembered when Draco died that several items were turned over to her possession. Among those items was an expensive bottle of Firewhiskey that had sat aging in her cupboard. It seemed a shame to let it go to waste.

Standing on the tips of her toes Hermione reached into the cupboard, but much to her dismay the tips of her fingers brushed the cool bottle causing it to be pushed farther from her grasp. Turning around she spotted one of the chairs at the table. In another moment she was standing on top of the chair pulling the bottle out. The chair wobbled slightly, but she regained balance and climbed down.

She looked at the bottle, felt the cool glass in her hand and noticed that at some point it had once been opened, but as far as she could tell there was no liquid missing. Sighing she made her way up to her bedroom. The stairs creaked a little, a now comforting sound for her since it was the only noise in the house. She entered her bedroom and looked around. The bed had been slept in, but was still made up on one side.

"I miss you Draco," she said to no one. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath and opened them once more looking around with hope that his ghost may have come to the room.

There was no such luck. In three years there was no imprint of Draco Malfoy found anywhere, not even where he had died. She expected that when he went he was unafraid of death. Perhaps he had even accepted it with open arms.

Opening the bottle she inhaled deeply taking in all the aromas that the bottle had accumulated in more than three years. Then she drank directly from the bottle. It burned all the way down her throat, a sensation that she welcomed openly. Switching on the muggle stereo the the corner she laid on her bed listening to a cd that she had bought a few weeks before with a song that haunted her. She set the song to repeat as she sat down on her bed drinking from the bottle deeply.

She looked up at the window which overlooked the old willow tree that Draco had been buried beneath. When she died she hoped that she would rejoin her husband and he had granted her forgiveness. Over the years she had convinced herself that he would and take her back into his arms openly. She wondered what her tombstone would read or if anyone would even bother to read her last will that she had sitting on top of her dresser just in case she ever drank herself to death.

Tipping the bottle back she drank for nearly a minute. The whiskey burned all the way down and for the first time Hermione actually fire had really shot through her mouth, down her throat and into her stomach where it settled. Then suddenly she felt as if a knife was ripping through her stomach savagely. She yelled out dropping the bottle on her bed and clutched her stomach. The pain was horrible and was almost worse than the Cruciatus Curse ever could be. Not even thinking she picked the bottle up again and drank deeply. The process repeated again with the pain increasing ten fold.

"Oh God," she cried out in pain. "Please!"

She took another drink and set the bottle down on the bedside table grabbing the picture of Draco that sat there watching over her. It was funny when she thought about it, after his death the picture had ignored her, but over the years it had resumed watching over her. She laid the picture on his pillows still clutching her stomach in pain. Then she climbed out of bed stumbling to her bureau and scribbling a note to Harry and Ron. When she had finished she opened her owls cage and sent the letters along.

The pain in her stomach increased again as Hermione made her way back to her bed. She collapsed into the pillows taking hold of the picture as she did.

Harry received the letter from Hermione too late. When he arrived at her home she was already gone. He walked to the bed and stroked her hair feeling a tear slip down his cheek.

"There, there," he whispered. "It's okay now. You're free."

He owled the Daily Prophet and summoned the mortuary to come collect her body. In half an hour the old man from the mortuary apparated into her bedroom where Harry sat quietly in a chair with his head in his hands.

"Mr. Potter, sir," he said. "I've come to collect the body as you wished."

"In the bed," he replied quietly.

"Your wife?"

"No," he paused, "my best friend. Broken hearts are deadly you know."

"Aye, that they are."

A few days later beneath the willow tree a small group gathered to bid Hermione Malfoy goodbye just as she had wished. Her tombstone read:

Hermione Jane Malfoy

September 19, 1980 – June 5, 2005

Good Luck from Us

Rest in Peace

"Us?" Ron questioned.

"Yes," Harry replied bouncing his daughter a little and handing Ron a few white roses. "She wanted Draco to forgive her. I hope he does."

Harry placed his daughter on the ground as the small group made their way up to the house. Lily did not immediately follow. Her eyes were fixed on a man and woman standing behind the tombstones. The woman looked at the man questioningly. The man smiled and held his arms open.

"Lily," Harry called, "what are you staring at?"

"Mione and Draco," she replied. Even at the tender age of two she spoke very well. "They are over there."

Harry's eyebrow furrowed as he looked from his daughter to the tombstones. As far as he could see there was nobody there, but he didn't dare second guess his daughter. If she had seen Draco and Hermione standing at their tombstones then he had forgiven her.

Well that is it. I have written my first fanfic after three years of doing nothing on this site and pen name. I hoped that you enjoyed it. It took me a little while to write because I have been so busy. Okay I know that I have had hits on this, don't be lazy gimme some feedback. Inspiration if you will.

Forever,

Fallen Angel of Hell