He couldn't go on. Slowing down from already a terribly slow pace, he stopped, his breath coming in large gasps that pained him. In his arms, gently, gently, he set her down onto the rainsoaked ground. Above him, in the gray sky that once his silver eyes had looked so much like, the lightning flashed and the rain poured, drenching ragged clothes and sliding down skin. He crouched over her stationary body, sheilding her from the rain one last time. Black lashes fluttered as the woman, the harsh cruel world making her mature before her time, struggled to overtake death. Her breathing was labored and shallow, thin stomach barely rising and falling. Limbs seemed so, so heavy, and all she wanted to do was sleep...sleep and sleep for eternity. Her eyes cracked open, revealing dimming, chocolaty brown eyes. She gazed almost hungrily into his brightened silvery orbs, which were ever forgiving.
"Draco." she whispered; talking seemed so hard and his face so far away. He bent closer, wanting her not to speak, to save her energy.
"Yes, my love?" he whispered back, using one hand to brush away loose strands of tawny hair.
"I...I love you." came her whisper, so soft he thoght he had misheard. Her mouth turned into the smallest of smiles as he smiled back. A tear trickled down his face, and with trembling fingers she reached up and brushed it away. Her heart pounded, slower and slower, the beat so loud in her fragile ears. Feelings of sadness, depression, and hopelessness fled through it, attempting to engross her entirely, but a new feeling, one of pure energy, shot through her.
As his hand grasped hers, her skin grew cold to his touch. Her breathing faded, eyes closed, and no longer she shook in agony. He closed his eyes for a second, head bowed, and brought her still hand to his lips. The rain fell harder around them. He hugged her to him, and felt with a dulled feeling of shock that her heart beat one last time. He felt warmth pump through her for that heart beat, and fade away until her spirit was gone...nothing was left. His face in her soft curls, he cried. He let everything loose, and for the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy cried until no more tears would come. He knew people were around him, a whole mottly crew of battered and beaten people. Some whispered condolences, others gasped as the scene played out before them.
Draco slowly let her down onto the ground, grasping grim knowledge to keep him sane. He looked upon her porceline face for the last time, tracing her lips with a finger before, still crouched, he glanced up. Directly in front of him stood a man, no longer the skinny, scared little boy he had been when the two had first met. Emerald eyes blazed with newfound power and anger at what lay before him. A wand was grasped in his slightly quivering hand, slick with blood. On his wrist was a cut, now a scar, scratched with a dull blade: the shape of the Dark Mark. On his other hand, etched in what was his own handwriting, the never-fading words "I must not tell lies". He never did. Behind circular glasses, those emerald eyes gleamed with pain and suffering unlike others, yet so much like the same feelings in the silver orbs of Draco's.
A trembling hand reached out, and Draco grasped it, using it as his only support that tethered him to reality. He was pulled upright by the raven-haired man, and as their eyes locked, a shadow of understanding passed between them. Each of them had lost something today, whether it was a best friend or a true lover. None of them would ever get it back, no matter how much they tried or how much they wished. And no matter how much they wanted to give up, lost for ever in hopelessness as they thought all was lost, they would not. For no matter how much pain and suffering each of them had, Hermione Granger wouldn't want this to happen, wouldn't want those left living to refrain from doing so. And Hermione Granger was one they would always listen to...even if she wasn't always there to speak.
The crowd walked away, fanning out onto the blood-soaked battlefield in search of other survivors. Slowly, ever so slowly, the two men also turned and left, shoulder to shoulder, wands out. Harry was more or less leading Draco, scanning the horizon for any hint of the dawn they were promised. Draco was staring, but no one could really tell what exactly he was seeing. The man was thinking, thinking hard about that fleeting moment when Hermione Granger's heart had beat for the very last time. He was remembering when that moment had come to him, when his heart had beat double and for a moment he felt like he was going to heaven. He recollected what that exact feeling was, and used it to make the best guess he could on why his love's heart had done that strange and wonderful thing. His head told him he could be wrong, it could be a fluke of science. But his heart told him he had witnessed a terrible thing, and yet, he had been invited to veiw a miracle. Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, really did do great things. Terrible things, yes, but great.
That feeling, that spark of last life in Hermione Granger was the kind of thing that made Draco live his days through, knowledge that one day he would yet again be reunited with her and spent eternity in golden light. That feeling was powerful, so full of passion it was almost unbearable. It was never-ending love.