Disclaimer: I disclaim.

Notes: This idea hit me as I was listening to my iTunes, and a song from the Kill Bill soundtrack came on. If you've ever seen the movie, you'll recognize it.


The night was cold. It was though God – if there was such a thing – purposely made it so, as to reflect the feelings of those fighting. Screams of terror and pain; cries of loss, and sobs of remorse. There were flashes of light – mainly green, from masked figures, as they darted to and fro, blending in with the eerily black night.

Hermione Granger sped from her hiding spot within the Forbidden Forest, dodging fallen bodies of former classmates – Ernie MacMillan, Lavender Brown, Cho Chang, Oliver Wood. Their faces were pale, and their eyes no longer sparkled with mischief – they had all gone to the great hall of their forefathers. She didn't even pause as she spotted Neville Longbottom within the fray of silent soldiers.

No, the former Gryffindor was on a mission.

A mission to find him.

A little voice echoed from the back of her mind – it was Harry's – but she studiously ignored it. "Hermione," it said. "Hermione whatever you do, promise me you won't join in the fight. I mean it, Hermione. No – listen. You and Ron are the most important people in my life and – if I ever live through this – I'm going to need you both, you understand? Stay in the forest, Hermione. Stay there and fight secretly. But whatever you do, do not blow your cover."

"I'm sorry, Harry," she murmured, still running throughout the battlefield, throwing hexes this way and that. And then she saw him. She could tell it was him, just from the way he held himself. Even with the Death Eater's mask on, Hermione couldn't be mistaken. There was a certain elegance and grace that he moved with, even when he was fighting.

Hermione gave a low whistle. His figure stiffened, and then turned slowly to face the brunette. She jerked her head towards the forest, and he nodded. Hermione took off, keeping close to the ground. He followed.

There was a clearing just inside the perimeter of the woods, and that was where Hermione stopped. Leaning against a tree to catch her breath, she waited for him to show up.

"Hermione."

She glanced up at his lithe body, frowning at the robes that marred his impeccable features. Giving a curt nod, Hermione spoke.

"Have you seen Harry?" Her voice was hoarse, and her body ached.

"No. Hermione..." he started to advance on her. "Hermione, Potter told you to stay here. Why did you seek me out?"

"I– I had to see you. N-Neville is dead. He–"

"I was the one who killed him."

A look of disgust passed through Hermione's face, and her eyes hardened. But only a little.

"I had to, you know that."

"I know," she sighed.

"Hermione... there's something else I have to do, too."

"What?"

He yanked off his mask, and kissed her fiercely.

"Draco, what–"

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. I could have loved you. But my duty to my father – and Voldemort – comes first. I'm so sorry. Avada Kedavra."

The last thing Hermione saw, was Draco Malfoy, coolly putting his mask back on – but not before a tear slipped out of the corner of his eye.

I was five and he was six,

we rode on horses made of sticks.

He wore black and I wore white;

he would always win the fight,

bang bang,

he shot me down.

Bang bang,

I hit the ground.

Bang bang,

that awful sound.

Bang bang,

my baby shot me down.

That night, some hours later, Hermione's body was extracted from the Forbidden Forest. Voldemort had been defeated, but to the horror of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter died along with him.

Hermione's death would never have to be another notch on his bedpost. This time, it was Draco Malfoy's burden to bear.