She stood, silent and still, in the fading light of the sinking sun. In her trembling hands she held a crumpled paper, worn from hands smoothing it over and over again, and a small lighter. Taking a deep breath, she held the paper up to her eyes one last time.
Hermione,
I don't think I'll ever get used to calling you anything but Granger. But I'll try, because you're Hermione Granger, and no one does something you don't want them to.
Muggles think white carnations symbolise death? They never cease to amaze me, them and what they come up with. Frankly, I'm insulted, because carnations - white ones, especially - are my favourite flowers.
I suppose I'll see you next week. I'm looking forward to it.
Love,
Malfoy
She inhaled his lingering scent, then held the flickering flame of the lighter up to the letter. The paper crumbled into ashes at her feet, grey powder scattering into the wind. Then she turned, away from the tombstone where a white carnation lay.
