A dramione oneshot
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everything recognisable and William Shakespeare all lines from the brilliant play Hamlet.
Good Night Sweet Prince
Hermione lightly traced her fingers over the cool marble headstone, finding the groves of the letters of the epitaph etched on it, and murmured them gently.
'Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.'
A few fugitive tears slid down her cheeks as she remembered when Harry had himself spoken those words at Dumbledore's funeral. She had been surprised when he quoted the lines from Shakespeare's Hamlet; she never thought that Harry would have read Shakespeare.
Well, as she later found out, she was right. He wouldn't tell her how he knew it though, but if she was willing to do his transfiguration homework… Hermione choked back a sob when she remembered his mischievous grin he had given her. It was the first time since Dumbledore's death Hermione remembered him close to smiling, and Hermione could see it clearly now… his eyes crinkling at the corners, his one small dimple on his left cheek.
She fell to her knees, not caring that her thin, gossamer-like stockings would tear. Resting her forehead against the marble, it was not possible to see her blotchy-red cheeks or the welled-up tears overflowing down her face, neck, and under her shirt.
'Oh Harry,' she whispered, 'I miss you so much…' Hermione squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and hands shaking as they now twirled a bouquet of flowers of red and gold… Harry was a Gryffindor until the end.
'It's been really hard, Harry. Sometimes I wonder whether I can conti–'
A slight rustle of movement from somewhere behind her startled her. Slowly, cautiously, she moved her head around, not wanting the intruder to know that she knew he was there if she could help it. What if it was a rogue death eater? A death eater who wanted two thirds of the Golden Trio to be dead?
She calmed her breathing, something she had been accustomed to during the War, and controlled her quivering body. The person was approaching her now, his or her black cloak conspicuous against the grassy bank next to the Lake.
The person lifted the hood of the cloak to reveal pale blond hair and a well-known face.
'Granger'
'Malfoy'
Hermione looked at him and waited for an insult or snippy comment about her blood to be fired at her without remorse. But Malfoy remained silent, and shocked her by kneeling down beside her.
'W-what are you doing?' Hermione croaked, her throat dry and sore from the angry sobs earlier. She moved her body so that it faced him, and her eyes scanned over his features. 'Aristocratic' was the only suitable description she could think of his straight nose, high cheekbones and full lips. Not to mention those crystal grey, intriguing eyes of his, which she couldn't see at the moment because he wouldn't look at her. Not yet. Thankfully.
So her gaze returned to the marble. They knelt in silence for seemed like an eternity; however, it was not an oppressive silence like was expected between them, it was a silence replete with mutual respect and reverence.
'Now cracks a noble heart' Malfoy's voice made her glance up and him again. Just as she had done, Malfoy was tracing the letters with his pianist fingers.
'If it had been me,' he said quietly after a few moments. Hermione waited for him to continue.
'The world would now be rejoicing, not in mourning.'
Unable to disagree, Hermione remained quiet. Renewed tears in her eyes began to well up again. Soon, whacking sobs, far stronger than the others, began to overwhelm her body and she collapsed onto the ground. All she could hear was her crying and hiccupping; she did not see two hands left her off the muddy ground and rest her head on warm cloth. What she felt though, was one of those hands running through her curls, and the other rubbing her back in comforting circles, soothing her.
They sat there for hours, until the sun had long since disappeared behind the turrets of the castle, and Draco was certain that Hermione had fallen asleep. Not wanting to wake her, though at the same time not wanting her to catch pneumonia, he moved around so that she sat perpendicular to him in his lap, so that he could tuck an arm under her legs and support her back with his other.
With all the strength he could muster – not that Hermione was heavy; his legs had fallen asleep – he got up and proceeded to carry her back up to the castle.
In the head dormitory, the fire was crackling merrily as Draco lay Hermione down on the couch, as he did not know the password for her room. He went to get a blanket for her and when he returned, he saw that she was awake, her eyes staring listlessly at the hearth.
'It's been one month. The longest month of my life,' she said quietly.
Draco sat down next to her and listened.
'I was so stupid. I had this childish thought that we were invincible. That we would ultimately come out of the War triumphantly. We were the Golden Trio, no one expected any of us to die.'
Draco stared intently at Hermione, a frown forming between his brows. But he would not interrupt her, no, not yet.
'I should have been more careful. More diligent in keeping Harry and Ron from doing rash things. If I had done that, then maybe Ron wouldn't be comatose for the rest of his life, and Harry wouldn't be –'
'Stop. Hermione, listen to me. Although you are probably right, there is nothing that can be done about it now. What's done is done. It might take a while, but eventually you will one day find that you only want to remember the good memories, and smile to yourself and be thankful that you had friends like Potter and Weasley.'
Hermione smiled her best smile at him.
'That was not only the longest sentence you have ever spoken to me, it was the most un-Draco Malfoy type thing I have ever heard. But I do appreciate it,' she added quickly when his eyes narrowed.
'I can be sentimental when I want to,' he said with dignity. Hermione laughed, surprising herself and her companion. He was truly making her feel better… odd.
Suddenly, she felt him shift closer. Her heart began to beat rhapsodically as their legs and upper bodies touched.
'Draco –'
'Hermione,' he cut her off, 'I need to tell you something.' His eyes bore into hers and Hermione immediately knew what was about to happen. So she stopped him.
Grabbing his neck, she pulled his face down to meet hers so that their lips were a breath away. She smiled at Draco's shock, and slowly placed her lips on his. A jolt of electricity ran through her at the contact and instinctively she moved closer to Draco, pushing their chests together and he held her face tenderly as they continued to kiss, a kiss full of love and tenderness.
'Thank you,' she said when they stopped to breath.
The same day the next month, Hermione and Draco made their way to Harry's grave and laid two bouquets of flowers on top of several others. This time, however, Hermione didn't cry. Instead she remembered the good times at the Burrow, in the Gryffindor Common Room, Ron in his salmon pink dress robes at the Yule Ball. This last thought made her chuckle, and Draco, who had his arm around her shoulders, kissed her chastely on her cheek.
Hermione looked up at him and smiled happily. 'I'm glad it wasn't you.'
Review pretty please!