Hermione could actually feel the moment it happened. One second, she was in the middle of a peaceful dream, laying on the beach with Ginny, sipping alcohol and catching up. The next, her consciousness was seeping in, coaxing her awake into this awful, awful day.

She knew before she even opened her eyes.

Carefully, Hermione peeked through her lashes. The solid chest of her boyfriend gently rose and fell beneath her cheek, his arm snugly around her middle. Her gaze swept up over the planes of muscle in his body until she reached his pale face. He looked like he was sleeping, but then Hermione got the feeling a lot of people wanted to sleep this woeful day away.

She studied his features; he looked so peaceful. She wondered if he was conscious and currently trying to force himself back into Dream Land as she wished she could do herself. The selfish part of her wanted to wake him up so she wouldn't have to suffer alone, but if he was fortunate enough to not yet be aware of the present...

"Yes, I'm awake," Draco suddenly said without opening his eyes, voice heavy with sleep. He always joked he could hear her brain from a mile away; maybe he really could.

Hermione snuggled closer to his chest and pulled their black and white comforter up over her bare shoulder. He smelled of his usual cologne, and the witch inhaled deeply, willing the scent to fill her up and dull her senses. "I don't want to get up today," she murmured.

At last, his deep gray eyes blinked open. He moved the arm that wasn't holding his girlfriend to him and tangled his hand in her wild curls. "No," he gently massaged her scalp as she drew lazy circles on his bare chest, "but you have to. If you don't, you'll think about it all day."

"I'll think about it all day no matter what." No one at the Ministry was required to go in on May 2, but a lot of people chose to for precisely the reason Draco had mentioned. That meant the entire office was full of mourning souls from morning to evening. Constant reminders everywhere.

"Yes, but if you're at work, you'll have papers to sign, cases to deal with... other things to dwell on." When she started to protest, the wizard conceded, "You can try."

Hermione sighed in defeat. He was right: laying around all day would only make her more depressed. When it came to grieving, Draco knew what she needed better than she did herself.

Reluctantly, she untangled her body from his, sacrificing the warmth that had formed between them. She felt around under the covers until she found her knickers, then moved to the edge of the mattress and slid the thin material up her lean legs. She was bending over to retrieve her bra from the floor when she realized, with a pang of guilt, that she hadn't asked her lover how he was handling this difficult day.

"Are you okay?" she asked, looking over her shoulder, amber eyes seeking out gray as her fingers hooked her bra's clasp.

Draco didn't reply right away. Crookshanks stirred from the foot of their bed and made his way into Draco's lap. He absentmindedly stroked the cat's fur, staring off at something that wasn't there. "I'll be fine," he said at last.

"What's your plan?" Hermione rolled out of bed and walked past the large, beautiful bookshelf Draco had given her for their anniversary the year prior, filled with first editions of all her favorite literature (all gifts from him, bestowed upon her over the years for various holidays). She opened their closet door and began flicking through work blouses without really seeing.

"Work. Same as you."

She turned to face him. "Don't you want to go visit your mother? No one would judge you for not coming in today."

"I can Floo her during lunch," was his only response.

Hermione decided to drop it. While she knew how lonely Narcissa was since Lucius' passing three years ago, and how especially hard it was for her to make it through this particular date without her husband, she also knew how difficult it was for Draco to go back to the Manor. The constant nightmares had stopped some time ago, but every so often, they'd make a reappearance. He'd wake up trembling, tears streaming down his face, and Hermione would spend the rest of the night wrapping him up in her arms, stroking his hair, promising him everything was alright. He'd never told her the precise subject matter of his nightmares, only that it had to do with the war, but what he didn't know was that he talked in his sleep.

She knew she was always murdered right in front of him.

Hermione could feel her boyfriend's eyes boring into her as she finally selected a top, took it off the hanger, and began undoing its buttons. She was about to slip her arm through the left sleeve when, in what seemed like a single motion, Draco sprung out of bed, pinned her to the wall, and kissed her hard. Immediately, she let the blouse flutter to the floor and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close, trying to bring him closer, as close as physically possible. His hands slipped under her thighs and brought her legs up around his waist. His kiss was desperate, ravenous, and she opened for him, responding with equal if submissive fervency.

Take everything, if that's what you need.

Once they were both completely out of air, they broke away, but only a hair's breadth, and only at the lips. Their bodies remained intertwined, foreheads pressed together, noses touching. Hermione slowly opened her eyes to find Draco's still shut tight. The only sound in the room was their panting, the erratic rise and fall of both of their chests.

With quivering lips and twitching eyelids, Draco told her, "I'm so glad you survived."

Hermione's eyes pricked with tears. She removed one arm from around his neck and let her fingertips gently caress his cheek. She placed a chaste kiss to his mouth and whispered, "I'm so glad you survived, too."