She finally did it, she left him. He knew he didn't deserve her, but he really thought something was there between them. He really thought she loved him. He knew better now. He looked at the empty bottles that littered the floors of his mansion. He'd have to get some more whiskey somewhere. He'd make a house-elf do it; he wasn't up to leaving the house. He reached for one of the bottles on his once plush green carpet, now turned black and coarse like the rest of his house. There was still some whiskey left in the bottom. He turned the bottle upside down and let the magical liquid burn down his throat.

Blaise Zabini appeared in the doorway. He took one look at his black surroundings, slashed curtains, knife howls in the black, crumbling walls and gave a low whistle. "Like what you've done with the place, you really know how to wreck it right." He gave a small chuckle then realized it wasn't the time to make jokes. In a more tentative tone he asked, "So, she left mate?"

Draco grunted. Stupid legemens.

"Mate you don't need to read minds to know what happened here. You need to get out of this house. How long you been here?"

Draco thought back. Had to've been at least a week, maybe two. He looked at Blaise and shrugged.

"A week or two? Draco, you're my best mate and I feel for you man, but you've got to pull yourself together. She was just a girl after all." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew they were the wrong thing to say.

"Get out of my house!" Draco snarled as he raised his wand. "You know what she meant to me! You know she meant more than life itself! Just get out!" Draco sighed, dropping his wand, "Blaise I just want to be alone."

Blaise looked at him and saw something in his eyes that he had never once seen in any Malfoy. He'd lost the will to live. Draco reached for another bottle, only to find this one empty. He threw it to the ground in disgust. It shattered on contact with the rough surface. Blaise just sighed and walked to the fireplace. "Don't kill yourself, mate," he whispered, hoping someone, anyone, would hear is plea. He dropped the powder and vanished.

Draco rose to go to the liquor cabinet. Only one bottle left. Dragon's Eye Whiskey. Strongest stuff in all of England. He took his wand, a piece of parchment, and a quill along with the bottle up to his room. He sat on the bed, quill in hand and wrote,

Hermione,
I'll love you 'till I die

He crumpled the paper, whispered a few choice words, drained the bottle, and collapsed face first onto his bed.

As Hermione walked down the street to her job at the Ministry, she couldn't help but notice people staring at her. She tried to be inconspicuous as she checked her appearance. No, everything seemed alright. When she got to the office and walked down the halls to her cubicle, she heard whispers following her.

"She broke his heart you know—cheated on him with a muggle—No good wench"

Hermione raced in and shut the door. She gave a little yelp when she discovered the Minister of Magic perched on her desk.

"Blaise!—I—what are you doing here?" she finally managed to get out.

"Hermione, he's gone," Blaise whispered. "He was found clutching this with his face buried in the pillow. He drank himself to death."

Suddenly Hermione felt as though her knees wouldn't support her anymore. "Oh my God," she whispered as she sank to the floor. She took the piece of paper he offered her and opened it up.

Hermione,
I'll love you 'till I die

She couldn't control her sobs anymore. It was all her fault. If she hadn't—if she had just—he wouldn't have—he wouldn't be—he was dead.

The next few days were a blur for Hermione. She remembered someone coming and taking her to the funeral. It was a quiet place, just outside the sea. Even in her stupor she knew Draco would have loved it. He was buried beneath a weeping willow's curtain atop a green hill dotted with daisies. Eventually she knew she had to get on with her life, but at the moment she couldn't face the rumors. Lucius had gone so far as to send her a howler, blaming her for his son's death. He was right there, it was her fault, she admitted as the first tear in days slid down her cheek. She had tried to cry at his funeral, but her guilt just wouldn't let the tears come. She knew this only fueled the others' contempt for her, but what could she do? The tears came faster now, tears for him, tears for her, tears for them, tears for what she knew she had to do.

She clumsily rose to go to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, gargled mouthwash, and popped a breath mint. Anything to hide the whiskey on her breath. She had to make an appearance to assure—or trick them into believing anyway—that she was okay.

Hermione was the last to arrive at Ginny's, but she knew it wouldn't matter to her old friend. Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Luna were thrilled to see her up and about. Hermione knew they didn't suspect anything wrong. She went through the evening in a daze, laughing and smiling, but never really paying attention to what was going on.

By the time she got home, Hermione was exhausted. She went to the kitchen looking for a bottle of something, anything. The only thing left was a dusty bottle of Dragon's Eye Whiskey. She clutched it to her chest as she trudged along upstairs into her bedroom. Hermione glanced at her beside table and noticed the picture that she never took down. She carefully peeled to photo of the smiling Draco from its frame and clutched it to her chest. Then without another word, she drained to bottle and lay down on her bed, her face in the pillow, just like him.

No one was surprised when they learned what had happened. When they found her, she had bloodshot eyes and a tearstained face. They decided to bury her next to him beneath the willow.

And the Angels sang a whiskey lullaby.