A/N: So basically school is killing me, I'm out of inspiration for Chosen and I'm not feeling that well. Which leads to this depressing Dramione oneshot.

Pairing: Hermione/Draco

More About Story: Basically Hermione in this story suffers from depression after the war, and there's only one person who's willing to deal with it. (Pssstt it's Draco!)

Mirror

Her fingers traced the edges of the broken mirror, her hand covered in thin scratches, they got deeper as time went by. In the pieces of the mirror she could see herself, golden curls drooping, her eyes sparkling with tears yet to come, flushed pink cheeks, smudged blood red lips, pale face.

"No! Fuck you Granger! I'm sick of this game we're playing! I'm sick of it! I'm sick of you!"

"Draco-"

"No. Just leave me alone alright? This isn't worth it. You don't even care do you?" Her mouth opened but no words came out. And when he spoke again it sounded broken, "I thought so…"

She hummed a song, it was slow and beautiful. It was the song they danced to. She sat in the pool of her scarlet dress which she's ripped from her body minutes (or was it hours?) beforehand. There were only two pieces of clothing between her skin and the freezing air, and they covered only little. She didn't know if she shook from upcoming sobs or the cold. She gasped as her skin snagged on one edge of the broken mirror, more blood spilled.

She wasn't really aware of what she was doing, only that is was distracting her from what had happened. It was delaying the dreaded heartbreak that was soon to come.

"What do you want from me? I'm trying so hard, I love you so much. And-" He stopped suddenly, his features becoming cold again, "I'm not even going to bother. You don't give a fuck, so why should I? Here that Hermione? I'm not going to chase after you anymore. Happy now? You'll be left alone. Left to be fucked up. Because you know what? I'm the only one who really cares about you. The rest of them have given up. And I really hoped I wouldn't have to either." And then his hand was flying as he pushed the golden rimmed mirror backwards. It landed with a crash at her feet. And then he left. She opened her mouth to yell but no sound came out.

Breath caught in her throat, she closed her eyes. She didn't want to feel the pain she was pushing down. The pain that came with him leaving her. She'd really screwed up this time, finally there was someone who loved her and was willing to be around her even when she was 'fucked up'.

Her heart was shattered, she had wanted to run after him… Why hadn't she? She had wanted to tell him that she didn't want him to go and that she loved him. Why hand't she? She didn't know. Something wet rolled down her cheek and a tear splashed onto the mirror. Then more came, and more. Until she was holding herself, sobs scraping against her throat.

The door slammed and air rushed past her. She was still for a moment and then she flew into action. Pulling her dress from her and throwing it to the ground, pulling off her heals and chucking them at the closed door. Still again. The only sound was her heavy breathing. Her eyes fell down towards the mirror and she slowly descended to the floor.

The lights flickered, moonlight now stretched across the room. If she raised her head she could've seen the stars out of the window. But they meant nothing right now. Her hands had become sufficiently bloody and she wondered if she should stop, but found she couldn't. The sting of each scratch relieved her, it kept her occupied. She felt as if she deserved it, she'd hurt him so she'd hurt herself.

It was wrong, she knew it but she continued to run her fingers along the edges. She became more drastic, pressing harder against the glass with the palm of her hand creating a deep cut in her hand. Somewhere in her mind someone was shouting for her to stop and she wanted to but it was like she was acting on instinct and she kept going. Soon she had a shard in her hand trailing it along her arm. What was she doing? This wasn't right. She'd done enough. She needed to put it down. So why didn't she?

Thing became foggy after that, as the gashes became deeper and larger. Her expression never changed, stony, cold and determined. And then there was blackness.

She woke up, alone. Sunlight beamed across her eyes, she squinted as she sat up. Her arm ached and felt sick when she looked down at it. She felt repulsed at the blood splashed on the mirror. She got up and left the room, going straight to the bathroom. After washing her arm of the dried blood, it still wasn't a pretty sight. Returning to the room, without looking at the mirror still on the floor, she went to the wardrobe and took out some jeans and long jumper to conceal her mangled arm.

She walked downstairs, hoping he would be there making breakfast. He wasn't. She was greeted by cool loneliness. No one seemed to care they never turned up to the ball, or if he turned up alone. Which she doubted he would. He'd probably gone to Blaise's house and drank until he passed out. This thought struck some sort of flame inside her, maybe she could find him before he made sure he was invisible.

Grabbing a handful of Floo Powder she went stepped into the fireplace and green flames swallowed her, she turned and twisted before flames relieved Blaise's living room. She didn't call out or tell anyone she was there, that would only alert him. Checking every room she finally came into the garden where she found him swinging gently on a wooden swing suspended from a tree. His head was down, playing with his fingers.

Her heart pattered. "Draco?" she croaked. His head snapped up.

"Fuck off."

"P-please." Everything was spinning... She would lose conciseness soon, too much blood was lost.

He frowned, "I'm not going to stay with you when I'm giving you everything and you just don't care."

She shook her head limply. His frown grew, "You're very pale."

"M' fine," she cursed herself as her words slurred.

He stood up, "Hermione…?"

"I lo-" she stuttered, "-love."

He was walked towards her, looking increasingly worried, "Hermione are you okay?"

"M' fine," she assured him, but he grabbed her arm and she hissed.

His eyes widened and he furiously pushed up her sleeve, staring at is in disbelief, "You said you stopped! You promised me!"

"I did stop," she said quietly, her voice barely over a whisper. She wanted to say 'But then you left and everything went to pieces . I need you. I love you.' But her mouth didn't seem to be working.

"You're such a liar," he snarled, "After everything I did. I'm the only one who bothered to stick around and actually try and fix you and then you have the nerve to lie to my face. I can see it right there!" He pushed her away but she grabbed hold of him. "Get off!" He bellowed, wrenching her away from him. Tears fell down her cheeks.

"No…no…" she begged. He stormed away from her. Again. She fell to the ground, sobbing. Again.

She never saw him again. She never got to tell him she loved him. No one visited her. So no one was there to stop her. No one found her. Until he did.

He'd come back. He still hadn't given up. He found her in their room. She was dead.