He's dead.
He's dead, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead... and it continues, that same train of thought, wearing a crease in her brain, blocking out any rational thought from entering, from changing her mind. Nothing can change it now, for one simple reason.
He's dead.
So she shall be as well.
Because they promised each other- wherever one goes, so the other will follow. They kept their promises- from the time they made them, in their fifth year of school, through the war, all the way through it to the end.
Or at least, everyone had thought it was the end.
She remembered, remembered Harry screaming that word, the simple one that she'd thought had killed Voldemort- "Expelliarmus!"
Remembered Peeves singing that line in his ridiculous song- "...and Voldy's gone moldy so now let's have fun!"
Remembered celebrating with her paramour, in their own quiet but loving way.
But that didn't matter; none of those memories were anything but bitter to anyone but Voldemort himself and the cruel deity known as Irony.
It didn't matter that they'd kept their promises to each other, because he was dead, and she hadn't followed him. Well, that wouldn't do- she'd make it matter. She'd keep her end of the promise, and if she never saw him again, at least she'd be where he was.
Harry, Ron, Ginny.
Neville, Padma, Parvati, Seamus, Dean, Blaise, Theo.
They were her friends.
And they were all useless now, insignificant, unimportant, worthless.
Because none of them could bring him back.
As she stood at the edge of the lake, barefoot, toes motionless in the mud, she remembered everything. And finally, as her conclusive thoughts lined up, preparing for the end, she remembered one last thing.
They were talking. Talking about their fifth year, when they connected by books and fell in love. But they never told anyone, until he was forced into taking the Dark Mark and he officially became a turncoat for the Order. Then, they told Shacklebolt, and she told Harry, Ron, and Ginny. He had to become highly skilled in Occlumency, in order to hide from the Legilimens Dark Lord and his family. She had to make her friends accept their relationship- and she succeeded, eventually, after much hard work. The Order of the Phoenix, with Draco's inside information, won the war, their biggest success when Harry killed Voldemort. Or so everyone thought. So Draco and Hermione celebrated with the rest of the light side (and the world), and when they were alone, they talked, recollecting it all. But then, he appeared, having outfoxed them all with one final Horcrux- something no one had thought of. A Muggle book, resting on the shelves of a Muggle library in an orphanage in the small town of Leland, North Carolina. And Voldemort, having witnessed Draco fight with Hermione against the rest of the Death Eaters, finally realized who the turncoat was. And everyone knows that the Dark Lord, given a chance, will not be merciful.
Hermione recalled how he had appeared, magically restored, and killed him as she watched, frozen by an unbreakable immobilization spell. Voldemort hated turncoats so much that he gave them all the same treatment, leaving their loves alive to remember their traitorous partners dying from Voldemort's torture.
She breathed deeply as she sobbed, and slowly began wading into the water, into the mud. Her dress drifted around her, billowing in the water- the dress her mother had given her, an elegantly simple white dress to wear on her wedding day. Her already cold hands tightened their death grip on the wands in her hands- Draco's and her's. Reaching the point where the water was deep enough that she couldn't touch, Hermione continued swimming on, tears mingling with lake water.
You have to mean an Unforgivable Curse.
Soft words were whispered into the night, soft and quiet but meant fully and fatally.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Her body drifted into an upright position, dress swelling and floating around her cold legs.
The wands drifted from her stiff fingers, floating to the surface and wafting away.
And the sky embraced her soul like an old friend, lifting the wisp up to oblivion.
A/N: Well, just call me the QoDOS (Queen of Depressing One Shots)! Anyway, I'm sorry. If you liked this (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA who am I kidding no ones gonna like this) check out another of my stories, Metaphorically. Again, I'm sorry.