Summary: "Death cannot stop true love. It can only delay it for awhile." A Draco/Hermione one-shot. Warning: Character death but with happy ending.
Draco/Hermione and their ethereal relationship, even in death.
A/N: Hi all! This just happens to be my first fanfic ever, so please take just a small amount of your time to give me some feedback. Whether you liked it, didn't, or comments about what I can do better or what I did well. Anything (except flames) is welcomed. Thank you all for taking the time to even read my story. I greatly appreciate it and I will try to reply individually to each review I receive. Alright, now, on with the show.
Oh wait! Timeout. Hold everything. Disclaimer: I own nothing in relation to Harry Potter or the letter. Continue.
He watched the scene below him, from his spot in the clouds. His heart throbbed with regret, an intense desire and all consuming jealousy as he watched the love of his too short life be propositioned by another. Somehow, he still managed a sad smile and with a soft blow of wind, he swept away her doubts. He bathed her in his love and then released her. Assured her, it was time to let go. To continue comfort with another. But only for a little while. For one day she would come back to him. And until then, he'd be up here. Waiting.
- -hp- -
This was wrong.
She had easily grown to love the man in front of her. He was her comfort. Her savior. He had kept her together after her entire world had collapsed in on itself. Yes she loved him. Some might even say she was in love with him but she knew better. Dead or alive her heart would always belong to another. To him. She could never do that to him—profess her love to someone else. It would be a lie. Blasphemy as far as she could be concerned.
But then, what about the man in front of her—down on one knee, pledging his own love for her despite what he already knew? He'd been with her every never-ending day since she lost him to the cruel fate of the war. He had to know she'd never truly love another. Even someone as close to her as himself. And yet...
Maybe he was banking on time.
Time. How much time until she would see him again? Because there was no doubt in her mind she would. Love like theirs didn't happen but once in a blue moon. And it wasn't something that life or death could bring to an end.
A flash of wind grabbed her by the hand and wrapped around her like a second skin. Up and under her shirt, catching any hint of bare skin it could, while ruffling her hair in a way almost reminiscent of how his fingers used to. Love rose within her like a white hot light filling every part of her and destroying any shadows of doubt, but with it came something else. Something she wasn't sure she wanted. Release. From him.
She held her eyes to the sky, tears spilling down her face.
Perhaps she could come to love this man in front of her. Love him in a semblance of the way a wife loves her husband. Perhaps she already did but was unaware of it as it barely held a candle to the love she still felt towards him.
It could be enough. Enough to make this man happy. Enough that if she said 'I Do' it would be out of actual love and not pity and self-loathing.
She looked down into his eyes. Their blue depths, while shining love, spoke volumes.
He knew.
He had always known that she could never love him the way she loved the one she lost but here they were. And he was proposing anyways. He knew what he was asking and he knew what he would get in return. He knew. And it was still what he wanted.
She looked up to the clouds again. She could almost picture him up there, smiling sadly down at her. Telling her to do what was best for her, despite him.
She would not mourn him dead. She would think him gone, until they met to never part again.
She nodded at the empty air above her. I love you, Draco. Forever and always. But I release you, until then.
"Yes, Ronald. I'll marry you."
- -hp- -
"I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience til we meet to part no more. But, O! If the dead come back to this Earth and flit, unseen, around those they loved, I shall always be near you in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights—amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours—always, always and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the air cools your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by, do not mourn me dead, think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.
-Letter from Sullivan Ballou to his wife Sarah Shumway during the Civil War.
Mr. Ballou was killed in battle before the letter to his love had been sent.