The thick air left her mouth in short little gasps as the cold wrapped around her thin frame. Shivering and tugging at her jacket, she picked up speed, keeping her head down as she walked through the rampaging wind. She arrived at the rusty gate and cringed at the loud creaking noise it made when she opened it.
It seemed empty. Just how she liked it.
"No. Absolutely not."
Hermione's hatred was palpable, but the boy in front of her merely smirked. Anger caused her fists to shake. Draco Malfoy cackled lightly.
"Oh, Granger, don't be so pessimistic."
"You can't possibly think this will work!" she screeched, pointing an accusatory finger at Harry. He gave her a sheepish look and smiled consolingly.
"Hermione, please listen—"
"I will not listen—"
"It's just for a little—"
"I can't deal with him, and we'll just fight all the time—"
"Hermione." Harry's voice was firm. He looked eerily like Lupin with that stance, and Hermione hesitated. "Please," he said softly. "It's just for a little while. He knows things the Order doesn't. He can help."
Hermione relented. "Fine," she muttered, her tone clipped. With a final scathing look at the amused Slytherin who was now her partner, she left.
She weaved through the rows, her fingertips caressing the cool concrete of the stones as she walked. Her feet moved of their own accord, the familiar path engrained in her mind. There were a few bouquets here and there, some dying or dead, others freshly placed. She could tell there were some new people that she hadn't seen, as indicated by the freshness of the soil.
She saw a young woman sobbing over one of them. She did not linger. She knew the girl wouldn't want to be disturbed.
Hermione tapped her finger against the book in nervousness and Draco let out another aggravated sigh. "Granger?" he asked pointedly. She seemed to snap out of a trance; shaking her head, she muttered her apology. With another sigh, Draco closed his own book in front of him. "What's wrong?" he asked, turning to face her.
"You know what's wrong," she whispered.
He did. Harry and Ron had left a few nights ago in search of one of the horcruxes and hadn't returned yet. "They know what they're doing, though."
"But what if they don't? They promised me they'd be back in a day—two at most. It's been nearly a week."
"I know, but maybe—"
She slammed the book. "Would you stop trying to put a positive spin on this? They could be dead for all I know, so just stop trying to console me—"
"But you don't know, Granger, that's the point—"
"Do you have any idea what I'm going through right now? They're all I have left. I have no family. I have no one else. No one else cares about me except for them."
"Of course I know, damn it! I had to give up everything to help you sodding people—"
"Don't even start that—"
"And they are not the only ones that care about you!"
Hermione stopped short. "W-what?"
"Nothing."
"But—"
"Granger, I said ignore it."
So she did. But she there was a flicker behind her stomach, something that felt suspiciously like understanding. And expectance.
She saw the tree that marked her place, and she dropped to her knees. Waving her wand, a wreath of white roses appeared in front of the stone. Stifling her tears, she reached out and traced the name; his name, the name that would have been hers if he had lived longer. If only he had lived longer…
She looked up and saw the girl asleep by the graveside. She let a tear slip down her cheek.
"Hermione…"
He only used her name when something bad happened.
Something bad.
"They're dead, aren't they?" She was shocked by the calmness of her tone. It trembled the slightest bit, but that was to be expected, right? She looked up and saw him giving her a look that strongly resembled sympathy. She hated that look.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know you."
A choked sob left her throat then. He did know her. He had learned her, learned her mannerisms and her entire being, and now he was all she had left.
How had it come to this point? she wondered. Draco sliced the distance between them in a few short strides, sitting on the bed next to her. Without a question, she laid her head on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he murmured against her hair as he gently stroked it.
"You can't leave me. Promise? You can't… I can't… take it if you leave…"
She didn't remember looking up at him, tears locked between her lashes as she mumbled those words. She didn't remember the flicker in her gut. She didn't remember the shadow that creased his features for a fraction of a second.
All she remembered was his lips meeting hers, and the fact that he tasted like home.
"You promised me," she whispered to the grave.
Her fingers began to tremble against the granite, and she wondered if he was watching her, wherever he was. She wondered if he wanted to come down and hold her and tell her he loved her.
There was a ring on her left hand, a ring he had left there, like a permanent mark on her. She refused to take it off; it had been months, and Ginny had told her it would be better, but she didn't think so. It helped heal the hole, a little. The hole he had left.
With a sad sigh, she watched her tears splash against the grass in front of her. She sucked in a steadying breath, blew the grave a kiss, and walked away.
Hermione Granger left the graveyard, just like she did every night. She left it as Hermione Granger. Not as Hermione Malfoy.