I wrote a new fanfic! I had no inspiration at first, so then I just thought this up. It took pretty long to write, as it is pretty long. I'm not that good at writing long ones so I'm not sure what you'd think of this.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, no matter how much I wish to.

It had been 5 years.

5 years since Hermione's nightmares began. 5 years since her demons began taunting her. 5 years since she had lost herself. It had been 5 years since the end of the war; their victory.

And since then, she had lost her will to live. Everything had changed, so she was constantly reminded of the war. About the horrid nightmares that still haunted her. About the people whose lives had been marred by it. And all those innocent souls lost to him. There were so many; too many. So many broken bodies scattered among the bloodied ground. So much blood was spilt-the blood of the innocent. And how many had they buried, so many. Too many.

They had lost so much, it almost wasn't a victory. A victory meant winning, and by all they had lost, she wasn't prepared to call it a victory. And that was how she thought it as; a loss. Because what was the point of winning if there was nothing worth winning for. They had lost, so what was there to celebrate about? All those extravagant celebrations, all those victory balls; they were all in vain. They were celebrating the end of a war; they were celebrating in honour of all the deaths that took place. And it sickened her. They should've been reminded of how dark their lives were, how dangerous and deadly it was. Because just a few years ago they were running for their lives from the most dangerous wizard alive, they couldn't let themselves get too open; too happy, since there was always danger right around the corner. Happiness was a risk, and the fact that there could still be dark wizards around added to the fact that they should be more careful. Their happiness couldn't last for long; happiness never lasts for long. And, that, she knew well.

And so Hermione resumed staring at the invitation in her hands, thinking over her thoughts as they swam through her mind. Her mind tried to focus while staring, or more as glaring it seemed, at the gold letter in her hands as she sat on her bed. She didn't want go, that was pretty obvious, but she didn't really have a choice. She, apparently, was one of the key figures in defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as having assisted the saviour; Harry Potter, as so she had read in a newspaper after the war. Key figures? What key figures, she had thought, everyone was a key figure, or either there were no key figures at all. But she was expected at the ball, and she hated that.

She sighed and flopped back onto her bed. Harry would've been expected to attend, if only… Hermione yearned. She hadn't seen him for ages; perhaps she would visit him on the day of the ball, just to see what he thought of it.

Her light footsteps seemed to echo in eerie silence. But the silence was almost loud, almost deafening. And it was going to stay that way; no one was there to ruin her silence. She was alone. Which she was grateful for; she felt more comfortable alone. There was no one able to see her at her moments of weakness.

The dusty path led her to her destination; she had preferred to walk instead of apparate. That way she didn't feel like an intruder, like she was bursting in on his peace. She had only visited him once since the war, but she was too distraught, still getting over his departure. But this time, she had decided, she was going to be strong. Harry had left them long ago; it was about time to get over him. She had wished Ron was with her, but he too had left her. She was alone, and had no one. She had no problem with it though; she wasn't the same person as before. Everything about her had shattered and she lost herself to misery.

She could still remember the day of their victory; the excitement in the air, and the relief. For a second, they had stopped mourning for the fallen, caught up in the moment. All except her, she didn't think it as a victory then either. Looking around at the broken and lifeless bodies around her, she nearly broke down. But the nightmare's over, Hermione had told herself, it's all over; no need to worry anymore. But she hadn't realised her attempts of reassuring herself were for nothing, she was telling herself lies. The nightmares had just begun, and it seemed as if they were never going to end. If only she had hope; if only she had Harry or Ron. Both had gone though. They had left, but it was time to see one again.

She had arrived. Hermione dropped to the ground and closed her eyes. All the memories with Harry flashed through her mind; every single smile they shared, and each infectious laugh they had spread. It hurt to think of them; knowing they were the past, that they would never happen again. And she could feel her eyes watering. No, she told herself, you have to stay strong, for Harry. She hadn't cried since she last visited him, so long ago. She raised her head and lifted her wand, drawing a circle in the air. And a wreath of white Christmas roses appeared beyond her teary eyes. The same Christmas roses she had laid on his parents graves all those years ago. Now on his grave; Harry's grave. She stared at the gravestone, and for a moment she wished she was with him; still smiling, still laughing, still happy. Then she turned away. "Goodnight," Hermione whispered to the drooping shadows of the graveyard.

And she left.

The next year she visited him again.

This time not on the war anniversary - the day of his death - but on his birthday. She was different like that, she'd rather see him on the day he came to be, rather than the day he left. Positivity, she thought almost bitterly.

So once again, Hermione walked down the slightly meandering path to his grave. Every step she took felt so heavy, as if it was trying to weigh her down, preventing her from seeing his grave; preventing her from breaking apart. But she kept going, the last she had visited him was brief, and painful. It hurt so badly, but it felt almost… good. It felt good since she had actually felt something. It felt good since it showed that there was something inside of her; since it showed that she wasn't just an empty shell. That she hadn't completely lost herself to misery - like she thought she had.

Then she had reached his grave. And to her surprise there was someone there; a tall robed man. But she thought nothing of it, they were both mourning over Harry's death, they didn't need to do anything but that. So, she walked up to grave, and stood next to the figure. She didn't even look at him. And once again, like the year before, she pulled out her wand, and conjured up the wreath of white Christmas roses, however odd it looked as it was summer, and knelt down to place it next to the other wreath she had placed the year before. It was still there. She smiled sadly.

She missed him. More than words could say.

As Hermione stood up, she noticed the man place a single red rose on Harry's grave then rise back up. They stood by each other in silence, silently mourning over him. 6 years Harry, she thought, 6 years without you. 6 years since I've been happy. And she remembered him, his face, his smile, his laughs, just him. She could feel her eyes tearing up, and she turned away, whispering "Goodnight," to the man, and of course to Harry. And just before swooping off into the night, she looked back, one last time, and saw the man's face. Their eyes met and locked for a second, and before she disappeared, her face broke into one of surprise.

"Goodnight Granger," Draco Malfoy whispered into the night.

The graveyard was silent, and most importantly empty.

Hermione had often thought about the year before, when she had seen Malfoy visiting Harry's grave. It puzzled her to say the least, as to why he was there in the first place. It was no secret that they had disliked each other since the beginning, so what was happening now. But Malfoy visiting his grave, well that was out of the ordinary. She didn't really have a problem with him coming, it just felt wrong. Wasn't he on the side of the Death Eaters, of the Dark Lord, of the side which killed him? Perhaps he was paying his respects, War changes people, she remembered. She knew that pretty damn well. And because of that, she hated change.

She approached his grave, for the third time, her silent footsteps sounding like elephants' in the dead silence of the graveyard (A/N: no pun intended, kinda). She stared down at the gravestone, and her fingers traced over the epitaph.

Here lies Harry James Potter

July 31 1980 – May 2 1998

Beloved friend and son

Bella Detesta Matribus

He was so young, not even 18 when he died, and most his life had been wasted in fear and war. A tear flowed down her cheek, dripping onto the stone. She stared, bewildered. Hermione hadn't cried since he had seen his burial. She had thought there was nothing else inside her to spill tears, but no. She was becoming back to her old self. Just without Ron or Harry.

That's when the dam spilt. All her unshed tears over the past seven years were flowing freely now. They couldn't hide anymore, not behind her smiling façade. Her sobs were loud and so horrible and so heartbroken. They echoed throughout the graveyard, breaking the silence into something even worse. She felt so helpless, and alone. And Harry wasn't there to comfort her. Not there to shield her from harm, like he had done so many times before. He wasn't there at all. Harry, her best friend, her brother, was gone; dead.

She felt a hand rubbing her back and felt a soft handkerchief being pressed into her hands. She sniffed and wiped the tears away, then looked up into the sincere face of Draco Malfoy. She stared into his molten silver eyes, though her eyes felt raw and bloodshot. Then slowly, he took her hands into his, not breaking eye contact, placing a red rose in her hands. They didn't say anything to each other. They didn't need to.

He was there for her at her moment of weakness, but instead of feeling vulnerable, she felt cared for; as if she wasn't completely alone. And from then on, they were there for each other. Hermione and Draco; lovers. No one would've ever thought it would work, but it did. They completed each other. They felt broken without each other. But never would they feel broken again, since they were never were without each other.

(Because, war changes people, and not all those changes are good, but not all are bad either)

I got some inspiration from Bex-Chan's Graveyard Valentine, but I didn't steal anything from it. I was going to stop after she had visited Harry's grave after the five years, but I wanted some dramione in there. So this is how it ended up. I hope you enjoyed it, and please review your opinions. Thanks for reading.