Goodbye
The owl swooped in through the window with a clatter that made Draco Malfoy jump. Glimpsing the seal on the letter, he hurried to the waiting owl and untied the envelope with shaking hands. After undoing the official seal and skimming the letter, Draco's handsomely pale face grew even paler. He tossed the parchment onto the table. Lips pressed into a tight line, he hurried over to his crackling fireplace and threw a handful of powder into it. The flames changed color and he stepped in, speaking with a voice tainted with non- use.
"Saint Mungo's!" He spun, and was off. Grates of other fireplaces flashed by him as he traveled through the Floo Network. At long last, he stepped into the lobby for Saint Mungo's hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Shoving past the line waiting at the counter, he approached the witch sitting behind it.
"Hermione Granger." Perhaps it was the grave expression on his face, perhaps it was the plea in his voice, but the witch behind the counter did not argue. She pointed silently down the hall to her left and turned to the next person in line. Walking so briskly his robes flapped behind him, Draco walked down the hall, turning his head from side to side until he found the room labeled Granger, Hermione. He threw open the door with a bang. Hermione's muggle parents looked around, startled, and their eyes fell on him.
"I'll... I'll give you two some privacy, shall I?" said the mother in a garbled voice as though she had just been crying. She grabbed her husband's elbow and led him out of the room. Only then did Draco get a clear glimpse of Hermione, lying on the hospital bed, and he let out a small wail.
Her once- chocolate eyes had faded to gray, her lively, curly hair now lay lifeless around her. She seemed to have lost every ounce of fat on her body, she no longer had the soft curves that Draco adored. Instead, her skin clung to her bones, sallow, gray, and droopy. He hated seeing his love like this, and as he crossed swiftly to her bedside, the memory of the day they discovered came back.
It was the day after her 21st birthday when the St. Mungo's owl arrived, addressed to 'Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.' Hermione had taken it, read it, and, looking faint, handed it silently to Draco. Hermione's test results for the Grinzgamots disease had come back positive. Incurable and hardly research, the known explanation for Grinzgamots was that it ate away at the life force, sucking it out until it drained and the inhabitant died.
That night, when she thought Draco was asleep, Hermione had cried. Draco had pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair, whispering words of comfort. Though they poured over books day and night, there was close to nothing on Grinzgamots. They had taken her into critical care the next week, but there was nothing they could do.
Hermione's grayed eyes found Draco, pulling him back to the present. She smiled, and he was glad to see that her smile was still her, still beautiful. He pulled up a chair close to her head. A trembling hand reached out to touch his cheek, he caught it and held it there, closing his eyes. Before he knew what was happening, his face was buried in her neck and he was sobbing, his whole body convulsing with the pain and fear he felt. Malfoys weren't supposed to cry. Draco didn't give a damn.
When he finally looked up, red eyed and weary, he saw a few tears glistening on Hermione's sunken cheeks. She looked at him with dead eyes that still managed to convey worry and concern.
"I'm fine," he murmured, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She melted into his touch, and he cradled her there, wishing the moment to last forever. It was a while before he realized her chest had stopped moving, and the sound of oxygen rattling in and out of her mouth had ceased.
"Hermione?" He said, panic building in his chest. "Hermione? Hermione!" He was shaking her now, refusing to believe it. "No, no, NO! Accio healer!" It was stupid, he knew it, but it worked. A healer zoomed in through the door, looking thoroughly disgruntled. He saw Hermione, still cradled in Draco's arms, unmoving, unbreathing, and shook his head sadly. He gave Draco a pat on the back and left.
Draco sat there for quite a while, rocking Hermione back and forth. Memories slipped in and out of his mind; the moment he realized he loved Hermione, their first kiss, holding hands while shopping in Diagon Alley, proposing to her on a beach at sunset, the wedding at Malfoy manor, the announcement she was pregnant, soon followed by her miscarriage. He regretted every time he'd called her Mudblood, every time he'd insulted her. He loathed himself for it. Sometime later he realized there was a piece of parchment clutched in her hands. He nearly tore it in anticipation. Scrawled on it, in shaky handwriting, were the last words Hermione couldn't say.
I love you. Goodbye.
