Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is the owner of Harry Potter. This was written purely for entertainment purposes.
"I think it's time to call it a night," Harry announced gruffly as he pushed his chair back from the table. Hermione looked up from the pile of parchment paper she had been studying and noted the circles under his eyes. A glance to her right showed Ron with identical black circles. She knew, without need of a mirror, that she showed the signs of exhaustion as well. The efforts for this war had now been dragging on for months, and its effects on the three were now revealing themselves. Ron stretched his arms back over his head in an effort to relieve his body's stiffness.
"I'm heading to a pub, then." His voice was gravelly, hoarse, as he got up and grabbed his cloak from the hook by the kitchen door. He paused, looking over his shoulder at Harry, who shook his head.
"I'm going to head upstairs." Upstairs. Where he no doubt was going to pull out a picture of Ginny along with that Marauder Map and sit up in bed watching her footprints back at Hogwarts for hours. Ron shrugged his shoulders and left without another second's hesitation, his boots stomping along down the hallway. Harry turned to look at Hermione who met his gaze reluctantly.
"I don't know… I guess I'll just head out. Somewhere." He nodded in response before getting up and leaving the room quickly. He didn't have to tell her to be careful, or to be on guard. She already knew. All of them knew. She watched the door swing slowly to a close before getting up and cleaning up the mess of parchment on the paper and storing them away with a wave of her wand.
They didn't talk to each other nowadays, the three of them. Only the necessary talk about plans for the war. They weren't even going to spend tonight together, or tomorrow as well, she guessed. Their friendship was suffering the effects of the war as well… one of the many casualties.
Casualties. She shuddered at the thought. So many of their fellow classmates from Hogwarts had paid the highest price for this cause, and she couldn't even see an end in sight yet. She shook the thoughts from her head momentarily before flicking her wand at the candles, dousing their flames.
The door to Number 12, Grimmauld Place swung shut behind her with a click as the locks and charms reactivated themselves. Hermione looked up at the building behind her with tired eyes before turning back around and walking briskly to the small square across the street. Where was she going to go? Her mind was a complete blank. Something inside was gnawing at her though, urging her to do this one thing. Pulling the invisibility cloak she wore closer around her, she took a deep breath and spun around on the spot, holding her breath until the smothering darkness disappeared and a dark graveyard appeared before her eyes.
Snow was lightly falling as she surveyed her surroundings to see if she was alone before she removed the cloak and stepped out from beneath the small grove of trees she had popped out under.
The snow that covered the gravestone looked ashen gray compared to the pure white of the marble beneath it. Extravagant even in death, but that was simply their way of life — everyone knew that. A lock of her signature bushy hair fell into her eyes as she slowly knelt down on the frost-bitten ground.
Draco Malfoy were the only words engraved in the marble. No dates, no dedication. Just his name. Anyone who didn't know who he was would have no clue about the individual that lay buried in the grave. She had no tears to shed for him. She had hated him every step of the way ever since Hogwarts, and he returned the favor ten-fold. Yet here she was, kneeling in front of his grave on the precious few hours when her services weren't required at the Order instead of taking the night off. Her hand lifted up of its own accord and her fingers traced over the letters on the cold stone almost lazily.
"Draco." She whispered, the sound completely foreign in her mouth as images of moments she had never lived flashed through her mind.
A fire flickering warmly nearby as a pale hand brushed her hair out of her eyes.
She avoided looking directly into those piercing gray eyes brimming with hurt. "I should've known better.. Ron and Harry have been right about you all along.." The words fell dully from her lips as if a stranger had taken her over.
Dark shadows fell over them, hiding them from the eyes of that night's patrolling Prefect as she held her breath. If they were found out now… were those his fingers running up along her inner thighs?
"Will you marry me?"
"I apologize for my rudeness, Mr. Malfoy," she emphasized, her voice dripping with steely sarcasm, "but I don't care who you are or how much money you have. I am Head of this department and what I say, goes."
"Marry me?"
"Marry me?"
She let her hand fall back down to her side as the sound of bells from the nearby village rang out through the clear night. Why was she even here? Why did it feel like she was sneaking around behind Ron and Harry's backs? They certainly would not have approved of her visit here tonight if they had known. But then they'd never ask, her mind whispered. Perhaps that was why she had came here.
It was midnight. She turned back to the grave, pulling her wand out of her coat pocket and tracing a circle in the air above the gravestone. A lone rose, blood red, fell soundlessly onto the ground in front of it, along with the crystalline tear tracking its way down her cheek - a tear for the future their generation could have had in place of this bleak-looking world they were in.
"Happy Christmas, Draco."
"Yes."