He was too late.
Too late to hear the news.
Too late to realize.
Too late to save her.
He was out, at a muggle toy-store, getting something for his sick baby cousin, Marvin, and magic was not to be used on infants. His friends Theo and Blaise had come with him, helping him pick out the perfect gift. When they heard the screams, they had joked and said that it was two muggles finding out the joys of. He had the nagging doubt that it was someone in danger, but chose not to go find out if his suspicions were correct. On the way back to his office, he had heard from his secretary, Annabelle, that someone from the Department of Magical Creature Abuse was in the hospital. He felt a twinge of worry, and then shook it away.
It was only when he heard (and saw) Potter and Weasel-bee wailing and crying, did it click. Hermione Granger.
After finally managing to shake the location of her hospital from a weeping Ron, he ran. He ran, like he never had before, forgetting entirely that he was an wizard that could Apparate. He jumped into a wizarding taxi and instructed the driver to go as fast a possible to Galeagle's Hospital. Not bothering to count the money, Draco dumped the entire contents of his wallet onto the taxi-driver's seat. Practically flying up the stairs and into her patient's room, he came in just in time, for her heart to beat once, and then flatline. Too late.
He fell onto his knees, sobbing, heart-breaking. They were supposed to be enemies, they were supposed to hate each other. They were not supposed to think about each other everyday, they weren't supposed to envision a future with one another. But Draco did. He cried until his eyes were dry, until he was sure he was going to die. He wept, until he heard of how she had died. An alley fight. 3 muggles. 3 intoxicated, strong, male muggles. Ginny and Parvati had gotten her out just before she blacked out. They had Apparated into the nearest hospital, but they had been too late.
Years passed, and Draco remained alive, without actually living. He would walk, and talk and go through the motions, but he was not living. Living people did not feel empty and hollow inside. The living did not constantly think, too late.
3 weeks after her death, Draco attended her funeral. He didn't like how it was mandatory to wear black. He didn't like how she was dressed up and made pretty, blood cleaned away. 'She's dead. She's fucking dead. Why make her look like she's sleeping?!' he thought.
After Potter and both Weasel and Weaselette had given their speeches, they were getting ready to have Hermione's coffin lowered into the ground.
"Wait!" Draco croaked, his voice rough from lack of use. "Wait." Walking over to the podium, a unexpected speech burst from his lips.
"I wish I knew her. Hermione, I mean. Really knew her. I called her names, teased and bullied her when we were in Hogwarts. Without ever even knowing her. It wasn't until the war was over and we were working together in the Ministry, did I realize that she was much more than Potty and Weasel's mudblood. We were working on a case together. Our first case. One on how Madam Soughlivat's hippogriff kept leaving dead carcasses in her neighbor's backyard. I just insulted the case, calling it useless and stupid. She calmly sat down and finished the job. That's when I began to notice how beautiful she was. She was beautiful because of her smile, her laugh, the way that she loved life. That's when I started to fall for her. I never got a chance to really get to know her. I never got a chance to get her to love me back. That's because I was just a little bit too late."
Author's Note: WOW! I know that both chapters, especially the 2nd one were painfully short, but I'm not very good at writing so yeah. This is my first Dramione one-shot so it's probably not very good. The idea was inspired from when I was reading (and crying about) a Dramione fanfic named Eyes Open. If you ever get the chance, please go check it out.
Disclaimer: The only way that I'd own Harry Potter or any of the characters of the stories is if I was J.K Rowling. I am not J.K Rowling. I'm not even british. I'm not even human.