A/N: Heyo, I'm almost done with my Cassandra story so I'm starting up another one, prob not very long but here goes… predictable, no? The two things have nothing to do w/ each other but they come together. Loves and kisses!

Disclaimer: Two for me, none for you! HP for JK, none for us!

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The handsome soldier felt the dewy grass as he was blown to the ground. He winced, breath short, as he noticed a pool of blood seeping from his chest. "Strange," he thought, his thoughts becoming as hazy as his vision, "I don't remember any spells with blood." He tried to remember the last time he had bled, but he couldn't. It was warm and sticky and the aches were being replaced by a dulling numbness that he eagerly welcomed.

A pair of calloused hands grabbed his legs and began dragging him. "Wait!" he tried to scream, but no sounds came. "I'm not dead yet!" The person did not hear hid silent protests and he winced again as he was pulled over a jagged rock. "Please don't bury me..." It was the last thing he remembered.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Where are your dog tags, soldier?"

Draco opened his eyes to see a person; he couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, for the body was covered with dirt, tar, and what looked to be blood. His/her face was completely covered with mud and grass stains. However, the voice omitted was dainty and Draco assumed it to be a woman.

"Soldier?"

"Oh, sorry, ma'am." He struggled to sit up but she restrained him easily. He figured that he was very weak if he could not fend off a woman. "I'm Draco Malfoy," he said, extending his hand for the shaking. She, however, stayed motionless and did not take the hand. He wanted to see her expression but she was completely covered.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy," she said, scribbling on a clipboard, "you have suffered from a bullet wound."

"A what?" Draco had never heard of a bullet before. Perhaps it was in relation to the animal "bull"?

"Guns are weapons used to shoot these bullets," she said, not tilting her head to look at him. "It's a highly dangerous Muggle weapon."

"Muggle weapon," Draco sneered, staggering up. "Am I healed yet, nursey-nurse?"

"No," she replied bitterly, prompting him back onto the bed. "Your stitches are still healing. And..." she paused solemnly.

"And what?" Draco bit his lip nervously.

"We discovered an incubus relic disease in your bloodstream," she said quietly, her muddy face pointed toward the ground. "The incubus diseases are very, very old... they trace back to the family of Salazar Slytherin. They are... without cure."

"Shutup," Draco scoffed, pushing her away, "it's not funny, lady. Do you know who I am?"

"Bloody hell I do!" she shrieked, wiping caked-on mud from her eyes. "And do you know who I am?"

"A minimum-wage wizarding nurse trying to make a sickle for declared a guy fatal!" he hissed. "So, no, I do not know. But I bet you're going to tell me!"

"No, I'm not!" she screamed. He stared at her. She looked around the tent nervously. He teetered from foot to foot. She kissed him. He kissed her back. They closed the tent flap.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Draco awoke feeling awfully woozy. He sat up, his head screaming, and felt an ache in his ribs. "Oh yeah," he thought casually, "I got a mullet sewn... or what it bull spoon?" He felt the burlap comforter and turned to see a woman lying beside him. She was stained and dirty, and he noticed that he was too. All he could see was her eyes, but they were beautiful. "I gotta go, doll," he whispered, kissing her bruised forehead gently and pulling himself up. He ached all over and quietly slipped out of the tent.

He stopped, midstep, in the cold morning air. It was not because of the bodies strewn all over the ground or the eerie silence; he remembered that he had been diagnosed with an incubus relic disease. He groaned, figuring it was a hoax. But the passion in which she had said it... the passion she had. He vowed not to think of it again. And so he didn't.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Hermione!" Harry's lopsided grin strewed across his entire face. "I was so..."

"Me too," she nodded. He immediately noticed how much more demure she looked than the last time they had seen each other; as opposed to being a zealous, optimistic eighteen-year-old she was now a solemn, but still beautiful twenty-four years. "The war was hard on all of us."

A little boy stepped out from behind Hermione Granger. "Hi," the boy said shyly, hiding behind Hermione's leg.

"Harry," she said awkwardly, "I'd like you to meet my son, Corey."

"Your--your son?" Harry sputtered, obviously baffled. He leaned down to the small boy's height. "Hi, Corey. I'm Harry Potter. How old are you?" The timid boy raised six fingers. "Six? Wow! I would've that you were seven!" Harry exclaimed in mock amazement. The boy giggled in glee and once more retreated behind his mother. Harry rose again and looked into Hermione's eyes. "You have a son..."

"Yes," she said, forcing a smile. "His father, my husband, died in the war."

"You married?" Harry's eyes were bulging by now.

"Yes," she said, "Eric Sullivan. He was killed two years ago."

"I'm--I'm sorry, Mione, I have to take this all in," Harry exclaimed. "Oh, come in, come in," he gestured, and the mother and son entered the hallway. "I'm so glad you could come stay with me. I've missed you so much."

"And I, you," she smiled genuinely.

"Wow, Mr. Potty!" Corey exclaimed, his blue eyes enlarging as they glanced around. "You got a big house!"

"He HAS a big house, Corey, not got," Hermione corrected absentmindedly. Harry was surprised to see her so motherly.

"Well, you look great, Herm," he admired. Although having a child, she was still extremely slim, and had loose brown waves cascading down her shoulders and backs. Her brown eyes twinkled, as if to say thank you.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Alright well, please R/R… not bad tho! LOL, and check out my other stories…. Luv ya!