DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything in Potterverse (though I wish I own the Harry Potter amusement park in Florida). All I own is this neat little laptop and the squishy, grey thing in my head that lets my Potterverse imagination run wild.

A/N: Welcome, readers! So this is my first DHr fic… please be gentle with me, haha. I'm also trying to keep this fic as canon as possible, which means that the last chapter of Deathly Hallows applies in this storyline. Hermione, Draco, Harry, and co. are considerably older (in their late 30s) and are parents—so if you have an issue with that, this is just not going to be your cup of tea. However, if you don't mind an unlikely, mature romance blossoming between two grown adults (who happen to have hated each other in their youth), then this is the fic for you!

Also, the rating is M for mature themes but there won't be any smut in this story. Any sexual rendezvous between couples will be tastefully hinted at but that's it. No explicit sex scenes or anything like that. I've never taken a stab at writing smut, because honestly, I know it's just going to come out laughably ridiculous. Don't get me wrong, though—raw sexual tension isn't smut, so that will still be abundantly present in this story (mwahaha).

If all of the above hasn't deterred you from reading yet, then you are awesome. Read on, lovelies!

[December 2017]

Surreal.

It felt surreal to be standing here in the bitter cold beneath the overcast iron sky. The clouds were opaque and menacingly gray, as if threatening to spill icy sheets of rain at any moment. The pungent scent of fresh dirt penetrated her nostrils, inducing the urge to gag. Hermione closed her eyes as the wind relentlessly whipped about her, stinging her cheeks and seeping into her bones. She was cold, very cold. Freezing almost. But it was a welcome numbness. It blurred the reality around her.

Please tell me this is a dream.

It certainly felt like one. Ever since two nights ago when she received Harry's owl at 4:13 in the morning, Hermione wondered more than once if she was in a nightmare. The hastily written note telling her to come to St. Mungo's immediately—the heart-racing panic as she Apparated there in her bathrobe—the heart-wrenching pain as she stood there, helplessly staring at Ron's unconscious, bloody figure—everything. Nothing seemed real.

The smaller hand held in hers suddenly tightened its grip, and Hermione's throat tightened with it. She opened her eyes and looked down at her son Hugo, whose hand had been the one squeezing hers. He didn't seem to have realized that his mum's attention was now focused on him, for he was looking straight ahead with eyes red and swollen from crying. On Hugo's other side, her daughter Rosie was trying to sniffle as quietly as possible while silent tears coursed freely down her face.

You have to be strong for the children.

A tiny teardrop threatened to fall from the corner of Hermione's left eye, but she pressed her sodden kerchief to it before it could escape. And when she'd snapped back to the present reality and to what was going on before her, she realized why Hugo had absentmindedly squeezed her hand.

They were done lowering the casket into the grave. The casket that contained her husband.

Slowly, one by one, people stepped up and threw handfuls of dirt into the grave. Friends and family quietly filed past her—Harry, Ginny, their children, Mrs. Weasley, Neville, Dean Thomas. The definitive thud as each handful of dirt hit the wooden casket made Hermione sick to her stomach.

Wake me up from this nightmare!

Soon it was her turn to step up to the ominous hole in the ground. Rosie and Hugo had gone before her, the thuds of the dirt they threw masked by the fervent sound of their uncontrollable sobs. But as Hermione let the handful of soft dirt fall from her hand and onto the wooden casket, she was deathly silent, no trace of a tear on her face, serene almost.

And as the thud inevitably came, it felt as if she was the one in the casket, lifeless.

"We're so sorry for your loss, Hermione," Lavender quietly said, sincerity written all over her blotchy, post-crying face. Beside her, Seamus nodded, as deeply sincere as his wife.

"Thank you both for coming," Hermione replied, mustering up a small smile for her old housemates. Her throat tightened as she said the next part, "Ron would've wanted you both to be here."

Lavender's hazel eyes welled up with tears again at the mention of Ron, and Seamus rubbed her back to soothe her. Something hot blocked Hermione's throat—Ron used to do the same thing whenever she was upset.

She and Lavender hugged good-bye, as did she and Seamus. The couple walked away and Hermione was left alone once more. The Finnegans were the last of their friends to leave, aside from Harry who stood with Ginny about ten feet away. They weren't talking, just standing there with their arms wrapped around each other, offering comfort without words. Even though she couldn't see his face, Hermione was sure that Harry's mouth was still set in that same hard line and his eyes still held that haunted look. Most of the Weasley clan was still around as well, with the exception of Percy and Mrs. Weasley (the former had half-carried an audibly distraught Mrs. Weasley out of the cemetery). And as usual, Rose and Hugo were huddled with James, Albus, and Lily by the cemetery fence, looking for all the world like they would never smile again.

The wind had died down a little, but it was still bleak as hell and Hermione still felt chilled to the bone. She wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck, but it made no difference. The chill was oozing from deep within her, a void she could no longer fill.

Look, Ron, even the sky seems to mourn for you.

She could still remember their last words to each other. They'd been bickering that evening because Ron had arrived home later than expected, only to tell her that he had to leave for another assignment early the next morning. That was two weeks ago. Usually Hermione was very understanding about the high demands that came with being an Auror, but she was going through a rough time at work and so decided to take out her annoyance at her husband. Poor Ron hadn't seen it coming as she ranted on and on about how neglectful he was being, that he had to make a choice when it comes to family and work, and that he was always choosing work over family. Ron tried to reason with her at first but to no avail—on and on she went, bringing up old issues and new ones, until her voice was practically hoarse from overuse.

To his credit, Ron hadn't risen to the bait, choosing to keep his mouth shut instead and finally saying at the very end, in an exhausted voice, "You're absolutely right, 'Mione. Now how 'bout we get some sleep and continue this conversation in the morning?" At which point Hermione merely blinked before hurling a pillow straight at her husband's head, obviously still very much peeved.

At dawn the next morning, she could sense Ron puttering about their bedroom, closing and opening the closet door as he quietly got dressed for work. Hermione had sentenced him to a night on the couch, so great was her annoyance. Ron, however, obviously didn't hold a grudge against her for that, because right after he had finished getting dressed, he went over to his wife's sleeping form on the bed and kissed her gently on the forehead.

"I'm sorry about last night," he simply whispered, seeing that she was awake. "I love you."

Still somewhat seething in her anger—which was all the more increased by the fact that Ron had to leave for an assignment again, Hermione had refused to reply and flipped over to her other side, essentially ignoring him and his apology.

If she had known that that was the last time she would see him whole and alive…

Hermione gulped as a strong pang of guilt and regret reverberated throughout her entire body. God, if only she hadn't been so stubborn… If only their last time hadn't been of them fighting… If only she had forgiven him… Kissed him before he left… If only she'd said…

I love you, too, Ron.

"Granger."

Her moist eyes snapped to from their unfocused state only to pin themselves on—

Draco Malfoy.

Good grief.

She wasn't exactly of the right mental state to know what to do when one is confronted by an ex-school nemesis at one's husband's funeral, so Hermione only stared blankly at Malfoy.

"Err—I mean, Weasley." He realized his mistake after a second. Hermione could still do nothing but stare at him as if he'd grown horns out of his head. He hadn't, of course. Malfoy was still as blond, immaculate, and aristocratic as ever, same as he looked when she saw him at Platform 9 ¾ just a few months ago during Rose's send-off.

Thankfully, she didn't have to try and find her voice before Malfoy cleared his throat, looking like he was about to say more. He didn't look exactly thrilled to be there, and if Hermione had to guess, she'd say he was trying to hide the fact that he felt ridiculously uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry for—your loss," Malfoy finally said in a low voice, not meeting her eyes but looking at a spot just above her right ear. A long, awkward pause followed in which Hermione was still too addled to come up with a polite response.

But Malfoy wasn't done.

"I—wish I could've done more. To save Weasley."

And Hermione knew.

Ron and Malfoy must have been partners on this last assignment, the assignment that had killed—

She suddenly felt like she was going to faint. This—losing Ron, the funeral, the sleepless nights, the crying, and now Malfoy showing up—it was all too much! She wanted so badly to just escape to her bed and sleep it all away... to wake up and find Ron snoring beside her... to realize that this had all been one twisted nightmare...

"Thank you for coming, Malfoy." Her voice came out slightly raspy but at least it wasn't shaky—which was how she was feeling.

Another awkward pause and then—"Actually, Gra-Weasley, there's something I need to talk to you ab—"

But before Malfoy could say anything else about whatever it was he wanted to talk about, Harry suddenly materialized at her right elbow.

"Malfoy." Harry said solemnly in greeting. "Good of you to come."

The blond Auror merely inclined his head in a curt nod of acknowledgement. Even in her current state, Hermione could tell that Malfoy was trying—and failing—to hide his annoyance at having been cut off. She, however, couldn't have appreciated the interruption more. She was just so tired…

"Hermione?" Harry's voice sounded so far away. "Hermione, are you okay?"

Why is everything spinning?

Her eyes fluttered to a close as vertigo gripped her. She clutched at Harry's arm. "Actually… actually, I think it's time to go home now," she said weakly, tiny beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead as her brain reeled and the ground beneath her feet lurched dangerously.

"Yeah, let's get you home," Harry muttered, bracing her with his arms and steering her away from Malfoy.

"Wait! Granger, when can I talk to you—"

"Not now, Malfoy!" Harry snapped. "It can wait."

Was she imagining things or did Harry just give Malfoy a very pointed glare, as if they knew something she didn't?

She didn't care. Not right now. Not when she was nursing a void that was rapidly eating her from the inside out. Not when her whole world had just fallen apart.

Yes, whatever Malfoy needed to talk to her about couldn't have been that important, anyway.

A/N: Yeah, so I just sacrificed Ron for the good of my Dramione obsession. (sigh) Ron's one of my favorite HP characters, so it kills me to have to kill him off but—it must be done! At least he died an honorable death instead of turning into a complete a-hole and cheating on his wife and kids (that was the other get-rid-of-Ron option) . Anyway, I'm dying to hear what you guys think, so please leave a review!