Authors Note: Just a short one-shot that I thought of. A Draco and Hermione romance, except this one doesn't end in sickly, sappy happiness. He can't curb his need for fan-girls; she can't curb the thoughts of her past life, of Ron and Harry, dead and not with her anymore. Post-war, of course. Enjoy...

Nothing mattered anymore. The sky above was gray and foggy; showing signs of past and future rain. The streets were muddy and puddle riddled; a grief ridden battle field for the annoyed pedestrian's shoes.

The sun as slowly setting, but she couldn't tell. All she saw was the vision of the face inside her head. The green-eyed beauty sitting across from him, her long tresses of gold setting upon his shoulders. She bared her face against the wind and let a tear roll down her face.

The woman slowly shook her head, mass of chocolate curls tangling in the wind. Her eyes, a delicate yet fierce auburn, were now clouded with tears. Maybe it would change for the better, before she ended it. Maybe he would find her note and rush to her, apologizing profusely for deceiving her. But of course that would not happen.

And anyhow, she was tired. Tired of seeing the broken spirits of the Weasley family. Tired of fighting her never-ending battle of guilt. Guilt of not dieing along with Ron and Harry. Of not being able to defend herself against Voldemort, and making Harry jump in the way of his curse. Guilt of not dying right beside Ron, of not telling him she loved him one last time.

And she was tired of seeing the conflicts of the Ministry, the chaos of Hogwarts after Dumbledore. Tired of living.

Just tired, weary in very bone, drained in every sinew, fatigue in every thought. It was to heart-wrenching to simply live anymore.

But then he is there. Standing at the bridge, finally there. So she looks into the water, wand held at her throat. She sees him, distantly, for her eyes brim with tears, trying to coax her down. There he stands, her dragon, silver and blonde, lithe and quick. Loving, caring, only thinking about her. But it won't last. It will fade in time, just like it did before. He will fade soon, she will fade soon, and they all will fade.

Her tears are streaming down her face now, covering her hand. Her wand shakes. But she turns now, from the crowd gathering. All wearing coats and hats. It's winter, but she wears only a tee shirt and jeans. Her skin is covered in goose bumps. Her voice shakes, because at last, her mind is slipping from her.

"Av-avada kedavra!" she croaks. She sees green. She sees him, shouting. All is in slow motion. His hand reaches out, but the woman is falling. She sees herself falling. I know I should be dead now, but maybe I am. Maybe I am a soul now. And . . . yes . . . I see the clouds, I see the sky, I see the sun, I see lights and sounds and angels and music. Below me, people shriek, and he is there, looking over the edge of the bridge, bright-white envelope, torn and wrinkled, in his hands. My note. My last goodbye.

And as I float upwards, I see my body. Won't last, I think. For I feel my essence float away from me. I hear Ron and Harry, but part of me knows it won't last. My mind will waver soon, I will wash away, like the sand messages you write on the beach. As my hand seems to touch the sun, it all goes blank.

The Lioness as reached the other side, broken, and has left her Dragon behind.

Author's Note: Anyone need a tissue? Life is harsh, pass the Kleenex. (That saying is copy-righted by me, by the way.)…. (Okay, maybe not….)