Author's Note: This is my first fan fiction ever, so I apologize in advance if it sucks.

Note: The idea came to me when reading a part of S'TarKan's "Harry Potter and the Nightmares of Future Past." Therefore if you see any similarity, it is, indeed similar. The credit goes to him.

WARNING: Major character death; pretty angsty; prepare the tissues.

Disclaimer: Do we actually have to do these? Harry Potter and it's characters, world, events, etc. belong to JK Rowling.

They were running. Running as fast as their feet could carry them. The mission Granger had taken had turned out to be a fluke—a trap. Despite his best efforts, the bloody Gryffindor had insisted that she go, to save the world, to fight in this damned war. And despite her best efforts, he had followed her. He wasn't going to let her out of his sight. He refused to lose her second time.

And now the Death Eaters were at their heels.

Draco was acutely aware of his witch beside him, unruly hair flying behind her, warm brown eyes hardened in fiery determination. One hand tightly gripped his, and her other held her wand out and ready. He knew his witch could down several Death Eaters within seconds, firing curses with deadly precision and power. Despite their situation, Draco felt a warm glow rush through his veins. He wasn't sure if it was love. Love seemed too trivial a word compared to what he felt. Of one thing he was certain—he would die before he let anything happen to her.

Fate, being the bitch that she was, decided to test that statement. Shadowed figures melted out of the bushes and trees that surrounded them, pouring out the darkness like a spilled caldron of acid. The couple immediately skidded to a halt, heads whipping back and forth, seeking escape. Granger's hand in his tightened even further, nails digging into his skin, as they realized their only option was to fight. Draco's stomach dropped like a stone when he confirmed the reason they had been running in the first place. There were too many. At least thirty masked figures surrounded them. Strangely though, they seemed to hang back, none wanting to be the first to go against the witch and wizard.

They're probably remembering their last run-in. Draco thought with a smirk. The smirk was immediately wiped off when he remembered that this was a battle they probably wouldn't win.

Draco knew his words were futile, but he uttered them anyway. "Run, Hermione." He knew she wouldn't listen. "I'll blast a hole in their ranks and you—please, please run." His words were a desperate plea.

She glared at him. Those brown eyes that he had come to love were steady, hard as steel and somehow as soft as fur. "No." There was blood on her cheek and he had to resist the urge to wipe it away.

"Fuck, Granger. Please, for one bloody time listen to—" His words were cut off as they both jumped to the side, avoiding the Avada Kedavra that was flung their way.

"Reducto!" Granger's response was immediate. Draco couldn't help feeling a rush of pride as the red light of the curse was out of her wand and on its way before either of them had hit the ground. The resulting blast blew three Death Eaters off their feet. Two landed with hearty thumps and the third landed on his neck with an audible crack.

"Crucio," a Death Eater hissed, aiming straight for Hermione. Draco's heart leapt into his throat as she barely dodged the Unforgivable. Her Diffindo cut through the Eater's jugular before another curse could be uttered.

The hair on the back of his neck tingled, and Draco instinctively dodged. The curse flew by him as he retaliated, reminding himself that he too, was in danger. As curses were exchanged and the couple fought, Draco kept his back to his beloved witch's. They ducked, dodged, and wove together through the crowd, a deadly combination of spells and curses. As one reached out to attack, the other moved to cover the newly exposed area. Draco and Hermione moved in sync, with barely a millisecond between each spell and movement.

However, they were only two in a crowd that greatly outnumbered them. As one was killed, it seemed as though two took their place. Draco was quickly tiring, and he could feel Hermione's movements start to slow as well. Before long, both were bleeding and burned where they weren't quite fast enough to dodge a hex or curse. Draco spared a glance around. At least a dozen Death Eaters still remained.

Bloody Hell.

As he prepared himself to fight for their likely-short lives, words that Draco never thought would meet his ears rang through the air like a melody.

"Fall back! Retreat!"

The cloaked figures suddenly withdrew, gathering together and backing away. Draco and Hermione stood side by side in disbelief, tense and wands raised. He couldn't help the suspicion that fell over him like a cloak. He had thought they were about to be overwhelmed.

His suspicions were confirmed when one of the retreating masked figures suddenly spun around, wand out and pointed at Hermione. "Lucius was actually right," he sneered. "Filthy Mudblood. Sectumsempra."

Draco watched in slow motion as the curse flew straight towards Hermione. Horror filled him as he realized that she wouldn't dodge, as her attention was diverted to the Death Eater behind them, who had also raised his wand.

Before he even registered his actions, Draco had tackled Hermione, the dark cutting curse hitting him squarely in the side instead of his witch's chest. He couldn't stop his yell of agony as warm blood spread across his side, turning his clothes slick with the crimson liquid. He squeezed his eyes shut even as he ground out the words: "Hermione. Are you alright?"

"You bloody idiot!" was the only response her got. Draco opened his eyes to find that he was now on his back, his head propped on her small pack. Blood poured freely from his wound, soaking his clothes and starting to collect in a crimson puddle on the ground. Above him, Granger knelt over his torso, head bent as she furiously muttered healing spells. They didn't seem to have any effect. Draco could feel his side slowly get colder as light-headedness set in. He let out a grunt of pain as Hermione softly probed the torn flesh. An unfamiliar incantation washed over his skin and he felt his bleeding slow drastically.

More desperate healing incantations followed that one, but all Hermione could manage to do was slow the blood to a trickle. "Why isn't it stopping?" The question was almost a shout, filled with desperation and fear, fear for him. Her breath hitched. A tear leaked out of her eye and splashed onto his skin.

"Granger," Draco said softly, too softly for Hermione to bear. "He used a dark curse. It won't be healed by magical means." He tried to sit up, but fell back down with a gasp of pain. "Leave, Hermione. You know they're not done with us. They want me anyways. Lucius won't stand for me disgracing the family name. He won't leave me be," he spat bitterly.

A familiar, determined glint crept into Hermione's eye, one that sent a ball of dread into Draco's heart. "No! I won't leave you to those bastards. If magic fails, we'll do this the Muggle way."

"No!" Draco snarled. He could only imagine the time that would take. A bout of agony that had nothing to do with his wound shot through his chest as he thought of Hermione, lifeless and cold, gone from this world. His voice almost turned begging. "Don't do this for me, Hermione. Please, I'm begging you." His voice turned hard as she saw the stubborn set of her chin, the tightness in her jaw. "I'm not bloody joking, Hermione. You have to leave. Now! Those Death Eaters will return. Please, Granger, for one bloody time, listen to me!"

"I'm not leaving without you."

Draco felt his temper turn red-hot, and he knew they were about to get into one of the rows they were so familiar with. "Damn it, Granger! Leave me! They'll be fucking back and kill you. You. Are. A. Mudblood. They won't give you any bloody mercy." Draco spat.

"No! You bloody well know I will do no such thing!" Her words were emphasized when she reached behind her, grabbed a fallen Death Eater's cloak, and started tearing the fabric into strips with sharp tears. "I will bandage this," she said, starting to wrap the cloth around his side, even as his hands tried to push hers away, "you will bloody lie still," she secured the bandage, padding the open wound with additional fabric, "and you will return with me to the base." She pulled the cloth tight enough for a grunt of pain to escape him. "Or we will both certainly die because your stubbornness!" She finished off with a firm tug and tie to the makeshift bandage.

She then hauled herself and him to their feet and belted his arm around her shoulders. A cry of pain escaped Draco before he could stop himself as he was brought to his feet. He blinked away the black spots in his vision.

"Please," Draco's voice turned pleading, his anger gone as quickly as it had come. "Please. Granger. I can't… I couldn't bear it if..." The last word was a whisper.

This time, Hermione's voice wasn't a shout. In fact, she didn't even respond with words. She tilted her face towards his, and pulled his head down to meet her lips. Her lips were soft, yet demanding, her kiss almost desperate. At first, he was unyielding, but as she licked and sucked, nipping and tugging, his lips responded just as passionately, eagerly joining the addictive dance. He was overwhelmed with the sight, smell, and taste of her. She was his drug. She was his reason to live. He needed her.

Too early, Hermione pulled away, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her cheeks a brilliant tinge of red. She looked down at the ground, speaking her words quietly but firmly. "I'm not leaving you."

Slowly, Draco nodded.

With Draco limping and Hermione supporting almost half his weight, they made progress through the forest, trying their best to get to their hidden Port-Key. Draco chafed at their slow pace, but he was already pushing himself to his limit, each step a bolt of agony to his body. It was all he could do to keep from passing out as the agony coursed through him. That spell couldn't have been a simple cutting curse. It felt like fiendfyre was racing through his veins, burning his vessels and singeing his nerve endings.

What terrified him most though, was the pain. It was the witch at his side. He would not—could not stand to lose her. The fact that he knew Granger would do anything to protect him was like a dagger in his stomach, a disturbance to his being. He tried to convince her again. "Granger—"

His words were interrupted by several loud cracks. A sound that Draco knew—and dreaded. When Draco heard the cheer go up in the distance, his heart sunk even further into his chest. Death Eater reinforcements had arrived.

Terror filled him. Terror for his witch. His Hermione. His heart. "Hermione. Hermione, you have to go. Leave me. I'll only slow you down." His words came out low and urgent. With effort, he tore himself away from her, standing shakily alone, ignoring the pain that lanced up his side. "I'll distract them so you can escape. They want me anyway. Just go. Alright?" Desperation filled his voice, desperation that only increased at her responding expression.

Hermione hadn't recoiled from his suggestion, as Draco had anticipated. Instead, something sorrowful shone in her eyes, along with a firm determination mixed with longing and love. She had a plan, and he wouldn't like. "Hermione!" He grew desperate as she grabbed her wand.A knot of dread dropped like a lead ball into his stomach. Before he could utter another word, her words came out in a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Draco." Tears started to run down her cheeks. "I love you. Please, don't do anything rash when this is over. Win this war." She gave him a long look, "Be happy." Her wand was suddenly pointed at his chest, "Petrificatus totalus!"

He went rigid. Every muscle was locked in place, unmovable. Agony blossomed in his chest, where his heart was. No. His eyes desperately sought hers. Hermione! His internal shout didn't even make it past his lips. They didn't even twitch.

Draco struggled. Merlin knew he struggled, but he couldn't move a single muscle. His witch's magic was too strong. He saw the longing, the pain, in his witch's eyes as her wand lowered. Hermione, don't do this. Please. Don't. Do. This. He couldn't move a single muscle as she approached, gently taking his rigid body and dragging him over to a dip in a ground, concealing his body with leaves and grass.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, kissing his frozen lips. "I love you." A lance of something seemed to split his heart open. He felt like he was bleeding, his chest in utter agony as Granger slowly extracted herself from his existence. Her plan, her stupid plan had better not what he thought it was. But all the evidence supported it. Don't die for me, Granger. Please don't die for me. Draco was living a nightmare. And he couldn't do anything about it.

Her wand raised toward him again and the disillusionment charm covered him like a warm blanket. Draco could only watch as Hermione pointed her wand at herself, muttering a spell he had never heard of. There was now another Draco standing beside her, the edges of the magical illusion slightly blurred as the light shifted. It would look real enough from a distance.

Footsteps approached. No. His worst fears were confirmed when Hermione let out a shout, drawing their attention, and was gone. He listened to her light footsteps sprint away, he listened to the stampede of feet that followed her. He tried to shout. But nothing made it past his lips.

Now all that Draco had was himself.

He threw himself against the barrier of magic again. He refused to let this happen. He'd rather be back with Bellatrix, being Crucio'd him until his voice gave out, until he had thought he'd go insane. He waited, silently struggling and ears straining for any hint of Hermione. His heart stopped when he distantly heard her voice, yelling curses. He heard the answer yells of the Death Eater's as they fell. Draco could easily picture his witch, a lioness roaring in the battlefield, felling enemies left and right.

He could also see them overwhelming her, outnumbering her.

Minutes, hours—Draco didn't know, passed and the curses finally stopped. "Where is the Malfoy heir?"

"Dead."

"You lying Mudblood." A pause. "If he was truly gone, I don't think you would have gone through the effort to face him. Tell me the truth. Crucio!"

Hermione's scream tore through the air, assailing his eardrums, damaging him. Her yell of agony slowly burned itself into his memory, branded into his brain. He felt as if he were being stabbed, over and over again, as his soul mate cried out. He struggled even harder against his magical bonds. Hermione! Another scream pierced his ears, and he could feel his heart physically stop. Hermione. Tell him. Tell him! If he could move, if he could do anything, he would be raging, begging, sobbing.

"You little bitch." A sound that sounded like flesh hitting flesh interrupted the tirade. "Tell the truth. Where is the Malfoy heir?"

Hermione's answer was as sure as the first one, albeit a bit pained. "You killed him you bloody—"

"Crucio!"

Another yell of agony pierced him. It hurt Draco. It hurt more than he thought possible. All he could do was uselessly struggle against the Petrificatus as she took his place, took the place of the undeserving Malfoy heir. He could only listen, listen to her cries of pain, listen as his love was tortured. Tell him! He begged her in his mind. Please. Hermione. I'm not worth it. Tell him! His internal begging did scream that reached him pained him more than a thousand Crucio's. His wound was nothing compared to this—this insanity he was forced undergo as he listened to his beloved undergo ruthless torture on his behalf. He felt as if his heart was being brutally torn from his chest, ripped out and repeatedly beaten, raw and exposed. Time seemed to drag between her screams, his pain.

Then, Draco realized that her yells were decreasing in volume, starting to cut off with sickening gargles. It was as if her vocal cords were slowly failing. Dangerous, lethal dread filled him as he realized he could feel his fingers. Hermione's magic was starting to fade. And that could only mean one thing. She's dying. Draco realized. Those bastards are going to torture her to death. He threw himself against the Petrificatus. All his desperation single-mindedly concentrated on escaping the spell, to save his witch. Hermione. With growing horror, Draco realized that he could feel his limbs, he could move his fingers.

Hermione. Don't do this to me. Don't you dare do this to me, Hermione!

Seconds later, Draco had full control of his body. He realized that her screams had stopped.

No.

He moved. He moved with all he had, his injury practically forgotten as there was only one thought in his mind. His witch. His heart. Hermione. Hermione. Don't do this to me, Hermione. He hauled himself out of the hole, leaves and grass falling off of him like rain. He pushed himself, sprinting as best he could towards her location, ignoring the blood that started to pour out of his wound.

The closer he got, the more his stomach twisted, the more his innards clenched. Blood splattered the ground as he neared the site. It wasn't just his blood. There was too much. It was everywhere. On the trees, on the grass—mixed in with the mud. He felt sick. A clearing opened up before him.

The ground was charred where wayward curses had been deflected or missed. Trees smoldered nearby. Bodies of Death Eaters littered the floor. There must have been at least twenty, all lying in a circle around a body he instantly recognized. Draco forgot how to breathe.

No. No. NO! He slowly approached the still figure on the ground. Bile rose in his throat as he saw the blood that covered her, the gashes that inflicted her skin. She was lying in a pile of wet, crimson dirt. It painted her skin and clothes. Mud and blood. The irony wasn't lost on him.

His witch was more red then the soft cream he had come to associate with her. Her hair was torn out in places, as if she had been dragged around by her skull and badly beaten. As he got closer, he saw the ugly purple bruises that mottled her arms, her legs, her face. He saw the blackened eye. Her bleeding lip. Her leg was bent the wrong way.

"Granger." Draco croaked as he fell to his knees. Gently, as if she were a fine china doll, he turned her towards him. Her eyes were closed, and he saw that whatever skin that wasn't covered in blood was eerily pale and lifeless. She had no pulse. Desperately, Draco pulled out his wand.

"You will not die on me, Granger!" He began casting spells, all the healing spells and charms he had learned, taught by her and by Hogwarts. He refused to accept that she was truly gone. But his magic did no good. Each charm he placed, each spell he cast, slipped off her wounds like rain. The gaping holes in her stomach did not close. The broken skin would not mend. The wounds of the deceased will not heal. Necrotic tissue cannot be reanimated. Once the patient has passed, there is nothing more that can be done. The words of the textbook seemed to taunt him.

Even as Draco ignored the remembered words, even as tears ran down his face, he continued to cast with all he had. Only when he could no longer lift his arm, only when his magic had run dry, did Draco drop his wand.

"Hermione," he whispered, his voice one of a broken man's. His hands gently cradled her face, thumbs rubbing what blood he could off her cheek. He put her head in his lap, smoothing her hair back.

Draco noticed that her hands were behind her back, bound tightly together by rope that dug brutally into her skin. An angry slash of his knife cut them away. He gently took her hands, hands that had fit perfectly in his own, and laid them across the ugly wounds that gaped across her stomach.

He buried his face in her hair, tears falling freely, soaking her scalp. The copper tang of blood filled his nose. His eyes were squeezed shut. She shouldn't have done this. Not for him. Not for the spoiled, pureblood brat that he had been. Now he knew how much blood didn't matter. Her very last act had proven that. Granger was the one that had shown him. She was the one that had loved him. She was too pure, too brave, too loving. He was an unworthy creature, undeserving of the love she had wholly and freely given him. And now she was gone.

As gentle as any man could be, Draco kissed her forehead, her unresponsive lips, hugging her lifeless body to his. Sobs wracked his frame. She had trusted him when no one else had. Had loved him when no one else dared. And now she was gone—dead. Brutally torn away from him by brainwashed followers. He held her, stroking her face, her hair. A part of him was gone. A part of him had died with this bushy-haired, Gryffindor of a girl.

The blonde heir of the Malfoy legacy sat broken, gently cradling the brightest witch of her age, the girl whom he'd loved and she loved back, now deceased and gone. He mourned, more alone than ever, more broken than ever. He couldn't possibly know that his beloved's spirit sat beside him, hugging him for all she was worth.

"Draco," Hermione said, a small, sad smile on her face. "You'll live. You'll win this war. And when it's your time, I'll be here, waiting for you."

And what she said was true. Draco Malfoy became one of the key players in the war against Voldemort. Many Death Eaters perished by his hand, many of Voldemort's closest allies were wiped out by the young Malfoy. He'd teamed up with Harry and Ron, single-mindedly destroying every last one of the Dark Lord's resources. In the end, the war was won and the darkness defeated. Draco felt nothing.

Despite being honored as a war hero, Draco never took a wife, never had a girlfriend. He lived alone after the war, eventually succumbing to a curse hidden by a long-gone Death Eater. He welcomed death. And when he passed, leaving behind a society free of war, he found his love, Hermione Granger, patiently waiting for him with open arms.

Draco Malfoy had finally found his peace.