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Some Things Never Die

This is the last time
That I will show my face
One last tender lie
And then I'm out of this place
You say that some things never die

-This Is The Last Time, Keane



Imagine a world where one's bloodline heritage wouldn't cause one to be hated, hunted and murdered. Visualize a place where a young blond teenager wouldn't be forced to prove his worth by turning against the very people whom he didn't wish to kill in cold blood. Now conjure up an image of a girl kneeling before a fireplace, a tear-stained parchment in her trembling fingers.

"It's not he," said a flat voice behind Hermione. She immediately swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat, and took a few deep breaths before turning to face the owner of the voice that she had heard so many times.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Hermione, but her voice shook as her eye's met Harry's.

At that moment, Hermione didn't know whether to throw her arms around Harry Potter, and tell him how she missed having him around, or stay rooted at her current position, and thank him for showing up on her birthday. His face was more craggy, his hair more untidy than ever, but those weren't the things that held her back from hugging and kissing him on the cheeks as she had done when they were eleven. He seemed to be radiating a frostily foreign aura, and Hermione found her legs unable to move.

Standing before her, he seemed so grown up, so changed, so intense. It was as though he had undergone a transition from an impulsive teenager into a young man hell-bent on avenging the death of his godfather and their late Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. But as Hermione stared searchingly into her best friend's bloodshot eyes – he had been burning the midnight oil again, poring over scrolls and tomes on countercurses and jinxes – something assured her that Harry was still the same person as before. True, he was different, but it was only because he had a destiny to fulfil. He had to grow up. He couldn't remain a carefree teenager forever when the entire wizarding world was shifting their burden onto his shoulders.

"It's true that another Death Eater's killed. It'll be in the papers tomorrow. But in case you're wondering, it's not him."

"Do you mind telling me who you're talking about?" asked Hermione, a spark igniting behind her brown eyes. She loathed the look in Harry's eyes – it was insinuating and half-accusing. Is he prescient now?

"Come on, Hermione," said Harry with a wry smile. "I'm not blind, even though Ron might be. Blissfully so too, if I might add. When are you planning to tell him?"

"If you're talking about Malfoy-"

Harry took a step closer to her. "I don't know how you manage to feel anything for that coward," he said bitterly, "but it's none of my business. What bothers me is that Ron…"

"I don't like Malfoy, Harry. How could I? A Death Eater and a Mudblood-"she broke off and laughed mirthlessly.

"That's good to hear, Mione, because Ron is planning to propose once the War is over."

Hermione's hand froze halfway from brushing a tendril of hair that had crept into her eyes. "What?" she whispered, her heart racing uncontrollably. "When…how…why?"

"I found out yesterday, how he's going to propose I don't know, but it's obviously because he's head over heels in love with you, Hermione," answered Harry in one breath. His eyes held her gaze as he stared at her questioningly. "But lately, I've been noticing some…things. Things that both frighten and intrigue me at the same time. Things that will undoubtedly leave Ron utterly devastated and heartbroken."

"Are you accusing me of snogging that ferret?" demanded Hermione, although a twinge of guilt crept into her voice. "I don't even know where he is right now….and frankly, I don't care!"

"Of course I haven't seen you snogging Malfoy," answered Harry calmly. "Because if I did, I would haul him off to the Aurors immediately. No, I'm talking about the more subtle signs. Things that you thought nobody would notice, but somebody did."

Hermione was silent. She couldn't say anything, not when Harry had fixed his eyes on hers. It was almost as though he had somehow mastered Occlumency and Legilimency; the effect was starting to breach Hermione's defences, surging past the feelings that she had barricaded from everyone, including herself. In a way, Harry was starting to see things that even Hermione herself didn't realise.

"The way you tense up whenever a member of the Order announces that another Death Eater has been killed, for example," said Harry, taking a step towards her. "The way you always enquire about whether Lucius has escaped from Azkaban….I know that you were hoping that somebody would mention something about his son."

Hermione shook her head numbly, as Harry stepped mercilessly closer. The gap between them was closing, and she could almost feel his stare piercing into her. "I couldn't care less if Malfoy died," she said forcefully. "You're just mistaken, Harry."

"The way you asked if any Death Eater caught would be killed on the spot or if he'll receive a fair trial. How you asked if it was possible to stop being a Death Eater without being discovered….I know that you were hoping that Malfoy would somehow see the error of his ways, and renounce his criminal life. Hermione, you might be able to fool Ron but you can't fool me."

Hermione blinked back the tears that were forming in her eyes. It was true that she had hoped that Draco wouldn't waste his young life on serving Voldemort, that he'd see that he didn't necessarily have to turn to the Dark Lord for protection, power and mercy. That there were other people who loved him besides the robe-kissing Death Eaters whom he called his brothers….then again, she was certain that they didn't love him at all.

Harry steadied her with his arms, as she felt her knees weakening. His grip was so strong, that Hermione felt the determination pulsating in his veins. She pushed his arms away, and glared defiantly at him.

"So long," she whispered thickly through her tears, "I have prayed for this War to come to an end. That there would be no discrimination between the Pureblooded, Half-blooded, or what-have-yous."

"So long I've struggled to prove that I can be just as good as, if not better than the biased Pureblood who walked around reminding Muggleborns that they have no place in this world. All these years, I've hated Malfoy and the role he played in getting Dumbledore killed, so don't you dare walk in here and accuse me of worshipping the ground he walks on, Harry Potter." Her voice was braced with iron and defiance.

"I'm sorry-"

"How dare you," continued Hermione, her eyes blazing indignantly, "how dare you show up on my birthday and…and…"

"And tell you that I hope that what you said wasn't true?"

Hermione stopped babbling, and frowned. There was something wrong with Harry – his voice had changed. And his eyes – the eyes that seemed to see into her most suppressed thoughts – were no longer hard and filled with angst. In fact, the longer she looked, the less green they seemed. Harry turned away from her, as she stared at him in bewilderment.

After a few minutes, he turned back, and Hermione understood.

"Malfoy."

"Granger."

There was a moment of horrible silence before Hermione found her voice. "I could call the Aurors right now," she said, her voice shaking as Draco reached a slim hand up to smoothen his white blond hair. "Showing up here….illegal usage of Polyjuice….the audacity-"

"Happy Birthday, Granger," he interrupted, and for a split second, Hermione thought that he was about to take out his wand and perform an Unforgivable Curse, but he simply held out an empty hand.

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" asked Hermione, as she stared at his outstretched hand. "Are you one of the twins, pretending to be-"

"No Weasel could impersonate me so convincingly," interjected Draco with a familiar smirk. "For starters, they'd get the elegance and looks all wrong."

"Elegance and looks my foot."

"I was right all along, wasn't I? There is somebody out there besides my mother who wishes that I hadn't joined the Death Eaters, and that I would return safely after the War."

"You're only fooling yourself."

"Somebody who might shed a few tears at my funeral, somebody who'll walk with a heavy heart along the aisle on her wedding day."

"You bastar-"

"Please, Hermione," Draco cut in. She could hear the plea in his voice, although she wasn't sure of it. How could someone who had spent seventeen years of his life loathing Muggle-borns suddenly turn into the boy who was standing before her right now?

"You're so stupid," she choked, here eyes blurred by the tears that were forming. "What did you think you were doing, joining-" she broke off, unable to continue.

"Why did you come?" she asked finally. "If anyone knew…."

"Are you going to report me now?" he hazarded.

"No, but-"

"I've always known." said Draco at last, with just a trace of relief in his arrogant face. Watching the night breeze play lazily with tendrils of his white blond hair, Hermione smiled despite herself. A myriad of emotions and thoughts were running through her mind; in her head, she saw a slideshow of memories, begining from the first time she saw his smug sneer, to the time he called her a Mudblood, their Sixth Year, when she refused to believe Harry's accusations that Draco was joining the Death Eaters...

"That I'm irresistable," he finished with a haughty smirk. She opened her mouth indignantly, but the words were caught in her throat when she saw a smile etching itself on his face. Hermione hadn't actually seen the conceited Slytherin smile something other than a contemptuous smirk, but when she saw how a mere smile changed his features, she realised that it actually made him rather handsome. Or perhaps it was the soft moonlight playing on his marble-pale face, or the intoxicating tinge of wintergreen in the air that was making her head spin, she didn't know.

"And you know something?" asked Draco, arching a long, fine eyebrow questioningly, although Hermione knew that he wasn't going to wait for her reply.

His answer was a kiss, that was both soft and longing at the same time. At first, he just leaned towards her uncertainly, but upon seeing that she didn't turn away in disgust or anger, he allowed his mouth to cover hers, slowly yet hungrily. It wasn't an awkward, nor did it feel wrong. Instead, it surprised the both of them how natural and right the kiss was. If it could be described as a living creature, the virgin kiss between Draco and Hermione would be pure, forbidden, and yet beautiful beyond imagination. They were frightened by how something so spontaneous could turn out to be so painfully sweet, but it reassured two young hearts that their long-suppressed yearnings weren't in vain.

"I love you," he finished.

Three words, two hearts, one kiss. Perfect moments were never so beautiful.

A/N: Please review…I'd appreciate it a lot.