Author's Note: This is the result of a random idea I had that was inspired by a song called "Blackout" by Muse(hense the title). It's actually hard to write this, which is most likely because I have not yet experienced the loss of a loved one. (And I don't look forward to it.) I'm actually not sure where this story is headed, but I have a few ideas for future chapters. Of course, if you would like to tell me what you think should happen next, you're welcome to. You never know, you might just give me an idea, hehe. Anyway, on with the story, I'd hate to bore you any longer with this.

"Blackout"

Her vein was visable through the skin. It was blue, running up her wrist diagonally toward her thumb. It was no different from any other vein she had ever seen. Did that mean the red liquid rushing through it was the same as everyone else's as well? She had witnessed him collapse, his 'pure' blood collecting underneath him in a sticky puddle. It was a deep crimson, just like the blood that had been trickling down her arm from the large gash upon her shoulder. She had dropped to the floor next to him and cradled his head lovingly, and as she did, the blood from her wound had dripped into the surrounding puddle of his. Their blood was mixed together on the ground below, 'pure' and 'dirty'. And in that moment, it didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter that she was the offspring of muggles, nor that he had come from a long line of prestigious pureblood wizards. The only thing that really mattered was that she was there with him. Tears fell from her eyes onto his shoulder as he lifted his cold hand to her cheek and gave her a reassuring smile. She held his hand to her cheek as the tears continued to fall, and his blood continued to drain. A last puff of air passed through his lips, his body slowly slacking in her embrace. She choked on a sob as she set down his hand and slowly brought hers to his eyes, closing his eyelids gently. The battle went on, more lives were lost. But in the end, they had won, and the Dark Lord had been defeated by The Boy Who Lived. That particular war had been won, but the war that had been going on inside the girl's head raged onward behind closed doors.

She had secluded herself from the outside world afterward, locked away in her room; the blinds were closed, the curtains were drawn. She laid in her warm bed, hair tangled in a mass of curls, and eyes ridden with fatigue and moisture. Her vein was visable through the skin. It was blue, running up her wrist diagonally toward her thumb. It was no different from any other vein she had ever seen, and that meant that the red liquid rushing through it was the same as everyone elses. It was the same.

That was how Hermione Granger spent her summer; alone in her room, mind racing with 'what if's and memories of a love she would never allow herself to feel with anyone ever again. She knew it was too good to last, she knew it would end in tragedy. They both had been ruled by secrecy, and even after her love's death she could not bring herself to tell anyone. No one ever knew that she, Hermione Granger, had been engaged to marry Draco Malfoy. They were only sixteen, no one would have ever guessed that they were planning to secretly wed the traditional muggle way as soon as they came of age. Hemione weakly smiled into her pillow, a new stream of tears forming in her eyes. They were supposed to run away to the United States with the Malfoy bank account, start a new life away from all of the pain, the suffering, the death. Hermione burried her face deep into the pillow and sobbed loudly. Draco was gone; he wasn't going to come back.

In mid-June, Draco had been burried on the Hogwarts grounds, along with all the other students and staff who had lost their lives during the final battle. There had been a long service dedicated to their memory, but Hermione could barely remember any of it. All she remembered was Harry's silence, Ron's hand upon her shoulder, and watching her whole life being buried in a white casket. She left immediately after the service, without even a goodbye to either Harry or Ron. Their letters, no doubtedly written in concern, piled up upon her desk for a short while before her mother decided to respond to each one of them. Hermione did not know what her mother had written to her friends, but the letters had ceased to come after that. She was relieved that they had, indeed, stopped coming. She didn't feel like facing anyone for a while. She didn't want people to witness her this broken, and as illogical as that sounded it was true. Hermione was sure that not one of them would ever be the same, but she was a girl known for keeping things together under pressure, and she would. She sometimes wondered what everyone else was doing outside of her room while she stayed entwined in her blankets and sheets. But, Hermione would never know for sure unless she actually ventured beyond these surrounding four walls, and that time was slowly creeping up upon her. Summer was coming to a close, and in a few weeks Hermione would be back at Hogwarts for her final year. It gave her some comfort knowing that she was going to be swamped with school work, for that was how she had coped with the teasing and the tragedies during her previous years. But, on the other hand, she would have to face all of her fellow students, not to mention Harry and Ron. As much as she missed them, she didn't want to see them at the same time.

Hermione raised her hand from her side and stared at the small diamond ring placed upon her finger. Her vision quickly blurred with more tears, and she covered her mouth to muffle a a weak sob. She felt her lower jaw tighten as the tears tried to force themselves out from behind her tightly shut eyelids. She stayed that way for a few moments, her jaw slowly relaxing. She needed to stop crying, as much as Hermione wished she could just stay in her room and cry forever, she needed to stop. She needed to be strong, and confident, but Hermione doubted her abilites to feign strength. But maybe for Draco's sake, she could pretend to be fine; atleast for a little while.

Edging over to the side of her bed, Hermione's feet slid off of the mattress and onto the soft carpeted floor as she slowly sat up. Her eyes traveled around the room, only taking notice now of how dark it actually was. Her room had basically been untouched since her return home for the summer, save for the small pile of clothes in the corner. Hermione sighed deeply, feeling absolutely miserable. She felt like she needed to take a very long, hot shower, but first she needed to write to Ronald. Hopefully, she would be able to stay at his house until school started up again, but she wasn't too worried. Molly Weasley barely ever turned away familiar company. Hermione slowly rose to her feet, her knees a bit shakey since she hadn't been up and walking around very much. She walked over toward her desk and pulled out her chair, taking a seat and pulling herself in. Grabbing a quill from her tin, she wondered what she should write to him. Should she be peppy? Sad? Sighing, she moved a peice of blank parchment in front of her and dipped her quill in a small ink bottle. To her surprise, she immediately began to write.

Dear Ron,

I understand that you wrote me a few letters a while ago, and I'm sorry I could not respond myself. I haven't exactly been feeling like myself as of late, and I really think I need to get out of this house. I was wondering if I was welcome to stay at your house until term starts again. It would be lovely to see your mother and brothers, not to mention Ginny. I miss you Ron, and I miss Harry as well.Again, I'm sorry I haven't been more responsive this past summer, I hope you can forgive me.

Love,

Hermione

I'm currently writing chapter two. But, sadly, it's coming along a bit slowly. I should have it up in not too long, though. Oh, and please review? Constructive criticism is welcome.

-Cybell