Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters associated with the Harry Potter universe, they're all J.K. Rowling's toys. I do however own the plot even if it's just a short sad little drabble. Oh well, reviews are always appreciated and constructive criticism = amazingness.

-Libby :)

Doesn't Matter

One perfect crystal tear shimmered down her gaunt face. Her eyes had lost that magic sparkle from being forced to grow up too quickly. Maybe if her parents had known what would take place they wouldn't have sent her off to Hogwarts. She would have grown up to be a sweet and lovely young woman who just had a different air about her. Her parents were dead and it was too late to do anything now. Her only hope for the future was to maintain her livelihood and survive as long as possible.

She held a false sense of hope in her heart, deep down she knew she couldn't survive for much longer. There was just too much destruction, too many friends dead and gone and it was all her fault.

In between uses of the Cruciatus curse, her captors let her have a brief respite in order to inflict the maximum amount of pain. These were the times she hated most, because she was forced to confront reality. The fumes of smoke and the disgusting scent of blood filled her nose. She knew it was the smell of human bodies charred to a crisp and worse yet she knew they were her friends.

The beautiful setting mocked her. The sky wasn't black with rubble and debris, instead it was a quiet shade of blue and a few white clouds even managed to float by unscathed. There were no birds in the sky and if she could listen hard enough there was a lulling sound of silence. She was beginning to feel sleepy when she was blasted again with a crucio. Her entire body racked with tremors and she felt as if her bones were breaking inside her body; they probably were. She thought her tear ducts were all dried up, but when a particularly painful shock hit her she couldn't help but let out a hoarse scream as droplets of water fell from her tightly closed eyes.

In a moment of weakness she'd slept with the enemy and it had cost her the lives of her friends and herself. Draco had been so charming, loosening her up with some firewhiskey in an attempt to get her talking. Surprisingly, it was only after their bodies met and they lay in the afterglow of their union that her mouth seemed to have a mind of it's own. It was as if she couldn't stop telling him the Order's plans. It never occurred to her that Draco, being a Slytherin, had drugged her for information. It didn't matter now, her friends were dead. She killed them; she deserved all the pain she received.

She could tell they were growing tired of her. They'd accomplished their goals and overthrown the Great Harry Potter, "the boy-who-had-lived," as well as the rest of the Order. Voldemort was in complete control and it didn't matter. All Hermione could think of were wonderful memories of her friends. Images cascaded through her head of Ron and Harry saving her from the troll in first year, of helping Sirius and Buckbeak escape in third year, of the Yule Ball fourth year, of her first awkward time with Ron and a smile and wink Harry sent her recently. Perhaps if she hadn't mucked everything up there would have been a chance for her and Harry. She always loved him, but it didn't matter now. She felt her heart and vital organs growing weaker with each passing second and accepted that she was about to die.

If she could go back and change everything she would, she would tell Harry she loved him and she would have been stronger in an effort to save everyone.

One last tear fell down her dirty, broken face as Draco caught her eyes and laughed as he muttered the killing curse.

It didn't matter; she'd be with Harry soon.

Fini