FANTASY. WRITTEN BY GIRL-WHO-ABSOLUTELY-ADORES-WRITING-TRAGIC-SCENES!
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. Tragic, isn't it?
Chapter Twenty: A Crying Malfoy.
'No, she's not dead. She can't be dead, she wouldn't die with out saying goodbye.'
Draco didn't know what he could do. He had never been taught how to heal, only how to attack and defend. A scream could be heard from behind him as Ron got hit into a tree with brutal force instead of magic. Draco decided that this wasn't the safest place to try and get Hermione to wake – if she could, that was. Ever so gently, he picked her up and carried her towards the Forbidden Forest. He passed many wizards and witches all duelling furiously, but he paid them no attention.
He stopped just as they entered the Forbidden Forest and placed Hermione carefully down on the grass. He sighed. If only they had bothered to get to know each other before. They had wasted so much time in arguing, in bickering, in generally hating one another and now it was too late.
He didn't care that she was a muggle-born anymore. They were both people, so why bother so much about the simple differences? Draco knew now that he had been foolish when he was younger – despising people for something that they had no control over.
"Granger? Granger, please, just wake up," pleaded Draco, shaking her slightly, "What's everyone going to do if you're not there?"
He closed his eyes, knowing that the tears would be falling soon. He didn't want to cry. Crying was for the weak, or at least, that was what his father had said. Draco shook his head angrily. Now was not the time to think about him. No, he had to focus his thoughts on Hermione. He had to have hope that Hermione was alive - hope always did wonders, miracles, even. He could only hope that the miracle would happen soon enough.
"Potter better win this war." He muttered.
A tear rolled down his cheek and fell onto Hermione.
Voldemort laughed manically. Harry lay on the floor, clutching his wand tightly. He was exhausted. They had duelled for what seemed like hours and Harry was desperately trying to gain strength. Voldemort was winning – there was no doubt about that. He had tried all the spells that he had been taught, but it was useless. Voldemort would know how to bloke them all and he would never give Harry the chance to utter two words, just those two words that would kill him in an instant.
He groaned and closed his eyes. He felt as though it was time to give up – but he knew that he mustn't. He needed to have hope, enough hope to get him through this - that was what Dumbledore had said. But that was easier said than done - Harry could barely breathe, let alone stand and face the tyrant.
Voldemort had inflicted many wounds upon Harry, some so serious that if you looked closely enough, you could see part of Harry's muscle. Harry found this painfully horrifying. His breathing grew more ragged by the second and he felt as though he would not be able to hold on to his life for much longer – the only thing keeping him alive was his determination. Harry knew that he had to win.
'Even if I can't win this . . . I'm going to die trying!' He thought, as he forced himself to turn and look at the still-laughing Lord Voldemort. He tried to stand, but he had only lifted his upper body off the floor before he fell once again. Voldemort threw back his head and laughed all the more.
"The great Harry Potter can't even stand up!" Voldemort roared, as his laughter grew colder and crueller than it had ever done before. Harry pounded the floor with his fist. He turned away from the evil descendant of Slytherin and suddenly gasped. He could see Draco, carrying Hermione's body into the forest. Her body was limp and her robes stained with blood. Harry wanted to help her, to see if she was going to be all right, to find out what happened and to kill whoever had harmed her so.
But he knew that he couldn't help her, for he needed help too. The laughing ceased, as Voldemort strode towards Harry.
"Now, Potter, we'll see if you survive me once again." Voldemort said, his expression like that of a child at an amusement park. Harry felt helpless as he lay on the floor, at the mercy of his greatest enemy. He shut his eyes and let his head fall. He needed to do something to stop Voldemort, but he was weak now – too weak to carry on.
"Oh come now, Potter!" Voldemort cried. "I want to see your face when I say those two wondrous words."
Voldemort laughed again as he threw a spell at Harry, causing him to fly backwards into a tree. Harry could feel the blood escaping from his head. He had hit the trunk of the tree with such force that it made him slightly giddy. He sat against the tree trunk – powerless, as Lord Voldemort let out another shriek of high-pitched laughter.
Harry almost felt like crying, until suddenly, he felt something surge through him. He didn't know what it was; just that it made him feel warm and . . . fluttery inside. It was a wondrous feeling, and it brought a smile to his face. It wasn't long before he recognised the familiar feeling. It was the emotion that he felt everytime he was around Ginny. This extraordinary feeling was love.
The pain that the wounds had caused him didn't seem to hurt anymore. In fact, Harry wasn't even sure if they were still there. He felt like he had (not only) the strength to stand and defeat Voldemort single-handedly, but to do anything that he had ever wanted to do – even survive Death itself. This was power like no other.
'The legend . . . the plan . . . it must have worked after all!' Harry thought. It was a miracle, surely – and just in time too. He looked up to find Voldemort with his wand raised, pointing steadily at Harry's famous lightning bolt scar. Harry clenched his jaw and held his wand as firmly as he could – it was either now or never.
"Now Potter, we shall end this, once and for all," said Voldemort, smirking in delight. As his lips parted to form those two simple words of death, Harry saw his final chance.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Harry shouted with all his newfound strength – he was only just quick enough. A jet of dazzling green light shot from the end of his wand and hit Voldemort in the chest – right where the heart was. His eyes were wide with surprise as he fell back onto the ground.
Voldemort was dead.
Harry blinked rapidly, as realisation dawned on him. He had done it. He had defeated the one Dark Lord who had cast a gloomy spell over the entire Wizarding World. Harry stood and pointed his wand to the sky.
"LORD VOLDEMORT IS NO MORE!" He shouted with triumph, as a jet of red light shot into the air.
The battles stopped. The shouting ceased. And the war came to an end.
Draco didn't dare open his eyes. It was too painful, seeing her lay there in front of him, so lifeless, so . . . near death. He shuddered at the thought.
"I'm sorry, Granger. This is all my fault and I can't do anything to help you."
"Don't . . . be like that. It's . . . not . . . your fault."
Draco opened his eyes at the sound of her voice. It had never sounded more beautiful. He smiled as she squinted up at him. She was alive. There were no words to describe how joyous he felt just to know that she was alive. Hermione's eyes were small - she hardly had the strength to open them at all. Her lips were pale and almost blue, and her breathing was heavy and ragged. A smile appeared on her cold thin lips.
"You should smile more often, Malfoy. You look . . . nicer." Her voice was weak and barely audible. But Draco was just glad that she could speak at all.
He loved the way she said Malfoy. He knew that it was a sign of affection – just like how he called her Granger, instead of Hermione. He didn't care if his name was Draco - he couldn't give a damn what other people called him - all he wanted was for Hermione to call him Malfoy, again and again, until the day when he felt it necessary for her to stop (which he knew would never happen). Draco smiled more and Hermione gave him the best smile she could manage.
"Granger, I thought you were dead. This is almost like a – a miracle."
"That's because it is. Look." Draco looked around them and saw two familiar winged unicorns. Hope and Saviour stood together, watching. Their long faces looked solemn as they gazed intently down at the pair. Draco's smile widened.
"That means you won't die! You'll be all right now! I never gave up, Granger, never. I had hope – always. I hoped that you wouldn't die and Hope answered my call. Now, Saviour's saved you, isn't that right?"
"Listen to me." Hermione whispered feebly. Draco leant in closer towards her so that he could hear her better. "I might not be dead because they saved me, but I might be injured so badly that –
Hermione gasped suddenly. She had spoken too fast and she needed more air. Draco held her in his arms and hugged her lovingly as she tried to speak again – a little slower this time.
- That I won't survive for much longer. I want to take this extra time to say –
"No. You can't think like that. You'll survive. Why would they bring you back to life, just for you to die all over again?" Draco said, desperately trying to make sense of it all.
Hermione smiled weakly. "For me to say goodbye . . . that's why. I – I don't have much time . . . I can't . . . hold on . . . for much long – longer."
"NO. You won't die. I won't let you die. If we believe, then you won't die. Granger . . . you can't."
Hermione gasped once more; she needed to say what she wanted to say – before it was too late to say anything at all. "Malfoy, please, just let me speak –
"Fine . . . I'll let you say what you want."
"I want you to tell everyone that I love them all, very much." She said, smiling as she did so. "Tell Ron that I think he's wonderful, and I'm sorry for all those times we've argued. Tell Harry that he really is a great wizard, and that I'll always admire him for how brave and talented he was. Tell them never to forget me - Hermione Granger; Know-It-All, bookworm."
Draco nodded as a tear made its way down his cheek – and then another, and another. He didn't want to cry - not in front of Hermione. She gasped once more, her breathing becoming even more unsettled. She looked up at Draco, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Malfoy?" She asked, her voice but a squeak. "I want to tell you that . . . although those detentions were just set ups . . . that although everything was just one big set up . . . I enjoyed spending time with you, being close to you and having a conversation with you without you saying something nasty . . . I just want to tell you that . . . that . . ."
Hermione gasped again. She seized her chest with one limp hand, praying that she would not go until she told Draco everything that she wanted to. She couldn't stop now, not when she was so close to telling him.
"Granger, don't waste any more of your breath," said Draco, holding her even closer to him, "You need your strength. Please Granger. Please."
"No, Malfoy, I want to tell you –
"Don't speak. It can't be important enough for you to risk all your strength on it. If you don't have your strength then . . . you'll die." He whispered the last bit, hoping that she wouldn't - hoping that somehow, she could say what she wanted but yet still have the strength to stand. He knew, however, that that was practically impossible.
"Malfoy, this is more important than anything else that I've said . . ." said Hermione. Draco could feel her shaking in his arms. He wrapped his robes around her, trying to keep her warm. "Malfoy - I – I think I – I think I . . . love you. And I don't care whether you feel the same or not . . ."
Hermione managed a small smile, as did Draco. He felt numb. She loved him, no; she loves him. She loves him. He couldn't believe it. He placed his hand gently on her pale cheek and leaned in a little closer.
He whispered in her ear, "I love you too."
And just as Draco closed his eyes and was about to lean in a little bit more, he felt her shaking abruptly stop and her body become suddenly limp as she fell back – unconscious.
Edited Version: 13th September 2005