Disclaimer: I am not responsible for creating any characters or anything you might recognize. Plot however, belongs to me. I hate stealers. -----
Dead bodies lay strewn about the battlefield; the Hogwarts castle could be seen in the distance. A light rain fell from the dark night sky above. The moon and stars were not to be seen but after a few moments of being outside one's eyes would adjust to the darkness. The dirt and grass was damp with not only rainwater but also blood and sweat. What went on there that night was to tragic a story to be told but there was still hope. Hope in the form of a few survivors, from both the light and the dark side.
Voldemort and Dumbeldore both lay dead, only a few yards of ground separating their corpses. The majority of students, professors, and deatheaters lay dead. Those who did not already flee the scene were either to injured or to shocked. There was of course Professor McGonagall still inside the castle with the first through fourth year students, completely unaware that the battle was over. Completely unaware that almost no one was still alive. Completely unaware that no one won. It was a draw. And this was truly the saddest end to such a beleaguered war. The light side and the dark side were sure to rise up again both with new leaders. There could be no end.
There would be more 'Final Battles' and more would die. No one would be able to stop it. The dark would continue to think it could conquer the light with a different plan or strategy, and the light would continue to do the same. Even if one side eventually did win then the other would just go into hiding and lick it's wounds until it was ready to fight again.
There was no point.
Hermione lay in the mud, looking up. That was all she could do. She was shocked, hurt, and tired. Everyone she held close, everyone she cared for – they were all dead. Her parents had died earlier that month. Both Harry and Ron were killed at the hand of Voldemort within the first ten minutes of battle. Her classmates, her friends, all dead.
She recalled what had happened that morning, she awoke to Harry banging the substance out of her door, and then barging in without waiting for a reply. He told her that they were under attack, to get dressed and grab her wand. She did just that. And those were the last words that Harry spoke to her – "Hurry up." How he got into the sixth year girl's dormitory she would never know.
Now here she was. One of the only survivors. She wanted to die. Hermione felt that it was unfair that she be the one left alive, she did nothing. She wasn't a hero. She didn't kill a single death eater, or put her life on the line to save someone elses. Of course she threw the occasional curse but she didn't have the guts to kill someone. When push came to shove she chickened out. And she hated herself for it.
Then she was startled out of her thoughts by a groan. Someone else was alive near her. She heaved herself out of the muck onto her hands and knees and pulled herself towards the sound. It was Draco Malfoy. He seemed to be regaining consciousness. He must have gotten knocked out and been half-dead for most of the battle.
"Granger?" He hissed, pulling himself into a sitting position with much struggle.
Hermione was never quite sure what side Malfoy was on. Of course he became a Death Eater. But if one looked hard enough into his eyes then one would see that he truly didn't want that for himself. Snape tried so desperately to save him from his Father's evil. He tried so desperately to get Malfoy to help the light side. But Malfoy never really liked the light side. He didn't like the Dark side either. He was stuck. But now that his father was gone, Voldemort was gone, everyone that forced him to do what he didn't want were gone. He was free.
"Malfoy… are you-"
"I killed her." He whispered, his voice shaken.
"Who?" Hermione inquired and sat with her legs tucked under her.
"That Weasley girl," his face was unreadable but he voice had a cornucopia of emotions. "It hurt. I didn't want to kill her. I did." Hermione's heart hurt. Her best girl friend dead, and she couldn't bring herself to be mad at her killer. "Then I killed my father. I killed him because he was the one that made me hurt. It felt good."
The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes. They could, for the first time in both of their lives, relate to each other. Now everything that they knew, the lives they lived, the people they encountered – were gone. Normalcy was out the window for both of them.
Hermione wanted to cry. She needed to cry, but she couldn't. Her time for hurting was gone, she had already mourned the loss of her friends and now she was done. She could no longer linger on these things. The past few months had made her almost immune to human emotion. Now she figured, what was the point of picking at scabs? It only creates scars.
Draco looked at Hermione, it hurt. She was everything he was taught to hate. And he did. He hated her. But he need her, he need that hate to make his life complete. He loved her. He always did, without her there every day to insult he would surely go insane. He was elated to know that she survived the battle. He loved having her there to hate. She was the only person that he cared about, other than Snape. Snape was his mentor. But Hermione was his drug. Hermione would never know this though, she could continue on thinking he wished her dead for all he cared. As long as she was around to be hated.
"What are you going to do after this?" Hermione whispered, her eyes darting from Draco's face to the dead bodies around them. It seemed like a silly question to ask, them sitting here in the middle of all this tragedy; but she needed to know.
"After what?" He looked at her, his emotions masked. He looked on her with disgust, because he was a Malfoy. It didn't matter what he truly felt, his hate for her didn't matter. Neither did his love.
"After we leave this mess."
"There is no 'we'. Don't think just because we are the only survivors I am going to be your friend. Don't think I'm going to cry on your shoulder. I would die before I let a mudblood comfort me. So I would appreciate if you did not think of yourself as equal to me." His words were harsh, and he knew it. It had to be done though. He needed to hear her biting insults. He needed to hear them, to make sure they were still there. He said he would not take her comfort but she did not have to know that he got all the comfort her needed from her verbal abuse.
"You are a bastard," she spat. Her eyes darkened. "After all this… after everyone is dead. After Voldemort, Harry, Dumbeldore are all dead you still call me mudblood. You still think your better than me." Her fists clenched and unclenched, a drop of blood rolled into her eye from the cut across the left side of her fore head, but she ignored it. "Here's news – we are equals! You and me. We are the same. Your father dragged you along; I was dragged along by Harry and Ron. Now that there are no more sides we are exactly the same."
Inside Draco was jumping for joy. His girl still had that hate in her that he fed off of. He smirked. "I guess we are."
She was about to erupt again but his words sunk into her brain. She let them marinate a bit before speaking again, "I hate you." But she didn't say it with her normal hate and anger. She said it looking calm, collected.
He smiled a genuine smile, his first in over a decade. "I hate you too, Hermione." Her name rolled off his tongue as if were the most natural thing in the world.
She crawled into his lap and wrapped her arms around him in a hug that she needed more than anything. She expected him to push her away but he didn't. He held her. He pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. "I need you." The words came from his lips before he could stop them. "I need you to hate me. Tell me you hate me."
"I hate you. I hate you so much." She whispered into his chest. She could feel warmth. Warmth coming from him. He let her know that she could still feel. She could feel emotions. Most of them were angry emotions, but it gave her some happiness to know she could still feel them. And she cried. He held her while she cried. Never in a million years would she believe that after all that she knew was gone would she be crying in the arms of Draco Malfoy.
She didn't know what possessed her to hug him. But it felt right. Their hate is what bound them together. Hate makes the world go around.
They were both covered in blood, dirt, and sweat. It wasn't a pretty site to behold. But it was beautiful at the same time. Two people so different, who were essentially the same person. It seemed to be the beginning of an exquisite hate-filled relationship.
Fin. -----
Yay for Dracomione one-shots. It would make my day bright if you reviewed. Good or bad reviews are accepted and treasured. I'm thinking about a sequel, but if I get no reviews it won't be worth it.
I usually ship Draco/Hermione but if you know of (or have authored any) good Hermione/Blaise or Hermione/Percy ships then please inform me of this because they are two of my absolute favorites. They are awfully hard to find, no?