Word count: 830
Strange and Beautiful
I'll put a spell on you
You'll fall asleep
I'll put a spell on you
And when I wake you
I'll be the first thing you see
And you'll realize that you love me
-- Strange and beautiful, Aqualung
Crouched at Hermione's side, gently stroking the silvery-blue fabric of her evening gown, Draco Malfoy stared at her face, eyes running over the closed lids and long dark lashes. A strand of curly chestnut hair fell over her pale, still glistening face, and fluttered under his breath as he leaned in, feeling the pretty fabric rustle under his fingertips.
The ballroom was empty. Dust coated the rich crimson carpet, unnoticeable among the silver drapes hanging uselessly at the cracked windows. A cold, gloomy draft washed in from the cool midnight air, blending with the fading bodily warmth of the room. The shiny wooden floor was dotted with little white flakes of raining plaster, blown away from the cracked edges of the window by the chilly breeze.
He leaned closer to her face, breathing softly on the pale skin. His blood-spattered fingers convulsed once in the silky folds of her dress, and opening his mouth, he whispered, voice trembling, into her soft, pungent curls.
"Hey," he murmured, the sound weak, yet horribly jarring in the eerie silence of the ballroom. "I'm sorry."
His shoulder suddenly throbbed, and in response, Draco threw up his head, a vein slightly bulging in his neck. Ignoring the burning sensation that was spreading throughout his left arm, he clutched fiercely at the top of his arm, pressing his crimson-stained fingers angrily into where he knew the Dark Mark was etched.
"Not now," he hissed softly, his long, pale fingers a stark contrast against the blackness of his cloak. He sucked in his breath, and ignoring the numbness that was now seeping into his hips and legs, turned his head back to Hermione's still, frozen form, lips slightly apart and hair tousled. Burying his head once more into her hair, Draco breathed in the sweet, fruity scent, hardly noticing when another plaster fleck flew from the window frame and struck his cheek.
"I know you didn't want me to become a Death Eater," he mumbled, feeling his voice crack. "But – I told you it was something I had to do, didn't I? You could have waited for me, Hermione. You didn't have to pretend that you didn't care anymore."
The ballroom was cold, tense, as if every single dead body lying askew within it were holding their breaths, waiting for what Draco would say next. The refreshments table had been forced out of the window, smashing the glass and showering the deep carpet with broken plaster. Somewhere, on the other side of the glittering room, several dead forms lay discarded on top of each other, their wands torn away, leaving them naked and powerless.
"But you just had to go off with that damn Weasley, didn't you?" Draco's teeth clenched, and bitterness rose in his tone. "You just had to be a fucking whore and go mix yourself in with that filth. I told you that you were better than all that; I told you, but being you, Hermione, you just wouldn't listen. If only you had listened just that once, my love. Just that once." He bent his head, the long, unkempt blond hair falling in defeat over his eyes.
Silence reigned once more, and every once in a while that wistful breeze would climb in, and dance in lifeless sleeves and cold jackets. A lone pair of cracked glasses lay abandoned next to a dark-haired man, his neck twisted and his face buried ruthlessly in the deep red liquid that matched the deep red carpet.
"Remember that first night, darling? How I promised you, and you promised me, that we would never let silly prejudices come in our way again? And I kept it."
The numbness from his arm trickled down to his toes, and Draco winced in pain, feeling his blood tingle. "A little longer…" he murmured to the ceiling. "Just a little longer." He placed a tentative hand on Hermione's soft, slick face.
"I never gave up hope on you. Not like you gave up hope on me." His words were angry, spitting. "I told you I had to become a Death Eater. You knew that." Draco took in several ragged breaths, thumb involuntarily leaving a dark bruise on Hermione's cheek. For a moment, her face looked angelic in the glimmering half-light of the ballroom, the bruise nothing but a smudge of earth on her snowy skin. Draco took in another shuddering breath, gently drawing his numb fingers across her face. His blood felt like it had stopped moving.
"You promised me your loyalty." He brushed his nose against hers. "If only you knew that you could never break a promise to a Death Eater."
A final, rushing gust of wind swirled into the lifeless room. The curtains flapped, and a piece of plaster landed in Hermione's hair. Draco crashed into the ground, knees falling into the sprawled silk of her silver-blue dress. A crack electrified the air; the wind whistled again, and the room searched desperately for the life that suddenly disappeared.