Disclaimer: The drill. I do not own the Harry Potter characters, plot, or story. These belong to JK Rowling and are protected by copyrights

Recently, I got a challenge from a friend. The rules were as follows.

Challenge: Write a Draco/Hermione fanfiction after HBP which:
1. Has to be sorted under Romance
2. Has to be fluff
3. Not AU
4. Pansy has to die
5. Has to be in the wizarding world

There was an angel's voice crooning her to wake up, wake up. She tried to open her eyes, to oblige the voice, but it felt like they had heavy weights on them. She felt like something didn't quite add up, but she also felt an instinctive knowledge that she didn't want to know. So she gave up trying to find out what it was and swum in the haziness for as long as she could.

But the thoughts came, irregardless. They knocked at the edge of her vision and demanded entrance. She couldn't keep them out.

She thought of a boy with fair hair, and of and a castle by a forest. Castle, she thought, princesses…was I a princess? But even as she cherished this image, another came. Of magic and robes and broomsticks. She thought of a war and of snakes and of a hopeless quest. She thought of the letter—so cold, so impersonal. She thought of being comforted by the voice.

The voice came again, the pleading, begging voice. She couldn't deny it. She didn't want to deny it.

She peeled open an eye, and immediately wished that she hadn't. Bodies littered the ground, like carrion. She couldn't look away—they were everywhere she looked. She saw a girl who might have been a brunette lying on the ground a few feet away from her. She searched the newly found memory and a name came floating through the labyrinth of her mind. Pansy. And she thought—Draco.

Draco. Draco had come. To the side of the good. And he had braved the stares and the sharp needlepoint whispers. And she had come to him because she was fascinated by the perpetually arrogant boy who did anything and everything for his family. And one day she had looked into his eyes and she had thought yes.

"Draco." She whispered.

"Yes?" he asked. Gently, comfortingly. She reveled in it.

"Am I going to die?" she asked, her voice sounding as small and weak to her ears as that of a five year old.

"No," he said gently. "Would I ever let you?"

"No…" the sentence trailing off into a sigh as she gasped and paused.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I'm—no." her voice was decisive. And it was true. The pain seemed to be going away as she spoke. He drew slightly back, suddenly, and she clung to him. She didn't want him to leave. "Don't…" she implored.

"Never." His voice floated to her. That was odd, wasn't it? He was right there, close enough to touch. But perhaps it was part of the magic.

Her eyes drifted close again. She was so tired. "Stay with me…" she murmured.

He traced one a tendril of her hair—finally made straight by the rivulets of blood. "Forever," he said.

She smiled slightly. Then she gasped sharply and moved no more.

Draco stood staring at the young woman for a few minutes. She had been beautiful once, and in death she seemed, to him, even more so. Then he sighed and touched her cheek one last time as he apparated away from her, and all that she stood for.

Now mortals...either die in the vacuum of space, or...tell me how good you thought mystrory was!