Author's Note: This is my first fanfic so helpful comments and reviews will be greatly appreciated! Please point out any mistakes and I will fix them asap!

He rocked back and forth, legs drawn up to his chest, arms clasped around it. "It's too late, it's too late," He moaned quietly to himself, eyes squeezed shut so tight it hurt. His silver-blond hair flopped lifelessly around his face, which was pressed into his knees.

Pansy Parkinson knelt down beside him and shook his shoulder slightly. A full grown woman of twenty now, she had outgrown the pug-like look of her school-days, much described as an ugly duckling which had ascended to beauty in time. Her raven hair was tied up in a neat ponytail, and her voice was no longer shrill, but gentle and soft, as she talked to the broken man next to her.

"Draco, stop it. It's alright, it's over. Come on, get up. We'll change you out of these dirty clothes," She soothed. Having long ago abandoned the idealistic notion of Draco harbouring any romantic feelings for her, or indeed any feelings at all, she had settled into a motherly role, pampering and spoiling him as much as his dear late mother, Narcissa, had. Lucius, although having been a perfect husband, father and servant to the Dark Lord, nevertheless was never very open with his emotions to any, unlike his wife, preferring to stay aloof. They were however, always certain of his emotions through his actions.

Dracohad inherited his father's pride, his ability to maintain an expressionless façade, a strong impenetrable shield against the world, and his mother's honour, selflessness, seldom as it was to show, and kindness. From both, he inherited their shrewdness, grace and oddly, love. But having Lucius for a father quashed any chance of that love finding a place for most of his childhood life, save for the part reserved for his parents themselves, and it had remained buried deep within him until it had been brought out in his full glory, bringing about at the same time Lucius' downfall.

Draco didn't look up through all of Pansy's ministrations. She ordered a stray elf which wasn't clearing up the devastation to bring her a wet towel and some water. Bathing his forehead with cool water, she trickled some onto his dry, cracked lips. He inhaled sharply and looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. She gasped and averted her eyes at the pain and confusion in them. His mind was reeling in shock. Suddenly his eyes unfocused, then refocused, unusually sharp. He looked as though he was looking right through her, looking right through everything, butseeing them at the same time.

"Where's Hermione?" He asked in a completely normal voice.

"Hermione?" She repeated breathlessly. "She's-she's-"

"Where is my wife?" He stood up straight, tall. He smoothed back his hair authoritatively and strode away, looking for her. Pansy scrambled to her feet and ran after him, standing right in his way, halting him effectively.

"Hermione," She said slowly, "is dead. Hermione is dead."

"Hermione is dead," He repeated after her, scorn in his voice. "I'm sure she is. What lie have the bastards concocted now to keep her from me?" He began to turn away.

"Hermione is dead!" She shouted in his face. He ignored her and she slapped him. "Do you want proof?" She signalled the nearest elf and asked her. "Holly, is Hermione dead?"

The house-elf glanced at Draco worriedly, but nodded. "Yes Miss Pansy, Mistress Hermione is dead." Tears welled up in her large bulbous eyes. "We is very sorry for your loss, Mister Draco." She scurried away hastily as a dawning look of horror and devastation fell upon his face.

"No!" He cried out, hands to his head. "She isn't dead!" Falling to his knees, he thrashed violently with the demons in his head, twisting and writhing. "She isn't dead!" Pansy fell to the ground next to him, hands everywhere, trying to ease his agony. "She isn't dead." He wept unashamedly, his movements slowing, his breath reverting to the ragged, despairing tone he had before his lapse into the past.

Hermione, in her beautiful white dress, drifting up the aisle, eyes fixed on him.

"Hermione is dead," Pansy told him softly, her heart aching to see him in such pain.

Hermione laughing, her braided hair swinging, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Hermione is dead," He repeated, anguish evident in every syllable. "Hermione" He gasped for air, "is" The knuckles of his hands, clutched in his hair, went white with the effort to stay conscious, "dead."

Hermione and their son, Artel, smiling in the picture he is about to take for his first birthday.

Pansy bent her head, unable to see his condition throughout the tears swimming in her own eyes. "Oh Draco," She whispered.

Hermione crying out his name in ecstasy, tossing her head back so her eyes lock with his as they make love.

"Hermione. Is. Dead."

Hermione screaming out, "I love you!" as the abhorrent green light shooting out of Voldemort's wand hit her body.

He fainted.

Short first chapter here... I wasn't sure how to write a piece like this. It usually just flows out of me and I had quite a hard time thinking about this one. Review and I'll update :) but I've got exams and stuff coming up so... might be some time XD. Please review! I'll give you cookies and milk :D

Kaibo Ma