Summary: Hermione thinks about what used to be. One-shot.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the other characters. And I don't own the music that inspired me to write this. The plot has probably been used before as well, all in all, just the story put together is mine.
Rating: M, because it's angsty all over – please inform me if you think the rating is wrong!
Pairing: Hermione/Draco
Genre: Romance/Tragedy (maybe a bit angst as well)
Word count: 1369 (only story, not title.)
This is a one-shot that I wrote while listening to a beautiful piece of music called "I miss you even when I sleep." I'm also reading Silmarillion at the time, so I'm probably inspired by the tragic fate of the elves as well. I love the Hermione/Draco pairing, but I can't seem to write anything that isn't tragic about them. So, I hope you like my story, please review it, since I'm a new author and in need for some feedback. I will come back with a happy story though. I just need you to help me!
I miss you even when I sleep
She enters the other room, the one where her daughter lies, fast asleep. The eight year old child breaths rhythmically, and her face is peaceful. Her mother never smiles. She can't be happy, even though she tries for her little girl. Only at night, she enters her room and whisper to her. Tells her stories about her own happy childhood, and wishes that her daughter will have an equally happy one. She will just need to survive with a father who never is there, and a mother who is a ghost of the person she used to be.
She strokes the children's cheek without her noticing it. She is a cute girl. Not yet marked of this world's pain as her mother, or as the rest of the Wizarding World. Some has merely ceased to exist – as she, some has turned their back on magic, and some has buried themselves in it. Like her husband. Oh, she remembers him. When they were younger, more innocent. When their world was younger and more innocent. There is nothing left in it now. Hogwarts, the British Wizarding School is still open, but many choose not to send their children. Magic is something that belongs to the elder times. But her daughter will go. She wants her to learn what used to be, so she can understand, and remember when her mother has passed away.
Her daughter's blonde hair lies in curls around her face and when she is awake, she has innocent, blue eyes. She is so new to this world, untouched and her beauty is radiating. She has heard it all before of course, her daughter being a living proof that magic is something wonderful. She is of course magical as her parents. 'With parents like that,' they used to say about their daughter. They all except her to be brilliant. Her father does as well. There was a reason he married her of course, so his children would be the best, have the best. Blood doesn't matter anymore. Most wizards and witches have destroyed their wands and lives as muggles now. Even old pureblood families have left their world. And she has no friends left. They're all dead, or have faded away, just like her. She goes through the day, keeps herself alive for the sake of her daughter. And for what used to be. Hoping that it once will be restored, knowing that there is no hope left. It has come to an end.
She leaves her daughter's room, and finds herself wandering around in the mansion in the middle of the night, knowing that it's only the two of them in the house, but still searching for happiness in it. But all she feels is emptiness. The house is too big, and she is too small. She associates that with her meaning to the world. She will never matter, because she is so small. She will fade away, and just be a memory to those who once knew her. Knew the person she used to be. She is wearing a long, white nightgown, but it doesn't cover her skinny arms. She looks at her wrists, seeing the bones through her skin. She looks up at the mirror in front of her. Her body is frail, and her skin has paled. She never goes out anymore. No one would notice her anyway. She looks at her face, at the big, dark eyes and the very visible cheekbones. She tries to smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She used to be pretty. Now, she's standing in a moonlit corridor, and she looks like a ghost. Or what muggles would call a ghost. And that's what she is, she realises, she is just a ghost. An imprint of what she used to be, wandering around, among living people.
She returns to her bedroom and lies down in the huge bed. She looks over to where her husband once used to sleep. But he isn't there. He never is. Their daughter is afraid of him. She would be too, if she hadn't stopped caring about everything. He has buried himself in the dark arts, and is never there for his wife or his child. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger is, with their daughter an ideal, perfect family. Tears build up in her eyes as she thinks about what used to be. And to think it was only five years ago. Or was it six? She has lost count. It seems like many lifetimes. She has become old and filled with sorrow. But her heart doesn't have room for any other feelings. She used to love him and he loved her back. But memories of happiness are not a use. They are accompanied by the decadence of their world. Of their life. Her life. She goes to sleep.
She wakes up from the cries of her daughter. She runs to her room, and finds that she has had a nightmare. She holds the girl in her arms, whispers that everything will be all right. But she knows it won't, and yet, she is standing here, telling her daughter lies. She looks into her eyes. They are filled with the curiosity she used to have herself. But she resembles her father, and she can never really be happy around her daughter. So many memories. And so little to hold on to. She got her name from the sorrow that was filling the world when she was born. Maybe it would be better if they named her something happy. But it is too late now. Eight year old Willow Malfoy is a product of a world that will soon be forgotten. In some time, they will all be memories, nothing more. It could take some hours or centuries, but they will all perish and never again be a part of the World. Magic will never be used again. Those who hold on to it are just foolish. Their time has come. Not to die, but to forget everything. And that is killing her inside.
She misses her loving husband the most. She could give anything to have her old world back, but she knows that there is no use. Nothing to give, nothing to receive. Her daughter goes back to sleep. She wanders off again, but outside this time, into the gardens. She sits down on a bench, remembering how he used to sit there with her, holding her tight and just being there with each other, feeling the presence of the one they loved, and who loved her back. She looks down at her wedding ring. She wished it to be simple, and the only thing on it is a diamond. The thin band is of gold. The diamond used to shine like a star, but is now dull. The light inside it is dying, along with her soul. And he isn't there when she needs him the most. He hasn't been for so long. And she doesn't expect him to be there either. She doesn't expect anything. Shaking her head, she rises and goes to bed again. And she thinks, as she does every night, about him, about their life together, about their love. Tears fill her eyes again, and she falls asleep as they run down her cheeks. She can't think about anything other than him anymore, he was everything she ever had, and now, she has lost him. She dreams in black and white, she hasn't dreamt in colours for years. Every night, as she goes through these memories in her head, she dies a bit more. She cries for him and for their world. And she knows that both the objects of her thoughts are falling apart. He can't die of course, he has split his soul more than once. But he is as dead to her. And she cries more. And she remembers their young love, which was doomed from the start by their community. She misses the days of happiness so much she isn't able to bear it anymore. And her dark dreams are permeated with one thought that describes her feelings towards their decadent world and her lost love. I miss you even when I sleep.
A/N: I'm going to get heaps of angry readers now, but this story can't have a happy ending, I was inspired by the saddest melody ever. Review, Review, Review! But remember; flames are not nice. Constructive criticism is.