Exhausted

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the Harry Potter books,movie...etc, they belong to J.K Rowling.

A/N: Hey, well here is the chapter! Not much more to say...byeeeee! x

Hermione couldn't believe that things were finally over.

Exhausted, Hermione trudged along the bloodstained battlefield. All around her lay shadowy silhouettes, lying in bloody trenches of snow. There were mounds of blood and dirt and bodies, and in the bare branches of nearby trees sat crows, hungry for the taste of rotting flesh. They crowed loudly, angry, high-pitched wails that punctuated the eerie silence of the deserted battlefield.

It was the most horrifying experience Hermione had ever had.

There were so many people—so many bodies dead or moaning for help. So many people crying out for salvation and forgiveness—and so mangled that it was impossible to tell which side they had originally supported. Hermione longed to help, but there was nothing she could do. She was near to death herself.

Hermione stumbled around aimlessly, trying to find someone—anyone—who might be able to help her find a place to go. She couldn't seem to find anyone to help her though as everyone seemed to be nursing their own injuries. Everyone seemed to be in the same position she was—injured or searching the battlefield for lost friends and companions.

Up ahead of her, Hermione could dimly make out a forest and instead of walking around with no purpose or direction, she decided that that's where she needed to be. Stumbling forward, Hermione started towards the foliage but found that she was too exhausted even to continue and fell roughly to the ground. Pulling up her robe, Hermione grimaced and noted the impressive gash in her leg from a protruding root. Over the course of battle, Hermione had fought numerous Death Eaters and had dodged several Unforgivables—all of which made her leg wound pale in comparison. It wasn't so unimpressive though that it didn't bleed thoroughly, a fact that made Hermione wonder whether or not it was just the work of the root. Steady drops of blood fell from her wound, and, grabbing a fistful of snow, Hermione traced is across the cut. When the icy mess touched her skin she cried out and a searing pain swept across her leg.

She was so tired, and desperate to sleep, but she was too scared to close her eyes and leave her as an easy target for some remaining Death Eater. As much as she didn't want to be a sitting duck of a target, she also could barely keep her eyes open. Her mind seemed to have shut down, and Hermione wondered whether she would ever be able to get up again.

Lying down in the cold snow embankment, Hermione's body slowly began to relax, her pulse relaxing in tandem with her beating heart. She couldn't bear to think about being attacked or which one of her friends could be dead or dying—instead she just closed her eyes and settled down. She honestly didn't care whether or not she lived or died—according to the most recent accounts, most of the fighters from both sides had been killed—all she cared about was sleeping.

This however, was not an option.

Moaning with pain, Hermione stood shakily and stumbled forward towards the woods once more. Just keep going, she coaxed mentally, keeping her eyes trained on the forest ahead. She had to get there—she would get there if it was the last thing she did.

Blinded by her raw desire to achieve her goal, Hermione didn't even notice the body in front of her until she tripped over it. Moving shakily, a sick feeling rising in her throat, Hermione glanced down to see the victim. It was Angelina, the witch who had reassured her she would make it. But now Angelina hadn't survived. It didn't do anything to raise Hermione's moral.

"Oh god," Hermione sobbed to herself, realizing the true impact of the war. Reading had never led her wrong, but in every book she had ever picked up, good triumphed over evil. This however, proved the exception. Everyone—good and bad—was dead. Well, most everyone anyway. How are Harry and Ron? What about all the other students from Hogwarts, are they ok? And the Weasley's—a whole list of people Hermione loved developed in her head, and at the moment, she had no idea of what had happened to any of them. She felt slightly angry, whenever she needed to know something, she would go to the library—but now, she was kept in the dark. It was infuriating knowing that there was no one out there to help her, and she had no idea what to do.

So Hermione kept walking.

But after a few minutes she fell on to her knees once more, as if she had been shot. Although she could distinctively hear some movement in the forest, she couldn't control her body's demand to rest. So, clamping her hands to her sides, Hermione continued to kneel in the snow, praying she would stay alive for only a few moments more.

Crouching in the trees, Draco could see someone approaching where he was hiding.

They looked pretty badly hurt, but the person continued to stumble onwards. They tripped over a body it had obviously not seen, and he heard them cry out when they realized the body was clearly dead. He could see by there rough appearance that she was woman. She kept walking onwards, and he moved closer. He could now tell it was a teenager, and when she fell onto her knees she was finally close enough for him to see—

Hermione fell to her knees, giving in to the exhaustions coursing through her body. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold and the biting cold, but the rest of he exposed skin was a deathly white.

Draco had been thinking about her for so long that he didn't dare believe that the girl he saw before him was real. She certainly didn't look like the girl he had said good bye to only a few days earlier. Still, Draco knew it was the same Hermione—even if she wasn't in her prime—and quickly made his way to where she had collapsed.

As he approached, Draco noted that Hermione's eyes were pale and glazed over. It was devastating to watch her in such a weakened state—he had to help her. Dropping down to his knees, Draco tried to pick her out of the snow, but when he slid his arms under her and attempted to lift, her head fell back, sending her hair cascading around her shoulders. Draco paused. With the snow sprinkled throughout her hair, she looked like a pearly white snow angel.

It didn't, however, change the fact that she needed him.

"Hermione!" Draco whispered, leaning down so that his mouth was next to her ear. Hermione shuddered, reeling from the sudden warmth radiating from his body. Groaning, Hermione blinked awake, snuggling into Draco's warm fur coat while his broad shoulders covered her protectively.

"Are—are you here to save me?" Hermione's voice quavered, barely audible above the howling of the wind. Draco's heart nearly melted on the spot—she sounded so desperate and so pathetic that he couldn't imagine how it must have been for her during the war.

"Yes," Draco responded shortly, drawing her closer to his chest. He was her savior—she needed him.

Hermione blinked up at Draco, as if finally connecting him with the sudden arms around her body. For a minute, she looked confused, as if trying to figure out where she knew him from. Then, as her brain began to thaw and logical thoughts began to return, Hermione's eyes widened as sudden realization dawned over her.

"Draco—you're a," Hermione's voice fell a few octaves, "you're a Death Eater?" Her eyes scanned over him as if seeing him for the first time. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be true.

But it was.

She recognized the long fur coat, the trademark colors and of course, the haunting hood pushed back so that his head was sticking out. It was the unmistakable uniform of the people she had been fighting mere hours ago.

With a moan of terror, Hermione struggled to break free from Draco's determined grasp.

The panic in Hermione's eyes was unnerving and Draco let his grip go slack so Hermione could wriggle away. As soon as she was back on the ground though, it seemed that her energy had once again deserted her, leaving her a quivering mess at Draco's feet.

Lying flat on the ground, Hermione finally accepted defeat. How could he? Was he just using me the whole time? Did he even like me or was he trying to get information about Harry for Voldemort? Did he ever love me? Self doubt and rage flooded Hermione's consciousness as she began to cry.

Draco watched Hermione's eyes flicker with fear as he walked slowly over to where she was lying—his face looming directly above hers. His face glowed against the white swirling mist surrounding him.

"Hermione—," Draco began, but stopped suddenly when Hermione rubbed her eyes.

"Why don't you just kill me now, and spare me the pain?" She demanded of him, but despite her strength, she couldn't hide the fear in her voice. "I—I thought," Hermione stopped suddenly, shaking her head. "Never mind what I thought. It's obvious you were having a huge laugh at my expense with all of the other Deatheaters. I can see it now—everyone laughing about how easily you fooled the poor Gryffindor bint."

"Hermione—you have to understand," Draco begged of her, realizing his efforts were fruitless. He had been so happy when he had seen her in the woods, but now he wished he wouldn't have been as stupid to forget who he really was….

"How could you Draco?" Hermione asked pitifully. She looked so innocent lying in the snow.

"I'm here to help you," he said, picking up her weak body into his arms. She was so light, and her eyes were barely open, as if she was struggling to keep them from shutting. She looked so beautiful to Draco—she always had. She had something extra special about her than the rest of all the other girls. At the moment though, she looked so faded and pale, that it seemed as if one gust of wind would blow her away….

"Here to save me?" Hermione tried to laugh bitterly, but instead it came out as a cough. She tried to fight to get out of his arms, but he had her firmly in his arms and she was too tired and weak to do anything. There was nothing he could say now to change the situation—she could never forgive him. "So Draco, tell me how many of my friends have you killed?"

Draco bit his lip to contain his anger, and to stop himself from flaring up in a rage.

"Hermione, please," Draco begged, trying to stop the anger leaking out into his tone. He couldn't really be angry at her now—he knew she was exhausted and traumatized from the war and anything she said would be in defense.

"Why are you saving me?" Hermione finally murmured, in such a quiet voice that Draco barely heard it.

For a minute, Draco simply thought about it. He couldn't tell her how much she had changed him, how beautiful she really was, and how stupid he had been not to realize for all those years back that she was the trophy he had always wanted.

"Because—Hermione, I—,"

The snow was falling around them, and from far away, they looked like one figure. He was hunched over her, so that the cold and the snow wouldn't harm her, and he leaned in even closer to her face, and said,

"I'm doing it because I love you."

A/N: Awwwww! Don't ya love it? Lol! R&R