Author's Note: Just a real quick drabble to satisfy the feels that this prompt from starrnobella stirred within me! xxDustNight

Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

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Death by the Sea
Rated: T
Pairing: Hermione/Draco
Summary: Pansy asks Hermione a pointed question, and receives the most truthful of answers.

Prompt: Lighthouse. Storm cloud. Horizon. "How do you mourn the loss of someone who's still alive?" (courtesy of starrnobella)

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Death by the Sea

"How do you mourn the loss of someone who's still alive?"

The question hung in the air, stagnant like the sea after a particularly aggressive storm. Waves crashed against the shore, vanishing their footsteps as they walked along the coast. Ignoring the dampness of her shoes, Hermione stared straight ahead, her eyes trained on the cottage in the distance. The attached lighthouse was shining brightly, it's turning beam of light guiding nonexistent ships safely into the harbor just north of here.

Inhaling deeply, the salty air filling her lungs, Hermione knew Pansy meant no harm by her question, but that didn't stop the ache from beginning to radiate outward from her chest. How long had it been since he'd gone? She no longer knew, but it killed her every single day knowing he was out there. Alive. Fighting on the wrong side of the war. Fighting for them instead of her. The traitor. Turning her face away from her friend, she looked off at the horizon, the sun long gone.

These days they barely talked, the pair of them, both too busy self-destructing. Pansy found solace at the bottom of a bottle, while she researched until her eyes went blurry and migraines made it impossible for her to stand. His departure—his desertion—had been more than a shock to them all. The day Draco Malfoy had proclaimed he was returning to Voldemort and the Death Eaters was a dark day indeed. Pansy and Hermione had begged and pleaded for him to reconsider, but to no avail.

Pansy, his best friend, had raged—screaming and crying, her fists beating against his chest as he stared blankly over her shoulder. Hermione, on the other hand, she'd stood there silently, her heart breaking. After all, he'd told her just the night before that he was falling in love with her. Hadn't he? Or was that a figment of her imagination? She no longer knew, and it no longer mattered. The war was coming to a close and he was fighting for the wrong side. At the end, if they somehow managed to win, he'd be captured and sentenced to life in Azkaban.

She tried not to think of Draco, her own personal storm cloud, as memories of his touch, his kiss, made her nearly insane. They'd reached the waterlogged staircase that would lead them back to the cottage, but Hermione's mind was elsewhere. Swallowing back the pain in her chest, she returned her attention to her friend, meeting her anguish-filled stare with one of her own. Behind her, the ocean continued its relentless assault on the beach, the tide rolling in for the evening and bringing with it a sense of foreboding.

Wetting her chapped lips, she allowed the sea breeze to whip her curls about her face. Pansy was waiting for an answer, so letting go of her anguish, she told the truth. She told her friend exactly what she had to do in order to make it through each day without losing herself completely.

"You pretend that they're dead."