On the ground I lay,
Motionless in pain,
I can see my life flashing before my eyes.
Did I fall asleep?
Is this all a dream?
Wake me up, I'm living a nightmare.
- Time of Dying, Three Days Grace

"I'm not going," I say. And I mean it. "There's no chance in hell."

We've been over this a thousand times, and she still won't bloody listen.
I was dreaming when we sat by the lake, because that glimmer of hope I felt has been squashed by reality tenfold.

Tomorrow is a reminder that I was too much of a coward to seek help when I needed it, too blinded by pride and fear to try and fight on my own and kill a man when it was obvious from the start that I don't have the will. I would much rather smash my skull open with a rock than stand among people who are aware of this fact.

"Yes you are. Not showing up to pay your respects is terrible!"

She's been nagging me all week when I've made my choice. She's so angry, and her lips are quivering. But she'll never understand how this feels, she really can't know what it feels like to walk around guilty every waking second of every damn day, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to explain it.

"Pay my respects? For fuck's sake, Hermione, I never paid him respect when he was alive, it would be horribly ironic for me to attend even if I wasn't the one who was up there ready to kill him!"

"Draco," her face is shocked. "It's never too late to – "

"Hermione! I have already attempted and laid to rest the idea that I'm not worthless, isn't that enough to you? I don't deserve to go, I do not have any desire. I'm NOT GOING."
The last thing I want to do right now is have petty arguments over going to Dumbledore's fucking memorial. So now I'm standing with a rigid posture, and she gazes at me with something in her eyes that she hasn't had since when we first met.

"Harry told me he hoped you'd turn up. I want you to turn up. Nobody is going to say anything, okay," she reaches to grab my hand, but it somehow doesn`t sway me at all. Like it should. "You told me you wanted to make it right, Harry's trying to make it right…."

"He's only doing it for your sake, not for his own," I retort calmly, dropping my fingers from hers.
We're standing in front of the dungeons, and my escape is so close I actually have the morbid desire to push her away from me so I can just leave.

"But his speech – he said – "

"He said he may have misjudged me, and not even me specifically, but everyone. It doesn't mean that he'll like me any more, and he's only given me a chance so you will forgive him, and so Ginny will forgive him, don't tell me it's selfless!"

"But can't you see why it's hard for him? Can't you understand why he doesn't like you? It's not as if he has no reason to!"
Bitter inflection is laced in her tone, she must've been mulling over all my past discrepancies when it was time to recall all the reasons why we must never have a villain so vile present again. She must be scolding herself for sleeping with the enemy.

"Yeah, I do get it. And that's exactly why not showing my face to a mass of people who know what I've done is the right decision."

"They don't all know, though," she whispers, searching for something she won't find as she looks at me.

"Doesn't matter, some of them do. Why do you think they hate me? Why else do you think they've continuously bombarded me with hatred and forced it onto you? It's a waste of time trying to convince people."

Backing away, she gazes at me like I'm a stranger.
"But I've been trying so hard….doesn't that mean anything to you? I don't like to be in a constant state of perpetual madness. Finally, it seems as if there is hope for us and you – you don't want to keep up the progress?"

"People still glare at me like I don't belong here, and I'm beginning to think they're right. Maybe they've stopped spitting insults at us, but that's only because Potter basically all told them off. When I'm alone it hurts. All the time. It's never ending, and I can't take it anymore, Hermione. When you leave my side I don't have anybody left, and it's unhealthy that I should want to never be apart."

"Why do you pretend you're going to be fine then?" her voice cracks, and she's holding me again. "Why didn't you tell me it was really so difficult?"
And normally, now is when I would start to cry, and I would feel that love penetrate my heart, because I adore her to lengths I wouldn't be able to fathom. But I don't cry; instead it's almost painful, her grip like needles. This love is guilt.

So I nudge her away. And she's frowning.
"When I'm with you, I'm so happy. Before coming here, I barely spoke, barely did anything. The relief you've given me is something indescribable. And yet still, after last week, I shouldn't still feel this way. I don't belong here, Hermione. I'm a little token of remembrance that the people on my side of the fence were the bad ones, and to everyone else how could I change my mind about blood and about morals when I only stopped as soon as the war was over?"

"The past is the past, Draco. If I can live and let live, others will do the same, the scars are still fresh, and as long as you continue to show remorse, and heal, things will be different. Patience is key."

Patience?
As if not lashing out or kicking and punching everyone around me day in, day out isn't a testament to the fact that I'm keeping my head down, and emotions at bay.

"I told you I'll go through hell and back forever if I get to stay by your side, but I'm still not going tomorrow. That's my final word on it, and if you stand by what you just said, you will be patient and understand that I am not ready to face it."

"But – just – FUCK – " she hollers frustrated, throwing her arms up in the air like she wants to slap me.
And when I flinch, dread is filling up my insides as she doesn't calm her expression. "Draco! Showing up to this service, even if it makes you cry, even if it kills you, will be cathartic to you! To hell with everyone else, to bloody hell with Harry or Ron! Showing up to be in the presence of him and saying sorry is going to be a closure you desperately need, don't you see that?"

"No."
It's almost inaudible, because I'm feeling a brick crush my throat.
Disbelieving, that's how she appears.

"Did last week mean nothing to you? Will you throw it all away because you're too frightened?"
She's said the wrong words, she's made something inside of me snap, and I can't hold it back.

"YES!" I shout, "I'm a fucking coward, and I am scared! I'm scared of everyone like I'm scared of how I feel! I don't even like them, I don't even like myself," my breath trails in a whisper, strangling from my throat.

"I'll help you! I will hold your hand, and I will be there for you, you know that! Don't you? Haven't I been there?"
Broken, she's gazing at me as if she's a mother of a failed child.
Now she's blaming herself, which has made my conscience dip lower past a point even I thought it couldn't reach.

"Yes, you have, and you've suffered so much because of me, and you're not meant to anymore. You're supposed to be happy! And I make your life miserable."

"No, you don't! Draco- "
She sobs now, she attempts to yank my hand to hers again, and when I don't let her, she just falls into me. Slumping against my chest, her breath is heavy like mine, our uneven hearts beating out of time with one another.
"I am genuinely happy when I'm with you, but it would make me so much happier if you were better. Everyone will like you so much more if you didn't outwardly wear your guilt like a shield , hold so much anger in your head, or lash out when you can't hold it back. You know?…and I know it's difficult, which is why I'm trying to help, that's all."

"If I was better? You talk to me like I'm sick, like this is something that's not going to take a long period. I. Don't. Like. People. You're intelligent, you should know I have trust issues. And if you face the facts, we lead two very different lives, and when you include me in yours, you're only bringing yourself down."

"Don't you trust me?"
She's paused, leaning back to survey me, but I'm not looking at her; I can't.

"I trust you. I just don't trust myself."

He's not looking at me, and his voice is so hollow.
What happened to the bright, interesting boy who was sweet, and told me all these nice things a few weeks ago?

This has to be harder than I know for him, because it's difficult enough for me. This isn't right. And everything is tumbling out before I am able to coherently think about what I'm saying.
"You don't bring me down, I have my feet on solid ground. And I trust you, Draco, you have proved to me and earned it. You're hurting, and I just want to help, I'm not trying to belittle you or tell you this is make or break if you don't. I – I am hurting too. I have a hard time admitting when I am feeling down, but I - I need you. I want you to come tomorrow for me too."

"Fuck Hermione," he groans, finally wrapping his arms around me, hunching his shoulders and shaking. I feel his tears drip onto my forehead.

"If you really can't go…then don't. I don't want to push you too far, and try and make you come because I'd like you to, but I just thought I'd be honest. And tell you how I feel about it, I didn't mean to get so testy."

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothes, smoothing down my hair, sighing. "I'll just have to see how I am in the morning, alright."

He's so drained, and all I can do is hug him. Pecking him on the chin, my stomach jumps when the tiniest of grins crosses his face for a millisecond.

"Don't feel selfish, don't feel bad for asking me to be there, okay? You being vulnerable is you being human, and so often I compare myself to you, and feel as if your perfection is too much for me."

"Draco," I groan, pressing my lips to his.
He doesn't make much effort to respond back.

"I'll try to go, but I can't promise it," he murmurs.

"Okay."

"I'm going to go into the dorm, I have homework and things," he says, and though I don't believe him in the slightest, I nod.
He's going to go in, then to his bed to lie down, and probably wallow in misery and contemplate the day until morning time. The circles round his eyes, and the way whenever does his hair is a dead giveaway. And I notice all these things because I care for him more than he probably wants to believe., and because seeing him like this hurts. But clearly he's not completely prepared to face all these facts so I'll pretend just for him, just for a while more, that he has me fooled.

"It's at 10 am, if you remember…if you want to go, I'll meet you by the entrance at 9:45. Yeah?"

"Yeah. Good night," he tells me, kissing me on the mouth.

"Night."

"I love you."

"I love you too."
He smirks finally.
His smirk reserved for me. And it's a bit hard to tell the difference between his amused one and his loving one, but I've come to recognize it in a snap.

And though it ends on a positive note, as he's sauntering away and muttering the ironic words "Forever the purest" to the entrance wall, tomorrow's going to be the worst. I'm right.

Immediately, after I wake up from a less than stellar sleep, this veil of gloom is pervasive. It reaches every corner of the common room, the bedrooms, the corridors, into the whole soul of Hogwarts. Putting on my black dress, not my robes, I have no drive or will to curl my hair properly, to put on makeup so I look nice, so I look like I care. And I do, but I hardly think my appearance has to prove it. But the effort is made regardless, applying mascara to my lashes, blush to my pale cheeks, next to other girls in the bathroom, who share the same desolate face, the same empty stare.

Something worse is constricting my heart, something awful that I'm not able to name.

I enter the Great Hall, looking nice for somebody who's dead; somebody who wouldn't have cared what I look like. I can't help but be bitter and feel as if it's more so there's a façade of having order and togetherness.
Why is it that whenever there is a tragedy to remember, we have to appear pristine and beautiful, as if tragedy itself is beautiful? As if we're not supposed be sobbing messes when somebody we looked up to has passed.

And I can barely bring myself to eat; Harry is nowhere to be seen, nor Ron.
Trying to go over Potions notes for next week all I can think about is Draco, or Dumbledore, and how Harry feels. The words mangle into indistinguishable lines, only morose ones pop. 'Can cause death', 'extremely toxic.' Even my diversion, my usual comfort isn't working.
Everything that once brought me light is in distress or doesn't work.

Time goes by slow, so slow I can barely feel it pass as the dread pools deeper and deeper into my stomach, tightening until the sensation is constant.
Finally, somebody calls my name, and it's a distraction.

"How are you holding up? You left really early from the room," a pair of arms are wrapping around me. "God, you look dreadful."

It's Ginny, and she's nestling her head into the crook of my neck, sleepily.
"I feel even worse," I murmur, putting my head down on my arms, happy she's here. "Your dress is nice."

When she goes to sit down, though her fashion sense is good, I notice the red rims and black circles, wondering if it's from Harry or from today, or everything combined.

"Thanks…it's Fleur's. This is going to be horrible, isn't it? Luna thinks it's sweet."

Sweet.
Of course, trekking across the Black Lake on an island to visit a tomb is really sweet. Lining up and standing in a crowd of people to hear one more fucking memorial service, perhaps a renewed eulogy, is really what I so desire right now to do.
It's times like these I notice how Draco's sarcasm has bled into my speech and thoughts, and hate how it only comes out when I'm angry.

"It's ridiculous. It would be much better if we could all pay our respects when we are comfortable, it would be more meaningful if we could visit his grave alone."

"Yeah, well, it's blocked normally by magic, isn't it? Can't really do that, can we?" she says, rubbing her eyes with her hands, pouring coffee into a giant mug.

"I guess not. It's just so…..clinical. This whole process. Let's amass for a few minutes and say something pretty and nice-sounding on the only day we must."

"Hermione…" I guess I sound crosser than I meant to. "What's wrong? You weren't like this last week, I thought you might think that particular occasion more appropriate for a hate-speech. Glorifying war over celebrating a life?"

I sigh deeply.
"Sorry. It's Draco….he's not sure if he's going or not. And I got upset. I asked him to go for me, but mostly he should go for himself. Get some kind of closure. You know? And I feel even worse because it's overshadowing the sadness towards Dumbledore, and that just elevates how pissed off I am at myself."

"Oh, don't feel worse. I'd be pissed too. Though, I sort of understand where he's coming from."

I'm about to smack myself from this dream I surely must be having where my best friend is on a Malfoy's side, but her stare is so sincere my hands freeze.

"I'm serious, though. Remember his pensieve memories? It's just going to be one bombardment of bad flashbacks if he goes, combined with the paranoia that everyone hates him for showing up. And most of them will. Hell, think about what he almost was capable of. He almost killed Ron," she whispers harshly. "He cursed Katie Bell…and didn't he Imperius Madam Rosmerta?"

"I was thinking of that as well, I almost yelled at him yesterday…." And suddenly, the waves are too much, the pool is flooded. "Fuck, what am I doing? Why do I like him? Why do I love him?"

"Hermione -"
Her eyes are bright, wide with concern.

"No, seriously. Why? Because he's so sweet to me? Because he's sorry? Just – I – I think I blocked everything from my memory about what he's done, and when he showed that he wasn't terrible anymore I justified myself in finding him attractive."

"Hermione…he's clearly in love with you," she states with disbelief. "Practically worships the ground you walk on. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that you are helping him be a better person." Now she leans in closer, snatches my hand into hers. "If he was dependent on alcohol last year, he was trying to get away from everything too. If he didn't have any remorse, he would've moved on without a blink, he'd still be the same old Malfoy we used to loathe….Right?"

"I don't know…I don't know, I just – I told him I trust him, and now I don't know if that's true anymore. Why did I do that, why did I – auuuuh!"
And now I'm weeping again. Now I'm seriously questioning everything that I have convinced myself was forgivable in the past few months. Because of this one, bloody occasion. Because he made too many mistakes that are unforgivable.

"Because you love him, Hermione. It's obvious. It's not something you can control all the time. Maybe you always had an underlying attraction to him, but it wasn't until this year you could let it surface. It's like me and Harry…or – " she pauses, inhaling deeply , settling herself as her chest heaves. "It was like that. You know, I still really liked him so damn much when I distanced myself. I dated anyways like you said to do, and it felt nice…but nothing like when we got together. Like it was inevitable…meant to be."

"Ginny…"
She's sniffing hard, trying to fight back her sadness as she always does. Gripping vice-like, as if she's using my warmth and bones to strengthen herself.

"Does it feel like that to you? Like you never want to let go? Didn't you say that during the performance? Because it should be an instantaneous feeling, it shouldn't be something you have to think about. And if you do, maybe you should reconsider all this before you get in deeper."

"I- "
His voice is there in my head, ringing through my ears as Ginny's echoes out.

'I'm pretty sure I know I love you.'

"Look, I dated Dean for 5 months, and it was never like that. And most of the time he was a real gentleman, class A until he got too jealous and clingy. Even Michael was pretty cool. But they didn't give me that fiery sense of passion, you know?"

'I know in my heart that none of this is fake, it's not forced or being pressured. It's just there. And it makes me feel so good, I can't even put it into words.'

"You just have to decide whether or not this barrier is going to be there forever if you can let him tear it down brick by brick, cause it seems like he wants to."

'I love you, probably too much, that it does my head in. Everything you show me I feel so intensely, when you're happy, I'm elated, and when you're sad I want to cry. We always end up on the same wavelength though, and I just – god, I never want to let you go.'

I really don't know how to feel right now.
We've been through so much but this divide has really caused me distress beyond the point I understand. For an entire year fighting Voldemort, and Harry, were my world because I vowed to him, to Dumbledore, and for the sake of everybody like me who had to suffer being a mudblood that I would avenge them.

Dumbledore had faults like everyone, and maybe he used us all a bit like puppets. But he did do something for the 'greater good' that actually was good, with a plan that would work, and sacrificed himself so Snape could help us win. Meanwhile trying to get Draco to come over for help instead of outright letting the opportunity for his family to die happen by revealing that he knew of the plan. This day is a testament to all his efforts.
And yet…maybe it's not a contradiction to his efforts or my own sentiments that this day is a day I would like to not spend it alone. I'm not betraying him by wanting to be with Draco, am I? To join the Slytherins and Gryffindors, the so-called 'bad' and 'good'… Dumbledore would've wanted this right?

He would have been able to forgive Draco, he would have given him the chance to redeem himself. He couldn't forgive Grindelwald because Grindelwald wanted to kill.
Draco is not a bad person anymore.

Can I let all this be swept under the rug?

"It's 9:30…fuck, Luna's not here. She probably skipped out to go early….I'd rather now in case Harry comes in late, does that make me a bad person?"

"No…it's just going to make this experience poorer if you're more upset by his presence, or by the simplest eye-contact, right? I just told Draco to meet me by the entrance, and I haven't had the courage to go wait. I didn't really think Harry nor Ron were going to show up, but I was still holding out."

We're talking but I'm not there.
My mind is racing a mile a minute, and before I really anticipate what the hell I am doing, Ginny has dragged me to the doors that shoot up a hundred feet, telling me to wait here and watch the time some more.

With my gaze to the floor I'm a mixture of relieved and extremely surprised when somebody is pulling my chin up with a gentle pull. And the person has blond head and a distraught face, blue eyes bloodshot, lines furrowed across his face; dishevelled in a dapper suit, an oxymoron.

"You came."

A whisper.

"I had to," he says.
And that's all I need when it's a genuine sentiment, cracked in fragments like he can barely speak from grief.

Somebody in Ravenclaw passes us, sneering at him like Draco used to at everyone else, leaving him in a cloud of hesitation, as he's now locked with the tiles on the stone floor, as she leaves with her group.

"What are you doing out here, Malfoy? Don't even think about going out there."
It's Justin Finch-Fletchley.
With Hannah Abbott on his arm, he shoves Draco so he falls into me, and I'd love to say something back, but as my mouth is hanging open, Draco just shakes his head. He embraces me halfheartedly before staring out into the crack of sunlight as the door slams shut.
Saying nothing, I take it as an affirmation that he's set to leave, waiting for the hall to be cleared from others so we can travel down to the lake solitary.

Exiting to the outside, it's warm out here. There's a heavy breeze, and I watch as Draco's coat ripples from the speed, as little wisps of his hair dance around his forehead. He doesn't make to adjust himself, he only strides with a gait of man who is strong; like the only way he's going to be able to make it to our destination is if he propels himself with as much force as he can.

But as we make it so close, as we make it to the docks that are ready to take us to the White Tomb, where Dumbledore rests, he falters, suddenly standing pin-straight in front as he notices Professor Slughorn getting into a boat with Theodore Nott.

"It's going to be fine," I tell him, rubbing his shoulder. "You're here, you've almost made it."

And then he says the worst words he could've:
"I can't do it."

His voice is so dead, so forlorn, I am not willing to argue.

"Do you want me to stay here with you?"
I realize as I say it that that's all I want to do.

But he says to me: "No, I'd rather be alone. I'll stay by the shore."

"Draco – "

"I'll wait by the shore, you go."

So I do, and I kiss him goodbye on the cheek. He doesn't flinch, doesn't move.
Creaking dock boards are unsteady under my trembling feet as I hop into the ferry, and enchant it myself, not wanting to wait for anybody else. I watch his figure fade into nothing but a blurred outline, never moving from his position by a willow tree. Sitting in the seat of the stern, I don't notice when I get to the coast of the island.

Getting up to stand on the murky edge, I stumble in the mud. But a savior appears from nowhere and grabs my arm before I fall over. Neville.

"Thanks," I say, wondering why he even bothered.

"It's no problem," he insists, and I believe him.

Everything adjusts and twists into some strange dream world all of a sudden. My vision and my head is hazy and dazed. Out of body as I walk to the centre, forcing myself past the bodies crowding this tiny space, someone's suddenly holding my hand.
Harry.

Squeezing it tightly, next thing I know, there's another person on the other side.
Ron.

Ron, who sees me falter, my expression surely shocked.
"I know we're not on good terms, but…I thought maybe you wouldn't want to be here alone," he murmurs into my ear.

And that's it. No mention of Draco's absence, completely humbled tone; maybe ashamed he's been so unmoving lately. And I can't really say anything back; out of fear, out of surprise, I don't know. But I let him grip my fingers, let us pretend for one moment everything hasn't changed.

"I'm glad you're here," Harry then admits, pulling me a tad closer for privacy. And then exhaling, like he can't hold it in: "Where's Malfoy?"

"He almost made it…couldn't cross the lake. I walked with him here. He's standing by the willow tree."
Turning around, searching through the gathering, his eyebrows scrunch, and he frowns.

"No….Hermione, he's – he's not."

I whip my head back, terror suddenly swallowing me whole; he's not there.

"But he was just – "

"You can work it out later, he probably ran scared."

"But –"

"Shh, it'll be alright."

This false normalcy and nostalgia of when we used to be close friends overwhelms me. I don't get to look around, people block my view from being able to see past my immediate vision. McGonagall had stepped up to speak in front of an already hushed crowd.

I can barely hear anything, I can only focus on the carved marble casket that's been risen, that's been draped in garlands of roses, lilies, and daisies.
Some melancholy speech begins, riddled with all the clichés, sounding much similar to the original eulogy as we first heard it two years ago. And while I think that it's better to have a memorial that is toned in sadness instead of trying to lighten the mood, the only reaction everyone is having is to cry.

Having Harry next to me makes the sorrow so much more intense; he was closest to him out of everyone here, besides the teachers. Now I can only recall explaining to him that portraits only capture an essence of a person, and it's not their soul, not their true and whole being like he had initially thought. You can talk to them, and they can respond but no new thoughts can be brought out of them, they are pre-destined. He was crushed, he was awash in despair for weeks that Dumbledore was truly gone.
The look on his face when he was informed of that news flashes behind my closed eyelids in the blackness. They always say ignorance is bliss, and I think I'm beginning to agree. I regret ever telling him that.

My arms become numb as a choir of phoenixes croon a mourning song. Harry is sobbing quietly with his head hung low, I glance to the side and Ron has tears streaming down his cheeks.

Suddenly, it's all over, nobody wanted to say anything more, nobody could because they were all bawling.

There's a moment of tense silence, and then we are told if we'd like to say a few words, to do so in the next twenty minutes. There's nothing I want to say, nothing that I could say, but I let Harry go forth and wait among the throng of students leaving.

"I'll see you inside, thanks for staying with him. You three standing together….it's like old times."
Ginny leans in to me, clutching me briefly before sniffing and walking to the boats with Luna. Ron is gazing at me with an unsure look, flickering to his sister ensuring she crosses the water safely.

Harry is still, muttering words, trailing his hand over the epitaph. But I resolve to wait for him, as does Ron. I am starting to be uncomfortable what with how at heads we've been, until he decides to swallow his pride and step over to me: "Are we okay?"

"I don't know," I reply honestly. "I want to be friends, but you have to try and get along."

He nods, and I can only fidget until my friend walks back over.
"Thanks, Hermione."

Everything seems ok with us now as Harry saunters back over, ready to leave. I have the ball in my court.
Bittersweet.

Settling to get carried back to the mainland, my nerves I had hidden for a few moments come tumbling onto the centre stage. Harry and Ron call my name as I can barely get steady on the rocks and sand. I don't listen, I don't register anything. Frantically, I'm scanning the grounds for a trace of him, for blonde hair or a distraught tall frame.

Nothing.

He's not standing by the forest, he's not at the entrance, he's not inside. My step is heavy, my feet and legs weigh a million pounds as I dart into the Great Hall, sprinting through corridors, past the lavatories, past the library, searching everywhere.
I need to find him.
"Hermione, what's wrong?"

Ron's obvious questions blaze past me, and I can't answer them. I don't know why they're both following me, I don't know why I want to be alone right now. But I do.

Before I know it, I've rushed all the way to a spiral staircase that is the last place I know anyone should want to be.

"Hermione – "

Still tailing me, blood is pumping through my veins as I reach the top.
I need to find him.

"Hermione, wait – "

"Harry, please!"
I spin around after we've reached the top tiers of the Astronomy Tower. I thought he might be here, he seems to like to take the worst course of action in dire straits.

"We just want to help you."
Sincerely Harry tells me this, swallowing hard this pill of a location, surely bringing back terrible memories as he shakes lightly.

"If you want to help me, then go look for Draco. If you want to keep me calm that's all you can do. I'm going on my own, if you find him, send him to the library; section B. Half an hour."

Crossing my arms, I can see they're reluctant to help me. But they agree.
"We'll find him."

The phrase rings in my ear as I rush back down again, and it spurs me on afresh to go looking. The only place I can think of to go might get me in immense trouble, but I don't care.
I need to find him.

A stone brick wall faces me, I'm alone here, thank god.
And the words strangle up my windpipe; "Forever the purest."

It dissolves, and my will falters for a split second until I force myself into the mouths of the snakes, I just hope they're not feeling so venomous today.

"What are you doing in here?"
A little second year in her Slytherin uniform is inquiring about my entrance, confused and thankfully not hostile.

"I – "

"Hermione?"
Right behind me, it's Theodore Nott's voice. Dammit I'm cornered.
He's standing next to Millicent, whose expression suggests she isn't pleased to see me as I turn around to face them.

I cave before I can muster up any confidence, it's obvious why I'm hanging out in the dungeons: "Is Draco upstairs? Have you seen him?"

"No…we didn't see him come back from the memorial, and I was just up there. I didn't see him at all today, actually…"

"Well, maybe he was hiding from you, he came down with me, he didn't come to the island he was supposed to wait across from me, look I should double check."

Panic. Panic.

"You can't go up there!"
I don't care, I don't – fuck. Fuck.
Searching for a dorm room, somebody is running after me. But I'm incensed, I'm quicker.
Seventh Year Boys, reads a silver plaque.

Barging in, there isn't anyone in here. There's nobody. No one.
Crumpling to the floor, there's a tentative hand on my shoulder.

"Hermione, I wasn't lying. He's not here. You better go before word gets back to the headmistress. Okay?"

It's Theodore. And he's right.
I need to find him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry – I just – "

"It's alright, just go."

So I do.

But I don't find him.
Harry and Ron don't find him.

Three hours later and we're in the Headmaster's office, while McGonagall has sent all the teachers out looking for him. And I can't stop crying. I'm so worried, and it's only making me feel worse that it's on this day. Where everybody else is as downtrodden as I am.

This is the worst day ever.

"Help me."

I must have yelled it a hundred times but now it's just a croak.
I'm going to die, I can feel it.

"Please...please help me."

Actually, I can't feel it. I can't feel anything…my whole body is stunned as another spider crawls over my stomach and launches itself into my flesh, another dagger piercing me. Not even sure how I got here, not sure why I chose this place.

There's just venom coursing through my veins, reacting badly with my blood; my blood is poison, you think I'd survive, you'd think it would make me indestructible.

I just remember her taking their hands, acting how they used to be when I was just another asshole in their private, oh-so-secret lives. Across the lake, standing together remembering a person who they cared about, who liked them. And I tried to kill him. I deserve this.

Why did I get involved, why did I let myself fall in love, why her?
I've ruined her; I deserve this.

Why is she so good to me when I have done nothing good?
I deserve to die.

"AUUUUGH!"

FUCK.
A searing pain in my head, it's bitten me again, something bit me on the scalp. Their legs are swarming over me, their beady eyes stare at me waiting for me to move, but I can't.

I ran.
And I ran too far. Away from everything that matters and everything I want.

The last thing I see is the tops of the trees, in the Forbidden Forest. How fitting I should fade away alone and in a painful way.
Then I close my eyes for what's going to be the last time. And it's black; so black.