A/N: Sooo... I decided to write a one-shot. A very sad, slightly gory, Dramione one-shot from moments after the final battle ended. I apologize for breaking your heart in advance.

Pale Lips

"She's dead."

"Is it true?"

"The golden trio is what-?"

"-Harry Potter said-"

"Where's her parents?"

"What do we do with the Death Eaters?"

"Voldemort is-"

"Did we win?"

The pale, blonde stood frozen in the center of the hushed chaos and murmurs. When Voldemort's body had crumpled to ashes, people had been cheering. But not for long. Silence had taken its grip on the crowd, broken only by sobs and whispers. The boy - or young man, really, seeing as he would be 18 in a month - was completely numb to his surroundings, though. Dead. She can't be dead. No. No, no, no-

"Draco." The boy jerked up, yelping, "NO!" as he did. He found his mother looking down at him, arms wide. "My Dragon… We have to go. They are arresting all the Death Eaters."

The wizard shook his head. Once, twice then again and again and again. "No, it can't-she-we-no. I'm not-no. Mum-she-I-I-he.." Sobs began to shake the man's bloodied and dirt covered torso. His black robe was already on the floor, his shirt torn and exposing deep purple bruises forming across his chest, shoulder and back. Blood dripped from his right temple, but he didn't notice that nor the roasties on his shaking hands.

He slowly turned, surveying the great hall. Movement had started, people checking on their family and treating the injured. It took only a split second for Draco to make his decision. One moment, he was at his mothers side, looking like everyone else. The next he was sprinting across the room, shoving weeping bodies out the way. He threw himself down on the floor beside her.

Her body was still warm, eyes still open. People were gathered around her, and had yelled when he had shoved them aside. Draco didn't care. He was crying, every part of him shaking. Her brown hair was matted with dirt and blood, singed in places. Her normal, muggle clothes looked like she had been wearing them for a decade straight - stained with all types of grime and bodily fluids, torn and fraying. Her skin glistened with sweat, and around her head there was a puddle of dark, sticky, red blood slowly oozing across the stone.

"No. No, no, no." He cried as he leaned in, checked her pulse, her breathing. Her perfect brown eyes stared lifelessly into his own, her thin lips already pale."NOOOOO, no, no." He threw himself down over her, checking for wounds. He found the large crack in the back of her skull, still pouring with blood. Draco ripped his shirt off, holding it firmly to the gash. He looked round at all the still, horrified faces. They simply stared at him. "What the fuck?!" He shouted, voice breaking with desperation. "Get MAdame Pomfrey, get a Healer. FAST! NOW! GO! She's - she's ' she-GO! SOMEONE! She's going to-to die!" he walked the last word, barely able to say it. His rage was whetted into a weapon, and he glared daggers at those around him. No-one moved. "Do you want her dead? MOVE!" Draco roared.

"She- Malfoy, it's too late." a familiar feminine voice said. "We can't-" The teenager broke off and the blonde wizard recognized her as the youngest Weasley child. He didn't, however, register the words.

All he heard was the rushing of his blood through his head. His head, his heart, his body. Not hers. It shouldn't be like this. She should live - not me. She is the good one, always has been. My stupidity and naivete has cost her her life. I can't - she doesn;t deserve this. I have to do something, fix this, save her. I have to.

Draco's hands shook as he ripped her top the rest of the way. He heard gasps around him, but he couldn't listen - couldn't care. Not anymore, not if she was dead. Nothing mattered without her.

He pulled a pocket knife from his pants, simultaneously pulling the young woman's broken, limp body onto his lap. Then, steadying his hand with a slow breath, he made a deep slice right over the witch's heart. Several people shouted, but his magic burst forth - without his command or control, like when they were all kids - and shielded everyone out. The solid wall of air kept anyone from stopping him as he snapped her ribs, and reached his bare hand into her chest. The witch's body was still unmoving, her heart wasn't pumping that magical, red lifeforce around her beautiful body.

Draco pulled her hand to his mouth with his left hand, murmuring his begs to the gods and he used his other hand to massage her heart. Nothing happened. "She's lost too much blood, she needs more." The wizard muttered. He dropped her hand and used the blade to slice his arm, a long slash across his forearm, beside the Dark Mark he had taken only a year ago. "I'm sorry," he hissed through the pain, slipping a new slice along her wrist, underlining the still healing MUDBLOOD scar. Then, with his blood pumping into her lifeless, cooling body, his other hand still pumping her heart, he began to breathe for her. He pressed his lips to her cold, still ones and breathed out. One, two, three, four…fourteen, fifteen, breathe. One, two, three, four, five…

He cried as he worked, tears pouring down his cheeks, making pale streaks through the blood-dirt mixture and falling onto her pale breast, still covered with a bloodsoaked bra.

"This - this - someone, please, get a healer, please." He sobbed. "Please, please." the blonde begged, looking around at the pained faces around him. "Please… I'll do anything, just save her. Please."

"My Dragon." His mothers voice cut through the horrified din. "Dear, it's over. Let her go."

Slowly, Draco's hand stopped pumping. His heart started aching, more than ever before. He let his left arm fall away and bowed his head. The shield fell and people came crowding closer, looking at the fallen heroine in the wounded, broken soldiers arms.

The man leaned forward, pulling the witch closer to him, wrapping her in a strong embrace despite their wounds and incisions. Their mingled blood soaked his shirt and pants. Draco couldn't bring himself to care.

"I'm sorry." He muttered. "I'm so, so sorry, love." He sobbed, cradling her head in his hand. He brushed his thumb over her cleaner temple, pushing the hair away. Slowly, ever so slowly, he gently pleased his muddy lips to her temple. Then each eye, carefully closing it. Finally, he moved down to her pale, limp lips. He caressed them with his own, gently, tasting the salt of his own tears dripping over their faces.

"I love you," Draco whispered. "I love you, Hermione.