Art of Correspondence

Hermione's hands trembled as she and the others Apparated back to Muriel's house, the familiar jolt of magic settling around them like a heavy shroud. The air was thick with grief, a palpable weight that seemed to press down on all of them as they stumbled, bruised and hollow-eyed, into the old, cramped kitchen.
It was a terrible sight—one that would forever be etched in Hermione's memory. The remnants of the Order and the DA stood scattered around the room, their faces gaunt and ashen. No one spoke. No one moved.
Tears ran down Harry's face, his hand was clenched, his grip white-knuckled and desperate. The Hufflepuff cup they'd risked everything for lay discarded on the table, the grim irony of its presence cutting deep.
And then there was Tonks.
Hermione's stomach twisted as she watched Tonks collapse against a wall, her body wracked with silent sobs. Kingsley's massive form hovered protectively nearby, his own face a mask of anguish as he kept a steadying hand on her shoulder.
Remus was gone.
Hermione couldn't wrap her mind around it—couldn't comprehend the fact that Remus, who had always been so calm and steady, was just…gone.
The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating. Mrs. Weasley's keening wail pierced the quiet, a sound so raw and heart-wrenching that it made Hermione flinch.
"Ron—oh, my boy, my baby boy—"
She collapsed beside Harry, her screams of grief filling the small kitchen.

She screamed like this nearly every night, but tonight it was just too much. Hermione felt hot tears run down her face.

"No, no, no—this can't be real, this can't—Ronnie, please—!"
Harry's eyes remained blank, his expression lifeless as he looked up at Mrs. Weasley, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. He looked like he wanted to say something, to offer some kind of comfort, but there were no words. Nothing he could say would ease her pain.
Nothing would ease any of their pain.
Hermione felt herself swaying, the edges of her vision blurring as exhaustion and grief threatened to drag her under. It was too much. It was all too much.
Ron was dead.
Remus was dead.
Neville, Hannah—so many lives lost. So much bloodshed. And for what?
What was the point of all of this? Of the Horcruxes, of the endless battles and sacrifices?
What if they never won? What if they never even came close?
Hermione's fingers clenched at her sides, her breath hitching as a sob threatened to break free. She couldn't stay here—not like this, not with the suffocating weight of everyone else's grief crushing her own. She had to get away, to escape, even if only for a moment.
With a shaking hand, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a scrap of parchment. Her mind whirred, desperate for something, anything, that might anchor her.
Draco.
She didn't know why her mind went to him, of all people. He was a Death Eater—a former enemy, a boy she'd despised for so long. But… he'd reached out. He'd offered to help, to fight against his own kind, to put himself at risk for them. He'd made himself vulnerable.
And right now, that was all she needed—someone who understood what it meant to feel helpless. Someone who knew what it was to drown in guilt and doubt.
Her fingers shook as she scrawled a message, the words blurring on the parchment.

Draco,
I don't know why I'm writing to you. I just… I can't do this. I can't keep going like this. We lost so many tonight—Ron, Remus…Neville, Hannah. And I keep thinking—if I had just been stronger, faster, smarter—if I had just done something differently, maybe they'd still be here.
I can't—Ron loved me, you know? He…he never said it outright, but I knew. I knew, and I never loved him back. Not like that. And now he's dead, and all I can think is…if I'd just been honest with him, if I hadn't let things go unsaid, maybe—maybe it wouldn't hurt this much.
I'm so tired, Draco. I'm so tired of fighting, of losing, of watching people I care about die. I feel like I'm falling apart. Like everything we're doing is for nothing.
What's the point of any of this, if we're just going to lose everyone we love?
Please…please just tell me something. Tell me I'm not going mad.
Hermione.

She folded the parchment quickly, her hands trembling, and sealed it with a simple charm before sending it off. She didn't expect a response. Didn't even know if he'd care enough to reply.
But then, moments later, her fingers tingled as another piece of parchment appeared, unfolding in her lap.

Hermione,
You're not mad.
I… I don't know what to say, except that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry you're hurting like this. I'm sorry for all the lives that have been lost. But I need you to listen to me right now.
I know it's hard. I know it feels hopeless. But you have to keep fighting. You're the strongest person I know. I mean that. I don't think I've ever met anyone with your courage, your determination. Even when I was being a complete prat to you, you never backed down. You always stood your ground.
Don't lose that now.
The Order needs you. Harry needs you. And I—I need you, too. Even if I can't be there with you, even if we're on opposite sides of this war… I need to believe that someone like you can still win. That someone like you can still fight for what's right.
You're not alone, Hermione.
Don't let them break you.
Please.
Draco.

Hermione stared at the letter, her breath catching as a tear slipped down her cheek. Her chest ached, a tight, painful knot of emotions swirling inside her.
She picked up her quill, scribbling a quick response.

Draco,
Thank you. I… I don't know what else to say. I'm so tired. But…maybe you're right. Maybe we can still win this.
Maybe I can still do something.
But I don't know how much more I can take.

Another letter appeared almost immediately, the ink fresh and smudged as if he'd been writing it in a hurry.

Hermione,
You can take more. I know you can. You're not broken, Hermione. Not yet. And as long as you keep fighting, you'll never be.
You're going to win this war. You have to.
And I'll be here—no matter what happens. Even if it's only through letters.
Keep fighting. For them. For me. For yourself.
I have faith in you.
Draco.

Hermione clutched the letter to her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she closed her eyes, letting the tears fall silently.