The Weight of Absence
Draco's breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding in his chest as he cradled Hermione's lifeless body against him. The world around him faded, a blur of noise and chaos, but all he could feel was the weight of his loss pressing down on him, suffocating him.
"Draco," Theo pleaded, his voice trembling with anguish. He knelt beside him, his own face streaked with tears, but there was a desperate determination in his eyes. "We need to go. We can't stay here—"
" No! " Draco screamed, his voice filled with raw, desperate anger. He clutched Hermione closer, his fingers tangled in her hair, as if by sheer will he could bring her back. "She promised me she wouldn't leave! She promised she'd stay alive! This is all my fault—she followed me here—"
"Draco, listen to me," Ginny said, her voice cracking as she reached out, trying to touch his shoulder. "We know what you're feeling—we're living it too. We all lost someone. We all know the pain—"
"No, you don't understand!" he shouted, his voice hoarse and filled with grief. "You lost them ! But I lost her —the only one who mattered. The only one I ever loved!"
"Draco, we're here for you," Theo said, his tone steady but laced with sorrow. "We need to go back to Muriel's. The others need us. We—"
" I don't care ! I don't care about any of that! We lost ! She's gone, and nothing else matters!" His voice cracked, a deep, hollow sound that echoed in the stillness of the room.
Ginny's eyes shimmered with tears, but she held her ground. "Draco, please. We can't just leave her here. We'll bring her back—she deserves that. But we have to go now—"
"No! I'm not leaving her!" He shook his head vehemently, clutching her tighter. "She was my everything—my future—"
Theo reached out, placing a hand on Draco's shoulder. "You can't carry this alone. You have to let us help you—let us help you carry her back. We can honor her, Draco. We can remember her the way she deserves—"
Draco looked up at Theo, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the dirt and blood on his cheeks. "How do you do that?" he whispered, his voice breaking. "How do you carry on when all you feel is emptiness? She was my reason to live, and now she's gone."
Theo's eyes softened, and he nodded slowly. "We take it one step at a time. It hurts, and it will hurt for a long time, but you're not alone in this. We're here with you."
With great reluctance, Draco allowed Theo to help him stand, still clutching Hermione's body as if it were the only anchor in a stormy sea. Ginny slipped an arm around his waist, guiding him gently, her own grief palpable in the air.
Ginny said softly. "We'll make sure everyone remembers her strength, her courage—everything she stood for. But we need to go now."
Draco's heart ached with every step they took, each movement a reminder that the warmth of Hermione's presence had faded forever. He felt hollow, as though part of him had been ripped away, leaving a gaping wound that would never heal.
When they finally reached Muriel's, the atmosphere was heavy with sorrow, the remaining members of the Order gathered in a quiet, subdued state. The air was thick with grief, but there was an undeniable sense of victory hanging over them—a bittersweet taste of triumph mixed with the ache of loss.
Draco didn't care. He couldn't see the victory; all he saw was the empty ring on his left hand, a stark reminder of the future that had been ripped from him. He moved through the room like a ghost, his heart consumed by despair.
"Draco," Ginny's voice broke through his thoughts as she guided him to a corner of the room, away from the others. "You have to remember—Hermione wouldn't want you to be like this. She wouldn't want you to give up."
"But I lost her," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "What is there to hold on to now? What is there left to fight for?"
"You are still here. You are still fighting. You're part of this, and you can't let her death be in vain."
Draco shook his head, his heart heavy. "I don't even know how to keep going without her. I don't know how to be me anymore."
"She believed in you," Theo added softly, stepping closer. "She believed in all of us. And she would want you to fight. To keep living. We can still change the tide of this war, Draco, but we need you."
Draco closed his eyes, his heart aching at the thought of Hermione. He could almost hear her voice, reassuring and strong, urging him to find a way to keep fighting, to keep believing.
"I can't," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I can't do this without her."
"Then let us help you," Ginny urged, her eyes pleading. "Let us carry some of that burden. You don't have to face this alone. None of us do."
Draco opened his eyes, his gaze flickering between Ginny and Theo. The weight of their words hung in the air, heavy and profound. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps he didn't have to carry it all alone.
" I loved her, " he whispered, his voice cracking. "She was my everything. And now…" He couldn't finish the sentence; the pain was too great.
"We know," Theo said gently. "And we're so sorry for your loss. But she wouldn't want you to let it destroy you. We'll fight for her. We'll fight together."
Draco felt a flicker of something deep within him—a small flame of determination battling against the suffocating darkness. He took a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he imagined Hermione's smile, her laughter, her unwavering strength.
"Okay," he whispered finally, his voice shaky but resolute. "I'll try. For her."
"Good," Ginny said, her voice filled with warmth. "That's all we need. We'll take it one step at a time, together."
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Hermione's funeral was an unbearable affair, a day that Draco Malfoy wished he could erase from existence. As he stood there, surrounded by the somber faces of the grieving, he felt a weight pressing down on his chest, a suffocating reminder that she was truly gone. The chill of the autumn air mirrored the icy grip that had taken hold of his heart since the moment he lost her.
The small crowd gathered in the garden, a tranquil space that felt painfully incongruous with the anguish they all carried. The flowers bloomed brightly, seemingly mocking the grief that hung over them like a heavy fog. Draco watched as they lowered the casket into the earth, his throat tightening with each shovelful of dirt that fell, sealing her away from him forever.
He had chosen the words for her gravestone with painstaking care, wanting to capture her essence in a single phrase. "The brightest witch of her age," he had declared, a nod to the accolades she had earned throughout her life. But beneath those words, he had inscribed a more personal tribute, one that spoke to the depth of his love and the vastness of her spirit:
"Hermione Jean Granger, the most beautiful soul and truly a witch like no other. A friend, a sister, a lover, and above all else, so much more than just a soldier."
As the final shovelful of dirt landed with a dull thud, Draco felt his heart shatter. The cacophony of grief around him faded into a dull roar, and he could barely make sense of the comforting words offered by those who had come to pay their respects. "I'm so sorry for your loss," they said, their voices blending into an indistinguishable hum.
He didn't want to hear them. He didn't want their pity or their platitudes. Each "I'm here for you" felt like a knife, slicing through the delicate fabric of his being, a reminder of the void that now consumed him.
The only ones allowed to see his tears were Ginny and Theo. They were the only ones who knew how deep his sorrow ran, how the light in his life had dimmed to nothing. They would sit with him in the converted healing room, the place where he had watched over Hermione's lifeless body, cradling her cold hand beneath the blanket. Each day that passed, her warmth faded further, and with it, a part of Draco's very soul slipped away.
"Draco, you need to eat," Ginny would say softly, her voice filled with concern. But he would just shake his head, refusing to let anything in, feeling that to nourish his body would be to betray her memory.
He had come to understand why he considered Ginny part of his family. She had lost Harry, the love of her life, and in their shared grief, an unspoken bond formed between them. It was as if they both stood at the edge of an abyss, looking down into the darkness together. Ginny was like a sister to Hermione, and in a way, she had become that for Draco as well—someone who understood the depths of his despair without needing to ask.
When they finally buried Hermione, the air felt heavier than before. They interred her alongside Harry and Ron, the trio of friends now reduced to memories etched in stone. As they placed the last handful of dirt over her grave, Draco felt a piece of himself being buried there too, a fragment of his heart that would never see the light again.
After the service, when the mourners began to disperse, Draco couldn't take it anymore. He locked himself in his room, the walls closing in around him, drowning out the world. He could still hear the distant murmurs of condolences slipping under the door, but he ignored them all.
"I'm fine," he would mutter, though deep inside, he felt anything but fine. The words were hollow, a poor attempt at convincing himself that he could survive this.
Each passing hour stretched into an eternity as he sat in silence, cradling Hermione's ring in his hand. The cool metal felt foreign against his skin, a stark reminder of the vows they had shared, dreams that had been snatched away. He could almost hear her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke passionately about her beliefs or shared a joke.
But now, all he felt was the weight of grief pressing down on him, crushing him beneath its relentless force. He didn't want to talk about how he would sit alone in that room, his mind racing with memories, every corner haunted by her absence. The emptiness gnawed at him, relentless and unforgiving.
Days turned into weeks, and Draco remained cloistered away, refusing to engage with the world outside. Ginny and Theo tried to coax him out, but he was determined to hide from the reality that had become his life. He didn't care about the battles ahead, the victories that the Order had achieved; to him, everything was overshadowed by the crushing realization that he would never again hold Hermione, never again hear her voice.
He spent countless nights haunted by nightmares, where the echoes of her laughter turned to screams, and he was powerless to save her from the darkness. When he finally fell into an exhausted sleep, it was not peace that enveloped him, but a profound sense of loss, leaving him to wake each day to the same unbearable emptiness.
In those moments of despair, he could feel Ginny's hand on his shoulder, her voice a quiet murmur in his ear, reminding him that he wasn't alone. "You still have us," she would whisper, but all he could think was how hollow that promise felt.
Draco was a soldier in a war that felt endless, but now he was fighting a different battle—the battle against the grief that threatened to consume him whole. And every time he closed his eyes, he could see Hermione standing there, her smile radiant and full of life, and he was left to wonder if he would ever find a way to fight back against the darkness that had claimed her.