Archive of Our Own ^beta

The dust of the battle had settled, the battle was won but the cost of the victory had been too much, they’d lost too much, Draco had lost the one person he loved more than anyone else in the whole world. He stood still, frozen at the edge of the Great Hall, a waterfall of tears escaping his eyes as he stared at the line of bodies, at her body.  Hermione, his Mia, the woman who had wormed her way into his heart, who had showed him love and taught him how to love in return. It was unfair. How could this be? In every outcome he had envisioned for this war, she had been alive, thriving. Hermione was too good, too pure, the embodiment of light, the actualization of the world they’d been fighting for. It was incomprehensible that she was dead, her cheeks were still flushed from the heat of the battle, with her eyes closed she looked as though she was fast asleep. Draco had watched her sleep hundreds of times but even through his tears he knew that was not the case, she was still, too still, her chest never rising, her breaths stolen by the green light of the killing curse.

The brief pause while they gathered their dead had ended with the arrival of Voldemort and his followers; Harry’s lifeless body carried in Hagrid’s arms, the half giant sobbing gut wrenching sobs. Draco had felt true fear, certain that this was the end, without Harry there was no chance they would win this war. He gripped Hermione’s hand tightly as Neville broke ranks and gave an impassioned speech. He felt hope, Voldemort’s spells weren’t sticking, and he found himself cheering with the rest of fighters, his eyes locked on his parents where they stood on the other side of the courtyard. His father looked enraged; it was the first time he’d seen the man since before he was imprisoned his fifth year. His mum looked frail, weathered but she smiled at him and mouthed that she loved him, Draco had smiled back. Maybe just maybe they’d both make it out of this, he’d be able to introduce her to Hermione. While Draco had been focusing on his parents, something had happened Harry was missing, then all of a sudden the battle was back on, curses were flying everywhere, and he and Hermione were separated in the crowd of  pushing bodies.

Draco found himself with Blaise both firing curses at Greyback, the werewolf slashing at them viciously with both wand and claw.

“Enjoy your camping trip,” his friend asked conversationally as he cast a severing hex at the wolf, Greyback howled as the hand not holding his wand was sliced clean off.

“We had an important job to do, I’d hardly call it fun,” Draco replied thinking of his time on the run with Hermione and her friends.

“Had to be better than we had it here, we were forced to torture each other for breaking school rules,” his Italian friend spoke. Draco frowned and cast a killing curse at the wolf in front of him, Greyback falling to the ground  by their feet.

“Blood Traitor,” his father’s voice spoke from behind him, and Draco felt an unknown spell hit him. He fell to his knees gasping in agony before he was able to raise a shield. Blaise at his side was already engaged in another battle, against an unknown assailant.

“Hello Father,” he gasped clutching his chest with one hand, while the other held his wand steadily.

“You are no son of mine, the son I raised would never consort with a Mudblood,” his father spat at him, his saliva running down Draco’s cheek.

“Don’t call her that,” he replied just as harshly.

“Avada Kedavra,” his father spoke, Draco stared at the oncoming curse in horror, he was about to die here in the courtyard where he’d had his first kiss, killed by his own father.

“DRACOOOOO,” the voice he loved so much screamed and there she was, Hermione throwing herself in front of him, taking the curse that was meant for him. Draco screamed enraged as he watched her fall to the cobbled floor, her eye’s empty of the life they had held only moments before. He remembered the heartbreak, the anger that overcame him, his magic fighting through the pain of the curse that had been cast upon him and then his Father was screaming, fraying, thrashing as his body combusted into a ball of flames. Draco paid him no mind, collapsing over the body of his lover, the woman he had planned to marry, his body consumed by agony.

Eventually after the battle had been won, they’d come to take Hermione away, to lay her among the other fighters that had died over the course of the night. Draco had followed, and stood there still, frozen, broken at the edge of the Great Hall certain that he’d never love again, never be worthy of the sacrifice that his lover had made. It should have been him laying among the dead. Hermione Jane Granger had been the embodiment of life, she deserved to live more than he did. Life was unfair that way, always taking away those that deserved it least. How do you rationalise Teddy becoming an orphan, or George losing the other half of his soul, Draco losing the light in his life. It simply wasn’t fair, he’d have done anything at all to switch places with his love, but there was nothing in the world that could bring back the dead, to right this injustice on the world, to change the sands of time. Even with a Time Turner had they not all been destroyed it would have been impossible to bring her back. To return to the battle in the twist of an hourglass risked the outcome of the war, Hermione would never risk that. Draco was selfish though, had he had a Time Turner there was no doubt that he  would have gone back, risked it all to save her life but instead he watched through his tears as the blush of her cheeks faded to white, so pale it was unmistakable. Hermione was dead and would be forever more.