Could it be any harder?

Could it be any harder?

Draco Malfoy was walking on the Manor grounds, hands in his pockets and his head bent low. It was a late winter afternoon. Perfect for a long walk, with the sun nearly setting giving the newly fallen snow all around him an uncharacteristically pinkish-orange tint and a mild breeze whispering in his ear. Yes, a perfect time for a walk... and to think... he thought.

He came across the stump of tree that she and him would always sit on. This was where they shared passionate kisses; no one could bother them and could just pretend that they were the only people left in the world. Sometimes, they would talk and talk. They talked about their fears and their weaknesses and their dreams. But most of the time, they would just stay here and hold each other's hands. They found comfort in the contact of their hands and they don't have to say anything more...

You left me with goodbye and open arms

A cut so deep, I don't deserve...

His mind went back to the scene that played about a million times in his head for the past weeks. Hermione... in the dining room... dying. It was all my fault, I should have been there earlier, he thought as he looked at the stump remembering the way Hermione sat on it. How she tucked her skirt neatly whenever they talked. How she pulled at the bark when something makes her nervous. The markings from her nails are still there, Draco noticed, he bent down, took off his leather gloves and ran his long fingers on the strands of pulled bark.

You were always invincible in my eyes

The only thing against us now is time...

It was so perfect. They would just have to wait for the war to end, and then they could build their future together. After the war, he would have a life. A life with the witch he loved. A perfect life...

He snapped out of his reverie when he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Harry Potter, his white, pale face in contrast to his dark clothes, looking at him with obvious sympathy. Draco hated sympathy. It made him feel like he is some low, pathetic creature. Something to be pitied on.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" he said coldly, his eyes looking deep into Harry's bespectacled ones. Then he noticed that Harry's famous scar was gone. His souvenir from the Voldemort was erased as if it wasn't there at all. Draco once again envied the slight boy, at least he could forget all of it, he on the other hand could never erase the scar in his heart.

"I came to tell you that it is about to start," Harry said quietly.

"I'll be there in a minute," he replied in an odd voice. A voice that was so far away, he wasn't even sure it was his voice.

Harry seemed to notice the queerness in his voice and he was about to say something to comfort him, but instead he nodded and made his way back into the manor. He knew better than try to have an emotional response from Draco Malfoy, only Hermione could do that.

Draco looked at him until he was just a speck and then, he turned back towards the stump, re-gloved his hand, grabbed his wand tightly and whispered softly. Instantly, the stump burst into blue flames, glowing brightly alongside the whiteness of the snow around it. He watched the fire eat the wood until there were only ashes left. He murmured something inaudibly and turned around.

Could it be any harder?

To say goodbye without you

Once he stepped on the snow, memories from the past week began reeling in his head and he almost lost his footing as he remembered what happened...

After the tear fell from his eye, it cascaded down towards her face. It landed on her cheek but he made no move to brush it away. He felt numb. Numb towards everything around him except to the girl that lay on his lap. He held her close and began rocking her. Like rocking a baby. And all he saw was her and all he smelled was her and all he breathed was her and all he felt was her.

He never noticed Potter and Weasley break in through the window. Never noticed Ron fall to his knees to weep. Never noticed Harry comfort his best friend, his shoulders shaking as tears flowed from his face as well. Never noticed the hand Professor Dumbledore put on his shoulder. Never. All he noticed was her. His eyes never left her peaceful face.

I'll never let you go, Hermione, he thought, never.

The last thing he saw was the bloody dagger on the floor. Then, quite suddenly, everything went dark.

Could it be any harder?

To watch you go to face what's true

If I only had one more day...

He woke up in his room, the sunlight streaming through his half-curtained windows. He was looking at the roof of his four-post bed. He almost didn't recognize his own bedroom, until he saw his robe hanged on the wall. He placed his arm on the other side of the bed, expecting to touch his girlfriend. Thinking that it had been a nightmare. All of it. The war, Voldemort's rising, the merciless torturings, the mass killings, Hermione...

He was glad that he had awakened. He would tell her all about it and he would wait for her to calm him and tell him that it was just a horrible dream. That she was here and would always be with him. And that no one and nothing can come between them. She would do that. Only she could do that...

I lie down and blind myself with laughter

A quick fix of hope is what I'm needing

But his hand only touched the satin comforter. He reached and reached until his arms ached but only felt the smoothness of silk. He finally turned his head around and realized that he didn't have a nightmare. Everything that happened in the past was all real.

He felt hollow inside. Like he couldn't feel anything at all.

"Draco, don't let me go..."

He repeated Hermione's words in his mind again and again.

"I love you Draco..."

He wished to touch those words. He wished to feel them, to engulf himself with them.

Now I wish that I could turn back the hours

But I know I just don't have the power

He remembered the tear that fell from his eye. Yes. It was a tear. A single pearl-like drop of water. Yet, it meant more to him than anything.

He realized that it was the first time he cried since he was seven years old. Since his father brutally broke the neck of his pet kneazle. There his father slapped him saying that he doesn't want him playing with weak animals and gave him the much-preferred menacing-looking eagle owl. He also gave him a hard beating for crying. Crying is only for the weak, his father told him.

Nothing made him cry ever again. Until now.

He knew she was the reason. She was the reason why he changed. Why he turned against his father's will. Why he agreed to be an undercover to reveal all Voldemort's and his deatheater's hideouts and plans. Because of her he remembered how to cry.

If only she was here with me...

He couldn't stop the tears to flow from his eyes.

Could it be any harder?

To say goodbye without you

If only you were here with me, Hermione, he thought. Once again, he took off his gloves. He plunged his hand in his pocket and took out a long, slender box. It was made out of black onyx and adorned with green emeralds.

He opened it and his eyes darkened as he saw the familiar dagger cushioned snugly inside the box. Its sharp edge seemed to smile at him maliciously and its handle was gleaming its evil grin. He didn't know how many people it killed but he knew that it was proud of it.

I swear Hermione, he looked back to the ashes of the once proud stump, I will never let you go. Never.

He grabbed the handle of the stiletto scorching again his scarred hand. But he doesn't care; he learned to live with pain a long time ago. He raised it to his eye level, the pointed edge towards the ground, and starred at his reflection on the blade. Don't worry Hermione, I'll find you.

He gave himself a mirthless grin and plunged the dagger towards his heart.

Could it be any harder?

To watch you go to face what's true

If I only had one more day

In the last instant, he stopped the blade from piercing his chest. He heard it. Her voice.

He turned towards the ashes again and disbelievingly saw her.

The first thing that came into his mind is that she was a ghost. But no, she doesn't have the transparency of a ghost; she doesn't hover in mid-air or anything that could describe her as one.

She actually looked real.

Her cream skin looked like it was newly bathed. Her hair was tied in a loose ponytail, sending tendrils to flap around her face. She was wearing a blue dress underneath her robe, which was, as always, neat and clean. The same dress she wore on the day she... he didn't want to think about that horrible word when she was here looking alive and living. She had a sad look in her eyes and her hand was motioning him to stop.

A rush of emotion swept Draco. He dropped the burning dagger and staggered towards her. He couldn't believe it. He knew that the dead could not be alive again. But he couldn't think straight; this was beyond his level of rationalization. All he knew is Hermione was here. She was here.

She was only a few yards away but he felt like a million miles. Finally, he was standing right next to her. He was breathing heavily and this came out in wisps of air.

He raised his hand and touched Hermione's face. He could not believe that he actually felt her soft, smooth skin against his hand. He found out that he was holding his breath and he let it out in one shaky exhalation.

"H--Hermione," he could barely speak.

I'd jump at the chance

We'd drink and we'd dance

And I'd listen close to your every word

"Draco," she looked up to him lovingly and touched Draco's hand, the one that was caressing her face. Draco never felt anything more... peaceful in his life. Her hand was unexpectedly warm and he closed his eyes. The face on his hand trembled a bit when he opened his eyes and looked into Hermione's own. There were tears on her eyes and Draco wiped it away.

Her eyes widened when she saw Draco's unsuccessfully hidden burned hand. She gasped as she made out the red, intricate patterns on his palm. "Your hand," she whispered.

"It's nothing," he said in undertone.

"But... but how--"

"It doesn't matter,"

"Draco..."

"Oh god, Hermione," He suddenly held her against him, familiarizing himself again to her body. He took a deep breath and smelled her. Just like always, she smelled like cinnamon and maple syrup and pine trees. He never wished to let go. Who cared about a blistered hand? He could hardly feel any pain. Not from his palm. Not from anything...

"Don't do it," he heard her whisper against his chest.

As if it's your last

And I know it's your last

Cause today, you're gone...

Draco pulled back then he looked down. "I have to," he said quietly, "It's the only way we could be together," he took her hands and squeezed them.

"No," Hermione squeezed back and shook her head slowly, "It's not." She put one hand on his chin and forced his head gently to look at her, "It's not your time yet Draco."

"So what?" he burst out stubbornly, "I don't care."

"I do," she said, "They showed me what happens to those who take their own lives," she shuddered at the thought, "And it's... not pretty."

"Then how? How can we be together?" Draco asked desperately, "I'll do it. I don't care what it is, as long as there is a way."

"I don't think so." she said sadly, "But we will be together," she looked at him, "someday."

"When?"

"Someday."

Could it be any harder?

Could it be any harder?

Draco felt his heart was about to burst, "I don't think I could live without you," he said hoarsely trying to blink back the tears that was creeping behind his eyes.

"You have to," she said "for me," she took his left hand and held unto it, "for us."

"I'll miss you, Hermione," he said after he took a deep breath.

"I will always be with you," she patted the left side of Draco's chest where the heart should be, "In here."

He hugged her for the last time. And she hugged him back.

"I love you so much," he whispered.

"I love you more," she whispered back.

Could it be any harder?

To live my life without you,

Could it be any harder?

I'm all alone, I'm all alone

They stayed like that for a few moments. Not one of them wanted to let go and they held unto each other as if their lives depended on it.

He leaned down, and gave her a light, lingering kiss on the lips.

"I'll look forward to our next meeting Mister Pompous Git."

"Me too Miss Know-It-All."

Like sand on my feet

The smell of sweet perfume

You stick to me forever baby...

I wish you didn't go

I wish you didn't go

I wish you didn't go away

Neither one of them wanted to say goodbye. Then quite suddenly Draco found himself all alone in the woods. He looked around as if to search for her. But inside he knew that it would be a long time before he could see her again. He acquiescent her death and he knew that she didn't die in vain. Her death, in one way or another, saved him.

To touch you again...

With life in your hands...

Could it be any harder?

He knew what Hermione said was true. She was always with him; he looked up at the orange sky, he knew she was watching over him right now. He took a deep breath and still smelled her. A small smile tugged at his lips. It was the first time he had a real smile in a long time. He put his hand on his chest and felt the gentle thump-thump of his heart. I'm not alone, he thought slowly making his way back to the manor.

Could it be any harder?...

Fin... for now.