Shadows

The wind whipped and danced around the houses of the town passing through alleyways and streets until it reached its outskirts. From there it danced westward following the path of a man. Cloaked in black, it was easy to spot him among the vines and foliage that jutted out onto the pathway; the pathway that led to the memorial grounds dedicated to those who had lost their lives in the Last Battle.

The man pulled his cloak tighter about him, shivering even though the day was humid and heavy. Thunder had been booming through the town all day and did not seem about ready to give up just yet. The man looked furtively about him. He had reached what looked like a dead end; for the remnants of a towering old stonewall covered in deep green ivy blocked his path. With another furtive glance over his shoulder he reached into his cloak and pulled out a sleek, highly polished wand. Then with his voice barely audible above the thunder, he gently waved his wand and whispered, "Morte Rememerari". Slowly the wall became transparent and with a hesitant look back, he stepped through the boundary.

After the battle, the wizarding officials, or what was left of them, thought it best to situate the memorial grounds in the muggle world (for obvious reasons), and placed numerous invisibility and sealing charms on it. No one, unless they knew the spell, could gain access. This policy was the least that could be done for the grieving families of the many victims. The least that could be done for anyone...

Stepping through the boundary, the man began walking, walking past rows and rows of headstones, mausoleums, and ornate statues. His feet carried him with out his conscious mind being aware of the movement. His feet carried him to where he needed to be. Twentieth row down, forty-sixth headstone in. The thought was as natural to him as breathing by now. All the while the man trudged on he did not look up. He knew many were staring at him, wondering what he could possibly want here.

"Just like them not to give a damn," he thought to himself.

Soon the ground beneath his feet stopped moving. He was there. The man lifted his stormy gray eyes to meet an even grayer headstone.

Hermione Jane Granger

September 19th 1980- August 23rd 2000

"Celebrate we will, because life is short but sweet for certain"

The man shook his blonde head. That confounded muggle song! He grinned slightly. It had been her favorite.

"Hermione" he whispered her name. Just saying it brought him back; back to that hot autumn day.

Shadow. His shadow. It fell over her like a funeral veil. The one that would inevitably enshroud her. Tears of pain poured from her eyes as she struggled to move. About three feet away laid Lucius. His body lay stiff. Stiff for all eternity. Draco's eyes burned with a searing hatred as he dropped his wand. Seconds before, Draco had uttered words that were seemingly unforgivable. "Avada Kedavra" Minutes before, Lucius had had his wand pointed directly at Hermione, performing a deadly curse. It's unknown how long he had been torturing her, but by the time Draco had staggered over, he himself bloodied, Hermione was extremely weak. Seeing what he saw, there was only one thing Draco could do, and he did it. He killed his father. Two words. That's all it took.

Draco quickly knelt down next to Hermione, where she had fallen.

"Hermione. Hermione, I'm so sorry."

Her curly brown hair was soaking wet with the sweat that poured from her skin. She tried to speak through teeth clenched in pain.

"It'sss not your fault."

He wouldn't let himself cry. Not now, not ever.

"Sing me a song...Draco."

"DRACO! MALFOY!"

The young man jumped at his name and spun around. Fire! No, just read hair. Ron. Not quite so gangly anymore, his face not quite so full of freckles, but still harboring as short a temper as ever.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" he spat the words out like poisoned wine.

Draco winced at his name but didn't answer. He simply turned back to Hermione's grave, her final resting place.

A part of him had gone to rest with Hermione that day. A part of him that he just could not awaken.

"Malfoy." Ron spat the word again, "I asked you what the hell you're doing here."

Draco just shook his head. His desire for perfection, for acceptance was gone. Ancient grudges seemed too trivial now. Then, with an almost hollow voice he spoke.

"Ron."

The now second oldest Weasley looked taken aback. That wasn't the same voice that used to sing "Weasel Is Our King" annually after every Sorting Hat ceremony. And that certainly wasn't the voice that belonged to the Draco who had never let Ron forget just how poor his family really was. And had he just called him Ron?

"Ron," Draco continued, "I'm here to pay my respects to a woman who stood for something, something forth fighting for. And I'll be damned if you try to stop me. Just because..."

His voice trailed off as memories came flooding back.

Shadow. His shadow. It encompassed her like a cool summer breeze. A tear. No, a drop of sweat slowly trickling down her forehead. She was too enthralled with her studies to notice his presence. He began to walk away.

"Well, if you're going to give up that easily, there really is no hope for the future."

He turned around, smiling.

"There's always hope if one's willing to try."

"Ah! A smile? Malfoys aren't supposed to smile."

"Well, as long as you don't tell father, I think I'm safe."

She smiled up at him. A smile brighter than any dawn. Any blood red dawn. Red...

Ron stood silently, watching Draco. The spoiled prat he had grown to hate stood withered and defeated before him. All desire to love, to go one, emptied from him. Ron knew he should have been happy to see his childhood enemy so weak and defeated, but he couldn't. Not here. What would Hermione think? Ron wouldn't disappoint her. Not this time.

Draco was vaguely aware of Ron's eyes on him.

"Let him stare," he thought, "Let him laugh."

Shadows. Shadows of a setting sun. The library was dark and cold, Madame Pince too consumed in a book to take any notice. "Lumos." A charms book lay illuminated on the dark wooden table. Draco just couldn't seem to master the latest spells. When was he ever going to need to use a charm that turned a toothpick into an ear swab or a charm that made spider webs invisible? Such trivial nonsense could be taken care of by the House Elves. Draco tried again, but only managed to change the thin sliver of wood into a white fluffy tuft of cotton. He muttered a curse under his breath as he swept the cotton off of the table.

"Your wand waving's too erratic. You need to tone it down."

Draco looked up, startled. He hadn't noticed anyone else there. He peered through the increasing shadows. Two sparkling brown eyes looked back at him over a large Arithmancy book.

"I don't need your help, Granger."

"Sorry. Just trying to help." she disappeared behind her book.

Draco lifted his wand defiantly and pointed it at another toothpick. With a wave, it again turned into a tuft of cotton. Draco gritted his teeth.

"Stupid mudblood." He thought angrily to himself. He looked back to where she was sitting.

"Granger," he said, summoning all of his inner strength, "If you're such an expert, get over here and you do it."

She slowly lowered her book and picked up her wand.

"Fine. I will." And with a deft wave of her wand, a perfect ear swab lay on the table.

"Your turn," she said with satisfaction. Draco glared at her as he roughly grasped his wand. He'd show her! He waved it and yet again, a tuft of cotton lay on the table. It took all of his self-control not to show his agitation.

"No. Like this." Hermione said waving her wand again.

Draco watched, noticing how delicate her fingers looked.

"Now you try."

He would not allow a mudblood to tell him, Draco Malfoy, what to do. But he found himself, nonetheless, raising his wand. Another fruitless try. Starting to become agitated, Hermione took his hand, encompassing his, the best she could, with hers, grasping the wand with an unnatural ability.

"Soft, precise movements. Or, for a lack of a better word, graceful," she whispered as she led his hand through the proper maneuvers. Draco's mind was screaming. How dare she touch him! But his body wouldn't react.

He never did master those spells, but he did remember the warmth of her hand. The warmth of her..."

Touch. He touched the headstone, which was cold in comparison to the humid air. He ran his finger through the grooves of her name. His long blonde hair, now damp from the air, fell into his eyes. He didn't move to brush them away. He was too lost in memory.

Thunder echoed through the air, making Ron jump. He looked around him at the endless sea of headstone. So many gone, so many lost. He looked back at Hermione's where Draco was running his finger across her name. Rage welled up in Ron, seeing Draco touching Hermione's headstone, desecrating her pure name. Ron lunged forward but stopped himself as he saw Draco slowly stand, not taking his eyes off of Hermione's gravestone, and pull a sharp pointed dagger from his cloak.

Draco re-read the quote on the gravestone. Her favorite song. Song...

Shadow. His shadow blocked the malicious autumn sun from her face.

"Sing me a song...Draco."

Her pleading eyes met his, sweat clinging to her hair. Draco bit his bloody, cracked lip, forcing himself not to cry. He took her delicate hands in his. Her hands were icy, no longer full of warmth.

"Pleassse Draco." She hissed through her clenched teeth, as another bolt of pain shot through her body. Just looking at her, lying there in such agony, pained him to the deepest regions of his soul. He brushed her damp hair out of her steadily palling face. A song. She wanted him to sing her a song. There was only one song he could sing her. Softly, he slowly began to sing, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Hey my love, do you believe we might last a thousand years, or more if not for this, our flesh and blood, it ties you and me right up."

As Draco sang, the painfully ironic words of the song clicked in his mind. He finally understood its meaning. Hermione smiled weakly. He had remembered her song.

"Celebrate we will because life is short but sweet for certain. We're climbing two by two to be sure these days continue. Things we cannot change."

Hermione sharply inhaled, pain wracking her body. She clenched Draco's hand and slowly let go. Let go of him. Let go of life.

Life. Who deserves life? Draco lifted his dagger, staring at the intricate etchings on it. Ron walked slowly up behind him.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?"

Draco quickly stood up, spinning around, his dagger raised and poised, ready to strike anyone who got in its way. Ron jumped back when he saw that it was pointed at him. Again, Ron asked,

"Malfoy, w-what are you doing?"

As if in a daze, Draco answered, "Life is short but sweet for certain."

Certain.

Draco knew Hermione was gone, even though he refused to accept it. Her unseeing eyes still glistened with tears. Draco gently closed them. He closed them forever. His fingers drifted down to her lips. Lightly, he kissed her. His last good-bye. Good-bye.

He hadn't gotten to tell her good-bye. He hadn't told her he'd loved her.

Ron stared, eyes wide, at the dagger. Thunder echoed through the air, louder this time.

"Draco, just...just..." he couldn't find any words.

Draco spoke again.

"Why did she have to die Ron? Why did she have to die?" Draco's eyes shone in crazed grief.

Ron answered, his eyes never leaving the dagger.

"It...it was meant to be. She died for a noble cause."

"A noble cause!" Draco screamed. "We had plans! She wanted to be a mother, damn it!"

Ron looked up sharply in surprise. Draco and Hermione? How could it have been so?

Draco felt dizzy. Memories spun through his head, refusing to leave him in peace. All he saw was her. Heard her laugh, her voice. Smelled her.

Shadow. His shadow cast itself on the ground, deep and dark. Like the hand of death it crept along as the sun began to set. Thunder resounded overhead, announcing the impending storm. But still Draco wouldn't leave her. He couldn't leave her. He smoothed her wet hair, pulling it back from her face, her fair, fair face. The face he had come to love with an unsurpassable love. Or so he thought. Draco placed his hand over Hermione's lower abdomen. It was slightly raised where a child had been slowly growing. Draco felt as if his heart had shattered and been set on fire. He broke down in tears just as the rain began to pour down, washing away the lives of those who had fallen that day.

"We were going to name her Juliet."

Ron's eyes filled with tears as Draco pulled back the flowers growing at the base of Hermione's gravestone, revealing more engravings.

Juliet Malfoy

April 14th 2000 - August 23rd 2000

"So, so that's why Lucius went after her. That's why he killed her..." Ron whispered.

Draco looked up at him, tightly gripping the dagger, his eyes vacant of all emotion except grief.

"I, I'm so sorry Mal- Draco."

"So am I."

It was steadily growing darker, the sun practically set. Thunder echoed in quick succession as lightning flashed fiercely.

"Maybe we should get going, Draco. It's getting pretty violent out here." Ron said, gazing out over the field.

But Draco wasn't listening. Instead, he placed the dagger at the base of his breastbone. A whispered good-bye and a jerk forward was all it took. Draco screamed in pain as blood trickled down the blade, onto his hands, and then started to grace the ground with its intoxicating color.

Ron jerked his head around and nearly retched. He ran to Draco, catching him just before he hit the ground. Blood soaked both of their clothes.

"Draco, it's going to be ok. Just hold on. Hold on!" Ron screamed frantically.

But Draco wasn't listening. His eyes were glazing over as he stared off in the distance where he could see Hermione smiling at him, her face full of life, full of grace. He smiled back. Her warmth was emanating from her, working itself into Draco's swiftly deadening body. She offered him her hand. Slowly he took it, her warmth fully encompassing his body. She led and he followed. She sang and he smiled. She walked and he walked with her. He walked away from life.

Ron felt Draco go limp in his arms. Despite his efforts not to, tears poured from his eyes as rain began to fall, washing away the blood. Lighting flashed, and Ron looked at the gravestone. He remembered Hermione's song too, one line piercing his mind. Thunder rolled overhead as Ron whispered words that he would never forget:

"Things we cannot change."

Ron's tears turned to sobs just as lightning flashed again, illuminating everything, leaving the world free from shadows.