chemical_haven: It's Not Much, But It's All I Can Give You (Hermione, Draco; PG)
Title: It’s Not Much, But It’s All I Can Give You
Author: Rynalin Onyx
Rating: PG
Prompt Set: 100.2
Prompt: #3 - Fog
Word Count: 1,052
Summary: Hermione attends the funeral
Warnings: Post death of major character, AU of DH - no spoilers
Notes: All nouns belong to J.K., thanks to Nao for betaing, for 100quills - part 3/3: Part 1 can be found here and Part 2 is here
Couple: Hermione, Draco
Hermione sat silently on the window sill, staring but unseeing out into the swirling fog of London. How fitting that there would be fog on the day of his funeral. She had always associated him with its mysterious, dark feeling, and now, she supposed, she always would.
She had been so shocked when she had found out he was gone. He hadn’t seemed depressed; in fact, he had seemed exactly the same that night outside the pub as he had in their school days. And yet, she knew from her studies, that it takes a great deal of hopelessness to be able to Avada Kadrava oneself. You have to really desire to cast the spell on another person - the will to do it on yourself must have been excruciating. And not only had she not noticed his pain but his death had been her fault. A tear slid down her cheek and landed on the picture she was clutching in her hand.
She looked down hesitantly at the picture they had found next to his body. Besides his wand, it had been the only wizard-related thing they had found in his apartment - a moving portrait of her, taken shortly after the war had ended in the late months of their seventh year. How had she not known? He had always seemed to hate her. Called her Mudblood and taunted and bullied the Trio constantly. She sighed and looked out the window again. It was almost time.
@~,~’~~
The graveyard was cold and she shivered as she stood on the edge of the grave. Next to her Narcissa Malfoy was sobbing - she had now lost every acknowledged member of her family: Bella and Lucius having been killed in battle and Draco now dead by his own wand. Hermione silently wondered if she would seek out Andromeda now - the last of the Blacks. Listening to the woman cry she thought about wrapping her arm around her shoulders - comforting her, but didn’t know how the older woman would react. She continued to stroke the picture she couldn’t seem to put down or stop touching.
She didn’t know a lot of the other people there. A few black cloaked officials from the Ministry had come, though she wasn’t sure what their connection was to Draco. The few people she did recognize she knew solely because they had gone to school with them. It seemed most of the Slytherin Quidditch team was there: Montague and Gregory Goyle and a few others whose names she didn’t know - though she didn’t see Crabbe. Pansy had not survived the war and Hermione vaguely wondered what the Slytherin girl would have thought of her precious Draco if she had known he’d liked a Mudblood. How Ironic.
The service was quick and quiet and most of the congregation scurried away swiftly after the proceedings to get out of the cold. Only she and Narcissa lingered after the ceremony and the silence between them seemed as thick as the deep gray fog. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to say anything though, didn’t know what to say. It seemed so off that he was gone. He had always been there, a part of her life she never would have thought she would have missed. But she did, as odd as it seemed to her. He had been so constant in her life, much like Harry, or Ron. She knew them, she could read them like books, but she hadn’t been able to read Draco. She had never been able to and now she never would. The fog swirled around her feet, brushing at her robes and tickled her cheek as another tear slid gently down.
She shivered and pulled her cloak in tighter around her. Maybe he hadn’t been so awful, maybe he had just been asking for attention. Maybe his bullying had been a cry for help none of them had picked up on. She couldn’t look at his coffin anymore and turned to leave when a soft hand descended on her forearm.
“You’re Hermione, aren’t you?” she looked over her shoulder to see Narcissa’s blotchy, tear-stained face looking at her. She nodded but didn’t speak. “He talked about you, you know?” Hermione was shocked. She would have thought Draco wouldn’t have wanted to talk about his crush on a Mudblood.
“In his letters home,” Narcissa continued, “he would talk about you - about how beautiful and smart you are.” She paused for a moment and Hermione watched her choke back a sob. “I think he loved you,” and before Hermione could say anything, the woman who looked so much like her son, her posture regal and composed - even when she was falling apart inside - walked away and Apparated on the other side of the graveyard gate.
Hermione stood alone in the graveyard, next to the grave of the boy she realized she never really knew. A boy who had shared her classes in school for seven year - had been her one real threat in the competition in getting the top grade of the class. He had switched sides after that awful night in their sixth year and had helped them so much during the war with fighting and plans and all of it, yet neither she, nor any of the others of the “young Order” had given him a chance. She had known all along that he was nothing more than a bully - not a real threat to any of them, but that had been enough for them to scorn him. Maybe, underneath it all he hadn’t been so bad. And she regretted, for the first time since meeting Draco Malfoy, not getting to know him.
She looked down at the picture again and her sobs and tears were taken by the wind and the fog. “I’m sorry Draco,” she whispered. Rarely did she wear any sort of make-up, but she always kept a lightly colored lip-balm in her pocket incase her lips got dry and she pulled it out. She wasn’t sure what made her think of it but after applying it she kissed the picture of herself and making sure no one was watching, cast a transfer spell to transport the picture into the closed coffin. She couldn’t stop the tears now as she walked away from coffin and the cold soil that was about to encase it. Poor Draco.
As the years passed and the seasons changed, she was never able to figure out why, but there was always fog when she visited his grave.
Author: Rynalin Onyx
Rating: PG
Prompt Set: 100.2
Prompt: #3 - Fog
Word Count: 1,052
Summary: Hermione attends the funeral
Warnings: Post death of major character, AU of DH - no spoilers
Notes: All nouns belong to J.K., thanks to Nao for betaing, for 100quills - part 3/3: Part 1 can be found here and Part 2 is here
Couple: Hermione, Draco
Hermione sat silently on the window sill, staring but unseeing out into the swirling fog of London. How fitting that there would be fog on the day of his funeral. She had always associated him with its mysterious, dark feeling, and now, she supposed, she always would.
She had been so shocked when she had found out he was gone. He hadn’t seemed depressed; in fact, he had seemed exactly the same that night outside the pub as he had in their school days. And yet, she knew from her studies, that it takes a great deal of hopelessness to be able to Avada Kadrava oneself. You have to really desire to cast the spell on another person - the will to do it on yourself must have been excruciating. And not only had she not noticed his pain but his death had been her fault. A tear slid down her cheek and landed on the picture she was clutching in her hand.
She looked down hesitantly at the picture they had found next to his body. Besides his wand, it had been the only wizard-related thing they had found in his apartment - a moving portrait of her, taken shortly after the war had ended in the late months of their seventh year. How had she not known? He had always seemed to hate her. Called her Mudblood and taunted and bullied the Trio constantly. She sighed and looked out the window again. It was almost time.
@~,~’~~
The graveyard was cold and she shivered as she stood on the edge of the grave. Next to her Narcissa Malfoy was sobbing - she had now lost every acknowledged member of her family: Bella and Lucius having been killed in battle and Draco now dead by his own wand. Hermione silently wondered if she would seek out Andromeda now - the last of the Blacks. Listening to the woman cry she thought about wrapping her arm around her shoulders - comforting her, but didn’t know how the older woman would react. She continued to stroke the picture she couldn’t seem to put down or stop touching.
She didn’t know a lot of the other people there. A few black cloaked officials from the Ministry had come, though she wasn’t sure what their connection was to Draco. The few people she did recognize she knew solely because they had gone to school with them. It seemed most of the Slytherin Quidditch team was there: Montague and Gregory Goyle and a few others whose names she didn’t know - though she didn’t see Crabbe. Pansy had not survived the war and Hermione vaguely wondered what the Slytherin girl would have thought of her precious Draco if she had known he’d liked a Mudblood. How Ironic.
The service was quick and quiet and most of the congregation scurried away swiftly after the proceedings to get out of the cold. Only she and Narcissa lingered after the ceremony and the silence between them seemed as thick as the deep gray fog. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to say anything though, didn’t know what to say. It seemed so off that he was gone. He had always been there, a part of her life she never would have thought she would have missed. But she did, as odd as it seemed to her. He had been so constant in her life, much like Harry, or Ron. She knew them, she could read them like books, but she hadn’t been able to read Draco. She had never been able to and now she never would. The fog swirled around her feet, brushing at her robes and tickled her cheek as another tear slid gently down.
She shivered and pulled her cloak in tighter around her. Maybe he hadn’t been so awful, maybe he had just been asking for attention. Maybe his bullying had been a cry for help none of them had picked up on. She couldn’t look at his coffin anymore and turned to leave when a soft hand descended on her forearm.
“You’re Hermione, aren’t you?” she looked over her shoulder to see Narcissa’s blotchy, tear-stained face looking at her. She nodded but didn’t speak. “He talked about you, you know?” Hermione was shocked. She would have thought Draco wouldn’t have wanted to talk about his crush on a Mudblood.
“In his letters home,” Narcissa continued, “he would talk about you - about how beautiful and smart you are.” She paused for a moment and Hermione watched her choke back a sob. “I think he loved you,” and before Hermione could say anything, the woman who looked so much like her son, her posture regal and composed - even when she was falling apart inside - walked away and Apparated on the other side of the graveyard gate.
Hermione stood alone in the graveyard, next to the grave of the boy she realized she never really knew. A boy who had shared her classes in school for seven year - had been her one real threat in the competition in getting the top grade of the class. He had switched sides after that awful night in their sixth year and had helped them so much during the war with fighting and plans and all of it, yet neither she, nor any of the others of the “young Order” had given him a chance. She had known all along that he was nothing more than a bully - not a real threat to any of them, but that had been enough for them to scorn him. Maybe, underneath it all he hadn’t been so bad. And she regretted, for the first time since meeting Draco Malfoy, not getting to know him.
She looked down at the picture again and her sobs and tears were taken by the wind and the fog. “I’m sorry Draco,” she whispered. Rarely did she wear any sort of make-up, but she always kept a lightly colored lip-balm in her pocket incase her lips got dry and she pulled it out. She wasn’t sure what made her think of it but after applying it she kissed the picture of herself and making sure no one was watching, cast a transfer spell to transport the picture into the closed coffin. She couldn’t stop the tears now as she walked away from coffin and the cold soil that was about to encase it. Poor Draco.
As the years passed and the seasons changed, she was never able to figure out why, but there was always fog when she visited his grave.