Anchor and Rose | Dramione

Thirty-Four.

The song for this chapter is Medicine by Daughter.

Warnings for death in this chapter.

Death was not something Hermione ever feared. She wasn't religious in any sense, nor did she believe that you could be reborn once you pass. It was a weird stance to take as someone in the wizarding world, but she believed death was simply death and that when you die, you leave the earth and everything you touched along with it.

There were times in her life she had even welcomed death. Like when she stood in front of a hungry werewolf to protect her friends. Or the time she was knocked cold in the department of ministries, the curse grazing her seconds from peril, and she had welcomed it. Or even just months ago, when she engulfed herself in the algid pits of the Black Lake, hoping for nothing more than to drown and leave her fear behind with her living soul.

In the wizarding world, there were so many loopholes around death. So many ways to keep yourself present even if you have passed. Becoming a ghost, moving portraits, even a short human form in the resurrection stones powers.

But today, Hermione realised that death was just death. And now, it scared her. It scared her because as she walked through the halls, stepping over bodies and moving blocked paths with a wand made by a dead man, she was scared of missing everything she would never have if she died.

She would miss the chance of reuniting with her parents. She would miss the chance of getting her first tattoo or learning how to drive a muggle car. She would miss getting her first job and going to her friend's weddings, baby showers and even funerals when they grew old. She'd miss having children or not having children, getting married or not getting married.

She'd miss growing old with Draco, as crazy as that seemed.

It was only now, when she realised that the school had gone deathly quiet, when there were no curses flying around her and no jets of light to block, did she realise that death in its greatest form was coming. A death that would sear her soul from her body and crush her with grief.

Harry.

She stopped dead in her tracks, glancing down over the staircase that was completely still, trying to detect one ounce of human form. But there was nobody but her and Draco. Nobody but the litter of bodies on the floor and nothing but the sound of muffled sobs echoing throughout the ghostly halls.

The death-eaters were gone. They had disappeared the moment Harry had left. It suddenly hit her, and she nearly doubled over in a muffled scream of grief.

"I have some ideas about the last one..." Harry had said, referring to the last Horcrux.

"I can't let anybody else die for me..." He had said as he hugged her.

She felt stupid for not realising that was his goodbye. She felt so stupid for not realising what he had meant. What he had hinted. The last Horcrux was Harry. The parts fell together perfectly in Hermione's mind, tearing her brain into pierces. Why he could always see Voldemort's thoughts, why he could feel Voldemort's pain when the Horcruxes were destroyed just minutes ago.

Her knees hit the cracked stair beneath her, and she tumbled down until Draco caught her by the shoulders. He knelt to her level, pressing his hands against her cheeks.

"Hermione?" He said, voice a mere whisper. Hermione almost didn't hear him, his voice getting mixed in the mistful echo of sobs. "Hermione?"

Part of her felt guilty. Part of her felt guilty for not being with Harry over the past year, helping him, consoling him through all his hardships. She felt guilty for not forcing herself to be with him and Ron no matter if they wanted her there or not. She felt guilty knowing that he had led himself to death because of his pure manifesto for heroism.