The Life I'm Living; A Dramione Fanfiction

Chapter 1- A Tragedy

First and foremost, I give my credit to the fantastic J. K. Rowling. All characters belong to her. I would also like to thank YOU for investing your time in my fantasy world, and for working to sail the beautiful ship of Dramione.

Enjoy!

~~~

Sweat dripped down her face, eyes pasted shut with blood and death.

No.

Open your eyes.

Open your eyes, she begged herself.

She had to escape this dream. It wasn't real. None of this was real. Dust crawled into her eyes with a bead of sweat. Her eyes stung. But it was alright, because it was not real.

Her eyes sprung open. Her back sunk into the stone wall. She sat with her legs drawn toward her. White knuckled, clutching her knees.

And that was when it occurred to her to scream.

Except it didn't sound like a scream. It hadn't even sounded quite human. It had happened. It was real. It was real.

And she had just watched him die.

She couldn't move, she felt as though the castle being blown to bits was sitting on top of her chest, crushing her lungs, not allowing her to breathe. She felt a searing pain in her head as she tried to stand up. She couldn't move.

He lay in front of her. She couldn't bear to look, but her eyes were stuck. She couldn't move, she couldn't breath, she couldn't think. She slowly reached out, her knuckles catching the light, just before her hand was pinned to the ground by a peice of stone.

Suddenly, she found her voice. It wasn't the voice of the bookworm. The know-it-all. The Gryffindor mudblood. It was the voice of a dying creature.

"HELP!"

She was a pitiful sight, leaning over the rock which had crushed her hand. It was funny, she felt no pain from it. All the pain had been felt, and all she could do was wait. Wait for her saviour.

She felt no tears. Just bitter, bitter shock. Disappointment. Hopelessness. She could move again, and she reached her other hand out, reaching towards her lost past, her abandoned love. He would never know.

She couldn't reach him.

The boy with the lightning scar was running toward her. He stood above her, his hand reaching out to her. The world turned over and there was nothing left.

~~~

Despair filled Hermione's lungs as she gasped into consciousness. Her eyes found Ginny's. A look of concern melted onto the redhead's face. Hermione looked down.

"I had the same dream. It was him."

The room sighed. "I don't know how I'll be able to bear going back. Hogwarts just won't be the same without... without... It won't be the the same..." A tear slid down her cheek. She couldn't say his name.

A warmth occupied the spot next to Hermione on the bed, and Ginny quietly embraced her. More tears escaped from her chestnut eyes. "I never got to say goodbye," she coughed. "I never told him that I loved him."

Hermione could tell without looking that the girl beside her had begun to cry as well.

Hermione pressed her lips together and turned away, trying to contain her sorrow. Being the bright witch she was, Ginny took this as a dismissal. The warmth disappeared from Hermione's side.

Slowly, Hermione's body sank back into the bed, tears streaming down the sides of her face. She exhaled deeply. She had to face another day.

Hermione eventually hauled herself up and left the room. It was going to be a long day; it was the day of Ron's funeral.

~~~

The day moved sluggishly. No one seemed to be able to talk to one another. The deaths of family members had left the Weasleys speechless.

It had been agreed that they would work to prepare the property without the use of their magic. Hermione was glad. It seemed more sincere, more heartfelt. More real.

Then again, that was what she was afraid of. Afraid of it becoming real.

The Burrow felt hollow without Ron and Fred. Nothing was the same. The day was carried out arduoulsy, and visitors had started arriving for the viewings. Most of them were early, with the intention of comforting the family. Dressing in Ginny's room, Hermione heard the chorus of sorrowful voices entering the front door, and the thump of shoes. The floor expanded. It tried to swallow her.

Hermione slipped into an elegant black dress that fell to her ankles simply. She clutched at the sleek fabric, glancing at herself in the mirror. She tied her hair loosely into an updo and put on a pair of black heels. She was ready. On the oustide, anyway.

She had promised herself to try not to cry. She didn't want to cause any more pain to the Weasleys. Exiting the room, she found herself in the presence of a comforting face.

Harry nodded at Hermione, the sorrow in his eyes evident. She tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. "You look nice," she heard. She inspected his attire. "I like your dress robes," she replied. Noticing his tie wasn't properly tied, she laughed to herself. "Here, let me help you."

She finished it with grace and embraced her best friend. He felt strong, but also weak. She could tell he wasn't stable yet. Sort of like herself. In a way, it felt like nothing had changed, even though everything was different. Earthshakingly different.

Together, they walked downstairs, both silently bracing themselves for what next to come. Hermione didn't let go of Harry's hand.

They prepared for hell.