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document.write(''); Death or Something Like It

Author: Elizabeth lissag7@juno.com

Rating: Probably more around PG, but I'll PG-13 just to be safe. Some violence and allusions to more adulty things.

Summary: The final battle has taken place, and Harry and co. mourn their losses. Kind of angsty, but will become more hopeful in time.

Ships: H/Hr, D/Hr, H/G..... To be honest, I'm not really sure exactly where this is going to go, ship-wise. Give me your opinion, and I might decide to listen to it. :)

Disclaimer: Sadly, none of these characters are mine. On a side-note, I started a similar fic with Buffy, Angel, and Spike a while back that I never finished. So if you happen to be one of the three people that read that and think that I'm stealing that idea, don't worry. It's mine.

After trailing behind Harry and Ginny for the first little bit, Draco had unfortunately been privy to a snogging session between Hogwarts' favorite couple and then opted to immediately leave. That sort of thing could really scar a man.

At least that was one aspect of Hermione's departure that was positive, Draco mused ruefully. More times than he could count, Hermione would come to him weeping plaintively, her heart clearly in the continual process of breaking. And though she never so much as said the words, Draco had a clear idea as to what the cause of her sorrow was: Harry Potter.

Of course it was Harry. The stupid git didn't realize what he had right in front of him. Sure, Ginny was a nice enough girl, and there was no doubting that she was gorgeous as no member of the Weasley family had ever conceived before, but she wasn't Hermione. And as such, there was no way that she could possibly love Harry as much as Hermione did.

In the closest conversation that she had ever come to admitting her feelings for Harry, Hermione had explained her relationship with her best friend to Draco. "Harry and I were meant to be friends," she had said, " I knew it from that first moment he saved me from the troll. We're connected somehow, he and I. If he's sad, I can feel it, and if he's happy, it's like I'm on some sort of drug. I don't know what would become of me if something ever happened to him...I'd be only half a person."

He sensed somehow that she wasn't being sentimental, that she truly, sincerely, would only exist halfway if Harry was no longer part of her life. So maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was better that Hermione had gone on before Harry rather than become some shell of her former self.

Draco shook his head quickly. No. A world with even half of Hermione was better than a world without her at all.

Taking in a deep breath, he stopped in the familiar spot, dropping down so that he was squatting near the ground. With more gentleness than most believed he was capable of, he reached out and traced his hand over the stone before him.

'Hermione Granger,' the tombstone read. 'Beloved daughter and friend. The world is truly better for her.'

"Well," Draco said after a moment of silence, "here I am. I suppose you would take more comfort if dear Harry was here, but he's currently busy attacking the youngest Weasley, so I suppose you'll have to make due with me."

For a moment, he half expected her to answer. Shaking his head, he sighed. "It's been sixty-four days now, Hermione. Just a little over two months." He took in a deep breath, steadying his voice. "You know, if you had asked me sixty-five days ago what I would be doing now, I would've called you a bleedin' lunatic if you would've said I'd be in a cemetery. And if you would've told me that it would be your grave that I was visiting, I would've killed you on the spot for making such a sick joke." He paused, running the words over in his mind. "In retrospect, I suppose that would really be working against myself, wouldn't it?"

He laughed suddenly, ducking his head. "Now, you're probably thinking to yourself, Draco's an incredibly handsome, dashing young man-incredibly, ridiculously handsome-so what is he doing at a graveyard on a Friday night all by his lonesome?" His features suddenly became sober. "Well, I came to let you know that I'm fulfilling my promise the best I know how. I'm watching after your beloved Harry, just as you asked. And I know that last time I promised that I wouldn't be visiting here as often, but...well, I'm working on it. I just...I can't bear the thought of you being lonely out here, Granger."

Taking in a deep breath, he had just opened his mouth to say something further when a stick snapped somewhere behind him. Tensing, he turned, scanning the darkness behind him. Harry stepped forward, fists clenched as he observed Draco warily with his vibrant green eyes.

"Malfoy," Harry said, and somehow had the ability to make the name seem really and truly ugly, "what are you doing here?"

Draco rose to his feet, meeting Harry's gaze coolly. "Last time I checked, this was public domain, Potter." He spat the name with great dislike. "Besides, didn't think it would much bother you, seeing as how you were running off somewhere with that Weasley girl."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "How did you know that I was with Ginny?"

Draco swore at himself inwardly, cursing his own stupidity. "Just a lucky guess,"

he adlibbed, "you're always with one of those Weasleys. Now that..." But even to hurt Harry, he couldn't finish the sentence.

Harry's eyes hardened at the allusion. "You have no right to be here," he said coldly. "Leave."

Draco felt a hot rush of anger flood through him. "Who made you the bleedin' graveyard police, Potter? I belong here just as much as you do."

"And why is that?" Harry challenged, folding his arms.

"Because I loved her!" Draco snapped, before he had a chance to fathom what it was he was saying.

Harry stared at him, looking just as shocked as Draco felt. Sickened, Draco turned away from him, staring blankly out into the night. He had sworn to himself that he would never say it, vowed that he would never reveal that weakness. And here he was, outing himself to the person he despised most in the world.

"You--" Harry seemed unable to even say the words, much less comprehend them. " But...you two were never even were together...she hated you as much as we did..."

Draco snorted in derision. "And you call yourself her best friend. Maybe you were too busy running around with Ginny Weasley to notice, but Hermione and I had something that you can never even dream of. We would meet in secret because she knew that you would never begin to understand what we had." He spread out his arms, half-triumphant, half-defeated. "And I loved her. I won't deny it anymore. I loved her like I've never loved anything in this world."

Harry stared at him, looking vaguely sick. "And did she...did she love you, too?"

Draco was suddenly very tempted to lie to Harry, to watch the look on his face as

he recounted in exaggerated detail how very much Hermione had loved him. But even as he imagined it, he could see the look of hurt in her eyes so vividly, as though she was standing right behind Harry and watching the entire conversation take place.

"No," Draco said softly. "She didn't." To be fair to himself, he added, "At least, not that she ever said."

Slowly, Harry backed away until he had found a rock to sit down on. He did so and then reached up, rubbing at the skin underneath his glasses. Draco took the opportunity to really study him. Though Harry could have never been accused of spending too much time on his hair, he seemed to have slacked off even more as of late. To Draco's surprise, there was even light stubble of beard shadowing Harry's face; with his near baby-smooth complexion, Draco had always assumed that Harry didn't even need to shave. His clothes were rumpled and lightly stained, looking as though they hadn't been washed in some time.

Unbidden, Hermione's words came back to Draco's mind. "I don't know what would become of me if something ever happened to him," she had said, " I'd be only half a person..."

Perhaps it was just his fancy, but as Draco looked down upon Harry now, he saw that all of the life and swagger had gone out of him. It really was as though he was looking down upon half a person.

"Why didn't Hermione ever tell me?" Harry wondered aloud, shaking his head.

"Maybe because you weren't ever around to listen." Draco suggested. Feeling a sudden burst of conscience, he added, "Or maybe because it was too weird for even her to understand, much less you blokes."

Harry was silent for a moment longer, then nodded. " I guess," he said finally, " I guess it doesn't matter. Not really." Sighing, he rose to his feet and started to leave, then seemed to think better of it. He stopped abruptly and turned back to Draco questioningly. "Do you, um, have a place to stay tonight?"

Taken aback, Draco frowned. " What did you have in mind, Potter?"

" Lupin's offered to let me stay with him for a bit," Harry informed him. " I'm sure he could find an extra bed..."

Draco smirked. " No thanks, Potter. Not until they prove that freakiness isn't contagious."

If there had been any sign that Harry was warming toward him, it was gone now. " Suit yourself," he said briskly, then turned and stalked away.

***

Ron Weasley was dreaming of Lavender Brown. They were running through a field of daisies, hand in hand, barefoot. Lavender was wearing one of those flowery summer dresses that he had often seen Muggles in, and her long hair was billowing in the wind. Light, fluffy music was playing somewhere in the background.

Suddenly, Lavender frowned and began to look about. " Where is that music coming from, Ron?" she inquired.

They turned. Seated behind them in the field was an orchestra, conducted by Harry, who turned to Ron encouragingly. " Come on, Ron," he urged, " I'm playing the Hero's Suite for you."

Ron frowned as his gaze swept over the musicians assembled. Hermione was first violin, Ginny was second. Malfoy was standing at the edge of the group, scowling as he played the triangle. In the back, Fred and George were beating on the drums enthusiastically. All of the old Hogwarts teachers were playing trumpets, except for Snape, who was holding an instrument that Ron didn't recognize.

" I play the bassoon," Snape said proudly, seeming to sense Ron's gaze.

Hermione rolled her eyes. " Oh, honestly, Ron. Didn't you read your books on the organization of modern orchestras?"

Ron frowned at this. " Huh?"

Beside Hermione, Ginny folded her arms and pouted. " I wanted to be first violin," she whined.

Ron felt an insistent tugging on his hand. Questioningly, he turned back, only to see that Lavender had transformed into Hagrid, still in the same sundress.

With a start, Ron awoke, gasping for breath. Shakily, he reached up and wiped at the beads of sweat that had formulated on his brow. " Note to self," he muttered aloud, "warn Hagrid that pink really isn't his color..."

He had just rolled over in an attempt to fall back asleep when he heard it. A slight whimpering sound, muffled and distant. Frowning, Ron rose to his feet and padded over to the window, peering out. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark, but then he thought he saw an indistinguishable blur on the porch.

Carefully moving so as not to wake his parents or siblings, Ron made his way down the stairs and toward the front door. He hesitated there, wondering if this might not be some sort of trap. True, Voldemort was dead and the majority of his followers had been caught, but still...

He had just about resigned himself to ignore the noise and go back to bed when he heard the whimpering again, more loudly this time. It sounded like some sort of wounded animal-a dog, or a cat, maybe. Frowning, Ron took in a deep breath and then drew open the door.

It took him a moment to realize that the shivering bundle at his feet was a human being. Puzzled, Ron leaned down and tentatively reached out to touch her. " Hey, are you-- "

At the sound of his voice, the head snapped up, and he was greeted by a pair of frightened but familiar brown eyes. Ron felt as though he had stuck a vacuum inside of his mouth and all of the moisture had literally been sucked out.

" Hermione?" he stammered finally, his voice filled with wonder.