Hermione's POV

The tears were already streaming down her face when Hermione crashed into the girls' room, slamming the stall door closed with clanging finality.

Unfortunately, that happened to be Moaning Myrtle's stall.

"Who--" Myrtle's high, shrill voice made Hermione cry louder. Why did Draco do that? I thought I could trust him. After all these years, I thought he was the one. The one I've been waiting to love. What a git.

"Go away, Myrtle," Hermione said weaklly, and the ghost left her alone, floating to hover above the window in the bathroom that looked out onto the grounds below.

Hermione slowly stopped crying and stepped out of the stall. She wiped her eyes and washed her hands, feeling refreshed. Her eyes were dull when she looked into the mirror. She was hurt, she knew, but she couldn't afford to be hurt again. She had to focus on getting a life, not getting love.

The rest of the day, Hermione's mind threatened to let her be hurt, let her break down in tears again, but she threw her shoulders back, held her head high, and walked, almost a strut, down the corridors. Any Slytherins she saw would remind her of him, and a twinge of sadness would start to engulf her, but she would shrug it off and sneer at them. They were the enemy. Next to Voldemort, they were second worst.

Draco passed her sometimes in the hallway, but she ignored him. He waved to her, or looked like he might say something, but she held her chin high, and stalked past him. She surprised herself by not walking in a panicky fashion. She was calm, and prepared for the worst.

Of course, there was always a feeling of guilt, of longing, for that night in detention. It was the best night of Hermione's life, that was for sure. But she knew she couldn't--wouldn't--have that again. There was no hope for her. None at all.

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Finally, when the day was over, she trudged back to the common room, dragging her feet. Ginny looked at her funny, but didn't say anything.

"I'm going to bed," Hermione mumbled, and Harry, Ron, and Ginny all nodded. Harry and Ron returned to their wizard's chess game, and Ginny engrossed herself in a book.

When she got to the dormitory and got changed, she climbed into bed, tucked herself in, and turned out the light. Perhaps tomorrow will be better, she thought. But of course it wouldn't be. No day would ever be better again until she was there another time, in his arms, falling asleep to the sound of his beautiful, beating heart.

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The next day, as Hermione had predicted, wasn't any better. Everyone stared at her, and she didn't know why. So she went to the girls' room and checked in the mirror. There were black circles under her eyes. She was confused. I thought I got a good night sleep, she pondered. Why this?

Then she remembered.

It is cold, and there is nothing to cover her, to shield her from the icy wind of the winter. She is in a graveyard, one she recognizes. It's the graveyard in Godric's Hollow. Nothing makes a sound, no one shows up. It's just her, staring at the ground, trying to warm herself somehow.

She looks up just enough to see a group of people, masked and dark clothed, marching into the cemetery. She takes a step back and bumps into a figure. When she turns around, it is not a figure, but a headstone, marking the Peverell family's graves. Snow covers the three sons' names, but that doesn't matter. She knows them all: Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus.

"Hello, beautiful," a man says, in a strange accent. She looks and sees him, Fenrir Greyback, prowling among the edges of the graveyard. "Nice night, ain't it?"

"What are you--" She starts, but a hand covers her mouth roughly. Her eyes widen in fear, and she stands rigid, her feeling of cold temporarily gone.

"Now, let's get this over with," the voice comes from behind her this time, and when she looks back, out of the corner of her eye she can identify the intruder. Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy.

He shoves her forward, bending her at the waist to bring her head close to a coffin above the ground. She struggles, kicking and clawing at the hand that still blocks her airways.

By now, the crowd of people have grown to a massive size, and she sees a glint of blond hair at the edge. Before she can focus in, she is turned over and smacked on the grave, her back aching from the impact.

Malfoy smirks. "How fitting, that a mudblood should die, on a mudblood's grave."

Shaking, she turns her head to see the name engraved in the stone. It read: "Lily Potter." A strangled cry escaped her mouth, but she was shifted, and the next thing she saw was a knife's glint from the moon up above.

He raised the knife into the air. She looked back to the sliver of blond hair that she'd seen before, and recognized his face immediately.

Draco. It was him.

When Draco's father brought down the knife and plunged it through her chest, she could not erase the look of despair and anguish on his face.