Desparate Cleric
She watched it happen as if it took place in slow motion. The light of the spells bouncing off the stone in the corridor she’d just left were no more than an afterthought as she tiptoed, dreamlike, across the otherwise empty courtyard to the body that lie there.
Crumpled in a heap, muddy blond hair matted to his head, rested the shell of him, his eyes pale and unseeing. A sob ripped through her chest, desperate to solve the ailment that didn’t make sense in her brain. She fell to her knees before him, cradling his head against her lap.
The roar in her ears rang so loudly that the wails escaping her sounded silent. She combed through the muddy blond hair at her lap with her fingers as the words came to her. Hermione called on Merlin, Morgana, Circe. Each denied her. She tried the next.
Magic oozed out of her like sickly molasses, her fingers dipped in the blackness of the power she called on, her eyes frenzied with hysterics. All around her cracked the stone they sat upon, roots clawing their way to the surface as she attempted to breathe life into his mouth.
And that was how they were found. Draco Malfoy, cold and unseeing, with his head rested upon the lap of Hermione Granger, whose curls had blown wild, fingers gone black, and blanketed by the bed of flowers she had grown under them.
Her fingers rested, then and forever, entwined upon him. They lied there welcoming the sunrise, both unmoving, as the day’s unsettling silence carried them away on the breeze together. Always together. Always.