Sixteen

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2 weeks had passed. The news of Ron's death had finally settled in. The funeral had only been two days ago, but it seemed like an eternity. Almost everyone had settled into their new normal. Almost. Hermione, Harry, and all the Weasley's had yet to adjust. Hermione had slipped deeper into this darkness that had now become her life. The war, friends dying, the marriage law, Ron dying, the gaping hole he left, everything. No matter how many bad things he did to her, he was still her best friend. 

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"Blaise?" Draco called.

"What? Another Granger problem?"

"Possibly,"

"What is it this time?" Blaise sighed.

"IthinkIloveherandIwanttoproposebutIdon'tknowhowandwhatifshesaysno. Whatifshedoesn'tfeelthesamewaytherearejusttoomanywhatifsandIdon'tknowwhattodo," Draco rushed.

"Woah, mate, slow down. Say all of that again, but slower. Like, much slower,"

"Okay" Draco took a deep breath. "I think I love her and I want to propose, but I don't know how and what if she says no. What if she doesn't feel the same way, there are just too many what ifs and I don't know what to do."

"Oookayyy, well for starters, you two already have to get married, and everyone is already technically engaged. Two, I think you know you love her, you're just too afraid to say it out loud. Three, she legally can't say no. If she does she will be sent to Azkaban. Four, if she doesn't feel the same way, then... oh well. There's nothing you can do about it. Fifth, again, I think you know what to do."

"But..." Draco whined.

"Draco! Get off this couch and go buy a freaking engagement ring!" Blaise yelled.

"Fine, fine! Calm down!" Draco said walking out the door. 

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Hermione sat hidden deep in her and Draco's  closet, trying to quiet her sobs. She promised herself she would stop. But she couldn't. With Ron's death looming out at her from every corner she turned, every time she blinked, every step she made. She couldn't escape the pain no matter how hard she tried. Hermione held the tissue up to her shoulder trying to stem the flow of blood ozing from her self-inflicted wounds. One cut, her parents death was her fault. Two, if she just let Ron get what he wanted none of this would have happened. Three, four, five. On and on, until her skin was a bright, garish red. Then...she stopped. She felt better. Hermione wasn't stupid she knew there were better ways to relive her pain, but this seemed to work best. And that's what made it so much worse when Draco found her. He walked into the closet and found Hermione sitting in the corner blood dripping down her arm.

She had her eyes closed, lost in her own haunted world, she never noticed him. That is, until a wet cloth touched her shoulder. Her panic set in; the panic that had been ingrained in her since the war. 

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Word Count: 482

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