Yours in Mayhem |Dramione

38 yours truly

To Missus Narcissa Malfoy,

It's singling out his mother. That won't do.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,

Don't use an abbreviation they probably won't get it.

To Mister and Missus Malfoy,

I regret to inform you that your son perished in the Battle of Hogwarts.

Yours truly,

H.J. Granger

Hermione tied the worn out parchment, the best she could find at the moment, to Bubo Bubo's leg. The great eagle owl was perched beside Draco's body. He didn't leave Draco, squawking at anyone who tried to come near him which was a lot as Draco was laid amongst the other casualties. Bubo must have been left at Hogwarts as he didn't look taken care of. His feathers used to be shiny, the hue of mountain snow, now they are dull and unkempt. Balding at parts but still he was great, resilient and proud. He shared the fate of his master.

Draco loved Bubo Bubo. Hermione knows this, she had watched him without his knowledge as he took care of the eagle owl in the owlery since their first year at Hogwarts. At first it was by accident and she planned on mocking him later, waiting to pull out this secret weapon against him. That he, Draco Malfoy, self confessed cold blooded Slytherin actually cared for creatures, that he could actually be gentle. But later on Hermione just found the habit of watching him in the owlery an impossible habit to break, a guilty pleasure. How could she resist when he looked so angelic?

When the sunlight coming from the east made his hair look like a halo?

When he laughs wholeheartedly when Bubo Bubo does something amusing?

When he was so beautiful and she was so in love with him?

He deserved more than fourteen words on a letter. He deserved more but Hermione feared that if she went into details she wouldn't be able to stop. And she has to put it away for now. She's not the only one who lost someone. There is work to be done. Here in Hogwarts and outside everywhere in the wizarding world.

"You haven't touched your coffee. Should I get you another one?"

Bubo squawked, wings flapping hard-- Hermione's hair flew from the wind that this caused. There was a flash. She looked up to see Colin Creevey, steaming cup of coffee on one hand and camera on the other.

There was another angry squawk before Bubo flew away from them, still exiting through the window with the broken glass even though a huge part of the Great Hall's wall is blown off. Regal as ever as he flew to the direction of the rising sun.

"How are you doing, Hermione? Managed to sleep? Had any bread? Did Harry Potter come yet? How about Ron Weasley? I am really sorry about his brother, I am a fan of Fred...was a fan-- should I start saying 'was' now? Like he's actually..."

Hermione tried to listen to the younger boy. He was speaking like his usual overly enthusiastic self but he was pale. Lost. The moment the battle was over Colin never stopped in a single place, he was walking all over trying to talk to people but not holding a conversation. Taking pictures and saying obvious things about them out loud. Like he was pouring out all his thoughts out even when no one wants to listen.

"Colin, are you alright?"

He stopped speaking and blinked his big brown eyes at her and then to on to the rows of body in front of them. People that they knew. People that they grew up with. Friends. "No, Hermione. I am not alright."