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He hadn’t meant to trigger the apocalypse, only defend the witch who had been writhing on his ancestral home in agony mere nights before, keep his family from doing anything else that he’d regret in the future, things that couldn’t be undone. Well, couldn’t be undone at the time; now there was no change of saving face or anything in between since magic flooded the landscape of the Ministry, horrible things coming to life as magic ran rampant along every floor and corridor. From down below, he heard screaming, and Draco rushed towards the limp body of Hermione, long abandoned by Potter and Weasley on their conquest to save the world.
“Get up, get up!” If nothing else but for his own selfish sake, tears threatening to spill over at all of the cruelty he’d shown towards her, the things he’d done wrongly echoing in his mind. “Damn it, Granger, get up! You’re stronger than this!”
Her head lolled in his arms, and Draco pulled her closer to his body, shielding her from a barrage of nasty spells that blew in with a gust of wind, bright colors betraying their intent. There was no time to attempt magic, and he grasped her arms, dragging her over his shoulders as he ran from the building, towards the chaos outside just as Draco felt the earth shake beneath them. He crashed to the ground, Hermione limply bouncing across the cobblestone paths, and despite the blood and grit staining his robes, Draco pushed himself up, pain radiating from his knees as he hauled her up on his back once more, running for both of their sakes.
---
There was no escaping it, wide eyes brimming with tears as he laid Hermione on a soft knell of grass that he’d apparated to, away from the destruction that was running rampant in the places he’d thought of fondly before. She didn’t wake up until much later, when he was sobbing into his hands, fists tearing at blood-stained platinum locks. A single touch made him flinch, and he whirled around. “Merlin, I’m so sorry, Granger. Forgive me, I-I didn’t mean for this...I just couldn’t stand them torturing you anymore.”
Draco found himself buried in the massive bush of hair, a soft hand pushing his head to her shoulder as she stroked his hair, giving him time to grieve. His hands fisted in her torn sweater, hot tears staining their clothes as Draco wept for everything he’d lost in favor of saving the witch in front of him.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. You got us out, and that’s what matters.”
---
What felt like weeks passed, the two of them carving out a safe place to sleep and wash, curled up in whatever Hermione had managed to find in her bag. There was still a tent, and a few soft blankets, the very base necessities used. And no magic, never magic, for it drew things to them that were unspeakable. Draco had already suffered a few burns and cuts from the various creatures that magic had attracted, and Hermione had a bite from a cursed book on her hand, wrapped up tight in the ripped remains of Draco’s shirt. His hand still shook when he reached for her at night, huddling against her for comfort and peace of mind.
“We should start looking for others. Maybe someone else survived.”
“You weren’t awake for the screams, Gran...Hermione.” He swallowed, hands curled around the small of her back as she stroked his hair and neck soothingly. “They’re gone. I watched it all, even the Knight Bus crashing into the Cauldron.”
Hermione refused to torment him further, instead shushing him as she helped him repress the memories through human contact, just as his eyes flickered to hers. She raised a brow, and he swallowed, before carefully running slim fingers against her cheekbone and jaw.
“I don’t regret it. The world would be less without you in it...my family was wrong, wrong about all of it.” Hermione’s breath hitched, and Draco sighed, curling his fingers against her hair, touching the messy curls with a gentle hand. “I’m sorry...I’m sorry for all of it.”
It was his turn to provide comfort as she buried her face into his hair, holding him tight as the sounds of owls hooting sounded in the night, signaling another day ending, and with it, the possibility that the world had survived.