All credit belongs to JK Rowling. I own nothing but the plot of this story.
Before you read this you should probably read Brown Eyed Siren. It's probably better that way.
"Draco, you couldn't hit a Death Eater even if he was standing still!" Hermione yelled above the sounds of battle. He whipped around, finishing off the last of the Death Eaters, ready to reply with a smart ass comment, only to see a blinding flash of green light hit her, his Hermione, square in the chest.
She seized up, and her body crashed to the floor, the fire in her eyes dead.
His heart stopped. For a moment, time froze, and all he could feel was his blinding rage, all he could see was shades of red, mixed with images of her from the night before, dancing naked in the pale moonlight.
Her eyes, like brown chocolate.
Her hair, like the color of caramel.
Her skin, creamy and soft and intensely warm, bathed in the moonlight that streamed through the cottage window.
Her lips, red as blood, his second favorite thing in the entire world.
Everything about her was- no, had been- beautiful, delicious, sensational, pure. She had been perfection. She had been Hermione.
But those brown chocolate eyes, once so full of life and wonder, now filled with death, a curse having taken the only true beauty he knew in this world. Her beautiful caramel hair, once radiant, now dull and full of blood and random rubble. Her creamy skin, once glowing, now grey and cold, dirty from the grime and sweat, proof of her exertion in battle. And her lips, once so red, now pale and ghostly. These are the things that now made up his witch. To be near her was to love her, to truly live. And right now, he wanted nothing more than to be with her. But only in death could he do that. In the back of his mind, he could hear her last words, her playfully taunting him before the Death Eater had struck his beautiful flower down where she stood.
His head spun around, locating the figure in black robes that had killed her. Shooting a strong Cruciatus, the Death Eater fell to the floor, writhing in pain, his mask having fallen off, revealing it to be Crabbe. Draco stormed over to him, red hot rage clouding his eyes, his fingertips and every nerve in his body on fire. I see red. Blood red. He trembled with insurmountable rage, rage that only a cold blooded murderer could feel. He wanted nothing more than to kill Crabbe, to make him feel pain. To feel what Draco was feeling, having lost his last ray of sunshine. Placing a quick Petrificus Totalus on the wizard that lay before him, Draco quickly took the Death Eater's wand out of his hands, snapping it in half, and throwing it to the side. He grabbed the wizard's hand and dragged him to an abandoned corridor, thankful that there was no one else around. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a knife Hermione had given him last Christmas, and leaned down and sliced the wizard's left wrist horizontally, taking great care not to kill him just yet. Crabbe's eyes widened, if only slightly, unable to move. He knew at that moment that he had done wrong, and he was going to pay dearly for it.
"Oh Vincent, you shouldn't have killed her. You would've saved yourself a world of pain."
Draco took the other wrist and sliced that too, sitting back on his heels and admiring the red, red ooze that seeped from the young man's wrists, admiring how it shined in the cool light.
"Beautiful, isnt it? How red the blood gets when it oxygen hits it? It's actually blue when it's in your body. Not many wizards know that. Hermione taught me that."
He leaned further down, his mouth level to the wizard's ear. "I'm going to enjoy carving you to pieces. But first, I have to unfreeze you, so that I can hear your cries of torment and pain."
Draco cast a Finite Incantatem, quickly followed by a Full Body Bind curse. Vincent cried out, and Draco's mouth curled up into a grin.
"Scream all you want Crabbe, no one can hear you. They're all dead."
Draco smiled manically, a glint in his eye.
"You know, Crabbe, I want you to suffer, in the most horrible way. She was the one person who understood the darkness that resided in me, the murderous urges I felt. When no one else knew how to calm me, she did. She was the one who kept me sated, distracting me from my- what did she call it? Oh yes... sociopathic tendencies." Draco started to pace back and forth, smiling. "She knew, she knew, how to make me whole, how to make me feel normal. She was my rock, my entire life. And… now she's gone. You took her from me."
He stops his pacing. "And I, well... I'm out for blood." With one quick movement, he sliced a long line down the man's belly, his cries of torment music to Draco's ears.
Amidst the cries, a soft gentle voice spoke into Draco's ear; ghostlike, it seemed.
"Draco… please, stop."
He stills, unable to believe his ears. "Hermione?" he whispers, wanting to hear her sweet, sweet voice again.
Crabbe screams, his belly bleeding profusely, looking at the man that stood above him, scared of his next move. With all the strength he could muster, he rolled himself over, effectively knocking Draco to his knees.
Draco, disoriented and confused, looks around at his surroundings. "HERMIONE?"
The voice appears again. "Draco, please my love, stop. Remember who you are."
Draco hits the side of his head, still unable to believe he can hear her, his witch, his lovely flower.
"Draco, please, put him out of his misery. Remember who you are."
He unconsciously raised his wand, pointing it directly at Crabbe, and bellowed, "Avada Kedavra!"
Crabbe's eyes glossed over, and the life that resided in his body left the earth, leaving a cold, bleeding corpse.
Draco, still kneeling on the ground, let out a long sob. "Hermione?" he whispered shakily to the air. "Are you still there?"
He's met with silence.
Even more silence. Had he imagined the whole thing?
"Hermione, please… I can't go on without you. Answer me. How will I control myself, now that you're gone? What's the point of living without you? You were everything to me. You knew how to quiet my demons. Tell me, please. HOW DO I GO ON?"
And then he heard it. Her voice. Her oh so beautiful voice. The voice that would quiet his screams when he had night terrors, the voice that would quell the bubbling anger he always felt. That voice, her voice, is what he was hearing. And he knew, oh he knew, it was actually her. Because she was standing before him, a pale, ghostly apparition.
"Draco, I love you. I only have a short time. I have to go. But promise me, please, promise me, you will go on."
"Think of me, when the anger bubbles up. Think of me, when everything turns red. Think of me, dancing in the moonlight. Think of me, alive and happy."
Before he can respond, she disappears, leaving him alone.
His eyes looked towards the ground, and heaving, shaking silent sobs wracked his body. There was nothing but silence.
Red, blood red, is what I always saw. Red, the color of her lips.