Written for Dyno_Drabbles and won Runner Up! Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

Every year on the same day, in the chilly, rainy month of November, Hermione would observe Draco Malfoy visit a Muggle cemetery on the outskirts of Wiltshire.

The first time she'd spotted him, it was by accident, while she'd been visiting her grandparent's grave. As she stood from kneeling on the ground, she'd caught a flash of platinum blond hair moving between the rows of headstones. When she'd realised who it was, she was shocked to say the least. But, being respectful, she decided not to approach him. After he'd gone, she made her way over to the secluded area he'd visited and gasped as she beheld the magnificent green marble headstone.

Aries Malfoy; November fifth, two-thousand one.

A single maroon rose lay off to the side, the only sign that anyone ever visited the beautiful little plot.

Noting the day, she returned each year and, like clockwork, Draco would appear towards the evening, glance around to see if there were others about, and head over to pay his respects. This continued until her curiosity got the better of her, and she was somewhat proud of herself that she'd lasted five years without asking any questions to the aloof pure-blood. So, instead of watching him perform his duties, she sat on the stone bench under the willow tree by the marker and waited for him to arrive. When she finally saw him approaching with a grimace etched on his face, she thought maybe her idea wasn't so good after all.

"Granger."

"Malfoy," she returned quietly.

He looked her up and down then turned away and laid the rose upon the skeletal remains of the one he'd placed there the year before. Kneeling, he removed his black leather glove, pressed his long fingers to his lips and then pressed his hand to the cool marble.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why a Wizard was buried in a Muggle cemetery, but, as if hearing the question in his mind, Draco spoke aloud. "He was born a Squib and there were complications," he whispered. He looked at her over his shoulder. "They wouldn't let me bury him in the family crypt." Snorting mirthlessly, he rose slowly and joined her on the bench. "The Malfoy crypt was good enough for his mother, but not him," he said, pointing at the grave.

Tears filled her eyes unexpectedly. "I'm sorry." She began to move, but his soft grip on her elbow halted her progress.

"I've long feared that my sins would come to revisit me," he confessed, his voice full of anguish. He nodded at the marker. "My precious Aries paid the price."

What could she say that wouldn't sound like meaningless platitudes in the face of a grief so overwhelming? "Was he handsome?"

Draco smiled, though tears fringed his lashes. "He was perfect."

"Did you get to hold him?"

Clearing his throat, Draco nodded. "He died in my arms."

She placed her hand atop his. "Then he knew love."