A/N: This chapter has been REVAMPED and EDITED! Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter.

Song is "Succexy" By: Metric

Chapter 1- Admitting You Have a Problem

They had lost it. There was something there, in the beginning, she thought to herself. Now, there was something missing. It would be a complete lie if she had said that this wasn't perfect. But it would be another if she said she was happy.

Hermione sat in her king sized hammock looking up at their tiny brick house, covered in vines. She had always dreamed of this. This house, her career, her fiancée. She turned over to the man lying beneath her. His short red hair, his pale skin, his bright blue eyes; almost sleeping soundly. He had never looked so child like than he had at that exact minute. So vulnerable, and for a single moment, Hermione had wished that she wasn't slowly breaking his heart.

There was no spark and no passion. They loved each other, Hermione knew that. But deep down inside, they both had known that there was no turning this around. The endless nights of silence had driven her to the edge. She needed a change and Ron had quickly realized this. He could never be the man he used to be when they had first met. Now they fought, bickered, and snapped at each other. They eventually managed to make up, but just barely, and that killed Hermione. She believed that she could be anything she wanted to be. He believed that it would take years and hard dedication to even make a difference. She believed that the stars could tell her what she lived for each day. He had believed that no one could. The world was a vast, magical place to Hermione. To him, it was full of heartache and pain. He felt like that more often now. It had been hard without Harry. They were exact opposites in retrospect. Hermione said it was because she was hopeful. She thought that everything could be explained by a distinct, made up constellation and a few simple adjectives. Ron had blamed her unrealistic beliefs. But despite their differences they had made it work for four long years.

Ron entangled his fingers in Hermione's hair, combing it behind her ear. She smelled of lavender, and it soothed him. Whenever he was around her, he was calm. She looked up, placing her small, warm hand, against his cheek, as she fought to hold back tears.

"What are we going to do?" Hermione whispered gently. Ron shifted underneath her, the rope burning into his back. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin. He wanted the pain and the suffering to be over. She meant everything to him, why she didn't feel the same way was beyond him.

They had gotten engaged last year. They were only 23. Hermione had always knew that she loved Ron. She thought she had fallen head over heels in love with him. When she looked at him, her stomach was full to capacity with butterflies. When they kissed, her heart stopped. At least, that's what it had felt like before.

Ron really didn't know what to say. He could explain to her that it was over; that he wanted her to leave, and never come back. He was willing to storm into the house and pack her bags for her, throwing them out to the curb. A small, insignificant part of him longed to. Another part wanted to plead to the Godric, to Merlin, for more time. Ron had thought that maybe he could fix this, but Hermione knew it was hopeless. Deep down, Ron knew this, too.

"We need to end this." Ron stifled a yawn in the glow of the moon. Hermione, alarmed at his statement, merely rounded her back upwards to face him. A tear ran slowly down her pale pink cheek. Did he really think that our problems were that boring, and dry? Hermione wiped her own tear away and looked back upwards, towards the night sky. The stars twinkled brightly in her sodden eyes. "I can pack my things and stay at Geor-" He had been about to say the he would stay at George and Angelina's but hermione had cut his sentence short with a desperate attempt to kiss him. She wanted to feel something, anything. Ron breathed in through his nose and smelt the vanilla in her garden. His head spun and he raised his hand towards the back of her neck, breathing in her enticing scent, deepening their kiss. Her soft lips and perfect smile. He thought back to the day they had met in First year, dirt covered the bridge of his nose. He still smiled remembering her attitude- something she had never outgrown. He remembered how they had both fallen for each other during the war. How strong their bond was, right after Harry had died, when everything seemed too messed up to be fixed. Now, he felt nothing, and he knew secretly that she didn't either. Hermione leaned away slowly. Ron merely settled his head back against the hammock and dropped his hands to his side, sighing. Hermione tried, hopelessly, to feel again what it had been like. She brushed her hand against his, and he slid it out from underneath her, rocking the hammock. He was leaving. She could call out to him, and he would most likely return inside, barely noticing her desperate attempt to keep him longer. So Hermione decided to stay outside, lying in the comfort of the sizzling stars. She could fall asleep like this in the warm breeze with the juniper and vanilla. Maybe long enough to keep herself from stopping him pack his things.

She had.

The house was empty when Hermione woke, although she knew it was going to be, and she had this odd feeling of relief blanket her mind and relax her muscles at the thought of not having to watch Ron leave. She didn't cry and she didn't grieve. She only sat in silence and remembered everything they had done together. The past four years gone by in a blur, and she knew that was not how love was supposed to feel. Anyone could see that, but Hermione sensed that she was blinded. Blinded by what she had assumed was a healthy relationship. Her friends were somewhat supportive of their relationship. Her parents had only slightly approved of Ron for their only daughter, and Ron had only somewhat deserved it. Hermione realized she needed a man who could be there for her like Ron was, but more so, and she felt this feeling of complete and total aloneness wash over her like a tidal wave. First lapping at her feet and then consuming her entire body. She was pulled into the ocean by the undertow.

Sure, Hermione could finally go out with her friends and see her family. She finally had the house to herself and she could work without hearing grief about it, but she missed having someone to fall asleep next to. Someone that would hold her and kiss her and make her forget all the bad things. But she had missed that while she was dating Ron, as well.

Hermione sat at her kitchen table, thumbing through an old magazine. She skimmed over each page, barely absorbing the articles, until she reached one with a cheery faced bride. That could have been her. The wedding dress, the old traditions, the warm sense of belonging when you finally get to kiss one another. That all could have been hers. Hermione didn't really know if she wanted it anymore. Twenty three was a young age to be engaged, thinking about spending the rest of your life with the same person, but Hermione had been so sure. At least, she thought she was sure. Now her world had disintegrated. Everything she had once known had vanished, and in an instant, the blazing stars had turned on her.

It helped a lot to remember all the bad things. The arguments that they would have, the nights when Hermione would be out with her friends and know she and Ron would fight once she got home, the fact that he hated her having a job. It all helped her to realize that she would eventually consider herself better off. Not just yet, though. Hermione had tonight to hang out with her friends to take her mind off of things. She had a feeling that she would keep going out, drinking, until she knew. Until she knew that she could finally go to her empty house, alone, and sleep without the nightmares.

Hermione tossed the magazine aside and waited patiently for her two best friends to arrive. She had known Katie and Angela since her schooling after Hogwarts. They had known Ron for as long as they knew Hermione, but they felt no obligation to treat him in a friendly manner. So when they had heard the news, both Angela and Katie had volunteered to take Hermione out. To ultimately, set her mind at ease. Most likely after involving a few drinks.

"Were are you, love? You were supposed to be ready by 9:30, it's going on ten, and-" Katie cut her sentence short to gaze up at the stop of a long set of stairs. Hermione had began walking down to meet her friends in her living room so that they could go out. Her long black tank top, and tight straight jeans contoured her thin body perfectly. They complimented what little curves she had, and her long, wavy brown hair was pinned behind her one ear with a barrette. "You look lovely, Hermione!" exclaimed Katie. Angela had joined them within seconds and stared adoringly at her best friend.

"Absolutely wonderful," She sighed. Hermione blushed deep crimson, and continued to flock down the stairs.

"Can we just get out of here? This house is making me anxious enough I could loose myself right here." Hermione tucked a loose piece of her long brown hair behind her ear, and both her friends broke out in a fit of giggles. Soon enough, Hermione had joined in as well. It felt good to laugh. Almost like nothing had changed.

(Listen to "Succexy" By: Metric)

Katie drove, fast at that, probably so that they could forget sooner. The music blared, as the wind made Hermione's hair dance. The bar was local, and She had never been there. She blamed Ron.

It was perfect, like one of those movies. The bars that have an old juke box machine, that play old country songs. Katie, Angela and Hermione sat along the bar atop high stools, and made casual conversation with the old bartender, although Hermione's mind had been somewhere else. The old woman, most likely leaning towards 50, was short and plump. Her dark gray hair, twisted up in a chignon bun, revealing her leathery copper skin. She continued to make drinks all night. Hermione had finally begun to listen intently to her life story. If Mathelda, the bartender, could make it through all that she had, Hermione had no doubts in her mind about herself.

Hermione teetered cautiously over to the juke box to look at the songs, not bothering to pick any one. A group of young men whistled at her as she examined each of their faces. She winked casually and walked back to the bar. Hermione had had a lot to drink. More than she would ever had allowed herself. She was not thinking about Ron, and that was good for her, but she was also not very skilled at walking now. She wouldn't make it. She knew that much for sure, so Hermione sat at the opposite end of the bar, away from her friends. They all giggled, and Mathelda joined along. Hermione turned her head slowly to order another drink from the bartender managing this end, which was slightly more crowded than over by Mathelda. A young man, dressed in a tight black, long sleeve t-shirt and black pants spun around swiftly.

"What would you like?" He asked.

It was amazing to Hermione how someone so beautiful would work in a small local pub. As a bartender, nonetheless. His eyes sparkled as he waited for her answer. But she couldn't speak, not yet. Not until she drank in as much of his unnatural beauty as she could. The man shifted his weight. His Bright, short blonde hair disheveled; his warm green eyes raked over Hermione's torso. Hermione was speechless. Ron told her she was beautiful. But her natural brown waves, warm honey eyes, and pale skin couldn't hold a candle to the man that stood impatiently in front of her. He smiled, a dazzling white smile. His perfect pink lips pulled up to the sides of his pale cheek. Hermione was astonished. "You need another minute?" He laughed half-heartedly. Hermione was broken out of her trance. His voice flowed peacefully in through one ear, and out the other, like music. She knew who this was. It was amazing he couldn't remember her, though.

Hermione was rough. She knew she was rough. Her normal hair, her pale, pale skin, her fragile figure. She shook her head, embarrassed. He leaned up closer to the counter, and looked deep into her eyes, holding her gaze. He thought she might have been familiar. Hermione held her arms tight across her chest, to ease the butterflies fluttering inside of her stomach.

"I just need another shot. Vodka," She stated confidently, still not daring to look him in the eyes. The man knit his eyebrow forward and looked closely at Hermione, shaking his head wildly.

"No, I don't think you do," he laughed. Hermione opened her mouth wide, waiting for the words to spill out of her. He looked so closely to her, she was astonished that he had not remembered her. But she did. She remembered him. That's why the anger flowed so easily.

"Excuse me?" She questioned loudly. Mathelda looked up from where Angela and Katie were sitting, all of them laughing wildly. Hermione was sure it was because of her outburst and sunk her head in embarrassment, opting to toy with a coaster. It was too hard to look him in the eye. The man laughed at her once again, while rage boiled inside Hermione. She had been through enough tonight. Hermione thought of Ron then. She was hurting enough. A tear threatened to spill over the top of her eyelid, as she heard Mathelda yelling across the bar to the man.

"Come on Draco, just give her what she wants. She's having a rough night." Hermione smiled brightly at Mathelda's words, and shifted her gaze over to Draco. A small sarcastic smirk pulled itself across the side of her pale, rose coloured cheek.

"Whatever you say, Mathelda," He replied back, coolly. He popped open the lid to another beer bottle and lunged it forward on the table. Hermione took a large swig and tapped it down to the top of the bar. It tasted funny. Draco smiled. She was too drunk to realize it was non-alcoholic. Hermione looked forward to the bartender. He smirked devilishly, and continued to make all sorts of drinks for people. People who most likely, didn't need anymore to drink. Hermione finished off the last of her beer, and decided she could finally walk far enough to rejoin Angela and Katie. She stood up and teetered over around the edge of the bar, but slunk down instead of walking confidently over to her two best friends, who were in a fit of loud obnoxious laughter. Hermione wondered to herself what they could possibly be laughing at, and prayed to Merlin that it wasn't her. She had never been this drunk before. Hermione pulled her knees close to her chest and nodded off slightly. "No you don't," Draco demanded, trying to pull Hermione to her feet. His strong arms were warm and hard as they wrapped around her body. Hermione pleaded with him to let her sit for just one minute longer. He said no. Hermione's anger grew. She was never good at controlling her rage.

"Malfoy, get your hands off of me!" She cried, as she forced his arm away from her, and slid back down the side of the bar. Her mind spun fast as she placed head in between her knees.

"Granger." Draco snorted, heaving Hermione up onto her feet to face him once again. She had forgotten how tall he was. Draco wrapped his arm around Hermione's waist and walked her into the back room, supporting almost all of her weight with his warm, pale arms. Hermione stumbled to the sink and placed both hands on each side. The room titled sideways and she readjusted her head so that everything was straight again. That's when her world flipped upside down.

Draco wrapped his arms around her, and quickly turned the cold water on. He had so many questions. So many things he needed to know Why was she having a rough night? How had she been? Where was The Weasel? What had she been doing all these years? And how was it that she was so damn beautiful now? He had barely recognized her.

Instead, he pulled Hermione's wrists under the water, and help a damp towel to her head, as she sat, mused, atop an old bar stool. The water dropped from the towel down Hermione's face and cooled every pore. She closed her eyes momentarily, and leaned her head against back wall. She remembered the first night of the battle. The final battle raged on for days, the rain staining her memory. Se used to love the rain. She hated it now. The closest she could get to thinking about it without crying, because someone was finally taking care of her again, and even if she knew who it was, and objected, for once she wasn't alone.

Draco set the towel down and ran his hand across Hermione's forehead, lapping up the extra water.

"How are you?" He asked, smiling the way he had earlier, flashing his bright white teeth. It drove Hermione insane and she suddenly felt unsure of herself again. She nodded, not daring to look him in the eye. Not just yet.

"I can't believe this." She said, face geared towards to floor. All her securities were tossed out with the wind and she took a brief moment to search his beautiful face and look deeply into his warm grey eyes. She melted. Everything inside her was soft and milky and for a moment Hermione had forgotten all about who it was who was taking care of her and Ron.

Hermione tossed her head back and closed her eyes as she thought once more of Ron, Draco glided gracefully from beside the drunken girl to the fishbowl window on the back-room door, and upon returning leaned down beside Hermione again.

"Granger, I think your friends left."

Hermione jumped quickly out of her seat and instantly regretted her motion. She swayed back and forth until she finally felt Draco's warm arms wrap around her, forcing her back into her chair.

"It's alright, I told Mathelda I would drive you home if they left." Hermione shook her head. She knew who he was, and she knew that there would be some kind of catch to all of this. He was acting too nice now. No way would she forget that he was once a Death Eater.

I'm not sur-possed to drive with strangers." Hermione slurred, dragging each word out. Draco laughed, and nodded. 'That was the best excuse I could manage?' Hermione thought. 'No sarcastic, witty, clever comment like I used to dish out?'

Then again, Hermione was fully aware that she was not the girl she had been back at Hogwarts.

"You are absolutely right, but you know exactly who I am, and the quicker we get you home the faster you'll be able to sleep this off." Draco replied easily, as he whisked Hermione away from the bar stool, out the back room and across the bar before she had any time to object.

She would not forget who he was.

Hermione finally noticed how many girls were gawking at Draco's beauty, as he pulled her outside of the room. It's only natural she supposed. He was insanely… attractive.

What was she saying? This was definitely the alcohol talking. Hermione had realized that Draco hadn't said a nasty word to her all night. He hadn't called her one derogatory name, or made fun of her like he used to. He appeared to be a changed man. But Hermione knew that was next to impossible for someone like him.

Hermione waved wildly at Mathelda before Draco dragged her outside of the bar, and rested her body inside his old truck. Hermione closed her eyes again, and followed her head, spinning, spiraling. She didn't want him to let go of her waist. She didn't want him to take his eyes off of her. His warm, brilliantly green- grey eyes. It was torture, and Hermione was more than difficult getting into the truck, for fear that he would let go. Because, after all, that wouldn't be the first time someone had simply let her go.

The road, the trees, and the lines strewn across the streets followed, and flooded past the car. Draco drove slower than both her friends and in the wrong direction. Hermione hitched her small white thumb behind her and pointed out the back window. "My house is that way." She said flatly. Draco laughed, and slowly began turning around, after muttering a string of light profanities and something having to do with a waste of gas. Hermione secretly wondered how long he had worked in a bar. How long had he been the innocent Draco he had appeared to be now? The one that was driving her home, to her house, in his muggle car. How long had he been buying gas?

Hermione shook her head. "I'm confused," she stated simply. Draco laughed again, loudly, and Hermione only placed her cheek against the cold window, trying to pull herself back down to earth. It was nice for a moment. Draco stole a quick glance at the girl in his front seat. She was beautiful. Not like at Hogwarts. Her hair was long, and cascaded down her back, her clothes finally enveloped her body satisfactorily. No more robes. No more inter-house rivalry. He hardly believed that she could forgive all the things he had done to her. He didn't think she could forgive him for anything. He was a changed man. That much he knew. But she would never believe him.

"I'm not the same guy I was back at Hogwarts," He sighed. Hermione laughed at this.

"So you're not going to drive me out to the middle of nowhere, kill me and then dump my body somewhere where no one will find me?" Hermione laughed again, but Draco looked forward seriously, and then he turned to her. Their eyes locked, and Hermione could see just how serious Draco was. Maybe he was changed. Maybe five years out of Hogwarts showed him that there was another way. There was another route. One that was good and whole and pure. The light.

"It's this one, right here." Hermione pointed to her tiny brick house, covered in vines with the wild jungle of a garden. Empty. Draco pulled up to Hermione's driveway, and came around to open her door for her. Hermione stumbled out of the car, and thanked him for driving her home.

"Are you alright to go inside?" Draco asked, tilting her chin up to him.

Hermione laughed. "Nice try," she slurred, smiling widely. Draco smirked. That was the same smirk from Hogwarts. The same smug smirk that appeared right after he called her a-

"Mudblood." Hermione shook her head back and forth and took her head in her hands.

"What?" Draco yelled. Hermione moved her finger to his lips.

"Shhh! You're going to wake my neighbors up!" She whispered. Draco looked baffled. Had she just called herself a mudblood?

"Granger are you alright?" Draco asked. He seemed truly concerned. Hermione couldn't talk about anything right now. Her life was falling apart, and then piecing itself back together quicker than she had time to breathe. With Ron and Draco and Katie and Angela and the alcohol, which she had to admit, helped.

But not without turning her life upside down. So that everything that felt familiar to Hermione was far away. Draco grabbed her elbow and turned her around and she walked up to her porch. "Granger!"

Hermione turned to face the man she once knew. A man she was sure for years was dead, or lounging in his manor while poor little house elves waited on his hand and foot. But here he stood. A living contradiction to everything she had once believed. Nothing was right anymore. He was here now, in front of her empty house, helping her drunken self to her front door. That much had changed, but for the better. He was a good guy now, and better looking than she could have ever imagined. That's why she kept her head down. She was to scared to look him in the eye. She would get lost in him, and she knew it.

"Granger! Are you going to answer me?" Draco shouted, ignoring her warning concerning waking her neighbors. She simply snorted. There was no way that this was happening. She was dreaming. That was it. She was having a very, upsetting, confusing dream about Draco Malfoy. It was only natural. She hadn't seen him in four years. Not since the war. But when Draco touched her it all felt so real. Thoughts ran wild through her head. She could smell him. She could feel him. He was there, but it was a dream. It had to be.

"I'm fine," Hermione mumbled under her breath. She couldn't stand up on her own. She knew she wasn't going to make it upstairs to her comfortable bed, but despite everything he had said about being a changed man, Hermione still didn't trust Draco to walk her upstairs. Who cared, really? She would be alone in her bed anyways. And it was just a dream, right?

A small tear spilled over the edge of her eyelid, running down Hermione's rose colored cheek. Draco simply took her in his arms, and walked her up, into her house. It was comfortable. Something he had envisioned she would attain after graduating. Her own house. Hermione was the most independent girl he had ever known. This house had mimicked her. Across the front door, resting across her wall were numerous shelves full of books, brimming over until you could no longer see the bottom half of her wall. How Hermione.

Draco pulled Hermione past her couch, upstairs, into her bedroom. It wasn't hard to find, so Hermione wasn't surprised. She sat down on her bed, and placed her head in her hands. Draco kneeled down beside her, pulling stray pieces of hair out of her face. She laid back, and pulled her snow white and peach silk blanket around her body after taking her shoes off.

Hermione took Draco's face in her hand and searched for his eyes in the dark of her empty house. But they were so bright it was far from impossible. Draco looked baffled down at his old enemy pulling the black barrette out of her hair and setting it on her night stand. As long as this was a dream, Hermione would take advantage of it.

"What happened to you?" Hermione wondered aloud. She hadn't been sure if she was talking to Draco or herself. Either way, she figured she wouldn't get the truth. Draco smiled, and pressed his hand against hers.

"I've changed. And from the looks of it, so have you…" Draco said, looking Hermione's body up and down, drinking in every one of her features. Hermione blushed.

"You're right, I have changed. But that's not so hard to believe as what you're telling me. Draco Malfoy, the death eater, is now a bartender?" She giggled unconsciously, and Draco sheltered his serious expression even more so now.

"I'm going to muggle school now, too. To be a doctor." Draco stated, matter-of-factly. Hermione burst into an outrageous fit of laughter, tears cascading down her face.

"The infamous death eater is going to MUGGLE school, to be a doctor? Someone who saves lives on a daily basis?" Hermione only laughed harder at this and pulled Draco's sleeve up past his forearm, baring the large ominous dark mark. Hermione's laughter died down as she ran her fingers up and down the mark. Draco sighed.

"I didn't expect you to be able to forgive the things I've done, but I've changed." Draco pulled his arm away from her, but Hermione acted quickly. She held a strong, forceful grip over Draco's bicep, and he fell senselessly onto the bed, as she pulled him over besides her. Before he could process what was happening, Hermione took his face in between her cold, small hands and kissed him. It wasn't angry, or drunken and careless like Draco had expected it to be, but more so warm and soft. Hermione felt a surge of heat pass over her body. Draco entangled his hands into Hermione's soft brown hair, and deepened their kiss. It was a powerful force that bound the two of them together, and they were more than willing to let it overtake them both, The control had shocked them both, and before the moment threatened to become any more intense, it was over. Draco broke their kiss, gasping for breath, and walked briskly out of her house, leaving her alone once again.

Hermione still knew this was a dream. It wasn't so bad that she couldn't walk herself up her own stairs, or get a ride form Angela and Katie to her house. She wasn't so drunk that she would willingly kiss Draco Malfoy. That was the most logical explanation for what she had just experienced. There was no way that she had seen her ancient enemy in a muggle bar, and heard that he had changed that much. It was that simple.

If only she could believe that with all of her heart…