It burns the back of her throat as she knocks the firewhiskey back and she mulls how adequate the name is with an empty, unflattering snort. Hermione drags her finger around the rim of the glass, the epitome of the cliché lonely women alone at the bar, drinking away her sorrows. War heroine Hermione Granger alone in the middle of a dingy wizarding pub on Christmas night – a headline already begging to be on the front page of any of the various gossip magazines that had been trying to document and pick apart her life since after the War.
She's scowling when she waves to the bartender who refills her glass, and then again when she quickly inhales it. The burning sensation dulls the more she drinks, turning into a pleasant warmth pooling in her belly. Her body relaxes as the alcohol courses through her, further numbing the rage curled up in the back of her mind.
She's furious.
And can't do anything about it.
They aren't together – never had been, if she was honest – but it still hurt. It hurt more than she thought it should've, really, considering what she had been through throughout her childhood. All those years of fighting against Voldemort, all the soul-crushing fear, the hiding. The mourning. Hermione quickly took another swing of firewhiskey, welcoming the feeling of it rushing down her throat. Anything to distract her from that spiral.
That particular road was difficult to get out of sober, let alone drunk.
She can still see the scene as if had been burned to the backs of her eyelids – Ron, grinning like an idiot (the way she loved), hand resting on the back of a woman who she didn't recognise. Introducing her to the Weasley family, who was smiling at her and giving her within the usual, warm Weasley welcome. A sight difficult to swallow. She felt pathetic, looking in through the window of the Burrow, her heart aching. The present in her hands fell, landing on the ground with a resounding crack, although not as loud as the sound of her apparating away in her haste. To get away.
Although nobody has seen her, they must've heard her. She can already see what happened after she escaped – Harry rushing out with hand in hand, Arthur and the rest of the Weasley children quickly following to investigate. Old war habits die hard. The bartender refills her glass with magic and it's gone just as quick. Now, as she thinks on it, drunk and nursing her heart as much as she is her alcohol, Hermione is grateful she had been late. She wouldn't know what she would've done if she had arrived when she was supposed to. Already being in the house, soaking in the comfort and warmth that naturally exudes from the Weasleys', to having her heart broken by Ron so publicly. She shudders at the thought. Better alone than in front of Harry, or – Merlin forbid, Molly Weasley.
In front of Ron.
Hermione motions to the bartender, ready to further drink herself into her sorrows and drown in it. He only shakes his head, prying the glass from her hands, ignoring her slurred protests.
War heroine HERMIONE GRANGER being CUT OFF in a dingy wizarding pub on CHRISTMAS Night –Exclusive pictures and Intel.
Rita Skeeter would be shaking with excitement to see her right now, Hermione was certain of it. The rage simmers down, cooling and transforming into a sense of longing and helplessness that slithers its way around her heart. The rage was never hers to have – she had no right to be angry over something that never really existed in the first place. Hermione felt like a fool. She always put herself to a higher standard, that she was smarter than this. The anger returns, now, but for a different reason entirely.
She was Hermione Granger and she would not be bested by a broken heart. She'd been through too much, seen too much, and felt too much to let herself spiral down. Although, she realised, it was a little too late about that considering the alcohol flowing through her veins. At least she hasn't cried yet. Regardless, she would let it bother her no more. Tonight, she'd use alcohol to flush away her misery and tomorrow, she would be as if nothing had happened, armed with multiple Sober Up potions and beauty charms. She could do it.
Someone slides into the stool next to her, shoulders lightly brushing against hers, as they get the bartenders attention. Hermione doesn't glance at whoever is, and continues to stare blankly at her empty hands.
"You look sloshed, Granger." The voice next to her drawls, the words slightly dragging at her name. Hermione tenses, recognising the voice immediately despite her inebriated state and how many years since she'd last heard it.
"Malfoy."
"The Golden Girl remembers me. I'm honoured." Hermione twists, pointed glare and insulting retorts at the ready when she falters at the sight of him. Malfoy looks like he hasn't slept in days with the dark circles protruding under his bloodshot eyes. His skin was unhealthily pale, drawn, and gaunt. He looks haunted. Worse than he looked four years ago, fresh out of Azkaban for his trial. "What," Malfoy smirks but it's only a shell of what it used to be, "struck speechless by handsome looks?" He takes a swing of his firewhiskey, eyes cold and dead.
"You wish, Malfoy." is all she can get out, internally wincing at the pronounced slur to her words.
"Definitely sloshed, then." Malfoy looks rather pissed himself and the glass in his hand is clearly not his first – which, she assumes, is the only reason that he's talking to her.
The alcohol in her system is certainly the only reason why she's responding.
"S-Sod off you wanker."
He ignores her. "Now, why would the Golden Girl, the one and only Hermione Granger, part of the infamous trio be drunk and alone at a pub? On Christmas, might I add."
"Mind your... your own business Malfoy." It takes her an embarrassing amount of time to spit it out, her head fuzzy and clouded. Merlin, if she remembered any of this in the morning, she'd never live it down.
A grimy hand slams down on the counter between them. An uncomfortably warm body is pressed against her side, reeking of booze and body odour. "Trouble, pretty lady?" Hermione looks up, startled, and cringes. Cracked, yellow teeth grin at her, breath reeking impossibly more so, as beady eyes look at her lecherously. The sight – and smell – makes her shudder, hand fumbling for her wand. Too slow, get off me, too slow, get off me.
Her limbs are slow and sluggish, which amplifies the panic and disgust rising in her. Just as her fingers curl around her wand, the body is pushed off her roughly. "Bugger off, you bloody pervert." Malfoy's tone is low and dangerous, a warning, but the man ignores it.
"You wannnna fuckin' go kid?" The wizard starts, puffing up his chest, face going redder. Hermione can only stare, shocked, as Malfoy presses the tip of his wand into the man's thick neck in one solid, smooth motion. "I said," Malfoy growls, "bugger off."
The creep looks like he's about to respond, but thinks better of it, pushing Malfoy's wand away and stalking off grumbling.
The bartender is watching them cautiously, eyes flickering between them, as Malfoy slides back into his seat. The blond gives him a nod, which seems to settle the man, who wanders off to the other side of the bar. "Uh," Hermione swallows thickly, finally finding her voice, "thanks."
Malfoy looks almost as uncomfortable as she feels, shrugging off her words. "The guy stunk. Was ruining my drink." He supplies and Hermione nods slowly, accepting it. He's silent now and Hermione goes back to watching her hands. A few minutes pass. It's rather awkward now, as she fakes a cough, shifting slightly in her seat. Another headline title flashes through her mind: HEROINE HERMIONE GRANGER sitting with EX-DEATH EATER DRACO MALFOY at a dingy wizarding pub on Christmas Night! She snorts unflatteringly at the thought, garnering the attention of the man next to her. He raises a blonde brow at her and she shrugs as a response. Malfoy takes another swing of his firewhiskey.
"Well," he murmurs as he stands up, "better get going. It's Christmas after all." He eyes her, clearing his throat. "You should get home, too. Bet Potter and Weasley are wondering where you've run off to." Hermione flinches at his words – God, Harry! He must be worried sick, since she hadn't turned up – and gets up quickly, startling Malfoy. Her head buzzes and her knees grow weak, faltering. A hand is holding her elbow, steadying her, and her skin burns at the contact. He winces but holds on until she's stopped wobbling.
"Er, thanks." She slurs, uncomfortable with thanking Draco Malfoy twice in the same night.
He merely nods stiffly and the awkward feeling creeps back in. Hermione wonders what Ron would say, if he saw her here, plastered and in the company of one of the men he hates the most. She quickly stomps the thought out. She can feel eyes burning into the back of her head and when she turns, beady eyes are watching her. Her muscles tense, getting increasingly uncomfortable about the way the creep from earlier is looking at her. She wants to leave. Hermione goes to do just that when she's startled by an arm snaking around her waist, holding her up. Swallowing a slightly strangled noise in the back of her throat, she briefly struggles, watching Malfoy suspiciously but his grip doesn't lighten. If anything, it tightens. She cranes her neck to look at Malfoy, who's lips are tugging into a frown as he glares at the man. "Damned pervert." He mutters under his breath, so quietly that she has to strain her ears to hear.
Malfoy ignores her attempts to free herself, glancing behind them in the corner of his eye, and tugs her along across the pub. "What are you doing - Malfoy, let go off me!" He ignores her, again, and doesn't let go until they're outside in the bitter cold even when she scratches at his arm. She's still protesting, cheeks stinging from the wind, crossing her arms as intimidatingly as she can despite being completely plastered and redder than Weasley's hair. "You - you! How dare -"
"-He was obviously going to follow you, you daft woman!" Mafoy's frowning at her irritably as he rubs the spot she had clawed.
Oh. She blinks rapidly, "Oh. I see. Uh..." He raises a hand to interrupt her and she's even more grateful now that she doesn't have to apologise to him for the third time tonight. The entire scene is comical, honestly, and who knows what her friends would say if they saw her right now. With Draco Malfoy.
They stare at each other awkwardly and Hermione suddenly wants to crawl into a hole and lie in it. Gosh, she's never been more embarrassed in her life. "Right," she clears her throat, "well I'm just gonna... get going, then." Malfoy doesn't say anything and he's still bloody staring at her, so she moves to apparate when a warm hand tugs at her elbow.
"What?" She twists, voice a little shrill. What on earth does he want now?
"Never drink Granger. It makes you into a bloody idiot." He sneers at her, grip tightening. Hermione bristles, cheeks flaring up a furious red. "What?!"
He rolls his eyes, "Where do you live?" Hermione opens her mouth and then closes it, before opening it again like a gaping fish.
"Excuse me?" She splutters out.
Malfoy's getting more irritated by the second and her temper flares at his scowl. "You can barely stand, let alone apparate by yourself. You'll splinch yourself and I'd rather not have to explain to Weasley why his girlfriend lost her arm."
Her temper dies immediately at that, eyes turning downcast as she mutters "I'm not his girlfriend" bitterly before she can hold her tongue. Malfoy watches her for a couple of seconds, taking in her inebriated swaying and dejected slump. Something flashes behind his eyes.
"Where do you live?" He repeats. Hermione's too tired to argue even though it's against her better judgment to tell Draco Malfoy where she lives – Merlin, she really was plastered wasn't she – so she murmurs her address. Malfoy only nods stiffly, pulling her closer towards him - and then suddenly her insides are twisting, turning, the world flickering in and out of existence. They've arrived at her small, Muggle flat within seconds and Hermione quickly goes green, leaning over the railing of her porch, gagging. A hand rubs circles against her back and doesn't stop until she's able to recollect herself. Malfoy looks a little green himself but he still holds onto her, keeping her steady and standing. Hermione feels a twinge of shame and stuffs it down before it can grow.
"Didn't expect my night to end like this." He huffs as he watches her fumble with her keys. Hermione silently agrees. Malfoy lets out an irritated sigh and snatches the keys out of her hands, silencing her cry with a sharp look. Once unlocked, his arm is wrapped around her waist again, as the other tosses her keys onto the table next to the door. They stumble to her living room where he dumps her onto the couch. "I wouldn't recommend getting drunk, Granger. It's not a good look on you." Malfoy drags a hand over his face and disappears out the door before she can even think of saying something back.
EX-DEATH EATER DRACO MALFOY TAKING HERMIONE GRANGER HOME - NEW LOVE BLOSSOMING BETWEEN TWO STAR-CROSSED LOVERS OR PURE LUST?
Merlin, Rita Skeeter would be drooling.
A/N:
Hi everyone!
This fic was what brought me out of my (nearly year long) writer's block, so it's very special to me. I hope you enjoy it! It's also being cross-posted onto AO3 (under the same username), and currently has three more chapters than here. Over the next couple of days, I'll upload the following chapters so everything is updated.
I also have a tumblr! I post little bits n bobs, small updates on stories (like this one!), excerpts from said stories, and other random little bits of writing that didn't make it into a fully fleshed out fic! Find me at caandleworks
If you'd just like to chat, I'm on there all the time! Feel free to check it out! :)