A new one-shot from me. I was inspired on my way home from the store the other day and I just had to write this. I have some slight writer's block on my other two stories, but I figured if I have an idea for a one-shot then I should do it so my readers don't get bored with me, haha. I hope everyone enjoys it :)

Infinite Mess

Hermione Granger slammed down another shot (having lost count long ago), ignoring the concerned glares of her best friends Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley. She ordered two more then attempted conversation, though all that came out was a slur of half-words and half-thoughts.

Harry leaned in and took the freshly topped Firewhiskey shots, placing them out of her reach.

"What," she hiccupped, "gives Harry?"

"If you can barely talk, then you've had quite enough," Ginny answered instead. "How long are you going to keep doing this, Hermione? You're killing yourself."

Hermione sneered and ordered more shots. Harry took those as well.

"Did you lose Harry during the war?" she bit and managed to snatch one of the shots, downing it quickly before anyone could stop her. "No," she continued, seething, and surprisingly coherent for how absolutely drunk she was. "And everyday I have to look at you and see Ron. I have to look at you and Harry and how happy you are, knowing I can never have that again. And you sit here and tell me I'm killing myself, as if I weren't already dead."

She was out the door, not feeling the frigid iciness of the December air, before either had a chance to even process her words. And when they finally did, they couldn't have felt worse or more responsible for her well being.

"Leave," she said, throwing his pants at him, then leaving the room to get ready for work. He fumbled into his black slacks, grabbed his shirt (hastily buttoning it as he walked), and went after her. When he found her, she was in the bathroom, naked, and testing the temperature of the shower water. She glanced over her shoulder, gave him an indifferent look, then went back to her business.

"Hermione—"

"Save it Seamus," she sighed; why did no one ever understand her? Why did they always insist on doing this? "We had fun last night. You know I'm not looking for a relationship." When he said nothing and continued to stand there, she added, "Ever. So please leave. I have to get ready. I'll probably see you at work."

"Can I come over again?" he asked cautiously, his Irish accent making her want to jump him right then and there. Of course Hermione hadn't always been like this, anyone could see that. But since the war, which had ended nearly four years ago, she'd been slowly coming apart day by day. First she didn't eat, then she never slept, then the drinking started and the long and agonizing hours at the office, and now, for the past year or so, she'd taken to bringing guys home, having sex, then kicking them out as soon as she could. Seamus was a new one, and had been resistant at first to come to her flat; of course he'd heard all about her "problems" from the grapevine at work. But eventually he couldn't resist her any longer and now he wondered how he'd even kept away at all. She was phenomenal, when she wasn't drunk, that is. When she drank she could be as nasty as a Death Eater.

"Sure," Hermione answered with a shrug. "Just don't pull what Dean tried with me."

Seamus nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. The subject had been worn thin between him and Dean since it all happened. A few months back he had been Hermione's little toy, but when he tried to ask her out to dinner, she flipped out on him, threw a vase that missed his head by mere inches, then proceed to lunge at him to push him out the door and ended up gashing her foot on the broken glass. When he went to help her, she kicked him in the groin and ran to the bathroom. They hadn't spoken since.

"I'll see you later then."

He was halfway out the door, when she grabbed his arm and forced him against the doorway, her tongue fighting to gain entrance into his mouth. His arms instantly wrapped around her always-thinning waist, and from his throat came a husky guttural moan.

"What—"

"You can be a little late to work, right?" she breathed, already unbuttoning his pants.

He nodded, and the next thing he knew they were on the freezing bathroom floor tiles.

"Hermione?"

"What?"

"You're gorgeous."

Her body stiffened and her hands stopped moving. She was about to push him away, when his lips made contact with her neck, and then all she could think about was how great last night had been and how great her morning would be too.

Ginny rolled her eyes, trying to keep her stomach from lurching as she witnessed Hermione carelessly playing with Seamus' ear at the lunch table. Not that she didn't like him, on the contrary he was one of her closest friends, but she knew that this was nothing more than another one of Hermione's vices. She entertained the idea of speaking with him, the way she had with Dean, and Lee Jordan before that, and even her brother George (though that had only been a one night drunken mistake, which even Hermione had admitted was going too far). Of course there were others, random wizards at the office and in pubs, and Ginny couldn't very well talk to them all, so she decided this time to just let Hermione do what she would. After all, Seamus was a good guy and could definitely be trusted. But then again, Seamus wasn't who she had to worry about.

"Seamus," she said as she stood. It was time to get back to work. "You might want to button your collar back up. I don't think Scrimgeour would appreciate seeing that enormous hickey."

"Ginevra," Hermione mocked, grabbing her bag. "Stop being your mother."

Ginny came around the table and ripped Hermione's purse from her hands. She dumped its contents out, not at all surprised to find a flask that, when she shook it, proved to be nearly empty.

"Now you're drinking at work?"

Seamus attempted to step in and defend his lover, but one look at Ginny caught his tongue.

"I can only imagine what Ron would say if he could see you."

Ginny stumbled back before the pain registered. Placing her hand on the tender flesh of her left cheek, she fought to hold back tears. Not from pain, but from such intense anger and confusion that she could have slapped Hermione right back.

"How dare you!"

"Me?" the youngest Weasley laughed bitterly. "If you've looked in a mirror lately, you wouldn't have anyone to point fingers at."

"You couldn't possibly understand," Hermione seethed, then grabbed Seamus by the arm and stalked away.

When she was absolutely sure she was alone, Ginny collapsed on the floor, having not cried so hard since the war.

Draco Malfoy paced the length of his modest office. Over the course of the war and afterward he'd lost nearly everything, having to start over once things around him had settled down. He now made a mostly honest living buying and selling works of art, rare jewelry, and even rarer books. A lot of it was things his family had owned for centuries, but was then confiscated by the Ministry. When he saw his old family heirlooms he knew them immediately when no one else did and managed to buy them for sometimes 1/100 the original price.

His parents were long since dead, as well as most of the rest of his family, or sometimes just as good as, being in Azkaban. He had done his time, nearly three years. And the only reason he wasn't still in there was because the Wizengamot had taken his age and apparent vulnerability into account.

When he first got out he couldn't go outside for long periods of time. Already his family mansion had been sold, so the Ministry "kindly" offered him a hole-in-the-wall flat to stay in until he got on his feet. It took him near two months to even begin to figure out how he could make money, but once the idea came to him he was a natural. Within a few weeks he'd managed to accumulate enough money to buy his own home in the English countryside, and also pay back the Ministry for the time spent in his flat, and another substantial sum he had been fined as a Death Eater. And he absolutely could not believe any of it, because, in his heart, he was still every bit as much a Death Eater as he was before. More so, in fact, after his stay in Azkaban. He was bitter and angry and looking for any reason to exact his revenge. The only problem was the Ministry kept a constant watch over him. Any even slightly abnormal move and he was right back in jail, and the next time he went in he would not be walking back out.

"If I could just get close enough to Potter," he thought, absently twirling a quill in his hand.

But how?

Hermione Apparated to her favorite shithole of a bar in the sleepy little town of Glensfield. She knew only the bartender, having been there so many times; the locals steered clear of her when she came to town. No one knew why she came there, of all places, but they certainly knew who she was and why she hurt herself so badly. What they didn't know, however, was why she placed the blame solely on herself.

The battle had been like any other; blurred, chaotic, stifling with the stench of death. Harry and Ron were no where in sight, Ginny being just barely visible through the throng of bodies and curses, and Neville was at her back, blocking and firing curses as fast as she was.

Suddenly Ron was at her side too. He smiled the way they both knew he shouldn't be smiling, but he smiled all the same and said how much he loved her and that they should live in the country when the war was over. She remembered laughing, laughing freely, and then all three of them were on the ground, dirt in their eyes. A troop of Death Eaters charged at them, wands firing. She jumped to her feet, her foot on Ron's back to keep him down, to keep him safe. But moments later when she looked down, after she and Neville successfully warded them off, Ron's eyes were not looking at her. Nor anything else. In her haste to save him, she'd made him a target.

He was dead because of her.

"Evening Miss Granger," the bartender greeted her with his usual smile dripping with pity. She didn't bother to return the gesture and immediately ordered five shots and a half a glass of water. She never drank the water, but for some reason felt better having it.

"Well if it isn't the mudblood."

Hermione didn't move, didn't say a word, didn't respond. It had been so long since she'd seen him (not since his trial). She didn't know how to react.

"Malfoy," she finally said, and took a shot.

"So it's true what I've heard." He pulled up a stool and ordered the same thing as her. "I never thought I'd see the day bookworm Granger drank her problems away."

"They're hardly 'away'," she spat. "Cheers." She held up her shot and waited for him to do the same. He gave her a strange look, but downed it nonetheless.

The first thing she felt was bile, scorching and pungent, climbing her throat as if ascending a ladder. The next was the usual dull throb of a hangover-headache. She was brushing her teeth, after having emptied her stomach into the toilet, when glimpses of the night before began to bombard her thoughts. She laughed at the absurdity of what her brain was telling her, but when the images became clearer her heart contracted into a tiny flaming ball of awareness. Awareness that she was an alcoholic; awareness that she had too many problems to count on one hand; awareness that no matter how drunk she'd been she had still betrayed the memory of Ron. George had been one thing, but him?

She was vomiting again almost before she had a chance to reach the toilet bowl.

"Charming," came an amused voice from behind her.

"Leave," she hissed through gritted teeth.

"I'll leave when I'm good and ready." He then dug into his pants' pocket and extracted a very expensive looking wooden pipe with a gold snake wrapped around the base, the end of its tail being where one put their lips. From his other pocket he produced a circular wooden box with a matching snake on the lid. He was halfway through filling the pipe when Hermione realized what he was doing.

"You can't smoke that in here!"

"I'm not going to," he chuckled. "I'm going on the balcony."

"No," she seethed. "You're leaving. Now!"

"Calm yourself Granger. It's only hebulus." (A/N: basically it's our equivalent to marijuana)

"I know good and well what it is and it will not be in my house! It's disgusting, not to mention illegal!"

He only rolled his eyes and walked away towards the balcony. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know she was following him, her robe billowing open to expose quite a bit more flesh than intended. Taking a seat on the railing where there wasn't snow, he held the pipe to his lips, lit the bowl with his wand, and inhaled with a look of such great pleasure Hermione wondered if it was that bad to smoke hebulus.

"Go ahead," he sighed with a laugh behind his voice, the smoke streaming from his parted lips. He handed her the pipe, a smug smile pulling at his mouth.

"It smells so…good," she whispered, holding the bowl tentatively under her nose. "It smells like—"

"Lavender and peaches."

"Exactly," she laughed, putting the pipe in her mouth. The instant the sweet smoke hit her lungs it was as if Malfoy wasn't there, as if she hadn't just desecrated the name of her former lover, as if nothing matter. "Merlin Malfoy. And here I've been drinking all this time."

He couldn't help it. He burst out laughing, and for the first time she saw a true smile on his face.

"How did we get here last night?" she inquired casually, though they both knew there was nothing casual about it. If she'd only allow herself to be sober for a moment she'd realize (though she partly had) and face her problems, her mistakes, and then fix them. "I don't remember much after we went shot for shot."

"You kissed me, so we came back here and had sex," he replied with a shrug, carefully plucking the pipe from her fingers to take another hit.

"Way to be vague Malfoy."

"You called me Draco in bed," he said offhandedly.

Without knowing why (well, she could name a million reasons, though she didn't have a specific one on her mind at the moment), she reached out and slapped him so hard across the face that her hand burned.

"Because you expected me to not be vulgar?" he quipped and continued to smoke.

"I don't give a shit about that," she spat, then yanked the pipe from him. "But you're so fucking calm about what happened. It's me and you, Malfoy, incase you don't remember—WE HATE EACH OTHER!"

"I'm well aware of who we are and what we feel, but who says that should stop us from having some fun?"

Hermione inhaled the sweet, candy-like smoke and pondered his question. Well, the answer was simple: everyone would say so.

"Do you have anywhere to be?"

Draco's lip curled into a smirk.

"Not a chance."

She was, after all, a reckless witch now.

Her chest rose and fell as a hebulus sleep over-took her. That, and from exhaustion. It was nearly three in the afternoon and only fifteen minutes ago did Hermione and Draco cease their ministrations. Her body immediately gave way to sleep, for it was the first time she'd both smoked hebulus and slept with a man more creative and energetic than even she was.

Draco's eyes scanned her naked body, admiring her as if she were a conquered land he'd just acquired. He couldn't believe his luck. And here he thought he was going to have to do actual work to gain access to Harry Potter.

"Sweet dreams," he whispered sarcastically, then kissed her cheek and Apparated home.

Hermione tensed up, as she always did now, when Harry and Ginny entered her flat. Neville and Luna would be showing up soon, and then they were going to have dinner. It had been five months now, and Draco was still in the picture, visiting her flat at all hours of the day or night. It was beginning to wear on her. Not only the guilt and fear of being found out by her friends, but also the fact that she actually felt comfortable with him, actually felt good for once since the war. At first, for two months, he had only come over to have sex, maybe smoke a little and have a sandwich or something, then leave. But gradually he stayed longer and longer, and soon they didn't only have sex, and sometimes they didn't have sex at all. It was as though they were secretly dating, secretly in a passionate relationship.

She felt like vomiting.

"Something's different about you," Ginny said halfway through dinner, her eyes taking in Hermione as if seeing her for the first time.

"Like what?" she asked calmly, though inside she had fallen apart.

"What are you drinking?" She pointed to her goblet.

"Pumpkin juice," she said with a shrug, and took a sip. "Same as you."

"When was the last time you had Firewhiskey?" Neville asked cautiously.

"I—" And then it hit her. Hard. "—don't know…"

Everyone was looking at her. She felt cold, naked, dead.

"What's his name?" Ginny teased, because in Hermione's life change meant boys. And if they could get her to stop drinking, then she wanted to meet and thank whoever her mystery man was.

"I—" but she never got a chance to finish her sentence. There was a loud pop, a gasp, then two, then a whole collective.

Draco Malfoy had Apparated into her flat.

It didn't take long for her friends to put two and two together.

She burst into tears for the first time since Ron died.

"Merlin," Draco mumbled under his breath. He had honestly forgotten they were going to be here. There was a strange pang in his gut, a sensation he'd never felt before in his entire. He was guilty.

"Malfoy?" Harry bellowed, his and everyone else's goblets exploding into a hundred pieces as Harry's body pushed out his anger in the form of uncontrolled magic. "It's him?"

"Draco, please lea—"

"Draco? You're calling him Draco? How long—"

"I'm not going anywhere," Draco cut in, standing firmly in front of Hermione. For some reason unbeknownst to him he had this burning desire to protect her.

"Hermione," Ginny all but cried. "He's a Death Eater."

"Correction, Weasley. Was. I was a Death Eater."

"That mark on your arm tells a different story, Malfoy," Harry hissed. "Old habits die hard."

"That's more than obvious, hero boy."

Neville was on top of Draco, his hands around his throat, before any one could think to stop him. Not that they would have, however.

"Neville!" Hermione cried, shoving with all her strength to get Neville off him. Harry jumped in and grabbed her arms from behind, and got a good kick in the shin for his effort. "Neville! You'll hurt him!"

"That's the point!" Neville hissed, pushing down even harder on Draco's windpipe.

"I chose this! Neville! Please!" she screamed, her accessible limbs flailing every which way. "I chose this! I—"

Ginny successfully pulled Neville away. Harry let Hermione go.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," Draco snapped, pushing her away. "You were right, Granger. They will never understand."

"Well maybe it's not all bad," Ginny said carefully, surveying Harry's reaction with an almost fearful caution.

"Not all bad!" Harry shot back. "Tell me, Gin, where you see any good in this?"

They were back at their own flat, after having unsuccessfully tried to get Hermione to come out of the bathroom once Draco was gone. Harry was still as angry as ever, mumbling things like "traitor" and "unforgivable" under his breath between rants.

"Harry," she whispered, resting her hand gently on his shoulder. "He's making her better."

"How can you—"

"She's stopped drinking," she cut in, her voice calm and soft, attempting to bring his down as well. "She smiles. She even looks like she's been eating again; she's not skin and bone anymore. Harry." She kissed him lovingly on the cheek; he stiffened. He wasn't ready to admit anything close to that yet. "I hate Malfoy as much as anyone else, but if he's the only one who can help her, then don't we owe it to our friend to give them a chance?"

Harry's shoulders slumped and he let out such a great sigh his whole frame shuddered and appeared somehow smaller afterwards.

"Do we really have a choice? It's Hermione," he laughed bitterly. "She does what she wants."

"We shouldn't see each other again," Hermione was saying, but all he could hear was the throbbing pulse of his heart in his throat. He was so close to avenging his people. It couldn't end like this.

"Why?" he snorted. "Because of them?"

"No," but that was only half true. "I can't keep doing this, Draco. I've changed, and even if it's for the better, I refuse to allow myself to get better because of you."

"So you're ending this because you hate me?"

She nodded, unable to look at him.

He cracked a smile, then gave way to a soft chuckle.

"How is that funny?" she snapped, hitting his arm.

"It's just funny that we've hated each other this entire time, but you're only now realizing it."

"It's not only that!" she protested. "Malfoy! You're helping me, but I don't want your help!"

Draco took a step towards her, slowly reaching out to touch her. She flinched at first, but still allowed him to take hold of her arms, pull her to him, and kiss her roughly on the mouth.

"This doesn't end here, Granger," he whispered into her neck. "Not if I have anything to do about it."

"How are…things?" Harry asked, unable to meet her eyes. No one could. Though they wouldn't have seen them either way, for she refused to lift her head around anyone now. It was two weeks since the incident at her flat, and still she couldn't bare the shame, the humiliation of them finally knowing her darkest secret.

But, worst of all, she was still seeing Draco. And they knew it.

"He's helping me," she finally said in a low murmur. "Somehow…somehow he's helping me. How can I refuse that?"

"Look at us, Hermione," Ginny urged, placing a careful hand on hers. "We're not angry. We…we understand. We want you back, and if Malfoy is who is going to change that, then you're right, how can you refuse him?"

"But why!" Hermione cried, the old itch for Firewhiskey cropping up in her gut. "Why him?"

"How did it happen?" Neville asked, unable to picture any sensible situation where the two of them would end up together.

"How do you think?" she laughed painfully. "I was drunk. We were in the same bar. When I woke up in the morning he was there."

"But how did it continue?" This time the question was from Ginny, though it had been on all their minds. Once was understandable, she had only slept with George once. But to keep making the same mistake? They didn't even know how long this had been going on.

"I…I stopped drinking all together a month later," she said, seeming to completely sidestep the question. "Dr—Malfoy…Malfoy s-smokes…"

"Smokes what?" Harry asked through gritted teeth.

"Well what do you think?" Hermione spat, though not in anger at him, but herself. She was an infinite mess.

"Hermione! That's worse than drinking!"

"But it does explain a lot," Ginny pointed out.

Everyone turned to her.

"It does," she insisted. "Both addictions are just as bad, but hebulus gives no signs, Harry. All this time we've been thinking she's getting better when—"

"I stopped smoking three months ago!" Hermione yelled, slamming one balled first on the table before her.

Now all eyes were on her again.

"Nearly six months," she said without them having to ask. "We've been doing this for almost six months."

"Are you…are you two…dating?"

"Of course not!" Hermione balked. "How can you even think that?"

"Six months is a long time, Hermione. And if there are no…vices involved, what's keeping you there?"

"I hate him, do you understand me?" she bit, jumping to her feet. "Hate. There is more going on than any of you could possibly understand. You have love in your lives, and you've never had to experience what it feels like to lose the one person who knew you and loved you better than anyone ever could. I did," she said through her teeth, her eyes watering, stinging. "I lost Ron, and when I did I lost everything. I broke. And now, finally, I've found a way to fix myself. It might not be perfect or even right, but what else is there? If anyone has a better solution, please, tell me, because, clearly, I will do anything to just be me again."

"Hermione—"

"What Harry? What? Do you have any ideas? Because I'm all fucking ears."

"We love you."

"I…" She breathed deep and closed her eyes. "I love you too…"

One year exactly, and here they were, half asleep in her flat, drowsy from their usual activities. Her head was resting on his chest, the soothing rhyme of his heartbeat calming her. She couldn't imagine being anywhere else, with anyone else.

He lifted his head from the backboard and kissed her temple gently.

He was halfway out of the bed when the full weight of what had just transpired became clear.

She sat up and was crying before she could get her face in her hands.

"What?" Draco sighed. He didn't need this, not with everything else that was bombarding his mind; namely the fact that it had been a year since he started seeing Hermione and had still not come close to avenging Voldemort through Harry.

"You can't come back here," she whispered. "Ever."

"How many times are you going to cry over this?" It was already too many to count. He was beginning to wonder if he'd made a mistake in choosing her as his pawn. At first she had been so willing, so pliable to his demands. "Keep it up and you'll get your wish, Granger."

He pulled on his discarded pants from the night before, but for the life of him could not locate his shirt. Hermione, knowing what he was looking for, reached over the edge of her side of the bed and produced his plain white dress shirt and emerald green tie; he had come straight over from work.

"You wouldn't understand if I told you," she said, now standing before him, tying his tie as if he couldn't do it himself.

"Try me." He took her face in his hands, but she resisted, stumbling backwards onto the bed.

"If you set foot in my flat again I will arrest you," she told him in the calmest voice he'd ever heard. He took several steps back, because she was, after all, an Auror and could have at any moment sent him back to Azkaban. It seemed only to be a gamble now, and suddenly the blood rushed passed his ears so loud he could barely hear his own voice.

"Very well, Granger. But can you answer me something first?"

"Alright."

"When did you fall in love with me?"

He was on the floor, having never seen her wand gripped painfully in the hand behind her back.

"Don't make me ask you again," she said, still the picture of calm.

He climbed slowly to his feet, his eyes on her the entire time, and chanced a smile.

"Good-bye then," he said. "Hermione."

They couldn't remember a time she had been this drunk, this incoherent, this…this broken. She lay, one leg in the air, on her bed, laughing hysterically at an unknown source of amusement. Her hair was a sweaty mat of curls and frizz, her eyes glazed over and dull from drink. She wore only a thin silky negligee and one slipper.

"What's she laughing at?" Neville asked, keeping his distance with Ginny and Luna by the door.

"If I figure it out, I'll tell you," Harry said, a little too angrily. But they all knew what he was mad about; clearly something profound had occurred between her and Malfoy, and the result was her backsliding into alcoholism.

Hermione sat up so fast her head nearly collided with Harry's, which only caused her to laugh harder. She grabbed him around the neck, forcing their eyes to meet, and whispered, "Isn't it funny Harry? I'm going to hell. Me, Hermione Granger."

And then she passed out cold.

It was late evening the next day when she finally came to, the sour taste of stale liquor coating her tongue, her clothes reeking of the leftover hebulus Malfoy had left here. She eased herself onto her shoulders, startled to find she was not alone, nor in her own flat. Her eyes focused after several moments and she determined that she was in Harry and Ginny's bed, the fresh smell of tea wafting through the air.

"Drink it," came a calculated voice from seemingly nowhere. Hermione turned to see a cup of tea on the bedside table, then looked up at Ginny, who stood, arms crossed, in the doorway. "Merlin knows you need to."

"I take it I was belligerent last night," Hermione whispered into the cup.

"You passed out three times, Hermione," she said, finally coming into the room to sit in the chair beside the bed. "You kicked Neville in the jaw."

"Where is everyone?"

"It took everything in my power to keep Harry from going to Malfoy's and beating the life out of him."

Hermione dropped her eyes, only now realizing what she was wearing.

"I made a horrible mistake, Gin," she sighed, the tears escaping now as if she were always meant to cry, as if she hadn't stopped in the years since the war. "I…I made a promise to Ron, Ginny, a promise. And I've broken that promise."

"Hermione," Ginny whispered, and came to sit next to her, wrapping her arms tightly around her now shivering shoulders. "Ron's gone…He…He would want you to be happy."

"Do you even know what the promise was?"

Ginny shook her head no.

"I promised him, if he died, that I would never fall in love again."

"Get the hell out of my office," Harry seethed, his hand on his wand, ready to cast any spell necessary.

"I came here to talk, Potter."

"Nothing you can say is worth my time, Malfoy. Now get out before I—"

"The only reason I stayed with Hermione was to get at you."

All color drained from Harry's face.

"Excuse—"

"Let me finish," Draco sighed, irritated. "Merlin Potter, you think this is easy? Not everyone is born self righteous."

Using all of his self-control, Harry kept his mouth shut and listened. For Hermione he would listen.

"I stayed with her to get at you, but, after an entire year, I am no closer to it than I ever was. Do you have any idea why?"

Harry muttered something incoherent under his breath that Malfoy chose to ignore.

"One year ago I was still hell bent on avenging Voldemort and my family." Harry's scowl darkened. "When things started with Hermione I thought everything was falling into place and I could finally make you and everyone else pay for all you'd done to me."

Harry's face softened and his grip loosened on his wand. Something profound had just occurred to him: Malfoy was looking him directly in the eye, his voice steady and calculated, the quintessence of calm, and yet inside Harry could see the fear, the apprehension, and he knew—without a shadow of a doubt—that what Malfoy was saying was the truth. And it made him want to punch the bastard even more.

"You're for real, aren't you?" Harry blurted out, his wand falling to his desk.

"I haven't told you a thing yet, Potter. For Merlin's sake," he hissed. "Just—"

"You fell for her, didn't you? That's why you can't avenge Voldemort. It's because you—"

"Say one more word and I'll Avada you to your parents."

Harry's chest contracted. He couldn't remember a time he'd been more confused, save the Cho incident in fifth year.

"What did you want to tell me then?"

"Forget it. It's too complex for your weak mind to handle anyway."

Harry caught him halfway through the doorway, retracting his hand immediately when Malfoy spun around, daggers for eyes.

"If you ever—"

"Just say what you planned to say, Malfoy." He had to keep reminding himself this was for Hermione, for his best friend, and for her he could endure anything. Though the temptation to slug Malfoy good and hard in the jaw was almost too much to control.

"You've seen Hermione change, correct?"

Harry nodded.

"She told me once that I was the reason." Draco cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. "Well, Potter, she…she did the same for me."

"All I ask is that you don't hurt her."

"Have I yet?" Draco bit, appalled at the accusation.

Harry smiled because of Malfoy for the first time in his life.

"What the hell are you grinning like an idiot for?"

"Not once have you referred to her as 'Granger'."

Draco's face paled.

"Breathe one word of this conversation to her or anyone else, and I'll—"

"Just go, Malfoy," Harry laughed, suddenly quite amused at the whole situation. But, most of all, he was relieved; he was going to have his Hermione back.

Her eyes blurred—focused, unfocused, focused, unfocused—as she stared at the unopened bottle of Firewhiskey on the table. It had been one week since she kicked Draco out for good, and everyday since she'd drunk herself into a near coma.

Tonight…tonight she promised herself to not drink. And yet she hadn't moved from her chair for the past two hours. Her numb fingers were a vice on the shot glass, her heart a dull thud beneath the skin. She was half alive and wanted to be dead; because she drank, and she drank because she missed Ron, she still loved Ron, and because she loved Draco too.

"Am I going to have to wrestle that away from you?"

Hermione snapped back to reality and looked up to meet cloudy gray eyes.

"I told you—"

He silenced her by taking her available hand and pulling her to her feet. She opened her mouth to speak, to protest and yell at him to leave, but the tenderness of his lips on the bridge of her nose made her soul shatter and she collapsed in his arms.

"We were both in ruins before that night in the pub," Draco whispered, the coldness of his voice not even registering in Hermione's head; only his words, and what they meant. "I will never leave. I need you, and I know you need me."

"Malfoy, I can't—"

"And you think I can?" he countered harshly as he held her more tenderly than she felt she deserved.

"What if this breaks us even more?"

He laughed softly.

"I don't have a problem being broken by you."

She pressed her forehead into his shoulder, both hands pulling at the back of his shirt, struggling between her emotions, her exhaustion.

"Me neither…"

He grabbed her and kissed her hard.

He pulled back, his hands still on her flushed face, and whispered, "I don't love you."

She smiled.

She gently took his hands from her face and held them to her.

"I don't love you too."

Fin! Haha:P I don't know why I just ended it right there or like that, but I think it's finished. I have no more I think I can do with it, so for now I say it's done. It's taken me longer than I anticipated to write this (and it turned out being quite a bit longer in length too). But I'm satisfied and I hope you are as well.

REVIEW!