The Three Broomsticks was bursting with people. Music blared from a muggle speaker someone had set up and butterbeer sloshed about as all of the Hogwarts students, displaced after the castle was ruined in the battle, jumped around in the manner that now passed for dancing.
It seemed that everyone had no thought beyond celebrating; to Hermione, it all seemed terribly irresponsible. A waste of energy and time that could be spent doing something productive, like repairing the castle and returning to some sense of normalcy. It was difficult to understand why all these children- well, adults, now, she supposed- were content to stay in the crowded pub drinking, dancing, snogging, and participating in practically every manner of debauchery that crossed their minds.
But then again, it wasn't that difficult to understand. If they repaired the castle, they'd be forced to see it in the heartbreaking state of wreckage that it was in. If they left the pub, they'd be forced to return home, where nearly every person present was missing at least one family member. If they were sober they'd remember the pain and loss that the "victory" had brought them. If they stopped moving there was no guarantee any of them would be inclined to start again.
So the partying continued, and Hermione stayed, observing it all from the farthest, darkest table in the corner of the crowded room. That is, until her relatively calm sanctuary was interrupted by Ron and yet another blonde stumbling towards one of the only empty booths, directly beside her. Finding herself in no mood to witness his clumsy fumblings with another unfamiliar girl in a string of random women, and with a surprisingly empty glass of butterbeer, Hermione dragged herself out of her seat and worked her way to the bar.
It took time to gain Madame Rosmerta's attention, and even after managing to place an order it was obvious it would take time to receive her drink with the barmaid's attention divided between so many raucous customers. With nothing else to do, she turned her sights back to the crowd, resuming her only recent pastime of watching people.
The Patil twins were grinding with two boys she vaguely recognized as being a year below her, and Neville, surprisingly, danced with Hannah Abbott nearby. Angelina Johnson and Lee Jordan jumped about some distance away, while Seamus and Dean seemed to be holding some sort of drinking contest at one of the tables that had been shoved out of the way of the dancing, against the back wall of the pub. A flash of red and blonde by the base of the staircase indicated the departure of Ron and his companion.
Briefly, Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes at the wasted years she had spent considering a relationship with her ginger friend. Perhaps it had only been because he was one of the only two males she spent any considerable time with, but she liked to think she had genuinely thought of him romantically because they had some chemistry; that view was proved, in part, by their kiss during the battle.
But since then-really, since discovering Fred's death- Ron had barely looked at her. Harry, too, but that was more due to the fact that they were hardly around each other anymore. While everyone else seemed fine escaping their feelings at parties like the one she was attending, Harry couldn't stand to be in crowds anymore. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and found more solace in the quiet of Grimmauld Place with Ginny than at any gathering.
As much as the three differed in their means of coping, Hermione was relieved that they had all agreed to reject the Ministry's attempts to throw celebratory balls in their honor. None of them had any desire to be harassed with questions or burdened with praise when they had only just finished attending the numerous funerals that were held following the battle. The press had agreed to leave them alone after being directly threatened by Kingsley for a two month 'grieving period'; this, however, was little solace to Hermione, who still found herself floating around the edges of gatherings like this one lost without the other two thirds of the golden trio.
A seat at the bar finally opened up, and Hermione had nearly sat down completely when she recognized the boy-no, man- that had just vacated the stool. The pale blonde hair was longer than she remembered, and lacked its usual gelled luster. His skin was ashen and his eyes red rimmed and framed by purplish bags.
In short, Draco Malfoy looked terrible.
She spent so much time studying him that she didn't realize he had stumbled and begun falling until he was nearly crushing her against the bar.
"Alright there, Malfoy?" She hadn't realized she was going to speak until the words were already out of her mouth.
He nodded and began extricating himself from her person with a mumbled "Sorry" before really looking at her and noticing who she was. He seemed perplexed by her presence, but for the first time that Hermione could remember he looked at her without the usual signs of disgust and anger. If anything, his eyes almost seemed to hold hints of guilt, and a specific sort of loathing targeted at an unidentifiable something, but not her.
She noticed, with some surprise, that he had grown to be quite tall, his face also losing the last traces of youthful weight, and his body was noticeably more toned than before. Not that she'd had enough contact with him in the past to notice the condition of his body; she had just always regarded him as the lanky type, rather than being athletic or fit.
Hermione realized she had been staring at him for quite sometime, and still stood closer than was strictly necessary. She blushed and hastily stepped backwards from the silent blonde. Too hastily, for he had still been using her to partially support his weight, and again found himself unbalanced and falling.
This time, she intentionally caught him and propped him up on her shoulder. He smelled heavily of fine Firewhiskey, and Hermione, bright as she was, finally realized he was completely and utterly sloshed.
She shouted over the music, "Do you have somewhere you can go to sleep this off?"
He gave a negative shake of his head and continued staring at her as if he didn't really understand what she was doing there. She sighed, knowing she couldn't leave him to continue drinking or to wander off into the night when the weather had been so tumultuous as of late.
Resigning herself to the regret she knew she would eventually feel, she tentatively asked, "Would you like to stay with me for the night? Just to sleep this off."
His eyes widened slightly before flicking away from her face. He gave a small nod that she might have missed if she hadn't been so focused on his reaction. Before she could convince herself that she was making a terrible decision, she walked him out of the pub and apparated home.
She was more than a little relieved when they landed on her doorstep and Malfoy managed to avoid vomiting. Without further ado, Hermione pulled her keys from her beaded bag and opened the door with only the slightest fumbling. The door swung open to reveal the cozy living room and she helped inside and towards the couch.
It was a comfortable, if bland, room, filled with plush seating, family photographs, and wooden accents. The carpet was a soft cream color and the walls a light beige. All in all, it was rather anticlimactic; for some reason, the idea that the brightest witch of their age, one third of the golden trio, had grown up in such an average Turnham Green home was perplexing to Malfoy. He hadn't ever considered what her home would look like, knowing she lived in a muggle neighborhood, but he had always assumed there would be something wildly unique about the outspoken Gryffindor's house. Really, how could someone who broke all societal expectations have been raised somewhere like this?
Not that it mattered to him.
He broke out of his odd musings when she softly cleared her throat.
"Would you like some tea, or perhaps water? Drinking liquids will help lessen your hangover in the morning." She was trying to be helpful while simultaneously convincing herself that she most certainly was not uncomfortable with having the Pureblood Slytherin in her home.
"I have several hangover potions, actually." Malfoy winced as he spoke, both at his unintentionally harsh tone and at the rawness of his throat.
Of course he has a potion, he's a wizard! Hermione nearly rolled her eyes at her own simplemindedness.
"Right then I'll just-"
"I-I didn't mean to be-"
They both spoke and then stopped, each waiting for the other to continue speaking. Flustered, Hermione finally opened her mouth to offer to show him to the guest room, when Malfoy spoke.
"I'm sorry for being such a prick!" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could organize them in a more respectable fashion. "You were just always so good at everything! And you weren't supposed to be, you know, because, well, you're a…"
At first she was taken aback by his apology, but then she was angry. "A what, Malfoy? A muggle-born? Or did you mean a mudblood?" She was so, so stupid for believing even for a moment that he was somehow worth helping.
He flinched at her use of the derogatory word. "No, I didn't mean it like that, it's just, I mean-" He'd never been so ineloquent in his life. "You grew up here."
Obviously his choice of words was doing nothing to placate the brunette. If anything, she seemed more agitated than before. "What, exactly, does the location of my home have to do with anything?"
He tried again. "I mean, you lived here. For half of your life you lived in a muggle neighborhood, while I lived in the upper cusp of wizarding society! I got my wand years before you, spent my whole life studying material well ahead of what I should've, had the best tutors- everything! And then you show up to Hogwarts having only just learned that magic existed and you somehow beat me at everything! The only thing I ever bested you at was flying, and that's hardly important in the scheme of things!"
He finished out of breath and slightly flushed, hoping she wasn't about to kick him out for his rather random and poorly worded confession.
Hermione sat very still for a moment contemplating his words. Then, having come to some conclusion, she nodded to herself and abruptly stood up.
"Right, that's sorted. Let me show you to the guest room upstairs." He scrambled to his feet, surprised at the sudden turn in the conversation, and followed her across the living room and up the staircase.
She led him to the second door on the left of the hallway and opened the door for him. "There's a bathroom attached through there-" she gestured to the door on the right wall, "that our rooms share. I'll get you up for breakfast around nine."
Draco tried not to groan at the early hour. At this point it was almost two in the morning, and with the headache he could already feel mounting, he knew the coming morning would be a miserable one.
Realizing she was waiting on a response, he nodded. Satisfied, she turned and began walking back to the first bedroom they'd passed. Draco suddenly felt the urge to speak again, only so she would look at him once more.
"Th-thanks, uh, for letting me stay here." Did he just stutter? Draco Malfoy did not stutter.
Hermione stopped and turned hallway back to face him again. With an odd, but not unpleasant half-smile, she nodded at him. "Sure. This house was a little too empty for me, anyway." With that she entered her bedroom and shut her door, leaving Draco to do the same.
This house was a little too empty for me. How odd.
Quite suddenly Draco realized he hadn't seen or heard her parents; she hadn't even mentioned them. Were they on holiday? Or...Did the Dark Lord actually manage to find Granger's parents?
The thought sent unwelcome shivers down his spine. No longer wishing to face his guilty conscious or contemplate the adult Grangers' fates, he layed down and very quickly fell asleep, overwhelmed by the complete and utter weirdness of the night.