never meant to last the night
When it first started, both of them had just been seeking affection. They were just two lost souls drifting past each other in the night, looking for a tiny sliver of warmth in an unforgiving world, yearning for the reassuring spark of human touch. Then it became something new and unfamiliar, a bright and burning flame. Though this was the type of flame that never lasted long. When the fire burnt out, all they were left with was the comforting warmth of memories.
It had all started purely by coincidence. She had walked into his usual haunt, looking at first no different than the last time he'd laid eyes on her a year ago. The same wild head of honey curls, the same know-it-all expression. But yet there was something different there too. The tired smile she flashed to the man at the door didn't quite reach her eyes, she stood smaller, folded in on herself. Gone was that drive, that passion that made her who she was. If it wasn't for the familiar face he'd seen every day for six years, he would not have believed that this ghost of a woman was the great Hermione Granger, hailed as one of the saviours of the Wizarding World.
It really was bad luck she'd stumbled across this place. He doubted she'd be too pleased to see him, of all people, here. Not for the first time he thanked Merlin for the dim lights and hordes of random lowlifes that frequented the place. It should make him harder to spot. Nevertheless, he lowered his head and kept his face down, staring at the layer of grime covering the wooden surface of the bar top. If he didn't look, hopefully, she wouldn't see him.
"Malfoy." He jolted in surprise at the sound of her voice, the amber liquid in his glass threatening to spill over the rim. He hadn't heard her sit down. It did make sense he wasn't as alert as he used to be. Countless nights of drinking himself into a stupor would do that, he supposed.
"Granger." He returned the greeting, then they sat in silence for a few moments, not daring to look each other in the eye. Eventually, Granger signaled for the bartender, who hurried over, eager to please the Gryffindor Princess.
"I'll have what he's having." One hand gestured to the drink that was cradled in Draco's long, pale fingers. As soon as the liquor was set down in front of her, she downed it one gulp then waved the man over again.
"Another."
"Well, Granger. Didn't have you pegged as much of a drinker."
"Maybe you thought wrong, Malfoy." She spat out his name like it was a curse-word. For her, it probably was.
"Fair enough. Where's your entourage? Weasel and Pothead not trailing along?"
"If you mean Harry and Ron, they're not here," she answered, raising her refilled glass to her lips. Draco opened his mouth to ask where they were but, before he could his words out, she slammed the cup down in front of her. "And I don't want to talk about it."
"Ahh, had a little falling out? Trouble in paradise?" He expected a cutting retort. When all that came was a barely audible whisper, he was taken aback. This was new. Expectantly, he raised one arched eyebrow at her. It did not go unnoticed and she scowled, a strange expression to see on her face. Draco just kept staring, curiosity getting the better of him.
"I said I don't want to fucking talk about it." He did not give up the staring. "We broke up alright. Me and Ron. You bloody happy now?" He had not been expecting that. The temper, however, he was more used to.
"Getting a bit feisty, are we? I see you haven't changed a bit."
"Well, neither have you, Malfoy. I can see you're the same insufferable prick you were at school. Worse, even." At that comment, he let out a bitter laugh. She had hit too close to home for comfort. That thought was often one that plagued him as he sat in this squalid pub night after night. He hadn't changed, he was still the same cowardly, worthless boy he had been then. Just now he had a drinking problem. Granger had noticed his dark expression and turned to face him, that dreaded look on her face. Pity. She felt sorry for him, poor, disgraced Draco Malfoy, trying to booze all of his problems away. With a shake of his head, he swallowed the rest of his drink, got unsteadily to his feet, turned around and strode to the door.
Once he was outside, he sank heavily onto the wet cobblestones paving the street and leaned back against the wall of the pub. Draco just sat there, for what felt like hours, wallowing in self-hatred and occasionally taking a swig from the flask of firewhiskey he had taken to carrying around with him. Soon, a figure approached him, misty in the faint glow of the streetlights. It was her, of course. Bloody Granger, always so persistent. He expected her to say something, maybe to try and get him to talk about his feelings. He thought that type of thing was all part and parcel of a Gryffindor with a hero complex. But she just sat there, unmoving, head tilted upwards, eyes closed.
"What do you want, Granger?" She didn't reply, just stayed frozen in place. He tried again. "Look, I'm not in the mood to play a bloody guessing game, so if you could just tell me what the hell you wa-"
"Would you just stop talking." She cut him off and turned towards him, an unidentifiable look in her brown eyes.
"Wha-" She cut him off again, this time by pressing her lips to his own. After a few moments of shock, Draco found himself returning the kiss. It wasn't gentle and sweet, it was rough and angry and full of desperation and regret. Draco pulled her firmly towards him and deepened the kiss, until they broke apart, gasping for air. Unsure, he turned towards her, expecting her to realise what she'd done and flee into the night. But she simply gave him that odd look once again and clasped her hands around his neck, drawing him in for more. Abruptly, he tore himself away and studied her face, trying to work out what this meant to her. She gave a light chuckle at his confusion and leaned in to whisper in his ear.
"No strings attached." He inhaled sharply, feeling her hot breath tickling the skin of his neck. It wasn't a hard decision.
"No strings attached," he agreed. She ducked her head towards him, but he stopped her. "Somewhere a bit more private, perhaps?" Without waiting for an answer, he grasped her hand in his and apparated them away to his flat. Those were the last words either of them spoke that evening.
The harsh light of morning brought with it an empty bed and a splitting headache. So surreal were the events from the night before, he didn't believe they had happened until he returned to the bar that evening to find her waiting there. She was perched on the barstool next to his, sipping a glass of the same stuff they had drunk the night before. And so, it became a routine. Meet at the grotty bar, get hammered on cheap booze, then apparate off to his flat. There she'd spend the night, but would never stay for long. Without exception, both of them stuck to the one rule; no talking.
Draco was no fool, he knew it was just an attempted distraction from everyday life. She craved the same thing he did; the feeling of someone beside him, someone with whom to share a bed, no matter how fleeting. As weeks turned into months, he couldn't deny it any longer. He was beginning to get attached. He found himself excited, watching the minutes tick away until he could leave his tiny flat and go meet her. Sometimes, she wouldn't show up. Every time he waited for her, sitting at the bar until the small hours of the morning, with no company but a glass of whiskey. Those nights were the worst, the ones where he'd often break down, just unable to cope with the horrifying loneliness that was his life, the fact he was relying on a series of meaningless one-night stands to make him feel human. Of course, he knew he had to keep these thoughts to himself if he wanted whatever the hell they had to continue, so he did. As far as he knew, he meant less than nothing to her. It was just convenience.
One night, a few months down the line, something changed. It was one of those times he'd thought she wasn't going to show up. He was getting ready to leave when the door burst open and she walked in. She looked like hell, there was no denying it. Unruly curls escaping her ponytail and creating a halo of frizz around her wan, tired face. Eyes so puffy and bloodshot, it was obvious she'd been crying. Relieved she was here, Draco relaxed back down into his seat but she just grabbed his arm and dragged him to his feet. Then he felt the familiar tug in his gut as they apparated but also a new sensation. A trail of sparks igniting where she had touched him. He ignored this by pulling her close to him, too drunk to care he had no clue where they had come to.
At once she pushed him down onto a bed and thrust her lips onto his. Draco lost himself in her embrace, relishing the welcome reprieve it gave him. As they broke apart, Draco turned aside and started frantically unbuttoning his cloak, when he heard a strange noise from behind him. He looked over. She was sat on the edge of the bed, looking smaller and more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her. Tentatively, he sat down beside her. Cold grey eyes met warm brown ones. All at once she let out a sob and flung herself at him, burrowing her head into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and they stayed like that for hours, her crying softly in his arms.
When he woke up, he was disoriented at first. Morning light came streaming through blinds that were not his, onto a bed he did not recognise and illuminated a room he had never seen before. Groaning, he raised a hand to his pounding head and surveyed the room. It was larger than his room at home and completely unfamiliar. Only when he felt the mattress shift beneath him and he felt a leg brush up against his did he remember what happened. It was morning and there, sleeping beside him, was Hermione-bloody-Granger. And he, Draco Malfoy, appeared to be lying next to her, in her bed, in her house. At least she was still asleep. He should be able to make a quick escape before she woke up. Although he fully intended to make a run for it, something about the way she looked as she slept made him stop. He didn't know how long he sat there, staring at her slightly parted pink lips, the streaks of gold in her hair, the freckles that dusted her upturned nose.
"Malfoy, how long have you been staring at me?" He jumped up in shock. Shit. She was awake.
"Yeah, um, I just woke up," he replied, trying his best to sound half-asleep.
Slowly she opened her eyes and looked at him skeptically.
"Granger! It's true!"
"Really?" She was obviously not convinced.
"What about the rule? Are you sure we should be talking?" Quickly, her gaze dropped down to the duvet. He could have sworn she blushed.
"Yeah, you're right." An odd sense of disappointment washed over him. She obviously did not want to talk to him, probably wanted him to go.
"I guess I'll just go then." The awkwardness was awful.
"Erm, yep. Alright, then." He got up, throwing his cloak over his shoulder and walking towards the door. Just before he shut it behind him he turned to look at her. She seemed as uncomfortable as he felt. This was why they avoided this situation.
"Okay, um, bye Granger." Shutting the bedroom door behind him, he sighed in relief. As he was preparing to apparate away, a newspaper lying on a table near the door caught his eye. The headline read, "Golden trio member Harry Potter ties the knot with war heroine Ginevra Weasley" After scanning the article it seemed they'd married last night in an extravagant ceremony. One line jumped out at him, "Hermione Granger was notably absent, sources telling us she was uninvited after a falling out with the groom and the best man, Ronald Weasley. Could this be the end of the famous friendship?" So this was the reason Granger had been so upset. He'd have stayed and read more, but hearing noises coming from the bedroom, he hurridly apparated away.
From then on, there was a shift. No longer would they drink in silence, they'd talk. Awkward small-talk at first, interspersed with thinly-veiled insults, but it quickly grew to more than that. They'd have real conversations, speak about the past and the future, joke around and make each other laugh. Gone was the mocking sneer "Granger", the disgusted "Malfoy". They became "DracoandHermione", one, intertwined being. Soon, she stopped leaving every morning. She'd just lie there, curled up in his arms. It became their time, those hazy hours of dusk and dawn, time that felt separate, just for them. Both of them knew it couldn't last forever. Whatever it was. It was borrowed time, time that would soon run out. Knowing that it would, was the hardest thing. Eventually, of course, it did. Their nights became less and less frequent. One day, she just stopped coming. He saw all over the front page, he knew what had happened.
She'd found her way back to Ron and married him, got the fairy tale ending they'd spoken of together. The only difference was her Prince Charming was gold, not silver.
His next fairy tale was short but oh-so-sweet. He'd found love again, been blissfully happy until Astoria had been ripped away from him far too soon.
They caught each other's eye once, on the train platform, sending their kids to school. Cold, grey eyes meeting warm brown ones. And they both smiled, remembering those days of burning passion, those days they were just seeking affection.