Author's Note: It's been quite a long time since I've written a fan fic, and to be honest, I never thought I would write one again. But here I am, uploading a story I just thought of today...one that is not original, but one that I hope you can enjoy nevertheless. It's Draco/Hermione once again – and it's angsty, just like the last one. I have no idea if this story will go anywhere, but I'm giving it a try. I at least owe it that much.

Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with the Harry Potter franchise. I just write fan fiction about it.

Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her with a disapproving glance, and she knew that if the reflection could only talk, it would give her a strong tsk-tsk before proceeding to lecture her on how she shouldn't do what she was about to do. And if it had come to that, she would have been ready to defend herself with as much force as needed.

She stared down at the small object in her hand and sighed, recalling how she'd practically had to sell her soul to obtain it. She had known that she'd have no problem finding someone in Slytherin to supply her with the goods, and she had also known that it would come at a hefty price. But she'd only had so much money to spend on the stuff itself – so in order to pay for his vow of silence in the matter, she had to promise him one date, at the time and place of his choice. She had agreed, reluctantly, hoping that he would eventually forget, or change his mind. After all, why would a Slytherin care to take her on a date? She wasn't pretty, she wasn't popular, and she most certainly was not the kind of girl Slytherin boys found interesting. Perhaps he had only made her agree to a date to scare her. That's what she had managed to convince herself, anyway.

She sighed once more, heavily this time. Magical marijuana. How had it come to this? If someone had told her a year ago that she would one day light up a joint and actually smoke it, she would have told that someone that they were certifiably insane. This just wasn't her. Yet there she was, locked in the safety of her bathroom, preparing to do just that. Part of her – the rebel that nobody, not even herself, knew she'd had inside of her – felt a momentary surge of excitement as she brought the neatly rolled paper up to her lips. Another part of her – the sensible part that made up ninety-nine percent of her personality – wanted to drop it onto the floor and stomp on it, then exit out the bathroom door and never look back. And she would have done that, had a small voice inside her head not reminded her of why she was going to do it. And had the voice not reminded her, her shaking hands would have.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered as she placed the joint between her lips. Wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible, she took one big drag, pulling the smoke as deeply into her lungs as she could. Immediately, she was overcome with a fit of coughing and gagging, to the point where she could barely breathe. Her eyes began to water, and her face turned a dark shade of crimson. She doubled over, continuing to cough until her chest hurt and she thought she would pass out. It took nearly a minute for everything to calm down, and by that time she realized she was lying on the bathroom floor.

She pressed her cheek against the cool tiles on the floor and took a deep breath, and then another. Amazingly enough, she was starting to feel different already. After her body got over the coughing fit and she tried inhaling more of the stuff, in moderation this time, she realized why she had purchased it in the first place. Her hands were steady now, and she could feel a mild sense of euphoria creeping up on her. And suddenly, as she realized she was still lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, she began to laugh.

She laughed until her sides hurt and she had tears rolling down the side of her face. She laughed until she realized she had no reason to be laughing, and that's when reality hit her. She sat up and looked down at the joint in her hand. She had almost smoked the entire thing and hadn't even noticed. She stood up and dropped it to the floor, stomping on it to put it out. Once the flame was out, it shriveled up and disappeared. The wonderful thing about magical marijuana was that it not only produced no odor, but it also left no physical evidence behind. No wonder it cost so much.

A sob suddenly escaped her lips, and it caught her by surprise. This stuff was supposed to make her happy, but at the moment all she wanted to do was scream. She took another glance at herself in the mirror, and she hated what was looking back at her. Dark circles surrounded her lifeless, bloodshot eyes. Her hair was frizzier than normal, sticking out in all directions as though she'd had a run-in with a light socket. And her skin was pale and ashen, making her look only slightly better than a corpse. No amount of magical marijuana was going to change her appearance. Perhaps she should have spent her money on a few beauty charms instead, so at least she wouldn't scare the First Years when she arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast.

"Looks are not important," she reminded herself aloud. "And you don't care what anyone thinks about you, anyway." She stood up straight and stared her reflection in the eye. "Now, Hermione Granger, get out there and act alive."

She put on her best smile, the one that looked the least fake, and turned to proceed out of the bathroom. But no sooner had her hand touched the doorknob than she was overcome with a wave of nausea. She quickly dropped to her knees in front of the toilet and emptied out the contents of her stomach, which, since she hadn't eaten since the previous afternoon, consisted only of bile. She assured herself that it was caused by the marijuana, since her body was not used to it.

She assured herself that it was nothing more than that.

Draco Malfoy woke to the sound of someone coughing. No, not just coughing – more like hacking up a lung. He groaned into his pillow at the disruption of his sleep, despite the fact it was time for him to get up, anyway. He was mostly irritated because the person whose coughing had woken him up was the mudblood Granger. She obviously had no respect for his beauty sleep. Just because she refused to get any of her own, didn't mean she had the right to deprive anyone else of theirs.

"Stupid bitch," he mumbled into his pillow. If it had been anyone else, he might have been somewhat concerned, but the sound of her coughing actually amused him. It was obviously causing her distress, which in turn made him smile. He would always manage to find humor in her suffering.

By the time he rolled out of bed, the coughing fit had stopped. He wondered briefly if perhaps she was alright, but then realized he didn't really care – other than he was just hoping she was okay enough to leave the bathroom so that he could take a shower.

She'd better not be contagious, he thought as he passed by the bathroom door. It was bad enough having to live with someone who had filthy blood – it may not have been pleasant, but at least it was all internal. He didn't want to have to sit around while she spread her filthy germs over their small living space. He couldn't afford to get sick during Quidditch season.

Since the bushy-haired know-it-all showed no signs of leaving the bathroom anytime soon, Draco sighed and plopped down on the couch. It had been three months since the school year had begun, and three months since he'd been forced to move in with the mudblood. He had wanted to be Head Boy so badly, never considering who would be Head Girl with him. Of course Hermione Granger would be awarded that responsibility – she was Hogwart's top student, and every professor's pet. Well, every professor besides Severus Snape, of course. Draco had been quite surprised, though, that he had been appointed Head Boy, instead of that stupid git Harry Potter. He knew Potter would have loved to be Head Boy, especially since one of his best friends was the Head Girl, and the fact that Draco had taken that opportunity away from him was enough to help him survive living with the mudblood for a whole nine months. He still did not enjoy living with her, but he did enjoy the glares he received from Potter multiple times a day, every time Draco was within even a few feet from Granger.

One of the worst things about living with Granger was sharing a bathroom. While she didn't take as much time getting ready in the bathroom as most girls did (which was very obvious, judging from her appearance every day), she always managed to occupy it first every morning. He wondered just how early she got up – that is, if she even ever went to bed in the first place. Lately, it looked like she hadn't been sleeping at all.

Draco sighed and closed his eyes. He wasn't worried about being late for breakfast, but he was concerned that he would end up falling asleep on the couch before Granger made her exit and end up missing Potions because of it. He considered for a moment going to knock on the door and demand that she hurry up, but he decided against it when he heard what sounded like her vomiting.

"Oh great," he muttered. She was definitely contagious. Perhaps he could crash in the Slytherin tower for a few days until she got over whatever was wrong with her. In fact, now would be a good time to head over there, so as to avoid her when she got out of the bathroom.

He stood up from the couch and was heading for the portrait hole when she finally made her exit, looking like death warmed over. He stopped in his tracks as he took in her appearance. He had never seen her looking so bad before – and that was saying something.

Unable to resist the urge to harass her, he folded his arms over his chest and drawled, "You're looking worse than normal today, Granger. Is that filthy blood of yours finally starting to take its toll on you?"

"Sod off, Malfoy," she replied weakly. She threw him a glare as she walked past him.

"Your eyes are bloodshot," he said. "Is that from staying up all night with your nose stuck in a book? Or from crying yourself to sleep over the fact that Potter and the Weasel don't pay as much attention to you anymore?"

Hermione ignored him as she began throwing books into her bag. She really did not look well at all, and the fact that she was failing to shoot back with any scathing insults only proved how sick she really was.

"Is it safe to go into the bathroom?" he continued. "Or should I cast a disinfectant spell on it first?"

"Do whatever you wish, Malfoy," she said, tossing her bag over her shoulder. Without so much as a glance back, she exited through the portrait hole, leaving Draco staring after her in confusion.

The only decent thing about living with Hermione Granger had been their almost constant bickering. Granger could certainly give him a run for his money when it came to insults, and their banter always provided him with a reasonable amount of entertainment. Plus, it was always more fun when he knew he was getting under her skin. Otherwise, it was a monumental waste of his time. Their interaction this morning, for instance, had served no other purpose than to make him late for breakfast. He couldn't even seem to rile her up at all. It was a shame, really.

With a defeated sigh, he decided to take his chances and head for the bathroom. At least a good shower would provide him with the opportunity of washing the mudblood germs off of him. Maybe by the end of the day she'd be feeling better, and with any luck, maybe he'd be able to make her cry.

Just as soon as she stepped outside of the portrait hole, Hermione leaned her back up against the nearest wall and stared up at the ceiling. Her body began to shake from her suppressed sobs as she bit her lip to prevent herself from breaking down and crying. She closed her eyes tightly and clenched her fists at her sides. She got like this sometimes, but usually it happened at night, when she didn't have to worry about going to class. Usually she could just throw herself on top of her bed and cry herself to sleep. But she didn't have that luxury today. Today, she would just have to suck it up and deal.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down, Hermione opened her eyes and quickly brushed away the tears before they could spill over.

It was going to be hard to act alive when she was already feeling dead inside.

A/N: I know, I know - this chapter is very short, and I'm a bit rusty. Just give me some time to get back into the groove. :)