Author's Note: This story is inspired by Cassadee Pope's song, "Easier to Lie." I heard it, this story popped into my head, and it wouldn't leave until I'd started it. Hopefully you enjoy.

This will, even though it may contain some mature themes, be the made-for-TV version of said themes. We won't be looking into the intimate details. Apologies if that disappoints.

This is currently rated T for this chapter, though if you feel it should be M due to language, please let me know and I'll be happy to switch it.

Disclaimer: As always, I don't own the characters or many of the locations, or any of the back story. Those are properties of JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, I believe. I'm only responsible for the plot and any random characters I might add.

Without further ado…

My eyes open to the first light of a grey dawn. I blink as a headache starts to sink in. I knew I shouldn't have drank all that firewhiskey last night.

I shake my head against the pillow in a vague attempt to clear the dream from my head. A blond head, clear grey eyes…

Turning my head once more on the pillow, I realize something isn't quite right this morning. These sheets…

The light is dim, but the feeling in the pit of my stomach becomes clearer as I turn my head the other way.

A dark form takes shape on the other side of this rather large four-poster bed. This bed with these very, very nice sheets that indeed are not my sheets…

Sheets I feel quite clearly against my bare body.

Well, shite.

I don't have to have light to know who that is. His hair nearly illuminates itself.

So, not a dream then.

I take a deep breath to fortify myself.

Time to think through this rationally.

So, clearly, that amount of firewhiskey could bring anyone to shame. Even the supposedly brightest witch of her age.

Even if that age was seven odd years ago now.

When did Malfoy even come in to the pub?

My fuzzy head can't even begin to think through all the details.

This moment. This one, right here, is the important one.

The one where I decide, quite resolutely, that I will not be waking him up. That I will calmly, rationally, begin to gather my things and make my way out that door I see vaguely on the other side of the room.

I begin to move. I carefully peel the sheets from my body, fully intent to ignore the pounding in my head as it contrasts with other more… pleasant… memories.

I make my way across the room, carefully picking through the random garments to find my own. As I pull my shirt over my head, I realize I haven't found my knickers. After a few more vague attempts, skirt in hand, I decide to abandon them. It's not as if he won't have remembered the occasion anyway.

All my stealth this morning is really just a delay of the inevitable.

In the increasingly clearer light of the morning, I make my way through the winding streets of Diagon Alley. I hadn't even known until this morning Malfoy had a flat here. Must have been how it was so easy to find in such a state of inebriation.

Not that I'll ever return.

Ducking into a side alley, I transfigure my clothing to a different set. Won't do to have someone recognize them as the same, anyway. I smooth down my hair and find my way to the Leaky Cauldron. It's not like it'll do me any good to have someone spotting me there of all places at the crack of dawn, but I need some food to clear my head and I'm not beyond asking if they have a hangover potion in stock.

Hannah's seen a lot, and her secret keeping's better than most, so she knows better than to ask once she takes my order of dry toast and juice, with a hangover potion to boot, and makes her way to the kitchens to prepare it.

A few moments later finds me with my head in my hands, toast and juice untouched, with an empty bottle and a stomach full of hangover potion.

Though my headache's quickly fading, my thoughts still manage to hurt all their own.

How could I possibly have been so uncategorically stupid?

I know not to drink beyond my capacity. Didn't my stent as a table dancer last Christmas Eve tell me as much?

Harry and Ginny had had quite a laugh at that, not to mention Ronald…

At the thought, my stomach squeezes in on itself all over again.

Ronald.

How could I have been so stupid?

Ronald. The reason I've yet to go home. The reason I've yet to figure all this out. The reason my decision-making was so, unbearably ignorant and altogether uncaring and unfeeling and…

Ugh!

How will I ever convince him to marry me now?

Contrary to popular belief, I haven't been the one dragging my feet in our relationship. I haven't been the one waiting to be sure, trying a live-in situation before making it official, or waiting well past my prime to put a damn ring on it already.

In fact, this very issue is what found me at that very pub last night, some skeezy joint in the side streets of Knockturn Alley where I figured I could drown it all out for just one night without anyone ever being the wiser…

Fat lot of good that did me.

And now I'm crying.

Fabulous. Just fabulous.

Hermione Jean Granger, sobbing her eyes out at the Leaky Cauldron of all places, at the crack of dawn with an uneaten breakfast and an empty bottle of hangover potion on clear display in front of her.

I have to get out of here.

I have to go home.

I have to tell him the truth, dammit, and I have to do it now.

I throw some cash on the table and am careful to avoid Hannah's eyes as I make way for the door.

I have no idea how I'm going to do this.

Carefully closing the door to our flat, I toe off my shoes and calmly hang my cloak on the tree just inside the door.

I begin to tiptoe toward the bedroom, then stop and emit a dry laugh. The snores to wake the dead are emanating from our room, and Ronald's never been a light sleeper. A rush of affection comes from my chest, and it hits me like a blast.

My eyes tear over all over again, and my teeth find my lower lip.

It's time.

I open the door to our bedroom, and there he is. The love of my life, the one I'd give anything for, the one I've waited on for so long.

The one I've just thrown away like he's nothing.

He is so. not. nothing.

Not to me.

I sit lightly on the bed and tap his shoulder.

As he rouses from sleep, he pulls me to him and I have no choice but to lie next to him, fully dressed, as he pulls me closer.

"Late night at work?" he mumbles, nuzzling my neck.

It wouldn't be the first time. I often stay all night, working on cases and coming up with new ways and innovations for the Department. Magical creatures don't have the clout to save themselves, as it were. And besides, I like the quiet when I work.

I take a deep, shuddering sigh, and he pulls me closer.

"Everything all right?" His eyes open, and at the sight of what must be my puffy ones, he pulls me even tighter.

"Oh, 'Mione, I'm so sorry…." He kisses me forehead, stroking my hair in the comforting way only he knows.

He's referring to yesterday. Yesterday, at lunch, when I'd pressed things and he'd recoiled and everything had gone to pot. Yesterday, before last night, when I went and decimated it all.

My teeth into my lip have become painful, and I swallow. "It's okay," I manage, and I cling to him.

He is my life.

He is everything.

He just. can't . know.

A/N: Please let me know what you think. It's been forever since I've been active on here, but this one just wouldn't go away until I started it.

For those of you wondering, there will be definite tones of Dramione here, and it's my current end goal (unless they get their own ideas, that is).

Thanks!