Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but oh how I wish I did.

This is my first foray into the world of Dramione - please R&R!

Hermione sat quietly on her stool at the Hog's Head, a glass of straight firewhiskey in her hand. For the first time in years, she felt completely lost.

From the outside she knew it didn't seem that way. She had just secured the coveted position of healer in St. Mungo's Dark Magic division. It was a dream come true – working to help those who had been damaged by the worst curses and spells known to wizard kind. It was what she had been striving for since leaving Hogwarts. The pay wasn't stellar, but it was enough for her to afford her own flat in London, one that was within walking distance of Harry and Ginny's.

Hermione really had it all. She had wonderful friends, her dream job, a place of her own … but she felt more alone than ever. Taking a sip of her firewhiskey, she reveled in its sharp burn. Well, she'd wanted something that would do the job.

The truth was that nothing had been right since she and Ron had split up. Since she'd given him the space he'd asked for, and he returned to her a different man entirely. A man she didn't know, a man who didn't treat her the way he used to … a man who couldn't even say he loved her anymore.

Taking another long drink, Hermione willed the tears in her eyes to disappear. Six months – it had been six months and she was still thinking about him. She hated that. It didn't seem to matter how many dates she went on or how many times she woke up promising herself to start over and forget the past. It didn't matter that she'd cut off all of her hair in an attempt to recreate herself. She just couldn't shake the memory of the three years she'd been with Ron Weasley.

The door to the Hog's Head opened, pulling Hermione away from her thoughts as a cold gust of winter air entered the bar. She glanced up briefly from her firewhiskey, and almost choked.

Draco Malfoy walked past her as if he didn't even see her and took a seat a few stools away. Hermione tried not to stare at him in the dim light of the bar, but it was difficult. No one had seen Draco in three years – not since his father was sent to Azkaban and his mother was sent to a prison in Lithuania called Lokneid. He hadn't been officially punished by the ministry for his involvement in the war, but word spread quickly, and everyone knew Lucius and Narcissa's son. A few months after the war Hermione had heard that he'd left the country. She assumed at the time that he would never come back. Surely he could never show his face again.

And yet here he was, sitting in the Hog's Head and ordering a glass of firewhiskey that matched her own. She snuck a glance at him again. Yes, it was definitely Malfoy. His blond hair looked longer and unkept, and a steady 5 o clock shadow was growing on his jaw, but she would know him anywhere. Finishing off her glass in one gulp, Hermione did something that surprised even her.

"Malfoy?"

He didn't seem to hear her over the din of the bar, which was full of the sort of wizards Hermione would have normally called 'less than reputable'. Tonight, she just couldn't force herself to care.

"Malfoy," she said more loudly, getting up and taking a stool closer to him. He looked up as she sat down, and his eyes widened.

"Granger?" he sounded incredulous, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Shouldn't I be the one asking that question?" Hermione's boldness surprised her. "No one's seen you in years, Malfoy. We all thought you'd gone for good."

"You had to have been happy about that," he said bitterly, helping himself to his drink.

Hermione shrugged, unsure of what to say. Despite Draco's past, she had pitied him when his parents were locked away and he was left alone in the world. He disgusted her in every way, but she still hadn't been able to help that ounce of pity. Ron and Harry had told her she was crazy. She probably was.

Ordering another drink from the bartender, Hermione wondered why she had even approached Malfoy. Curiosity had gotten the better of her, she supposed, and that much she could blame on the firewhiskey. Curiosity rarely surpassed logic in the mind of Hermione Granger. Then again, sometimes she felt like she barely knew herself anymore – maybe this was how she acted now.

"So," Hermione began cautiously, "Where have you been?"

Draco shrugged, "Does it matter, Granger? Do you honestly give a damn?"

He turned to face her for the first time, and Hermione felt slightly unnerved. His blue eyes pierced through her, and she fought the urge to look away. This was not the Draco Malfoy she remembered. This man was different. Hermione could sense his desperation.

"I just want to know," she replied, well aware that that wasn't much of a reason. "There were a lot of rumors going around. Some people said you'd fled with other Death Eaters to Russia, others said the ministry was behind your so-called disappearance, and they had exiled you without public knowledge. Other people figured you just plain ran away."

"Well, I've always been good at that haven't I?" Draco remarked with a cold laugh. He took another drink, "And what about you?"

Hermione looked at him questioningly.

"What did you think happened to me?"

She shrugged, "I just assumed you went to go live with some other part of your family."

Draco laughed again. Hermione didn't like the sound of it - it was hollow and strange.

"I don't have any family, Granger," he finished the rest of his firewhiskey and ordered another, "They're all locked up or dead. Cowards and weaklings, every last one. And that's what they raised me to be."

Hermione finished her own glass, unsure of what to tell him. Her immediate response was to offer some form of reassurance, but it took only a few seconds of thought to know that Draco was right. He had been a coward. A bully without an ounce of courage. Hermione felt the color rush to her cheeks as she remembered what kind of a boy Draco Malfoy had been. She looked at the man before her and wondered if he was still the same way.

"You were despicable," she said quietly.

"I know."

"I hope you hate yourself."

The words were out of Hermione's mouth before she realized what she had said. It was one of the cruelest things that had ever passed through her lips. Part of her wanted to take it back immediately. Another part of her still burned with anger and what Malfoy had done – and what he hadn't done, out of fear.

"Of course I hate myself," Malfoy replied, "That's why I left. Too spineless to stand up and deal with the magical community's opinion of me, too spineless to kill myself … I just ran away."

Hermione was silent for a moment. Too spineless to kill myself. His words gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Had it come to that? Had he seriously considered death, and thought himself a coward for living? As much as she'd hated Malfoy, Hermione found herself feeling sorry for him now. Slowly, she put her hand on his arm. She expected him to pull away, but instead he simply looked at her.

"It took more courage to live than to kill yourself," she said simply.

They looked at each other for a moment, and Hermione wondered if Malfoy was as confused as she was. This entire encounter felt strange to her. One moment she wanted Malfoy to hate himself forever, the next moment she was trying to comfort him. It didn't make sense. She hated him. Of course she hated him. But … that didn't mean she wanted him dead. And she didn't want him to feel like he should be dead. She put down her glass.

"Well, I've clearly had too much," she remarked, trying to get away from the subject. "And you still haven't told me where you've been?"

Malfoy shook his head. "It doesn't matter, Granger. It just doesn't matter."

"Are you back for good?"

He shrugged, "No idea."

Hermione bit her lip, looking at Malfoy again. He looked so … lost. Not the cocky boy she'd known at school who took such pleasure in tormenting her. Not the young man who'd been fighting for the wrong side in a war.

"Why are you even talking to me?" She asked finally.

"Why?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, "I want to know why. At best, I expected you to ignore me when I came over here. At worst, I figured you would hex me out the door."

"Then why did you bother coming to talk to me at all?"

"Curiosity."

Malfoy nodded, "Can I buy you another?"

"Excuse me?"

"Another drink," he motioned to her glass.

Hermione stared at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Are you going to poison it?"

Malfoy let out a short laugh. Short, but real. Hermione wasn't sure why she got a slight feeling of relief when she heard it. Perhaps she'd been beginning to wonder if the man before her was anything but the walking dead.

"I'm not going to poison it," he said, "I just …." He paused for a moment, looking at Hermione with an intensity that made her feel uncomfortable.

"I'm just offering to buy you a drink," he said finally.

Hermione considered his proposition for a moment. She knew she didn't need another one. She'd knew she'd had enough. But that didn't stop her from wanting another.

"Okay," she said.

Malfoy ordered two more firewhiskeys from the bar tender and put one down in front of her.

"This has got to be one of the strangest things I've ever done," she remarked, taking a drink.

"Yeah," Malfoy replied, "Me too."

He gave a shrug, "But it's better than drinking alone."