Hermione:

The fighting always started the same. There was a good moment, a peaceful moment, and then, out of nowhere, there was a twinge in her stomach. Something is not right. Something does not fit. So she'd sit up or stand up or walk to the side and Ron would try to follow her. "What's wrong?" He'd ask, and there was never an answer so she made one up. "My back hurts." Or "I think I need to go home and sleep." Anything to avoid the actual truth, the real reason nothing had been right for months. And he would try to get her to stay, he really did. He'd smooth her hair back, push his skin against hers; he told her he loved her, that she was beautiful, to stay the night. But she couldn't share this feeling with him. She couldn't expand her unhappiness upon another human being. So she shouted and she screamed and she threw bottles against the wall and she snapped his wand and stepped on his feet. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring her back to the light and so she left, to stir in her craziness, all by herself.

The fighting always ended the same. She would stand in front of the mirror and watch herself brush her teeth. She pulled off her clothes and climbed into bed, completely naked, exposing herself to only herself. The sheets were never enough to keep her warm so she burrowed down, deep down, and she slept. She always had the same dream. She never dreamt of anything else.

And the next day, when Ron would apparate over to make her breakfast; when he would pull off his shirt and climb into her sheets, press his skin against her back, mold his fingers into hers, they were over just a little bit more. Not just the fights, but the love. The people.

Until one day, she couldn't feel anything anymore. Not just with Ron but with anyone. Her head was going to explode and she couldn't live with it anymore. The lie of herself; the lie of them together. She ended things with Ron and she tried, so hard, to forget.

Hermione felt Crookshanks shift in her lap and looked down at him. Running her hand over his bristled old fur, she smiled and remembered the day she bought him. Her little arms had wound around the great ball of orange mass and as he grew older she grew sadder that their time together was almost through. She had never been a cat person before and didn't think she'd get another when he was gone. She stroked him again and then picked up the book at her bedside. She had picked up reading again since her and Ron had split a week ago. She hadn't had much time while they were together and as her nose went deeper into the folds of the pages, she almost found herself…glad, that things were over between them. This, at least, was something she benefited from it.

It had been like a divorce in the end. When they were first together, the war had just ended. There had been no courting, no flowers, not even a moment where one asked the other out. Rather it was unspoken, a silent agreement. Two people who had loved each other for a very long time. And now, two people who didn't. But it hadn't always been this way. It hadn't always been so terrible.

There had been that first summer after the war…Ron whooping and running through the sprinklers in the back of the Burrow. Harry and Ron picking her up and swinging her around like a carousel; the cool afternoon breeze picking up and drifting in through the kitchen window as Hermione taught Molly to freeze kool-aid into ice cubes to suck on. There was then the afternoons that the four of them spent under the trees, Ginny sticking her acid pops green tongue in Harry's face and Ron licking hers. It had been so sweet and so carefree. None of them had wanted to remember and for a while, neither had she. But there are some things you couldn't toss away like a candy wrapper. Memories aren't tin foil that crinkle and glimmer in the sun.

She put the book down and cracked her knuckles. Crookshanks grumbled and swayed off on his bowed pudgy legs. As she looked around the room she could only think about how empty it looked without Ron's things. Her flat had always only been her flat, they had not moved in together. But his things- the dust from his broom after practice, his t-shirts that always smelled just a hint like toothpaste and freshly mowed grass; the picture frames with the moving and smiling pictures and the random things she never noticed until they were gone-they were always there. She didn't hurt over her decision to end things with Ron. But she did feel the loss of him.

Draco:

The oil slipped through his fingers like sand and with practiced hands he tucked it behind his ears and over his brow. The white blonde hair that normally would fall to his shoulders was now smoothed in a careful array. With a casual glance in the mirror he flicked off the lights and left his room. Draco Malfoy had long ago lost interest in his appearance. He knew which parts of his father and mother hid in his face; he recognized which creases and lines belonged to events of the past. The only thing that ever changed was his long and lithe frame. As the year went on he grew sinewy and frantic. Restless.

Apart from his appearance his life also remained the same. It had been nearly three years after the war and he was still exactly where he should be. He lived with his mother, his father was in Azkaban, and he was extraordinarily wealthy and powerful. He was fortunate enough to remain in favor of the Ministry and his involvement with the Dark Lord was excused based on eyewitness accounts of Dumbledore's death. And so, Draco had all of the recognition he could ever ask for. His Dad left him everything and as a result he had no need for a job but rather spent his time managing the Malfoy estate. In his free time, he had picked up the art of women-rather, he learned how to charm them into doing whatever he wanted. But somehow, he found himself alone, more often than not; he wandered listlessly around the town of London at night, bottle in hand, and himself as company.

He was unsatisfied.

All of the money in the world and none of it gave him enough.

Hermione:

She packed quickly but efficiently. What she needed most she brought but items that she was merely attached to-old paperbacks, records and dishes, were left behind. In the end, all she had was a carry on and it wasn't so heavy that she couldn't sling it over her shoulder. After fastening a grumpy Crookshanks into a carrying case, she stood in the doorway of her flat and looked around. Everything looked, as it should. No one would know that someone didn't currently live here simply by looking. Her rent had been paid in advance; she had taken a leave of absence from her job at Gringots. And so, with a heavy heart, she apparated with a soft crack.

She arrived in Ireland. Long ago her parents had told her stories of their plans to retire there when they were sure she could sustain a life on her own. They never got the chance. As she lay in her flat weeks ago, her heart both too full and empty all at once, she decided without much thinking that this was where she was supposed to be.

The Bed and Breakfast in front of her was meant for magical folk, but was in Limerick, among all other businesses. This particular B&B was owned by a retired witch named Madge, who kept her cottage located on a small farm with dusty roads winding and curving it's cobbled lines away from the rest of the town. She loved it immediately. The roof dipped low and hung over a narrow but warm looking porch. It was dusk and the lights had been turned on in the house to give a musky glow to the cob stone and rocks surrounding it. The trees were greener than she had ever imagined they could be. Her heart expanded for this place that was to be her home, indefinitely.

Madge sensed her presence before she ever made the decision to go inside. She flung open the door and smiled a toothy grin.

"Hermione, sweets! You're here!" She grabbed Hermione's bag from her shoulder and held it with one hand and with the other, Crookshank's crate. "Come now, before it gets dark. You must be tired!"

She was, actually, though she had woken late. Letting go of home, not knowing if she'd return, had taken a lot from her. So she followed Madge up the creaky porch steps, and into the house.

"That's right, now follow me." Madge began climbing up a winding staircase made of the most beautiful oak wood she had ever seen.

As Madge climbed, Hermione took a moment to examine her home from a glance. All she could see was the front but from the corner of her vision she could see the beginnings of a kitchen and what looked like a reading room. The rooms were artfully and tastefully decorated from what she could see. Everything was clean but cluttered together in arrangement. Madge's head popped over the balcony and she beckoned for Hermione to join her. She quickly stepped up the many steps and finally hopped up on top. There was a narrow hallway, with three rooms and a bathroom. The one room at the end was open, so she walked over to it and Madge was indeed in it, placing Hermione's bag on the floor near the bed and crooning at Crookshanks.

"Is it alright if I let him out?" Madge asked. "I have cats of my own he can play with."

Hermione set the cage on the floor and opened the hinges. Crookshanks flew out immediately in a haze of orange. She stood and smiled. It was good to let him out and let him explore without worry like she did in London.

Madge grinned at Hermione.

"Well this is it, isn't it? We've already discussed payment so all that's left is this." She handed Hermione a beautiful tiny silver key. It had an exquisite design on the top in which all knots seemed to tie into the other. "Make sure you don't lose it. The charm to produce another is rather expensive."

With that, she cheerfully hugged her and then left the room to Hermione and her thoughts.

Draco:

It was while he was wondering one night that he stumbled upon the old hag. Or rather, she stumbled upon him. The bottle of Jack was heavy in his hands tonight, and no matter how much he emptied in his mouth it did not get lighter. His feet grew heavy- heavy as his heart and sick as his head. He tripped on the corner of a cobblestone and into an alley. God damn Muggle pavement, he thought and seethed over his scuffed shoes.

He became very aware of his own breathing-loud and labored as if he had run a marathon. There was no one around but himself, and though Draco had long since been used to his own presence he was disturbed at how very alone he seemed to be when moments ago he had been in a crowded bar. Then he smelled her.

It was a peculiar scent; one of dried skin and damp earth. Her hair, tangled and longer than Dumbledore's beard, appeared from behind the end of the alley and that skin-the skin of an old woman who had long since been dead- came crawling closer until finally she was before him.

"Dracoooo Mallfoooy." She slithered from behind two broken front teeth. "You're time is up." He recoiled. Her breath reeked of old porridge. She twisted a long spindled finger around his neck, caressed his ear like that of a lover. "No longer will you roam the streets at night, using those like life has used you. You will know life or you will die."

"I don't understand." He stammered. "I've done nothing-"

"You have done nothing, and that is why you will pay. The fates have rewarded you with a second chance at life and you repay us by throwing it away, day to night and bottle to floor."

He peered closer. Her eyes were shiny like glass and in them he saw himself. His shirt was soiled from her grimy fingers and mouth turned down.

"You have a year, Draco Malfoy. You must fall in love, and be loved in return, or you will loose your magic forever."

His hand instinctively went to clutch his wand, but it was not there. In a moment of panic he grabbed the woman's shoulders. "Where?" He breathed.

She pulled his long, thin wand from the folds of her robes and then tucked it back in.

"One year. Or it is ours…forever."

And then he was laying face down on the road in front of the bar. Rain had started to fall and it was a hot rain, like tears. His mind shriveled and expanded, dilating over and over again. He opened his eyes and turned over, letting the rain hit his face and feeling each drop.

A/N: My story was deleted this week, for "improper rating". After initial annoyance, I decided to publish it again, due to many people saying they never got to finish. So here it is. My first story, for better or worse. Enjoy!