Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling's world, not mine.

Hermione walked into an unfamiliar Muggle pub. She wasn't exactly a frequenter of other pubs per say, but she had never been in this particular one, the Paradise Lost, before. Normally she wouldn't have gone in at all, but she had been out for a walk to clear her head when it began to rain. Of course, she could have Apparated home, but she didn't want to risk it in the weather. Plus, something drew her to the bar.

It was dark when she entered the Paradise Lost, and Hermione observed it to be somewhat of a gentlemen's bar. It was dim and small and as she looked around all she could she was old men. Not older men, old men; men well past their prime with little to no hair nursing their drinks and talking about "the good old days".

Hermione sighed to herself as she heard the tumultuous downpour outside. She decided to sit at the bar and wait until the storm let up. Taking a stool at the counter, she ordered a whiskey sour from the bartender. She took a sip of her drink as the rain continued outside. Wishing she had a book, Hermione sat by herself waiting for the storm to clear when she realized someone had occupied the seat next to her. When she looked up, her eyes widened at the man beside her. Draco Malfoy.

"Evening Granger," he nodded. The sound of ice resonated as he finished the contents of his glass. He called over to the bartender for another one, "neat this time, Paulie."

This was not the same Draco Malfoy from Hogwarts. He was even paler, if that was even possible, and much thinner. For the first time, he was missing impeccable robes, dressed as a muggle (in all black of course). His eyes looked like glass, the spirit she had seen once gone. Perhaps that's the liquor though.

Not sure quite how to react to him, Hermione played along. "Malfoy. It's been a while," she said as she calmly sipped her drink.

"Indeed it has," he said as the bartender brought him another glass of scotch, sans ice.

"What are you doing here?" She couldn't help her curiosity. Were they planning to attack the Muggles in the area? Were there other Death Eaters around? She had nearly a million questions running through her head.

"Having a drink," an honest, genuine answer; no content or malice in his voice, no smirk, as if it was common to find him in a place like the Paradise Lost. "You know," he continued, "I never thought I'd ever like anything Muggle, but this scotch it quite good." Was he drunk? A Death Eater on the lam nearly drunk off his ass at a Muggle bar. Frustrated, Hermione tried to made her point more clearly to the blond next to her.

"I meant what are you doing here," she emphasized. Taking another small swig, she waited for his response.

He smiled at her as if the answer was obvious. "Can't you see Granger? Look around you." She still didn't understand and waited for him to finish drinking. "I'm waiting to die." He hadput it simply; drink in hand, not even looking at her. "These men, look at them. They're all close to it you can tell, death," he emphasized. He turned to her and looked into her eyes, "I'm just waiting for my turn to die. You and I both know it's soon." Not many things could shock Hermione Granger, but Draco Malfoy's solemn answer certainly had taken her aback.

"Think about it Granger. I have no place anywhere anymore. I'd go home but I don't have one. This world, our world," he shook his head, "it's forgotten about me. I'm a joke, no one would listen to what I have to say. I can't go backwards and I can't go forward. I'm just stuck. It's like," he paused before taking a drink, searching for the words. "I don't know, maybe, it's like being caught in quicksand. I'm sinking little by little, no way out." He looked over, read Herione's expression and assured her, "I've accepted my fate. Nothing more I can do but to wait for it," he shrugged.

"So that's it then? You're just going to sit here and drink yourself to death until it's your turn to die?"

"Sounds like a plan to me." He motioned for the bartender to bring him another glass.

"And that's all there is to it?" Why he made her angry, she had no idea. At least he wasn't with the Death Eaters murdering innocent people. But this was Malfoy, Draco Malfoy; the privileged, rich, and (as much as she hated to admit), smart boy who hated her because of her blood. And here she was, sitting in a Muggle bar with him, angry because he had just given up on life.

"Paulie! Another round for me and my lady friend!"

She couldn't understand him. "You can't just give up!"

"What else am I supposed to do, Granger? You heard what I said, I'm a joke." It wasn't what he said, but how he said it. Spoken like a man who had no other option, resignation in his voice.

"But—"

"There's no buts," he said, cutting her off, "you and I both know what's going through your pretty littlehead right now. What do you think your precious Order would do if you brought me back there tonight? You think I'd be welcomed with open arms?" He had practically read her mind. She wanted to believe they would accept him, but there was too much history to ignore. He was right; he had no place. She needed a minute to collect herself.

"Where are you staying?"

He smirked, "want to get me in bed while you still can, eh Granger," he said as he wiggled his eyebrows.

He still knew what buttons to press, that was for sure. "You flatter yourself if you think..."

"I know what you were thinking," he teased as he took another sip of scotch. And there's the smirk. "I may be slightly intoxicated but I'm not stupid. I tell you were I'm staying and that's the end."

"But if you know the end is coming, why delay the inevitable?" Reverse psychology could work.

He sat and thought about it for a moment. "Well, if I die today then you can't meet me tomorrow for a drink, now can you?"

What was she supposed to say to that? "I suppose not," she replied dumbly.

"Good, then it's settled. You meet me here again tomorrow for a drink—same time."

"How do I know it's not some kind of a trap?" Hermione Granger was nothing, if not clever. She knew better. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"You can't, Granger. That's the beauty of it. How do I know you won't go back to your Order and tell them exactly where I'm going to be tomorrow at this very minute?" He paused to let her think about it the continued, "I trust my instincts, and my instincts tell me that you won't rat me out. You and I both know if I wanted to harm you in any way, I would have done it already. Now, you can choose to come back here tomorrow and meet me for a drink or you can choose not to. It's your prerogative quite frankly. Personally, I wouldn't mind your company so much."

She didn't know what to say. Instead, she got up and left some money down at the bar. "I have to go," she weakly replied.

"Maybe I'll see you around, Granger. Watch out for yourself, okay?" She nodded and took one last look at the broken man at the bar before leaving. She wanted to go back tomorrow and see him, make sure he was alright, maybe even talk some sense into him. She wanted to fix him, if that was even possible, but how? And how was she supposed to tell everyone about him? She knew she should tell everyone what had happened, but could she?

With her hands in her pockets and Draco Malfoy in her head, Hermione walked down the street back to her flat. The storm had cleared and the sun was beginning to pop out. Perhaps the clear weather was a good sign.

Author's Note – This story came to me actually while I was writing a sequel to No Trace Behind, so I put that aside and had to write this one down. I was listening to the Goo Goo Dolls song Broadway and I just connected the lyrics with Draco Malfoy. So this is my very firstchapter fic. I'm not exactly sure where I am going with it yet though, so give me some feedback and let me know where I should take it.