Author's Note: As New Year's approaches, I had some thoughts swirling around in my head that were begging to be written. I wanted to write something with an out of the blue interaction between Hermione and Malfoy, and then this story seemed to just fall out of my brain. I should be posting another chapter of Mugglefied at the end of this week; it's written and I'm working on editing it.

Author's Note: 2: The response to this first chapter was phenomenal; this is now going to be a 10-15 chapter story. As of right now, Sunshine Katz is also beta-reading this story. I'm reposting chapters 1-6 with minor fixes; chapter 7 goes up tomorrow, 3/19/19.


Chapter 1: Alone in a Crowd


Hermione stared down at her drink, her purse beside her on the bar, contemplating her life. They'd broken off into the obvious couples after the war. She and Ron. Harry and Ginny. Neville and Hannah. Dozens of others. Saving the world made you feel pretty damn good about life.

It didn't last.

They were seventeen, eighteen years old. It never lasted. She didn't think any of those couples were still together. Neville and Hannah had lasted the longest as far as she knew, but even they had called it quits in the end. The Neville who survived the war wasn't the mousy Herbology partner of Hannah's childhood anymore than the Ron who came home short tempered at the end of each day's Auror training was the boy who chewed too loudly and always made her laugh (when he wasn't being disgusting).

Time slid by, day by day. In and out of her boring Ministry job where she tried to tell herself she was making a difference, but she didn't believe it. She dated Terry Boot for a while. And there was a brief fling with Oliver Wood after one of George's parties. But let's face it…she was twenty-three and life didn't seem to be going anywhere.

In less than an hour a new year would start and it would be exactly the same as last year. She sighed and took a sip of her drink. She wasn't even sure why she'd come out tonight, except that sitting in a pub full of strangers alone ringing in the New Year had felt slightly less pathetic than sitting home on the couch and ringing in the New Year by herself with a bottle of wine. Hell, let's face it: if she'd stayed home she'd probably have gone to bed at ten and greeted the new year in the morning with coffee. Maybe she should go home and do that anyway.

"Merlin, this is pathetic. I'm twenty-three, not forty," she muttered to herself.

"Talking to yourself is a bad sign, even in the Wizarding world," drawled a voice behind her. The blond wizard slipped onto the bar stool next to hers and slid her purse out of the way.

Hermione didn't bother to even turn her head. It didn't matter how much time went by—she knew that voice. "Well, I wanted to have a conversation with someone of intelligence. My options were limited."

He smirked. "It's a good thing I've turned up then." He signalled Tom behind the bar to bring him a glass of whatever Granger was drinking and hoped it was good. He looked her over casually. Sleeveless dress, a little cleavage but not much. Hair she'd probably brushed that morning and not touched since. No makeup. It was as if she'd started to make an effort and then lost her enthusiasm. Pathetic.

The brunette witch snorted and took a sip of her drink, turning to look at him. "You must be having a slow week if you think this is entertainment."

He arched an eyebrow in the Malfoy equivalent of a shrug and dusted some imaginary lint off of his immaculate gray robes. "Plenty of invitations, but none tempting enough to say yes. If you say yes to a witch's New Year's Eve party, she might expect you to stick around the whole year, and then where would I be?"

She rolled her eyes. As far as she knew—without making any effort to really know what the little flobberworm was up to—general hearsay was that Malfoy was living a life of leisure. It seemed he and Parkinson had dated for all of fifteen minutes after the war, and he'd had a number of short-lived relationships, but nothing serious enough to please his mother.

Tom brought Draco's drink and he took a sip and made a face. "Really, Granger? What is this?"

"Fizzing Flyby. You shouldn't have ordered one if you didn't want it."

"Barkeep, take both of these away. Bring us…that '83 Bordeaux on the top shelf."

Grinning his toothless grin, Tom took away both glasses.

Hermione bristled, setting both hands on the counter. "I wasn't done with mine. Tom!"

Draco chuckled and on a whim reached out and ran his thumb over the back of her hand. "Relax, Granger. Try the red. If you don't like it, I'll buy you another…Flyby."

Hermione looked down at his thumb on her right hand and used her left to remove it, dropping it unceremoniously on the bar top with a thud. Still, when Tom handed her the glass of red wine, she took a slow sip. Damn. It was good.

Draco had a smug smirk on his face as he also took a sip. Much better. "What brings you here tonight?" He glanced at her dress again. It hugged her curves. "Date?"

Hermione laughed. "No."

"Hunting for one?"

"Also no. Just thought I'd get out into the world for a bit."

The Leaky Cauldron was crowded—people at every table, and a good many of them standing between tables with their drinks. No dancing—it wasn't that sort of pub. But there was plenty of lively conversation going on.

His voice was dry, "Yes, quite a stimulating environment."

"Well, if you're here to liven up my night, get on with it. Wow me with your dazzling conversational skills. Or, hand me my purse, and I'll get out a book to read and you can go on your merry way."

"Merriness is over—Christmas was last week."

"Was it? I didn't notice." Not exactly true. She'd noticed. She'd spent it at home. Alone. The Weasleys had extended their usual open invitation but, the way she was feeling lately, she hadn't the energy. Maybe she ought to take some Cheer Up potion.

He reached over and spun the seat of her barstool around so that she faced him and took a closer look at her face, leaning in. "Salazar, Granger. It's like you're dead inside, and the inside is leaking to your outside."

She couldn't help it. It was possibly the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. It was also very possibly true. The holidays were always so hard anymore. No parents. The Weasleys were all right, really, but Ron had started dating Susan Bones not too long ago and she really didn't feel like hanging around the Burrow this Christmas. Harry was good when he was around, but he seemed to be in the wind so much these days she hardly saw him. "That's comforting."

He started at her, and his usual mask of composure slipped for the first time that evening. "I mean it, Granger. It's not a good look for you. What's wrong with you? You were always annoying but…alive." Very alive. Vibrantly alive. Obnoxious as hell. Smart-ass. But far too there to ignore or pass by.

She shrugged. There was no articulating the gray feeling that permeated her these days. Merlin, she hadn't even had a fling in nearly a year. Ginny had finally made the team on the Harpies and she didn't have any time for anything that wasn't Quidditch or working out. Hermione still hated flying in any and all forms, and as for working out…that took energy she didn't have. She hardly had the energy to make herself a sandwich some days. "I'm fine."

The blond wizard shook his head, laughing soundlessly. "You are quite possibly the worst liar I have ever met." He sipped his wine. What did you do for someone who looked this…out of sorts? She looked okay on the surface, but something was wrong, even to his eyes. Where were Potty and the Weasel when they should be nursemaiding her? She'd saved their scrawny asses more times than could be counted. "Would punching me in the nose again help?"

She managed to crack a smile. "I must look really bad if you're offering to let me punch you."

"I didn't offer to let you punch me. I just asked if it would help if you did." He set his fingers on the back of her hand and she didn't pull away this time.

She sighed. "Oh damn. Now I'm sadder than before." Still, there was a twinkle in her eye this time.

"You'll manage." He drained his glass and gestured to Tom for another. "I don't know what's wrong…but if you're this unhappy, get off your ass and do something. Quit your job. Spend the spring in Paris. Go have sex. Get a puppy. Something. Anything."

Hermione pushed her bushy hair behind her ears and looked him over. Draco had aged well so far. He had filled out a little—still slim, but not rail-thin as he'd been in sixth year, and the year that followed. His nose was still a little pointed. His eyes matched his robes. She licked her bottom lip a little without thinking about it and drained her glass. Draco had a reputation. She suspected a night with him wouldn't disappoint. Maybe a good shag was what she needed. "Is that an offer?"

Draco blinked.

Behind the bar, Tom called out, "Nearly midnigh'! 10…9…"

Around them, conversations stopped as the rest of the room seemed to join the countdown.

"…5…4…"

Hermione took a breath, looking steadily at Malfoy. There he was. Good looking. Solid. Probably still a slimy prat. His fingers felt warm on the back of her hand. A few minutes of conversation with him tonight was better than most of her last week had been.

"…3…2…"

Her eyes were so very brown. And if Draco didn't know better, he might say she looked scared. As the world around them reached "one" and screamed a welcome to the New Year, he picked his hand up off of hers and touched her cheek. Granger leaned in and kissed him with more energy than she'd shown the rest of the night. Her lips tugged against his, and opened her mouth. His finger stroked her jawline and he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She tasted like wine and smelled like vanilla. She did something with her tongue that caused him to moan slightly, sliding his hand back from her jaw to the back of her head, fingers in her hair. He pulled away from the kiss panting.

She took a few deep breaths. "Do you want to get out of here? We could go to my place. Or yours."

He stood up and leaned forward again, touching the side of her face and kissing her next to her ear. He whispered, "Not tonight, Granger. If it still seems like a good idea in a week…find me." He slipped a piece of parchment into her hand and closed her fingers around it.

Draco left money on the bar for their drinks and walked away to the Apparation point. It took a lot of willpower not to turn around and repeat that kiss. But not tonight.

Biting her lip, Hermione stared after him for a moment. She kissed Malfoy. What was she thinking? Well…she was thinking he was pretty damn kissable. And she was right. Merlin, Circe, Morgana. It was probably a good thing one of them had some control. She looked down at the paper in her hand. It had his name and Floo address on it and some other information. It seemed to be the Wizarding equivalent of a business card.

She pushed away from the bar. She should go home.


Draco sat behind his leather-topped desk, chewing on the end of his quill for a moment before bending down to write.

I saw Hermione tonight at the Leaky Cauldron. She didn't seem to be herself. If you're any kind of decent friend, do something for her before she loses herself.

He muttered a spell and the note duplicated itself across three sheets of parchment. He sealed them, but didn't sign them, addressing one to Potter, one to Weasley, and one to the Weaslette.

He'd give it two weeks and then he'd check on her, if she didn't find him first. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and thinking about that kiss.