A/N: It has been a VERY long time since I've written fanfiction, or anything more than a few pages every few weeks (or months) for that matter. So please be patient if some of the writing is a little poor, I'm about four years out of sustainable practice.
This story was inspired by the Three Days Grace song "Let it Die"
Disclaimer: The characters, except those created by me, are the property of J.K Rowling, as is the world of Harry Potter. Please don't sue :(
–..-..-Chapter 1-..-..-
It should have been a good day. It was warm, sunny, and Ron Weasley planned to propose to Hermione Granger, the girl he had been in love with since Hogwarts. He even reserved a table on the outside patio of her favorite restaurant in London. The sun had just settled below the horizon when he finally pulled out the little black box and opened it. A simple diamond ring glinted, reflecting the fairy lights from nearby flutterby bushes.
"Hermione," he said quietly, trying to swallow the nervous knot in his throat.
Tears were filling Hermione's eyes as she stared at the ring, refusing to look at Ron; if she did, she was certain the tears would start to fall. Once upon a time, she would have given anything to hear the words that were bout to come from Ron. But now...
"Will you-"
"Ron," she interrupted.
He looked at her, nervous, but expectant.
"I'm sorry..." she finally looked at him, giving into the tears that now ran down her cheeks. Standing up and looking as if she were about to commit a horrible sin, she said, "I...I can't see you anymore..."
Ron stared, open mouthed, at her as she turned and left him sitting with the ring in front of him, still twinkling innocently.
She raced pass all the staring guests who just witnessed her dramatic break up, but she didn't care. All that mattered was getting as far away from Ron as possible. She never wanted to hurt him, even if she didn't love him anymore, he would always be someone important.
Ron was calling her as she continued to walk as quickly as she could through the crowded London street. She refused to turn around.
"Hermione!"
She continued walking.
"Hermione!" A hand grabbed her wrist and forced her around.
Now that she was facing him, Ron grabbed her shoulders and stared at her; wide blue eyes boring into watery brown ones. "Hermione, what do you mean you..." he swallowed, as if repeating the words was too painful.
"Ron, even you must realize things have been different for us!" Hermione said tearfully.
His grip tightened briefly, but loosened again. His eyes were searching hers, desperately looking for an answer. "Different?"
"We barely even speak these days," she said. "We live in the same flat, but it feels like we're complete strangers. I tried to bare with it, but I just can't anymore!"
"Then let's talk!" he said hopelessly. "Hell, let's go somewhere, away from Britain-"
But Hermione shook her head and stepped away from him so his hands fell away from her shoulders. How do you explain you simply fell out of love with someone? Even Hermione found it hard to believe at first. "I can't. It's already over."
"Y-you won't even try?" He finally yelled, overcome with desperation.
"I did, Ron!" She yelled back, ignoring the stares they were receiving from passerby. "A whole year I tried!"
Now Ron took a step back, the hopeless look now turning to one of hurt and betrayal. "No..." he said softly, shaking his head. "You didn't." And he left.
Left standing alone on the crowded street, Hermione watched him until he finally disappeared into the sea of people. Once she lost sight of him, she turned on her heal and walked the opposite direction, with no destination in mind.
Eventually, she found herself outside the Leaky Cauldron. Just the thought of having a drink (or several) made her feel better. She walked in, took the only available seat at the bar, and ordered some firewhiskey, paying no attention to the patrons on either side of her. Normally, she only drank butterbeer or weak cocktails, but tonight she needed something stronger.
She drained her first glass in a matter of moments, and was about to order a second when one of the men she ignored earlier filled her glass with a bottle of firewhiskey he had obviously bought for himself.
Knowing all too well how easy it was to poison or drug someone, she didn't touch her drink. Mad-Eye would have been proud.
"It's not poisoned or drugged, Granger," the man said, as if reading her mind. His voice was so familiar, Hermione's head snapped up to look at him. Even the poor pub lighting could not hide the platinum blond hair and distinctive pointed face of Draco Malfoy.
As if to prove his point, he drained his own glass, poured another from the same bottle, and took a sizable swing.
Hermione continued to stare at him. They had not seen each other since the night Lord Voldemort fell. She knew he owned some Quidditch team, but she couldn't remember which, Ron -her heart gave a painful jolt- or Harry mentioned it one day. After six years, he still looked the same, except his hair was a little longer and fell carelessly around his ears and face; in school there had never been a hair out of place. He also seemed more– mature. The Draco Malfoy she knew at Hogwarts would never have poured her a drink. In fact, he wouldn't have been found alone in a pub either.
She watched as he took another sip, still staring at some invisible spot on the bar.
Though reluctant, and admittedly still suspicious, she finally looked away and took a sip, determined to make this glass last longer. They drank in silence, until eventually, Hermione finished her second glass, and Draco refilled it once again. When she thew him a suspicious look, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and smirked.
Finishing his own drink and pouring another glass, he asked, "Something wrong, Granger?"
"Why do you keep pouring me drinks?"
He simply shrugged in response, taking a sip.
Hermione "tch"ed, but drained her glass again anyway, this time, grabbing the bottle herself and pouring another glass. By now, she was already quite drunk, but the numbness that so often accompanied alcohol consumption felt good.
"You have changed, Draco," she said his name in that condescending tone she so often saved for Harry and Ron while they were at school, and they failed to understand something she thought was obvious.
Taking another sip and propping her elbow on the bar so she could rest her head against her hand, she looked at Draco, smiling. "Cheers," she raised her glass, waiting for him to clink his glass against hers. When he didn't, she clicked her glass against his, which was still resting on the bar.
For the first time that night, Draco looked at Hermione. He watched her drink, frowning thoughtfully, but she simply smiled at him before looking away, her chin still resting in her hand.
After a few moments, he finally looked ahead of him again and drank. "Something wrong, Granger?" he asked again.
Hermione gave a drunken nod. "I'm horrible" she said despairingly.
This made him smirk again, which angered Hermione, who saw it out of the corner of her eye. "You!" She shouted, pointing at Malfoy who gave a start at the sudden outburst. Several people turned to stare at them.
"You..." she said, her voice quieter this time, looking away again. "Don't smirk..." she mumbled, before draining another glass and the last of the bottle.
Her ordered another one.
"What makes famous Potter's mudblood friend so horrible?" he asked, smirk still firmly in place. He never used the term 'mudblood' anymore, but he was looking to get a rise out of Hermione.
Sure enough, she glared at him. "That is none of your business, Malfoy."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her. "After drinking half a bottle of my whiskey, don't you think you're being a little rude, Granger?"
For the first time, he actually seemed to render her speechless. It didn't last long.
"What are you doing here, then?"
"Quid pro quo," he replied, earning a scowl.
Hermione finished another drink, and Draco poured her another.
"Where are Potter and Weasley while you're drinking yourself into oblivion, then?"
At the mention of Ron, tears welled up again. "You – complete – arse – Draco Malfoy!" She wailed loudly, smacking his arm with every word.
He stared at her incredulously, as if she had lost her mind. Perhaps she had, for she was now crying uncontrollably with her head buried in her arms.
Draco could barely hear her next words, "I-I never m-meant to h-hurt him!" she sobbed. "But I j-just c-couldn't do it anymore! S-six y-years!" And she began crying harder.
He finally understood. "Finally broke it off with Weasley?" he confirmed, the smugness from their school days returning instantly, making Hermione send him a teary-eyed glare.
"Oh, what do you know, Malfoy!" she snapped.
But his smug look never faded, and he finished yet another drink. "Well done. S'pose you can find a real man now."
Too drunk to argue, Hermione merely responded with another "tch" and looked away from him, preferring to star at the bar than the arrogant face of the man next to her. "You will always be an arrogant arse," she said tiredly. After a short pause, she added, "Quid pro quo."
"What?"
"Quid pro quo," she repeated. "I told you why I'm here," she sipped her drink and looked at him. "Your turn."
He shrugged, staring at the bar again instead of her. "Messy divorce."
Hermione blinked, and tried to clear away the fuzziness caused by the alcohol. Surely she was hearing things. She simply could not imagine Malfoy married, let alone divorcing at twenty-three. The only response her alcohol-addled mind could come up with was a soft, "oh."
"Go on and say it..." he said evenly as he took another swing of whiskey. "Draco Malfoy...can't even manage to keep married for more than a year..."
But Hermione had fallen asleep on the bar, knocking over her glass so what remained of her drink flowed over the counter, onto the bar, and soaking Draco's sleeve.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, quickly standing up and drying his stained sleeve with his wand; the fabric was too expensive to let it get ruined by whiskey. Once he made sure his robes were safe, he turned to Hermione. "Now what?"
He tried asking Tom, the ancient inn keeper, if there were any empty rooms available. There weren't. He had no intention of bringing her to his home; the last thing he needed was one of the goons Astoria hired to follow him seeing a strange woman being brought into their house. He could just leave her there. He thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. Even he wasn't that ill-mannered.
He tried shaking her awake. "Granger."
She didn't respond.
Draco let out a frustrated sigh, but tried again. "Granger!" He shook harder, this time, at least getting a groan in response. "Granger, it's time to go..." he shook her again, received another groan, and a few inaudible slurred words. Sighing again, he finally resigned to physically removing her from her seat which, given he was a head taller than her should not have been very difficult. Unfortunately, he was also slightly drunk, and she was dead weight, so it took a few awkward moments of fumbling and staggering steps to finally sling her arm over his shoulder, while he put the other around his waist. Miraculously, she had not completely passed out and managed to somewhat support her own weight, but he was still doing most of the work.
Now that he successfully made it out of the pub on to the slowly emptying muggle street (it was so late, most people were either staggering home or already there), he had returned to the problem of what to do with Hermione. He was not going to attempt apparating anywhere; it was tricky enough drunk (and not recommended), but with Hermione hanging off him like a drunken monkey, one of them was going to get splinched. In any case he had no idea where she lived or where to take her. He had no muggle money, but he didn't like the idea of taking a muggle taxi anyway. Floo powder would work if Hermione was capable of speaking clearly. Finally, he was left with one, though undesirable, solution. With some difficultly, he threw out his right arm.
Moments later, a tripe-decker purple bus came hurtling toward him, forcing several cars to jump out of the way.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus-"
"Yeah, I know," Draco interrupted, pushing Stan Shunpike out of the way, and tossing Hermione unceremoniously on the nearest bed. He hated the Knight Bus. It was loud, moved too much, and worst of all, far below Draco's standards. He was the owner of a Quidditch team for crying out loud! He shouldn't have to rely on transportation as lowly as the Knight Bus.
"Where to?" Stan asked once Draco handed him a handful of sickles.
As before, Draco had no idea where to take Hermione. In a desperate last attempt to find her a place to stay before he did end up taking her home with him, he shook her and repeated Stan's question, adding, "Unless you would prefer to I leave you on the street tonight."
She mumbled something he couldn't understand.
"What?" He asked, leaning in so he could hear better.
"Harry's..."
Draco straightened. Finally he had an answer. But of course, there was another problem: he didn't know where Potter lived.
"'Arry Potter's?" Stan asked sounding excited. "Took Miss Lovegood there a few days ago, didn't we, Ern?"
The old man grunted in response. And just like that, the Knight Bus gave a violent lurch, causing Draco to stubble back on his bed. They were now speeding through London, jumping onto sidewalks and forcing light posts, benches, and even an entire building, to leap out of the way. His head began to pound and his stomach turned unpleasantly. The Knight Bus was no friend to the alcohol-impaired. It wasn't long before they raced through the suburbs, and into the country, where only a few spare mailboxes and cows had to avoid the bus.
At long last, they came to an abrupt halt.
"'Arry Potter's 'ouse," Stan announced.
Not bothering to thank him, Draco carried Hermione off the bus the same way he dragged her onto it. No sooner had his feet touched the pavement, did the bus take off again.
Her looked around at his surroundings, and saw...nothing. There was no house in sight. Just a mailbox on the side of the road where he stood and a cobblestone path. Assuming the house must be concealed somehow, he walked up the path, and sure enough, it appeared after a few feet.
It was surprisingly modest, given that Potter was by no means poor. A mid-sized two-story stone cottage with a porch stood before him. No one would have guessed "The Chosen One" lived here. Then again, that was probably the point.
He lead Hermione up the stairs of the porch, and with great difficulty, knocked loudly.
No response.
Given the time of night he wasn't surprised. He knocked again. This time, he saw a light turn on through the window above the door.
"Who is it?" Potter's voice called, still thick from sleep. Despite the tone of voice, Draco knew there was probably a wand pointed at him through the door. Years of being targeted by the most powerful dark wizard in history would make anyone cautious; not to mention being paranoid was part of an auror's job description.
"Malfoy..." he answered. "Come get your damn friend, Potter."
Almost immediately, the door opened and revealed a slightly disheveled Harry Potter with his wand still slightly raised, eying Draco suspiciously. Ginny Potter stood behind him, wand out as well. Harry's eyes fell to Hermione, whose head had lolled onto Draco's shoulder.
"What are you doing with Hermione?" He shot Draco a shocked, and somewhat accusatory look, as if he had somehow kidnapped her, but changed his mind.
Draco shifted Hermione, because it was becoming difficult to hold her. "She's drunk, Potter," he spat, annoyed. He just wanted to go home. "Take her so I can leave."
Still in a state of disbelief that Draco Malfoy was standing on his doorstep with one of his best friends (who was barely conscious), he took Hermione.
Now that he was free from his burden, Draco turned to leave.
"Malfoy!" Potter's voice made him stop and look over his shoulder, hoping he wasn't about to be asked to help Granger any more than he already had. Instead, Potter merely said, "Thank you...for, er...taking care of her..." there was an awkward pause as they two men stared at each other.
Finally, Draco turned away again and shrugged. "Even I wouldn't leave a woman alone in that condition. Even if it is Granger."
Once he reached the point where the house was no longer visible, he apparated.
–..-..-..-
Please Review!
