Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot - a series of short stories of accidents in the making, all different scenarios, times, places.
- what tires -
She's crying and he's frowning, and he thinks it's ridiculous that they fight so often and over meaningless little things.
"You never, ever, believe in anything I say!" she cries harder and slams the door. He slams his own door for good measure. They've loved for one month and screamed for three, and he finds no point in continuing something that would never finish.
Four hours later, he's downed three bottles of firewhiskey, and despite his extremely high tolerance of alcohol, he finds that his vision's swimming and his hands are shaking.
The doorbell rings, and he makes it over in a drunken, wobbling walk. The door opens slightly from his pull, but he's too drunk to care whether it opens properly or not.
He's surprised to find her here, cheeks red from the cold, body shivering from the snow.
"Draco."
"Hermione." and then, "Why - why are you here?" Her eyes soften and she looks away.
"I got tired of waiting on you. I'm tired of all this. I'm tired of fighting every day." his drunken mind barely comprehends the words that come out of her mouth, and she can tell.
"You've been drinking, haven't you?"
Awkwardly, he slurs an inaudible ,"No." then, "Yes." She lifts his weight off the door handle and stumbles over to the sofa. He lays down and sighs.
"But most importantly," she begins, "I'm tired of not being able to love you like before." His eyes snap open at this, and although he's got her full attention now, he's sure that he won't remember a thing after tonight, not after the drinks, not after her.
He manages to speak.
"Are you tired of me?"
Her lips wobble and her tears pool over, and absent-mindedly he wipes them away.
"No. No. Definitely not." she shakes her head with every answer; actions spoke louder than words anyway.
"Then we'll make this work. We'll take things slowly, because I am certainly not tired of you."
And she kisses his clumsy, wind-chapped lips that say everything she never said.
- what wins -
"I like the blue one."
"The blue one's too small. Get the green one."
"You're only saying that because your favourite colour's green."
"Yes, and because the blue one really is ugly."
"It's not ugly! Look, it's so adorable. It likes me!"
"Yes, and you're forgetting the fact that this is for Ginny, not for you."
She pouts a bit. He's always right.
"But the blu-"
"Green."
She huffs.
"Fine."
He smirks.
"I win."
She frowns.
"No, I let you win. But personally, I still think the blue one's too cut-"
"No."
They arrive at Ginny's place with two Pygmy Puffs, one green, one blue.
Hermione smirks.
"I win."
- what realises -
There's lots of laughter in the living room. It's half past seven at night, and new years day is lumbering closer and closer.
The prospect of having more 'new years resolutions' dawns on her, and she shudders at the thought.
Generally, she's an over analysing, organisational freak, but she's let her guard down and given herself a few breaks, and she seems to be enjoying this new way of life. It's refreshing, and there's always that reassurance that everything's okay.
"Ginny! Over here!" She waves her feisty red-headed friend over for a chat, and they talk non-stop for hours. The men look on in disbelief.
Yes, the job is good.
No, she hasn't seen any good muggle movies lately.
Yes, the pay is good.
Yes, she's keeping herself occupied.
Yes, she's looking after herself.
No, she hasn't seen anyone lately.
The last one leaves Ginny in a huff, and she immediately proceeds to introduce her to some of the single men in the room. She declines every offer, and besides, she's only 21, there's years left to go.
At last she escapes from the over-reacting girl and walks out to the balcony for some fresh air.
She sighs and leans on the railing - thankful to have chosen such a property. Delicately she sips on her champagne, enjoying the last few hours before the new year.
A rustle next to her disrupts her musings, she thought she was alone.
"Nice night."
"Nice night."
It's Malfoy, and he's gracefully twirling a glass of red wine in his hands, star gazing.
"I didn't know I invited you."
He laughs.
"How blunt, Granger, how blunt. It must be the champagne." she narrows her eyes menacingly, but its new years eve and nothing's going to unnerve her, not even Malfoy.
"Blaise invited me. Thought I could do with some socialising and girlfriend finding."
How funny, she thinks. Maybe they were more similar then they thought - its a piece of interesting information that she thinks over for a while, until the clock chimes 11.
One hour.
She heads back inside.
"It's getting cold, Malfoy, you should come back inside." Disbelievingly, he listens and follows, something he's not known for.
Wobbling on her black pumps, she manages to stand on her dining room table and taps her champagne glass. The guests turn around, waiting.
"One more year gone, many more year to go." she lifts up her glass, "To love, to friends, to everything crazy and ridiculous and illogical, and most importantly, to life."
The room echoes around her, "To life!"
People make their way to the balcony - the countdown is on, and she finds that she's isolating herself from the crowd and finds a seat in the corner.
Again, she realises that shes not alone. Malfoy is sitting in the opposite chair.
He shifts over. Her eyes follow his movements.
"To the new year." he says, lifting his glass.
"To the new year." she says, lifting her glass. She feels his eyes on her, and its stress relieving in a way. She doesn't meet his gaze.
The sky rockets upwards in an uproar of fireworks and magical displays, and in one swift movement, he's pulled her up, brushed her hair off her face.
"Happy New Year, Hermione." His lips find hers and she's still wide eyed with shock. They were friends, nothing more.
But to hell with that. It was New Years Day and nothing was going to unnerve her.
Willingly, she responds.
- what lasts -
It's funny what a few years of solitude and loneliness could do to people.
She'd never been lonely, but he certainly had.
They'd met at a Muggle bar a few months ago, he was drinking his soul out, she was looking for Harry. They'd met a few times after that, in the library, at work, at a cafe, at Florean and Fortescue's, at the park.
Small talk made sure that the empty void of awkwardness was never too overpowering, and it was hard not to think the other friendly.
She thinks he's matured from being a misunderstood, stubborn ferret, and she quite likes the way he's always nervous and stutters.
He thinks that she's quite an intellectual woman, always saying something right. He thinks that she's just what every person needs.
And now, as they lay on the rug facing the sun, they think, this is what life is like.
"Tell me something, Malfoy. Tell me something worth listening to."'
He laughs.
"That's where you're wrong, Granger. People blabber meaningless nonsense day after day, and yet, there is always someone in the world that finds it worthwhile.
Nothing I ever say may be worth listening to - you've just got to make it worth your time."
She doesn't say anything, and is quite stumped by his answer.
"Then tell me something. Tell me something right."
He smiles.
"I'll tell you something. I'll tell you something right.
She waits.
"Go on."
He takes a deep breath before continuing.
"I love you."
Finis.
-reviews are appreciated-