If this was what life would be from now until forever, Draco did not want to live.
It was the thousandth of millions of balls. They all blurred together as Draco took drink after drink, hoping to drown out the incessant babble of the wizarding world. Who cared anymore? He only came because his father forced him to. He therefore chose to spend it in a drunken stupor. Unfortunately, it took more than stepping through the door to get there.
This led to Draco spending a good portion of the night at the bar, such as tonight. As he sat there, just digging into his first beer, he couldn't help but wonder why his father hadn't forbid his alcohol consumption. It was a well-known fact in the wizarding world that Draco Malfoy had become a drunk, but Lucius didn't seem to care. A small part of Draco was hurt by that, but the part had grown smaller ever since the day he'd been born. It barely touched him now, though he constantly wondered. In a way, continuing with his drinking was a test for his father. Seeing how far he could push him. Apparently, very far. The last three years had been filled with a very intoxicated Draco making a fool out of himself or passing out in a back bedroom.
He took another swig, eyes roaming the dance floor. He always enjoyed making people uncomfortable with his staring. Thankfully, this crowd was younger, newer. They hadn't experienced his antics first hand. Yet. He intended to introduce them.
He was just about to break a woman in her forties and faux fur when he spotted her. She stood in the corner of the room, a skin tight red ball gown flowing to the floor, one hand gripping a matching clutch and her hair loose in curls. Gods, she looked beautiful. He loved her best with her hair down.
Suddenly, she looked up and their eyes met. He didn't glare for this one. He simply looked, marveling in the experience. He hadn't hoped to ever even have the privilege of seeing her face again. It was heaven and hell to see it again.
She looked away, murmuring something to the woman she was speaking to before moving gracefully across the dance floor. She kept her eyes off him, chatting with passing individuals, but he could tell where she was headed. He knew her well enough to see a nervous girl who knew she had to see him but didn't know if she could stand it.
That alone cut him deeper than anything his father said ever had.
"Draco Malfoy," Hermione spoke with a small smile. He knew she was trying to be politely friendly, and she hated it. He wanted her to scream, to laugh, to cry. Anything but empty and forced words. He wanted to her react to him, and she seemed resolved to not.
"Hermione Granger." He gave a curt nod, thankful for the excuse to look away from her. It hurt too much to look.
"How have you been?" She said, beginning to walk forward. He mirrored her, swirling is beer bottle in his delicate fingers.
"Fine." He knew she'd found out about the drinking. It would have been impossible to keep a secret. But he decided not to mention it for the sake of this conversation. He kept his eyes trained ahead of him. He didn't want to see her. He didn't want her to break his heart again. "You?"
"Great," she answered, looking away. He saw her bite her lip, immediately recognizing what it meant.
"Come with me." He steered them toward a back room he'd passed out in the last time he'd been in the house. He shut the door.
There was an awkward silence. As much as Draco wanted to say to her, he had no idea how to say it. It would all come out in gibberish and he'd never get anywhere. So he just stayed silent. She looked up at him, tears shining in her eyes. She was just like he remembered her. Quiet, stubborn, unwilling to make the first move. Exactly like him.
"Yes?" She stuttered finally, looking down. Her discomfort gave him courage.
"You left." His voice was a dead monotone. He refused to betray emotion.
She looked up at him then, a single tear running down her cheek. Something inside Draco shattered. Possibly it was the fragile wall that he'd built to shut out his feelings for her, the memories of her.
"You know why I did," she replied, jutting out her chin in hollow defiance.
Draco took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Say it."
Hermione searched his eyes, considering. Finally, she spoke. "Your family."
Draco raised a calculating eyebrow, his expression cold. "Funny, my family wasn't a problem when we started dating. What changed?"
She seemed to bolster some courage with his words. "February 16th is what changed Draco." She matched his icy tone.
A tremor shook through him. February 16th was a day he preferred not to remember. It'd been one of the worst days of his life. He'd brought Hermione home to dinner. They attacked her.
Not physically. His parents weren't idiots, but mentally and emotionally. They'd been subtle about it though, which almost made it worse. One particular moment stood out in his mind:
Lucius was patting his mouth with a silk handkerchief. "Well, lust is a very strange thing, don't you think my dear?" His wife had nodded; confusion on her features. "Bringing together the most unlikely people in the world. Class doesn't matter. Blood doesn't matter. For instance, when people are lusting after each other, all they think of is their bodies, never their souls or blood. It doesn't matter if the other's blood is mud, they only care about getting in between their thighs-"
Draco had jumped up from his seat then, but the damage had been done. Though his parents had promised to be civil, they'd made it damn clear that Hermione was not accepted or liked. He could tell from her face that it'd hit her heard, though he hadn't understood why. Yes, his parents hated her. But they always had. Why was she so upset about it now?
This line of thinking is what caused Draco to make one of the biggest mistakes of his life. That night, after they were out the door and had apparated far from Malfoy Manor, Draco had confronted her. Not accusing or rude, but curious.
"Why did you take what my father said so personally?" He'd asked in the quiet of the winter evening. She'd turned to him, her eyes shining very bright in the moonlight.
"You really have to ask?" He didn't say anything and her voice rose. "They're your parents Draco! The biggest influences on your life. They hate me to pieces. How can we ever be together when your parents will never accept you? If we ever had them, our children would grow up not knowing half of the grandparents! And it's not just your parents. Everyone would hate us if we went public with this! Both sides would say we're traitors. I don't much care about it, but what about our kids? I don't want them growing up isolated from wizardkind because of us! I won't have my kids growing up with hatred and resentment toward their own kind! I can't Draco."
She'd walked away then, and he'd made his second biggest mistake: he didn't walk after her. He stayed rooted on the spot, thoughts of curly haired blonde babies swirling in his head. She was right. They would be hated, even their innocent children. Just as purebloods hated mudbloods, wizards hated traitors. A stronger man would have been able to work out his relationship and stayed strong, but he knew he wasn't strong enough. He would resent Hermione for making him even more hated than he already was. He would hate what they would become. And eventually, he'd hate Hermione.
"Get it?" Hermione said, her voice trembling. "We wouldn't have worked." She stared at his beer pointedly. "We're too fragile to make it."
He looked down at it. "I-"
"Don't make excuses. I know you've been doing it since I left, and I'm sorry. I didn't want to cause you pain like that… I just wish that you had realized that we had to move on. Drinking isn't going to bring me back Draco. You need to start over, have a new life. The sooner the better." She held out a hand. "We can start fresh today. Starting now."
He stared at her, dumbfounded. Did she really think he could start over that easily? She'd changed him so permanently; the idea of starting over was unthinkable. A life without Hermione was a life of pain and darkness. He couldn't go back. Even drinking until he died at thirty was better than returning to that world, his father's world. How could she not understand that?
"Draco," Hermione said pleadingly. Their eyes met. She was crying, her face full of sadness and regret. He knew that his matched hers. So what are they doing? Why are they standing in a dark room, hurting each other and themselves when they could be together? Why are they causing so much pain when it could all just be over?
"Hermione," Draco replied firmly, grasping her hand. But before she could react, he pulled her in to him, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her lovingly on the mouth. She tasted exactly the same: peppermint, moldy books and a hint of irritation. But what he loved most about the kiss, more than how perfect and beautiful and right it felt, was how she didn't pull away.
The kiss lasted for hours, minutes, seconds, Draco wasn't sure. What he was sure of was that he had to be the one to pull away, and both of them were gasping for breath. Without waiting for his breath to return to normal, his kissed her again, this one hard and desperate. He reveled in it for only a few seconds before she pulled away. She put a hand on his chest and opened her mouth, but he put a hand over it to stop her.
"I can't start fresh. Neither can you; the kiss proves it. I'm not saying that I've changed or had some intense revelation that will make me the perfect man for you Hermione. I'd be lying if I said that. But I am saying that I'll try my hardest. I will try and be strong for you Hermione, because I can't stand to lose you. I'm always going to love you Hermione, I can't change that. No fresh start will make me forget six months of bliss and sun and love. You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Hermione. I don't want to lose that."
She took a step away from him. "You have to lose that, Draco. We can't keep going on like this. You will always obey your parents. I was an idiot to think otherwise."
And with that, she stepped into the main hall, disappearing into the crowd within seconds. Draco felt numb, his lips still tasting like her. He felt an ache inside him, and ache that he thought he'd drowned out with his enormous amount of drinking. But even with a beer already in him, it still hurt. It still hurt to watch her walk away, just like it had last time.