Disclaimer: I do not own any characters of Harry Potter or the world in which they live. I only wish desperately to play in it once in a while (or all the time).

I also do not own the words in Hermione's and Draco's letters as they are the lyrics to Lady Antebellum's 'Need You Now' adjusted in some places to be more wizarding world compliant.

Rating: Strong M

Need You Now

Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor
Reaching for this parchment 'cause I can't fight it anymore…

Hermione stared at the words she had just scrawled across the parchment in front of her. She sat in the small family room of her one-room flat surrounded by moving photographs of her best friends. Harry, Ron, and Ginny laughing in every photo. Those were better times.

It had been over a year since Voldemort's terror on Wizardkind had ended, and yet Hermione still suffered from the nightmares. They weren't the same nightmares the others had. She didn't see visions of Voldemort returning, flashes of light marring the sky as friends – and foes – fell to the ground at her feet. Hermione suffered much more disturbing, self-inflicted nightmares.

Following the demise of Voldemort Hermione had been able to hope. That hope was reserved for only one thing – one man. A redhead whose heart she'd ached and pined for nearly all seven years of her time at Hogwarts with him. Ron Weasley. Ron Weasley and those soft lips with which he'd kissed her so passionately preceding the final battle. Those lips had promised her so much should they both make it through alive. Which, surprisingly, they had.

The weeks following the battle brought sadness as those who survived mourned those who did not. The months following brought night terrors and uneasiness to those who could not trust their friends and neighbors. But slowly the Wizarding World, like all things and people whom have seen great tragedy, began to mend its shattered pieces. Shops reopened and families reunited, and yet the Trio still suffered the shock and terror of that night. Harry and Ron were most affected of all, and no one could find fault in either of them for shutting away from the world a while longer. And so Hermione waited. She was never one for impatience or insensitivity, and the time was not yet right.

While Hermione's nightmares slowly ebbed away, she became increasingly more expectant of Ron to pursue his promises. One month passed. Two, three. Hermione began to lose faith in her hope. When nearly four months had passed since the battle, and even Harry seemed to be taking great strides to return to the world around him, Hermione fitted herself one night with as much courage as she could muster and determinedly made her way to Ron's room in the very top of the Burrow.

What followed would normally have passed as a typical row between the temperamental redhead and the easily-offended brunette. After Hermione had broached the seemingly taboo subject Ron had reproached her for speaking of such "insignificant issues" at such a "delicate" time in his life. Though Hermione sensed his melodramatic words were not intended to hurt her she felt their sting all the same. His disregard of her feelings for him burned the threads of her hearts and caused her to choke on unshed tears. Soon the entire Weasley family was forced to act oblivious to the vicious words that were being thrown between the teens in the upstairs room. When it seemed that the argument, this obvious battle to see who could hurt the other more deeply, would not end Harry stepped in at Ginny's urging.

"Hey!"

He called for attention from the two, both of whom whipped around to face the intruder of their verbal war. Before Harry could find the words to calm their tempers Hermione abruptly walked towards the door.

"It's okay, Harry. This conversation is so over," she stated, her words dripping with malice as her eyes shot the proverbial daggers at Ron.

Ron narrowed his eyes in response.

"Perfect," he whispered.

Hermione turned heel and hurried down the stairs, slamming the door to Ginny's room behind her. She refused to be witness to whatever moronic explanations Ron would give to Harry about the fight.

Eventually Hermione's anger receded and was replaced, as anger usually is, by unfathomable sadness. The words Ron had spoken to her would never be completely forgotten. She had felt them sink in her stomach, and when rethinking them more carefully, felt each one rise like bile in her throat. But Hermione refused to allow Ron to play victim in front of her and resolved to leave the Burrow the following morning.

Hermione knew she had a Gringotts vault full of money her parents had once left for her in case of emergency. She felt sorry to use the money in such a situation but, to be frank, this was an emergency. She needed to be as far away from Ron Weasley as she could reasonably get. She would rent a room above The Leaky Cauldron the very next day until she could find a more permanent living arrangement and some form of employment.

The following morning Hermione woke early knowing full well that Ron would never see the light of day before eleven o'clock. She Accio'd her belongings into a small, tattered suitcase and made her way towards the kitchen where she could hear Mrs. Weasley bustling about as Ginny pleaded with her to talk sense into Ron.

Hermione debated slipping out the front door and disapparating without a word, without the need for honesty with the Weasley women. But Hermione was nothing if not honest. She cleared her throat, an act she'd acquired to manage bravery in her many years at Hogwarts, and entered the kitchen. Both Ginny and Mrs. Weasley ceased all conversation and smiled politely at Hermione before noticing the suitcase floating behind her.

"Hermione," Mrs. Weasley attempted a light chuckle, hoping to make light of the previous night's argument. "Please tell me that after all this time, Ronald's horrible temper hasn't made you feel uncomfortable?"

Hermione almost reconsidered her decision when she heard the nervous pitch in the Weasley matriarch's voice. She looked into the face of the woman who was like a second mother to her, realizing she never would be like an actual mother or more precisely a mother-in-law. She would never have the heart of Mrs. Weasley's son. She would be only a hanger-on to the family quite like a sad little pet.

"I'm sorry," Hermione looked from Ginny to her mother before continuing. "It's not Ron's temper. I know his temper all too well. It just was, well, is a complete mess that I've made. I blame myself more than I do Ron."

For what felt like hours Ginny and Mrs. Weasley protested Hermione's decision to leave the Burrow but seemed to know deep inside that when Hermione Granger made up her mind there was no stopping her. Finally with tearful hugs they let her leave, hoping she would return to them when life set itself right.

Days later found Hermione still at The Leaky Cauldron. The logical part of her brain reminded her every evening that she needed to find a job immediately. That her savings would amount to nothing if she blew it all on a cheap room above the pub and several drinks in it every night. But Hermione couldn't manage to crawl out of bed in the mornings to attempt job-hunting.

She couldn't manage to fight the urge to slink down to the pub every night for "just one drink". One drink always led to one too many. Every night found Tom assisting a dizzy Hermione up the staircase to her room. She never mentioned it the following night. She, like many others at The Leaky Cauldron, seemed all too familiar with a young witch or wizard drowning his or her post-war feelings in a few bottles of Firewhiskey. It didn't matter to Hermione that they assumed her drinking was related to the final battle. She actually quite preferred that assumption to reality: a stupid, broken heart.

It was during her eighth night there that Hermione spotted a familiar face entering the pub. Through Firewhiskey vision his platinum hair and clear blue eyes were more attractive than intimidating. She watched as Malfoy scanned the bar and noticed her immediately. With a touch of annoyance she saw the smirk that appeared as he made his way toward her.

"Granger, aren't you looking…" his eyes grazed her appearance. She hiccupped audibly, "…thoroughly pissed?" Hermione snorted in response. Draco summoned Tom.

"I'll have what she's having."

"An entire bottle of Firewhiskey?"

Draco looked at her and nodded. He returned his gaze to the bushy-haired woman next to him. The bookworm he'd left behind at Hogwarts was long gone. Although he himself had changed quite drastically since the final battle, he thought Hermione looked more than just different. She looked downright miserable and terribly lonely.

He could understand that feeling just as well as he understood the binge-drinking. His confirmed innocence when the war had ended only succeeded in ostracizing himself from his already wretched family. He had gained no benefits from the wizarding world. With his father banished to Azkaban and his mother's refusal to speak to him, Draco found himself very much alone in an unforgiving world.

"You've got some troubles to drown in that glass as well?" Hermione spoke without the slur he had expected.

"And you think I've come here to tell you all about my pitiful affairs, do you?" Draco shot back.

His detachment from the Dark Side hardly made him friend to the bushy-haired know-it-all whom he had so come to loathe in his time at Hogwarts. Hermione turned her eyes back to the glass in front of her. The two former students sat beside each other silently drowning away inner demons.

It was near closing time, and countless drinks later, that a tipsy Draco Malfoy sat in a booth across from an extremely tipsy Hermione Granger and listened with surprising patience as she prattled on about her pathetic, broken heart. He was just about to impolitely excuse himself from the dreadful conversation when she said something so out-of-character he stilled.

"Come to my room. I need a good shag."

Hermione was certain it was the alcohol. For she was certain she never spoken so confidently in her life. But she was determined not to take it back as it seemed to quite effectively capture the attention of the unfortunately handsome prat across from her. Though Draco's snide face would never betray his genuine feelings he followed Hermione to her room upstairs.

"I can't believe you actually had a crush, I'm sorry, you were in love with Weasle all those years in school," Draco snorted while watching Hermione move around the room.

She looked into his icy blue eyes and saw just that, ice. No warmth. No affection. His finding her crushing ordeal with Ron so absolutely hilarious reminded her she was dealing with the same Draco Malfoy whom she was convinced, only months before, was a member of the Dark Lord's sadistic army. Hermione nearly turned her back and fled the room before reminding herself she had nowhere and no one to run to. Instead she chose her words wisely in the hopes she could stop the remarks she so desperately did not need to hear.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. Did you come to my room to have a chat? I was under the impression we were here for something else entirely. Something that requires no words."

Rather than look chagrined, Malfoy smirked.

"Oh yes! And what would that be?"

Hermione knew that Malfoy expected her to skirt around the subject. She chose not to take his bait, and instead replied decisively.

"Uninhibited, vulgar, emotionless fucking. A physical release from this bullshit we've dealt with."

Draco seemed off-put by her bluntness but the brief flicker of shock upon his face was just that, brief, fleeting. In mere seconds the smug look reappeared upon his face, and he chose, quite intelligently, to take action rather than to speak. Both were here for the same reason. Comfort. Comfort in the form of a shameless shag between bitter rivals.

He crushed his lips to Hermione's while spinning her towards the bed. She yelped in surprise. She hadn't expected him to move so quickly. She was dimly aware of the force of his lips, now at her neck. Surely she would bruise in the morning, but she couldn't deny the passion. It was full of pent-up frustration and anger, but it felt good all the same.

They stood at the end of the bed forcefully and shamelessly pulling off shirts and pants. Hermione's logical mind, lost somewhere behind the pint of Firewhiskey, attempted to dissuade her from continuing to undress the man in front of her. She ignored it, pulling Malfoy onto the bed on top of her.

He moved from her neck to her lips, briefly. Mid-kiss he nipped her bottom lip hard enough that she tasted blood. The slight pain suddenly reminded her how it felt to be alive. She moaned against his mouth. As his hands traveled across the flat plane of her stomach he pulled away from the kiss to look into her eyes. She stared into dark orbs reflecting lust and a nagging need for release.

"I'm not going to be nice," he whispered.

She nodded her head as though she had expected this is how it would be. She could handle it. She might actually need it. She was not a delicate blossom, and she was not the virgin most would expect. She had allowed Viktor to take that from her many years ago.

Draco immediately lowered his head to one of her aroused nipples. He tongued it tentatively before nipping at it quite painfully. Hermione was only more excited by this. She moaned again, beginning to lose herself completely in the moment. Draco's hand moved slowly toward the increasingly wet, aching center between her legs. She arched her back into him and heard a low groan escape the back of his throat.

He inserted one, then two, fingers into her warmth and marveled at how tight she was around his long digits. Hermione all but growled in his ear as his fingers twisted upward, and he quickly found the spot with which he could drive her insane. After several minutes of pumping his hand in a number of satisfying motions Hermione could feel the familiar yet long-lost tightening in her stomach. It had been so long since Viktor.

"Now," Hermione hissed at Draco.

Though he would have loved to continue teasing the infuriating witch beneath him, if only to irk her, he was painfully aware of his own throbbing erection. Immediately he removed his fingers and thrust his cock into Hermione's aching center without warning. She screamed out as pain and discomfort momentarily flooded her insides. She briefly thought with delight of causing serious pain to Malfoy's dick when he suddenly pulled out and pushed into her again, somehow reaching even further than before and creating the most spectacular sensation from her fingers to her toes.

As it were now, thoughts of causing pain to Malfoy's cock were quickly ebbing away as Hermione began to match his rhythm, thrusting upwards and causing him to groan in satisfaction. They continued with the same pace, only increasing it once Hermione began moaning louder. She was soon seeing tiny black dots peppering the corners of her eyes as her stomach clenched and tightened again. She could sense from Malfoy's frenzied breathing that he was undeniably close to the edge as well. He looked her in the eyes again.

"Come for me," he demanded.

This was all it took as the ever-tightening coil inside her snapped. It was as though a dam had burst. All of the hurt and anger flooded from her and left in their wake satisfaction and a buzzing from head to toe. Hermione was still shaking as Malfoy followed in a sweet, sweet release.

The following morning Hermione awoke alone. Draco had no doubt meandered off into the night as soon as she had fallen asleep. This caused an unsolicited twinge of anguish before she shook the feeling away and found the motivation to leave her room in search of a job. Though Hermione was more than qualified for any job in the wizarding community, she feared she would run out of funds before finding one if she didn't hurry.

As the week progressed Hermione applied for several jobs at the Ministry. While waiting to hear back she continued to rent her room at The Leaky Cauldron. She continued to frequent the pub every night and continued taking Draco, who also returned to the pub every night, to her room on every occasion. As the nights progressed Hermione felt Draco seemed to become a little softer with his touch, a little more affectionate in his kisses. But every morning when Hermione awoke alone, she'd chide herself for such foolish feelings.

At the end of the week Hermione had taken a job at the Ministry in the very bleak field of Finances. She immediately rented an apartment above one of the shops in Diagon Alley, not far from The Leaky Cauldron. It was quite convenient for someone who had taken to drinking and shagging away her nights. She confided as much in Draco who seemed unperturbed by her change in residence.

Both understood that their risqué nights together would eventually end, but neither seemed willing to let go of that comfort just yet. For nearly a month longer Hermione continued her very unhealthy relationship with Malfoy. But as Hermione spent more time reclaiming a social life at work she began feeling a sense of guilt washing over her. It increased tenfold when she received an owl from Harry pleading that she have some sort of contact with him. It had been over five weeks since she'd left the Burrow and had not bothered get in touch with anyone. Hermione agreed to meet with Harry for lunch the following day.

It was after this meeting that Hermione realized what she must do. Although Harry seemed adamant that Ron was not yet ready to make amends, Hermione knew that she at least must move on. She promised to keep in touch with Harry. That night she did not go to the pub. She did not contemplate what Draco might think when he didn't find her there. She did not expect him to come looking for her though he knew where she lived. They shagged at her flat every night. He would know that it was over.

And so it was over for seven months to this very night. For those seven months Hermione had worked tirelessly, gaining promotion after promotion in a career she had grown to quite enjoy. She spent countless afternoons with Harry and Ginny whom were now a very public couple. She occasionally ran into Mr. Weasley at the Ministry, and they chatted amicably. A few times she went for lunch with Percy or visited George at the shop.

But never Ron. Never did she see him or speak with him. And as every day would end without another word from him Hermione would think of Malfoy. She would think of the nights they'd shared. She would think of his touch. Every night she would think of his touch. She came to regard these thoughts as nightmares, horrible visions of something unreal that assaulted her each night. She would wake in a cold sweat, always alone in her room.

Occasionally Hermione would get the courage to ask Harry how Ron was doing. The conversation always went the same.

"He's fine," Harry would say.

"Oh. Tell him I say hello," she would reply.

Harry would nod his head, and the subject would change. It was today that Hermione had added to the conversation. As Harry stared into Diagon Alley from the small table he and Hermione shared at the ice-cream parlor Hermione asked one small question.

"Can you please ask him to come by my flat tonight?"

"I can," he replied with a wary look on his face.

And so she'd sat in this very spot and waited for him. Around eleven o'clock that night she'd heard a pop in her kitchen and watched as Ron strolled around the corner into her small family room. She was sitting in the middle of the floor, and when she looked up she could hardly breathe. He looked just the same. Tall, freckled, redheaded. Her heart fluttered, and she almost regretted asking for him to come. She had an awful sense of foreboding.

"How did you know where to apparate to?" She asked quietly. He couldn't quite seem to meet her eyes.

"Harry gave me the location and showed me a photo you two had taken in the kitchen," he replied.

"Oh," she said, lamely.

She watched as Ron came closer and then sat down on the floor in front of her. She could feel tears behind her eyes at the realization they were seeing each other for the first time in over eight months. It was pathetic, absurd. What kind of best friends did this to each other?

"Hermione, I love you. But I don't love you the way that you love me. The way I thought I could love you. I love you because you're my best friend," Ron finally looked into her brown eyes. "I didn't want to lose you as a friend, but I couldn't give you what you wanted. I still can't. I'm not sure I could give that to anyone anymore."

Hermione had sensed this would come. She had lost that hope she once had a long time ago and had not been able to find it since. But the words hurt just as badly as if she hadn't seen it coming. She was not irrational though. Some warped part of her brain understood that Ron would never be hers. Through thick tears she nodded her head and allowed Ron to envelope her in a tight hug for only a few moments.

"But I can't be just your friend anymore, Ron," she said as she pulled away. "Not now, maybe not ever. But just… not now."

Ron looked hurt, ashamed to be the one causing her so much pain, and yet he couldn't, wouldn't take back his confession. He simply nodded his head sadly. He stood and began to walk away from the mess he'd made.

"So I'll see you when I see you?" He asked her.

"I'll be in touch," Hermione replied, her voice cracking painfully, knowing that she would not.

She watched as Ron lingered for a moment and then disapparated from her apartment with a deafening crack. And then silence. She was alone and so she cried.

It was still here that she sat, much past midnight, now surrounded by the moving photographs. She remembered when each had been taken, remembered the feelings she'd had at each particular moment. It was these beautiful photographs that she watched her tears crash upon now. The photographs and the piece of parchment upon which she'd begun writing these words:

Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor,

Reaching for this parchment 'cause I can't fight it anymore.

And I wonder if I ever cross your mind,

For me it happens all the time.

Hermione felt stupid, there was no better word for it. She was right back where she had been seven months ago. She was heartbroken by the same man she had been heartbroken by back then. However, she now also felt the void that another man had filled only temporarily. She didn't know what she felt for Draco; the feelings were likely not real. But she needed something. She looked back at the parchment and continued writing.

It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone, and I need you now.
I said I wouldn't call, but I lost all control, and I need you now.
And I don't know how I can do without…
I just need you now.

She pulled away from the parchment, staring at it with stinging eyes. She absently fingered a pendant around her neck, given to her by her parents so many moons ago, while she contemplated what she would do next.

At the same moment Draco sat at The Leaky Cauldron nursing a large glass of Firewhiskey. It had been seven months since he had last been sitting in this seat. On the night Hermione didn't show he knew the dysfunctional relationship they'd had was over. The relationship that he somehow could never quite walk away from was finally, blessedly over. He did not return to the pub again. Not until tonight. For unknown reasons the irksome thoughts he had of Hermione every night were suddenly stronger than they had been. Throwing every ounce of pride he had under the carpet he entered the pub half-expecting to see her sitting there. She was not.

Hours later, much past midnight and near closing time, Draco still had seen no sign of Hermione. He asked Tom for a piece of parchment. He sensed desperation in his voice but ignored it. It was simply the Firewhiskey speaking. Draco knew that he could apparate to Hermione's door and would likely find her inside the flat. But he couldn't summon the courage, though he did not admit this to himself. He began to write.

Another shot of Firewhiskey, can't stop looking at the door,
Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before.
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind,
For me it happens all the time.

Rather than face whatever sick emotions it was that he was feeling, Draco continued on without reading what he'd written.

It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk, and I need you now.
I said I wouldn't call, but I lost all control, and I need you now.
And I don't know how I can do without…
I just need you now.

He scrawled his name at the bottom with no embellishments and quickly walked to the back corner of the room where one of the residential owls seemed ready and willing to accept the letter. Draco tied it to his foot and sent the letter off without giving himself an opportunity to think of what he'd done.

Hermione sat still fingering the pendant on the floor of her flat. Suddenly she scrawled one last line at the bottom of the parchment.

Guess I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all.

She didn't even bother to sign her name as she rolled up the parchment and attached it to the foot of her owl, sending him on his way. Just as she was about to close the window she noticed an unfamiliar owl swooping towards her.

As soon as she had pried the letter from his foot the owl had left, and Hermione had hastily unrolled the parchment. She quickly read through the note and without a second thought apparated outside The Leaky Cauldron. She knew he would be there.

As she pushed her way through the front entrance she felt her heartbeat speed up as she scanned the room, expecting to single him out immediately. But slowly she realized he was not there. She didn't know what she was feeling, disappointment or remorse for sending the letter. But as she walked to the front door to disapparate back to her apartment she felt the tears begin to fall again.

Draco was waiting outside her flat. He had knocked several times, but she had yet to open it. He hadn't wanted to apparate inside as it felt somehow inappropriate. Now some strange insecurity began to surface. This was something Draco had never felt. Had the letter even been from her? He could think of no other that would send it, and yet it had been left unsigned. Just as he turned to disapparate the door behind him swung open. He turned to see a sobbing, wretched Hermione standing there.

"I went to The Leaky Cauldron when I got your letter," she began.

"I was there," he said simply.

They looked at each other. Her warm brown eyes implored his body to move forward. He took a giant step towards her and crushed his lips against hers, much like their first kiss though somehow softer, sweeter. Neither one knew what they were feeling at that moment. And if either did know they would never admit it.

Hermione knew he was not Ron. He would never be. The man so desperately kissing her in this moment would never be tall, freckled, or redheaded. He would never have a proper place in her heart. However, Hermione reasoned that on nights like this one Draco filled a vacancy, a deep void somewhere inside her. He let her forget for hours in the dark of night that she was missing what she most craved, love.

Draco, through no design of his own, would admit only during these moments that some part of him needed this woman. Some deep, twisted part of himself would come to her time and again to fill the holes inside his battered heart and to ease the insecurities he felt when he thought of what he no longer had in this world, belonging.

Together neither would ever have a real sense of comfort, only something artificial conjured between the sheets. Together they'd never have it all, but they would have something.

And tonight, tonight they desperately needed something.