A/N: Chapter two, yay! Thanks to those of you who have reviewed/added this to your alerts so far – it means a lot!
Disclaimer: Still own nothing.
"Can't you promise me anything at all anymore?"
Hermione stared hard at the man sitting across from her. The summer sun burned her eyes, and she shaded her face with her hand as she waited for his answer.
"I … I just don't know, Hermione."
"That was the entire point of our break, Ronald. You told me you needed to sort things out. Now here you are, telling me you're no closer to figuring out anything. How long will this take?"
Ron put his head in his hands, frustrating radiating from him. Hermione felt the same way. Frustrated, confused, angry … everything about her seemed to hurt.
Taking a deep breath, she tried again. "Okay, so you're still uncertain about things. I understand, Ron. I'm not asking you to marry me tomorrow, or in a year, or even in five years. But for the past 3 years of our relationship you've been telling me that I'm the one for you. That you can't wait to marry me. We looked at engagement rings, Ron! We talked about wedding dates. If you're not ready for that now, okay. Fine. I will wait for you. But I need to know that I'm waiting for something. I can't commit to waiting if you can't promise me that I'm still the one for you."
Ron looked up at her, and Hermione saw tears in his eyes. She was glad there was no one around to see them sitting on the park bench – she could feel tears prickling her eyes too.
"I don't know anymore, Hermione," Ron whispered quietly, "I just don't think I feel the same as I used to."
Something inside of her froze at those words. It seemed impossible that Ron was uttering them. That after 3 years of absolute certainty, he suddenly didn't know. The two of them had always "known". That was what had made their relationship so incredible. So special. So untouchable.
Hermione took a deep breath. "In that case," she said, "I suppose it's over between us."
They both sat in silence for a moment, tears streaming down their faces.
"I thought for sure this was it," Ron said finally, "That we were it."
"Me too," Hermione replied. There was nothing left to say. It was over. She couldn't believe it was over.
"I should go," she said, standing up and slinging her purse over her shoulder.
"What … what do we do now?" Ron asked.
"Nothing," Hermione said, taking a deep breath to keep her voice from wavering, "We say goodbye. If I ever want to talk to you again, Ron, I'll talk. Please don't contact me. You've –" tears choked her voice, "You've broken every promise you've ever made to me. I know you can't help how you feel, but … you've destroyed everything."
With those words, Hermione hurried away. When she was safely hidden from muggle view, she apparated back to her apartment. Collapsing on her bed, she cried harder than she even thought possible.
Hermione woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. Her face was streaked with tears. Wiping them away, she glanced at her alarm clock. Five in the morning. Her head was killing her. With some effort, she got out of bed and padded to the kitchen, getting herself a glass of water and an aspirin. Better to head off the hangover now then deal with it in three hours when she had to get up for work.
As she stood silently at the kitchen sink, Hermione mulled over her conversation with Draco Malfoy at the Hog's Head.
Shit.
Malfoy.
The memory hit her like a ton of bricks at the same time the sight of a haggard looking man sleeping on her couch met her eyes.
She'd forgotten that she had offered Malfoy a place to stay for the night.
Looking back, it was one of the stupidest ideas she'd ever had. Inviting a man who used to be a Death Eater to stay at her flat, where she lived alone, without telling anyone? She was lucky Malfoy wasn't still on the wrong side. Or so he said. So far, Hermione had to admit she believed him. The fact that she was still alive also stood as a testament to that.
The rest of their conversation at the Hog's Head hadn't consisted of much. Malfoy continued to refuse to tell Hermione where he'd been or what he'd been doing. They spoke briefly about the news in the wizarding world – Malfoy seemed behind in the times, and Hermione had to fill him in on the changes that had taken place over the past few years. Mostly, they sat in silence and drank. She supposed Malfoy had been right when he said it was better than drinking alone … but it wasn't much better.
"So where are you staying?" she had finally asked.
Malfoy shrugged, "Dunno. Getting a room at the Three Broomsticks tonight and then figuring it out tomorrow."
Hermione bit her lip. She'd been afraid that was what he might say. "Er…you probably won't have much luck at the Three Broomsticks. It's run by Dean Thomas now."
Malfoy looked at her. They both knew the truth – it would matter who ran it, all that mattered was the fact that it was someone who'd known Malfoy at Hogwarts and during the war. It would be a Gryffindor, of course. Dean wouldn't rent a room to him if he was cornered by ten blast-ended skrewts.
"Right," he grunted, "muggle hotel, then."
Hermione stared at him for a moment before she found herself saying, "You can stay at my place if you need to. Just for one night."
Malfoy looked as though she'd just offered to marry him. Shock was painted onto his face.
"You," he said, "Granger. You're offering me a place to stay?"
Hermione shrugged.
"Me, sleeping on the couch of a mudblood's flat –"
Hermione slapped him hard across the face. The firewhiskey had hindered her aim, but there was still a clear red mark on Malfoy's cheek.
"Don't you ever," she said through clenched teeth,"ever use that word again."
She eyed him up and down, suddenly wondering what the hell she was doing talking to him in the first place. "Maybe you haven't changed at all," she remarked, more to herself than to him. Getting up and stumbling slightly, she headed for the door.
A bitter wind greeted her, and she stopped a few yards away to apparate home. A voice stopped her.
"Wait," called Malfoy, hurrying to where she stood and sliding on the snowy ground, "Wait, Granger. Don't leave yet."
Hermione stared at him in stony silence. She realized for the first time that he had no cloak.
"I'm … I'm sorry," he said, choking out the words, "I'm in no position to insult you."
"Damn right you're not," she replied.
His sighed, meeting her eyes. "I have nowhere to go."
Hermione could tell it was killing his pride to be at her mercy. Part of her enjoyed it. He deserved this. Deserved to be begging her for a place to stay. She looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of malicious intent.
All she saw was sadness. Sadness, and emptiness.
"Come on," she said finally. And, grabbing his arm, she apparated home.
That was how Draco Malfoy had ended up on her couch at 5am. Hermione shook her head. She must have gone mad. Absolutely mad. Clearly her compassionate side had taken over after so much firewhiskey.
There was nothing to be done about it, of course. She wasn't about to wake Malfoy up and tell him to get out before sunrise. It wasn't worth the trouble – and she really didn't want to lose anymore sleep. Taking a deep breath, she walked back into her room, shutting and locking the door behind her before sinking into her warm bed.
Maybe when she woke up again, Malfoy would already be gone.
A/N: Hmm… risky move on Hermione's part, letting Draco stay with her. Something tells me he isn't going to be gone as quickly as she thinks. Then again, who knows?
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