Chapter 36

The gown hung on the wardrobe and Hermione stood watching it. It was beautiful, but so impractical. Where would she store this monstrosity? She had nowhere to take it. Surely Malfoy had a room somewhere at Malfoy Manor for used ballgowns. Although she hated the idea of one of her things in Malfoy Manor. It was just one connection too far, because their lives outside this little flat weren't linked at all, and she wanted to keep it that way—him too.

Although he'd been ignoring her like the plague the last few days, which was quite a feat in a flat this small. He'd stayed out late last night, she assumed at the library, because he had nowhere else to go. The Slytherins were still half condescending, part scared and the rest reticent to be seen with him.

And now he was alienating her as much as he could because he wanted her—and he didn't like it. Also, he couldn't afford to. Quite a pickle he was in.

"I'm going to a dinner party tonight," she called out of the bedroom, hearing him arrive downstairs. "You're not invited."

"I'm crushed," he mumbled sarcastically.

When she left the bedroom, he was leaning against the kitchen bench, looking bored and distracted. "Is that what you're wearing?" he asked with disapproval as he looked at her jeans.

"It's a Gryffindor dinner party. More like a cosy get together."

A smile formed on his lips. "Well, have fun. Don't forget what happened the last time you got drunk." No, she had certainly not forgotten, and neither had he. It was there, under the surface of everything. The new battleground between them.

"Do something more than once and it becomes a habit," she warned. "So maybe you should be on your best behaviour—or abject poverty awaits. Your parents would be so disappointed in you." Maybe it was a little cruel to taunt him with his parents disowning him as they were practically the only people he had left. Alright it was cruel, but since when had they not been cruel?

His narrowed eyes considered her as he chewed his cheeks. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"You mean like having fun?" she said lightly as she walked to the door. "A foreign concept, I'm sure."

It was icy cold outside as she walked down the open corridor toward Harry's flat. It seemed impossible they could throw a dinner party in such a small flat, but somehow, they had managed. A table had been found somewhere and they sat around it, barely squeezing in between the table and walls, but it was warm and lit, and everything she loved. Laughter and joy. The table was overflowing with food, and even wine. This she hadn't had in a long time and she had missed it.

"Hey, Hermione," Parvati said. "It feels like ages since I've seen you. How are you?"

"Well, you know. White knuckling it until Christmas. Are you going home?"

"Yes, we're going our separate ways for Christmas. I guess there's no point asking you the same?"

"No, I am absolutely not spending Christmas anywhere near Malfoy or his parents," she said and looked around the room. Neville and Hannah were sitting together, looking cosy. Now that was a marriage that had just worked right off the bat. Hermione wouldn't have picked them to work so well, but they did. Neville was so easy around Hannah. It was like he had found his home.

A spear of something shot through her. Envy maybe. Only an insane person wouldn't be jealous of that. Except perhaps Malfoy, who would refuse to be envious of Neville out of principle.

Harry and Ginny were sitting at opposite ends of the table, talking to the persons next to them. Hermione got the impression they were ignoring each other. All might not be well, but Harry wouldn't share something like that. Harry hid his pain—he always had.

Ron was there, but Susan wasn't. A cup in hand, he had the rosy cheeks and glassy eyes he did when he was drinking. In fact, she wasn't sure he ever stopped. Rumor had it Susan wasn't investing in the marriage at all. In a way, it hurt Hermione to think it. They could actually be good together, but it wasn't surprising that Susan wasn't signing up to being involved with a drunk lush. No one in their right mind would.

Worse was that they couldn't help him. And Susan was probably smart enough to know she couldn't either.

Her attention brought Ron's and he smiled. Getting up, he moved around the table closer to her. At least he wasn't hiding it anymore, but Hermione didn't know if that was good or bad. Maybe he was trying to be more honest about what was going or—or he had just given up.

"Hey, Mione," he said. The thing with him like this was that you didn't know what you'd get from him. Sometimes he was hateful and disparaging, other times he was mellow. And he could switch in a blink of an eye. "How are things?"

"Okay, I suppose. How are things with you?"

He didn't answer for a moment. "Oh, getting by, I suppose," he said. Hermione wanted to push him to talk about how he truly felt, but also knew the reason he was drinking was to avoid that, and this wasn't the time or place.

"You going home for Christmas?"

"Yeah. Harry's coming. You can come too. You know that."

"I know." As of yet, she hadn't decided what she wanted for Christmas. And going to the Weasleys might be too painful. Nothing would remind her more of the past.

"How's marriage with Malfoy?" Ron said, saying Malfoy with distaste.

"Living up to all my hopes," Hermione said sarcastically and Ron laughed.

"I hope you're giving him hell."

"Oh, believe me I am torturing him." Although the last thing Ron would want to hear would be that she was torturing him by him wanting so badly to sleep with her but couldn't. Even worse would be telling him he actually could because she was on the pill. It was a private little war Ron would just not get. But effectively she was torturing him like nothing else before. Same outcome.

"Slimy git," Ron said and took another deep slug of his whiskey. Ron was never ever going to forgive Draco for the past. And it was probably less about the war than the time before. The animosity between them were in their bones. Then he pulled out a quart of whiskey and poured some more into his glass. "Want some?"

"Sure," Hermione said and pulled her glass over. "The more I drink, the less you will."

"Don't worry, I have more," he said with a smile, missing the point. Or maybe he didn't and was just warning her to not go down that road.

-0-

Hermione wasn't drunk drunk, but it wasn't the time for complex tasks. "Potter sucks cock," she mumbled as she got to the entrance to her flat. As of yet, she still hadn't managed to change the password. Draco's fault. Such petty pettiness. It was really unbecoming, she thought.

The flat was dark and Hermione breathed in the air for a moment. It had been a lovely evening. She'd relaxed and laughed in a way she hadn't in a long time. Draco really was missing out. How could he live his life like that without any laughter? The guy never relaxed. Anally retentive, that was what he was. Hermione giggled.

It was cold. Also she had lost her sweater somewhere, because it had been so warm at Harry's. She would have to go back for it in the morning. With mostly steady feet, she walked up to the bedroom, finding Draco in bed, reading with a candle.

"It's my night in the bed," he stated.

"Oh, come on. Don't be so childish," she said walking to the bed. It looked so welcoming, while the sofa was cold and uncomfortable. "I love the bed."

"I swear to Merlin, Hermione, you are not getting in this bed."

"Why not?" she said with a smile. "I know you want me to. Drunk and unwitting as I am, I'll probably let you do things to me that I normally wouldn't."

"Seriously, fuck off, Granger."

"I just want to sleep. You won't even notice I'm there."

"This is my night in the bed, and I swear I will transfigure you into something unpleasant," he warmed. She noted the seriousness in his voice. Oh, he feared her getting in the bed, and he probably would transfigure her into something he could hide in a box until someone came looking for her. Well, that would be embarrassing.

"Fine, you're such a killjoy. You never have any fun. You missed your chance, mate, because you know how rarely I get drunk."

"Out," he finally ordered and Hermione smiled, pleased with her endeavours.

"Enjoy the bed, all alone. It's a cold, cold night." Without looking back, she walked out of the bedroom and downstairs. Grabbing the blanket, she lay down on the sofa, still smiling. She'd had no intention of sleeping in the bed—she'd just been messing with him.

If he'd called her bluff, it would have been a full-brown mess, because if he'd started kissing at her and looking at her like he had when she'd presented the gown to him, she might not have been able to… stop. It had been a gamble, but one she could afford, and he couldn't. Alright, maybe a small part of her was a little disappointed. A dull ache lived inside her. Not that she wanted to examine it, but it was there nonetheless. It would be so much easier to sleep with him if she had alcohol to blame it on. Just another oops. A really bit oops from his perspective. She'd give anything to know what he was thinking right then.