August 1, 1997

Hermione let out a long sigh. She was exhausted. It had been a long day, and she wanted nothing to do with the Order or Grimmauld Place.

She pulled her jacket close to her chest and walked aimlessly through the streets of muggle London. It was far safer to walk here. Just another girl out at ten in the night. No one looked at her twice.

The streets were bustling with people of all ages. Most were queued up outside pubs, while others walked with determination to reach a destination. She went into the first pub that was free of muggles lining up outside.

'Two Pints' read the small sign outside. She walked in and was embraced by a comforting warmth, resulting from the sheer number of people inside all breathing at the same time.

This was not as empty as she expected. The pub was proper crowded. There were a couple of counter seats empty, but apart from that, there was no space to sit. She stood there for a few seconds, weighing her options in her head. If she stayed, she would have to deal with quite a few sneers and remarks from drunken blokes. If she left, she would be out in the cold until she finds another place to enter.

Her decision was made for her when someone bumped into her from behind and pushed her forward. They muttered a slurry apology and staggered off, leaving Hermione to take an empty seat at the counter. She asked for a shot of firewhiskey before realizing that is not something they served. The bartender looked at her confusedly before he said "Whiskey, got it". It didn't matter to her what she was drinking. She just wanted to stop thinking for a while.

The war has taken a toll on everyone, including herself. But said war had officially reached a turning point today when Death Eaters attacked the Ministry. Everyone was downtrodden. They all looked like no one had seen it coming.

But Hermione had.

She had tried to warn them, pestered them into listening to her. They all dismissed her like she was a child. She didn't know what she was talking about, they said.

"Mione, you can't predict that. That could never happen."

"Death Eaters? At the Ministry? You must be joking. It's the Ministry, Hermione."

"You-Know-Who's army isn't strong enough to organize such a thing."

Except they were strong, they had attacked, and now they set ablaze a chain of events that could tip the scales of victory in their direction.

Hermione downed the shot while a tear rolled down her cheek. She motioned for the bartender to pour her another one while she wiped her face on the back of her jacket. A second shot was placed in front of her. Just as she brought the glass to her lips, she heard a familiar voice.

"Granger?"

The alcohol never made it down her throat. Instead, she sputtered and coughed as the staunch liquid went right up her nose. She heard the person snigger while she tried to stop coughing.

Who in their right mind knew her in this unknown pub in muggle London?

She looked towards the source of the sound while simultaneously wiping her nose and mouth. It was Theodore Nott.

"Nott" she said, her voice guarded and suspicious.

Had she been followed? She had been too careless and tired to check. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe not. Nott was wearing muggle clothing, she observed. He was trying to blend in too. That means he had intended on coming here. But why?

"Of all the cities, in all the pubs, you had to walk into this one", he said amusedly.

His eyes gave away his lack of sobriety. His hand on the counter indicated the need for support, he couldn't sit up straight. He had been here a while longer than her. She was not being followed, she concluded.

She turned back to face forward. Today was not her day. She was not in the mood to converse with someone, especially a Slytherin with suspicions of joining the dark side.

Her heart was racing a mile a minute. She was calculating all the ways she could escape this pub. If she leaves the money on the counter, she could exit immediately. She fished her pockets for a couple of quids and was relieved to find the exact change. She placed them on the counter and got up to leave.

Before she could leave, Nott's hand caught her elbow and pulled her back to her seat.

"Come on, Granger. Have a drink with me." His voice was slurring by the end of the sentence. It didn't sound like a threat. More like a sad plea.

She sighed with tiredness consuming her gestures, and eyed him pointedly before asking, "Why on earth would you want me to drink with you?"

"Need some company tonight." He replied.

"Couldn't find any of your Slytherin friends?" She quickly retorted.

"They're all… busy," he said, curtly.

She contemplated leaving him there. It didn't look like he was in a state to fight her if she did. But then again, where could she go? She had decided she would not be going back to Grimmauld Place tonight.

She finally said, "Fine. But only one drink."

Hermione couldn't look back at the exact moment when she became this way. It had to have happened at around the time when war was first waged. The moment she and her friends realized their problems were deeper rooted than first thought.

She saw her friends growing more determined, strong-willed, and brave. Meanwhile, she became this. A shell of her old self. Uncaring, tired, and apparently drinking with old enemies.

Well, not enemies really. Theodore Nott was by far the least threatening Slytherin she has ever encountered. Apart from a few snide remarks in their early Hogwarts days, he had remained in the shadows and kept to himself later on. If there was anyone in Slytherin she could see herself having neutral ground with, it would be him.

But this was not Hogwarts and he was not her classmate anymore. They are in the middle of a raging war with them on opposite sides. He could easily Avada her off this barstool. With that thought, she attempted to remain on alert.

"Whiskey, eh?" he nodded at the glass in her hand, "must be a rough night."

She did not respond, instead took to observing him. Upon closer inspection, he was a mirror of her features. Heavy dark circles enveloping his eyes, remnants of scars gracing his cheeks and neck, bruised knuckles, and tired overall. This was the look of a defeated man.

"Are you here often?", she found herself asking. There is no harm in asking. He doesn't have to reply.

"Only on the worst nights," he gave her a wry smile.

Why was she still sitting here? Go home, Hermione.

They sat next to each other like that in silence for a while. Only speaking to the bartender for a refill on drinks. Hermione resorted to pints of beer after her second shot of whiskey. It would be unwise to lose all of her senses at this bar, with the man sitting next to her. Theodore, on the other hand, had a different approach. He seemed to be on a mission to become the drunkest man in the bar. Shots after shots downed in a matter of minutes. Even the bartender was eyeing him with worry. After his fifth shot, she decided to intervene.

"Maybe you should stop…" she trailed off, not sure whether she should be concerned for Nott or let him slip into an alcohol-induced coma.

"What's it to you, Granger?" he could barely keep his eyes open but managed to look at her with partial snide.

"Nothing. Never mind" she chided herself internally for considering his well-being for even a second. It was time to go. This doesn't seem to be going anywhere.

He sighed and turned to her. "Sorry. Maybe you're right. I should lay off the shots. I've had one too many, I believe."

Nott, apologizing? Merlin, are the pigs flying outside?

"I'm tired of this" he continued, "tired of this war. Tired of this life."

Now there's something she understood.

"I just want this over with." she found herself replying back to him. Again, she didn't have a clue why.

"It's eating me up from the inside, Granger. I can feel the change in me. Nothing will ever be the same after this."

She felt something stir inside her.

Compassion.

Compassion for this man who had never given her a second glance in their entire schooling. Compassion brought on by nothing but a simple confession. Compassion because she understood, more than anyone else.

"I'm tired too," she said, at last.

After that night, she was a regular at Two Pints. Sometimes Nott would be there, almost waiting for her. Sometimes she was alone. The Order's attack strategy and missions seemed to be failing steadily. After their first few failed missions, she would resort to crying and then immediately apparating to the familiar pub. With time, the crying ceased and the drinking increased.

Conversations with Nott were stagnant at first. However, after the first few visits, they found a strange kinship with each other. A mutual understanding and a shoulder to lean on. As months passed, it seemed clear that the only person to accept her and listen to her was Theo.


A/N: Hello loves. This is my first story here so I apologize for my novice writing. I began this story with the hopes of recounting my own experiences with a man who is so much like Draco it makes my heart hurt. He hoped that one day people would see his true self and accept him. If there is ever a fandom that suits our story, it's this one. Hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed living it.