Gluttony… An inordinate desire to consume more than that which one requires.

After the war ended, everyone coped in their own way, finding a vice that made them feel better to an extent. Drowning oneself in a particular vice felt good for a while until it didn't, and that's when the trouble would begin. Whether it was known or not, they all had their little obsessions.

For Blaise, it was alcohol.

It started as a way to toast the lives that were lost, but then it escalated into something much darker. Those first few nights drinking with his fellow Slytherins in honour of their fallen friends were glorious. Sitting around the fireplace awash in the warmth of drunken stories and alcohol, Blaise had no idea that he was falling down the rabbit hole into a gluttonous obsession with alcohol.

Those were early days when drinking was innocent...

Now, Blaise could be wandering the grounds of his family's manor and just taste the alcohol on his tongue. The rush as the alcohol hit his bloodstream and made his head feel fuzzy. It took more effort than it should have to resist the call of the bottle. Blaise didn't fight the temptation to drink most nights until all he felt was warm bliss as he fell into a drunken sleep.

For most, the evening was just beginning, but for Blaise, he'd been sitting at the counter in the Leaky Cauldron for a few hours. His mother, sick of finding him in a drunken stupor all over the manor, kicked him out for the night so she could have some peace. After much wandering, Blaise found himself at the pub with a drink in hand and no plan on stopping anytime soon.

If he had his way, Blaise wouldn't remember this night at all…

The clock on the wall chimed the hour, and Hermione was horrified to find that the hour was late. Groaning, she tossed aside her quill and began packing up her belongings for the weekend. Although, if she was honest with herself, Hermione intended to sneak back in here tomorrow to finish up the extra files she needed to go over before a new stack appeared on her desk Monday. It was her own fault, really, but she just couldn't help but say yes when someone needed her help.

Walking to the bathroom exit, Hermione thought she would stop by Diagon Alley and pick up something from the Leaky Cauldron for dinner before heading to her flat. It was already late, and most of the other restaurants were closed. She'd have to make due yet again with a take-out dinner before passing out in her bed just to do it all again tomorrow.

Wasn't it just yesterday that Harry joked how she was a glutton for punishment when she took on yet another project for her department head? He might be right, but the busier Hermione stayed, the less she worried about other aspects of her life. Plus, she had plans of going far in the Ministry, and if she didn't start now, there would be no place for her later. The war may be over, but life in the wizarding world was still somewhat difficult for a muggleborn such as herself.

After exiting the Ministry, Hermione found it more challenging to keep her eyes open, but she had no proper food at home. Exhausted and ready to crawl into bed, Hermione stopped in her tracks when she saw a figure lying in the gutter of Diagon Alley. Gripping her wand inside the pocket of her robes, she carefully approached the person and tried to figure out who it could be. Leaning forward, Hermione's eyes went wide when she saw who was sprawled out in front of her.

"Blaise? Blaise Zabini, is that you?" she asked, using the tip of her boot to prod a leg.

The wizard groaned and struggled to sit upon the curb. A broken bottle of Odgen's Finest shattered around him, so it was a pretty precarious ordeal. "Granger?" he slurred, squinting up at her in the light from the streetlamp. "What the hell are you doing here?"

She bit back a laugh. "It's the middle of the street. I was walking. What are you doing taking a nap down there?"

"To be honest," Blaise said as he looked down at himself, "I'm not entirely sure how I got here from there." He pointed to the Leaky Cauldron which was a few storefronts away from where they were currently talking.

With a sigh, Hermione offered her hand. "Come on, Zabini. You can crash at my place tonight." A proper meal would have to be forgotten for the time being. Blaise obviously needed her help, and she was more than willing to do so for an old acquaintance.

Blaise took her hand and allowed himself to be hoisted up. A moment later, she'd apparated them right into the middle of her flat. It took everything he had not to lose what little food he had, but somehow he managed. Granger, taking pity on him, showed him to the sofa and then went to get them some crisps and water from the kitchen.

"Here," she said, handing over a bag of crisps and a bottle of water. "You need to get something besides alcohol in your stomach. I'm sorry I don't have anything more substantial."

He nodded in thanks and dug into the snacks. "Why were you in Diagon Alley so late?"

Shrugging, Hermione stood watching as her flat guest ate. "I worked late tonight and was hoping to pick up some food." She leaned against the wall rather than sit on the sofa with Blaise. At this point she was so tired she could barely stay standing; sitting down would only cause her to fall right to sleep.

"It's nearly eleven," Blaise said, eyes going wide as he checked the clock on the wall. "What the hell were you doing working so late? I know I saw Potter and Weasley come through the pub earlier tonight."

It wasn't until Blaise, who she hadn't seen in quite some time, pointed it out that the lateness really hit Hermione. Was it really that late? Had she genuinely stayed at work until well after nine once again? Harry had invited her to come out with them, but she'd declined, opting to finish the assignment she'd been working on instead. Now it all seemed so ridiculous, and Hermione swayed on her feet, more tired than she'd felt in weeks.

Sliding down the wall, Hermione wrapped her hands around her knees and let the tears flow. "I work myself until I'm exhausted," she managed to admit through sobs that came from seemingly nowhere. "If I'm tired enough, the nightmares stay away." This was the first time she'd said that aloud, but a relief swept through her at the admission.

"Shit, Granger," Blaise said, struggling to stand before wobbling his way over toward the witch. He ungracefully dropped to his knees next to her and placed both hands on her shoulders. "You have to stop working so much. The stress is going to kill you."

Eyes still shining, Hermione met Blaise's stare and let out a shaky breath. "You have to stop drinking too, Blaise." Then much quieter, she added, "We're killing ourselves, aren't we?"

"You're not lying," Blaise agreed, pursing his lips. "We have to be better."

Sunlight streaming through the open curtains is what woke Blaise the next morning. Squinting blearily and attempting to shield his eyes from the light, he sat up on the sofa and tried to get his bearings. Hungover as hell, the night before slowly returned to him, and he cringed. Granger, he thought, glancing around the tony living room. This was her flat, so where was she?

Rubbing his palms over his face, Blaise finally managed to wake up enough to stand. The clock on the wall indicated that it was early, but Blaise knew that Granger would most likely be awake from his Hogwarts days. His coat was thrown over the back of the sofa, so he grabbed that and shrugged into it while still trying to see if the witch was still there. As he was about to head into the kitchen, a door opened, and Hermione stepped into the room.

"I thought I heard movement out here," Hermione said with a smile before having to cover a yawn. "How are you feeling?" she asked, crossing her arms and staring at him with worry.

"I- I guess as best as expected after drinking the amount of fire whisky that I did," Blaise replied, his lips turning up in a wry smile. "I'm sorry for being such a mess, and I'm grateful for your hospitality and kindness. Not just anyone would take in a drunken git such as myself."

"It was nothing." There was a moment of silence where they both stood there in awkward silence before Hermione spoke again. "I'm sorry for my breakdown last night." Hermione glanced away from him toward the window, her cheeks rosy with embarrassment. "I was supposed to be taking care of you."

Blaise's heart broke for the witch, and then he remembered just how broken he felt too. Shoulders sagging, he said, "Look, last night was pretty heavy for the both of us. It felt kind of good to talk to someone about it, though."

Hermione perked up at that, meeting his gaze once more. "Yeah, it did feel sort of good to open up about how overwhelming work has been."

Blaise smiled and breathed a sigh of relief when she smiled back. "It's Saturday, so I'm guessing you get the say off... Or, at least, you should take the day off. Want to go and grab some breakfast and talk some more?"

"I'd love that," Hermione said without hesitation. She brushed at the corner of her eyes as tears of relief flooded her vision.

Without a word, Blaise went to her and wrapped her in his arms. She cried silently into the embrace, overwhelmed by exhaustion from work and life in general. They stood like that for a long time until finally, they were able to part and go get breakfast. They were both gluttons for different types of punishment, but with the help of a friend, maybe they could find the hope they needed to survive.