The late November wind whipped through Hogsmeade like a bitter banshee, but the Three Broomsticks was just as cozy as she remembered it. It was quaint and rustic, with antlers adorning the walls and a warm fire burning against the far wall. Warped wooden beams ran across the ceiling and smoke hung freely in the rafters, smelling faintly of cinnamon and cardamon. Sipping on a Butterbeer, Hermione watched cheerful customers duck into the pub, stray snowflakes following in their wake.
The bar, as always, was packed with a variety of magical people. Goblins perched at the bar laughed loudly and groups of wizards called out to friends and elbowed their way through the cramped space. Next to Hermione, a couple of witches chatted animatedly about a recent Quidditch match. A copy of Transfiguration Today lay open on her table, dog-eared and momentarily forgotten as Hermione soaked in the lively atmosphere.
Someone stumbled into her table. A spray of golden beer sloshed onto her magazine and Hermione recoiled as the chilly liquid streamed into her lap. Unfocused eyes looked down at her from beneath a mop of red hair, but before she could react, Ron dropped into her booth.
"Hermione," Ron mumbled as he reached for her hands. Even from across the table, Hermione could smell the brandy on his breath. "My love."
"Where's Lavender?" Hermione asked, pulling her arms from his grasp. She picked up a napkin and began to wipe the table clean of the drink Ron had spilled.
"I dunno, somewhere, not here."
"Maybe you should go find her, then."
"I miss you, 'Mione." His words cut her like diamond on glass. "Do you miss me? Do you… Do you wish we could go back to how things were before I…I…" Ron trailed off, unable to complete his sentence, but from shame or drunkenness, Hermione did not know.
"Of course I do," Hermione whispered, "But not like this. You're drunk. You don't even know what you're saying."
"I can prove myself. If you take me back, I can be a better man, I promise."
"Now Weasley, no one likes a liar," Draco sneered. He was standing close, clearly eavesdropping on their conversation. He strode a few steps closer and leaned against the booth.
"Looks like they let anyone in these days." Ron scoffed. No longer emboldened with declarations of love, Ron's words rolled sloppily from his mouth.
"Oh yes, all sorts of riff-raff in here," Draco drawled, "Even adulterers, it appears."
Ron jumped from his seat with fists balled at his sides. Eye to eye they stood, bleary blue against sharp silver. For a moment, Draco looked amused.
"Stay out of it, Malfoy. Or I'll… Or I'll…slog " Ron slurred.
"It's offensive, really, that English is your first language. I've heard trolls speak with more eloquence." Draco jerked his head toward Ron before turning to Hermione. "Seriously, Granger, I don't know what you saw in him. Opposites attract, I suppose…"
Ron lunged, but Draco was quicker, stepping out of the way before Ron made contact. With a thud, Ron fell to the ground, knocking over a table on the way down. Clusters of people moved out of the way to avoid getting caught in any potential crossfire.
"Out!" Madam Rosmerta shouted as she hurried from behind the bar. She grabbed Ron by the collar and pulled him up with a surprising amount of strength. "No fighting in my bar, Mr. Weasley!"
Madam Rosmerta then rounded on Draco, prodding him with her wand. Draco raised his hands in lazy surrender.
"Is this one bothering you, dear?" Madam Rosmerta's voice softened as she addressed Hermione. Draco's face was relaxed, as if indifferent to the proceedings, but his eyes shone with doubt. Hermione shook her head.
"'Mione," Ron hung loosely at Madam Rosmerta's side. He raised a hand feebly in her direction. "Come with me."
"No, Ron. I'm staying. You should go home."
With nothing more to say, Ron dropped his arm. Madam Rosmerta dragged him through the bar, Ron stumbling on his feet, and tossed him unceremoniously through the front door. Draco slid into the seat across from Hermione that Ron had vacated.
"Why did you do that?" Hermione hissed.
"I took the chance, that maybe for once, I was the better of two evils." Draco took a swig of his beer and draped an arm across the back of the booth. He sat with a practiced ease, each feature carefully placed to appear smooth and composed. To the untrained eye he appeared relaxed, but Hermione could see his muscles rigid and tense under the white button-down. Draco's eyes scanned the bar until he noticed Hermione staring at him with her arms crossed. "What? Was I wrong?"
"I'm just surprised. You never struck me as the knight-in-shining-armor type," Hermione replied.
"You're right, I'm not. Because that would make you a damsel in distress. And you are anything but." Draco took another sip of his beer. When he looked back at Hermione, her eyes were no longer squinted, but her arms remained crossed. "Look, Granger, I knew you could handle him. I just couldn't resist the opportunity to publicly humiliate that weasel. Let's chalk this up to old habits."
"What are you doing in Hogsmeade?"
Draco gave a wry laughed.
"It's a free world, isn't it? What are you doing in Hogsmeade?" He asked defensively.
"I'm visiting Neville at Hogwarts tomorrow."
"Scorpius is playing in Quidditch. Slytherin versus Ravenclaw."
Draco finished the rest of his beer in one sip. Madam Rosemerta kept shooting glances in their direction, watching their table like an angry and hungry hawk. Draco noticed, too.
"She doesn't like me very much. Very anti-Death Eater, you see." Draco said flatly. Hermione could hear the effort in his voice to keep his tone light.
"Are you uncomfortable?" Hermione asked.
"I know where I'm not wanted."
"Then we should leave."
A momentary flicker of shock flashed on his face before it returned to his usual manicured state. "Do you mean we, as in, you and me? Together?"
"Yes, Draco, together. This little bar brawl will already be in tomorrow's Prophet. Might as well give them their money's worth of gossip. And besides, people are staring." Hermione gave a pinched smile to the table of witches, now whispering behind their hands.
"What makes you think I'd want to spend the rest of my night with you?" Draco gave a half-hearted sneer.
"Because it would be the better of two evils?"
Draco eyed her carefully, as if assessing her sincerity. Eventually, he gave her a curt nod.
"Rosmerta, can we get some bottles of Butterbeer to-go?"