It was past supper time.
Yet, Hermione leaned over a copy of The Potion Master's Guide to Precision. There was always time to brush up on technique. No matter how skilled a researcher might be. And skilled she was. She had already been published in every reputable potion's journal in England and most of Europe, too. Still, there was no reason to neglect the basics.
Her stomach growled, and she looked at her enchanted watch. The hands danced dizzily, swinging around, before reading out, "Eat something, you ninny."
She snorted. Why had she ever bought this silly thing? She supposed it was nostalgia. She'd always admired the Weasley's family clock. It was one of the first mundane and yet Wizardish things she'd seen.
Hermione felt a little stab in her chest at the memory. The Weasley's. Ron.
How long had it been since they had last spoken? They'd seen each other at Harry's wedding. How long had that been? Harry had gotten married at twenty-three. So, wow, had it really been a decade already?
No, there had been that awkward time she had seen him in the wizarding underground…with Lavender. She had ducked behind a large businessman with a suitcase to hyperventilate.
She hadn't even been invited to their wedding. Of course, why would she? She hadn't spoken to either of them in ages.
After the war, Hermione had buried herself in research. Her memories from the war were too fresh. Every conversation was like sandpaper on open wounds. She snapped at anyone who dared to interrupt her quiet sanctuary.
After a few months, most everyone stopped coming.
When the new school year started back, Ron and Harry had begged her to return to Hogwarts for their eighth year. But coldly, she had refused them. She couldn't bear to return.
Instead, she took a job as research assistant at the ministry in the Department of Mysteries. The work had been fascinating, and she'd buried herself in it. Harry and Ron continued to write. She didn't come to graduation. It was too difficult to face her old classmates.
After several years of forgotten holidays, ignored owls, and "not being home," even Harry and Ron stopped visiting and owling, leaving her truly alone. It was a relief. It was wonderful and terrible at the same time.
Finally, she could focus on her research. And so she did. For many years, in fact.
However, now, she realized just how much she'd like to share a meal with someone other than her cats.
A part of her longed to call Ron, but she knew it would go very poorly. Maybe she could make inroads with Harry first. He'd soften Ron. But then she remembered. A wadded-up invitation. A birth announcement. Harry was a father now, and she hadn't even sent him a gift. That she remembered anyways.
No, she couldn't call on them now. It had been too long.
She let out a deep sigh and stood up. Her cat jumped from the back of the sofa as if hoping to be invited along. She ran a few fingers through her hair, pulling it into a tight bun. Then, she donned her cloak and headed down to the pub for a bite to eat and a pint.
This was an unusual night out for her. Usually, she picked a nice restaurant and had a glass of wine and ate with a book at her hand. But tonight she craved noise, company, and distraction. The Frog & Fries had a warm, noisy atmosphere. She downed a pint, which ended in another and another.
When she looked up, she caught sight of a familiar head of silvery blonde hair. Was that? No, it couldn't be Draco Malfoy.
He looked about as depressed as she felt. His grey eyes cast downward on a bit of parchment and his chin resting in his ever pale hand. He sighed with feeling.
She finished her beer and studied him closely. His face, while still angular and pale, held none of its previously harsh lines. He looked somehow softened by time.
Thoroughly sauced, she walked over to his table and pointed an accusing finger at him. "I know you." Her words had a slight slur to the edges.
The smallest smile quivered on his lips. "Hello. I see you've sampled the exquisite beer selection."
"I sure have. It's been a lousy day." She swayed ever so slightly.
In a flash, he was out of his chair, one arm out to steady her. "Sit down, Granger."
"Okay." She scraped the chair against the pub floor, holding onto the table to keep her balance.
His careful grey eyes watched her, not intervening but ready if she stumbled again.
Now sitting, she peered back at him.
He coughed and looked away.
"Look at me," she laughed. "I'm having drinks with Draco Malfoy."
"I'm not sure this counts as having drinks," he said reasonably.
She frowned. "Then, we'll order them!" She waved down the bartender and loudly ordered two shots of Ogden's Fire Whiskey.
Behind her head, Malfoy mouthed, "A glass of water."
The bartender nodded.
The whiskey and the water arrived moments later.
"I don't want water," she drawled. "I want to do a shot with you."
Draco smirked. "Just as bossy as I remember."
She scowled.
"If we do the shot, will you drink the water? People are staring."
"You think you're so good looking that people are just always staring at you."
His smirk turned to a full-fledged grin. "So, you think I'm good looking, huh? I see your taste is improving with age, Granger."
A very unfamiliar expression crossed her face. One Draco had never seen there before. Confusion.
"It's fine," he said, swallowing the shot in one.
She did the same, and he pushed the glass of water closer to her. "Drink."
She did.
"So, Granger, what's got you all worked up?"
"Nothing ever works out how it should," she grumbled, staring into her empty shot glass. "I'm thirty-four-years-old."
He shrugged. "I'm aware."
"I mean I'm thirty-four. I have no husband, no children, no friends. I don't even own a home."
His eyes were playful, dancing with silvery lightning. "Hmm, that does sound bleak."
She punched him in the arm.
"So what?" he laughed. "I've seen your work published in The Alchemist. You even won that award for Services to the Ministry. Your research is groundbreaking."
"How do you know?"
He rolled his eyes and passed her a business card. "I'm a potioneer. I couldn't exactly nab a job at the Ministry, you know."
"So, how have things gone for you?"
"Rotten." He signaled the bartender. "Two more shots, please."
Hermione grinned. "That's the spirit."
The next round came quickly. "To our crummy lives," Hermione said.
"Cheers."
The downed the shots and fell into a steady pattern of complaining and drinking. By the end, Hermione was even more tipsy than when she had first arrived at the table, and the bar was beginning to empty out.
"It's past midnight. Let me help you home, Granger. You can't possibly apparate like this."
"Don't have to. I live in the village," she said, her consonants more slurred than a milkshake.
He pulled some galleons from his pocket and dropped them on the table. "Okay then. Lead the way."
She stumbled toward the pub's entrance, and he followed at a respectful distance. On the street, her shoe hit a cobblestone, and she stumbled forward. He caught her before she hit the ground. Then, he wrapped an arm around her back to steady her and keep her moving forward.
They moved slowly forward until they made it to her building.
"Which door is yours?"
"Up," she said.
He groaned. Together, they trudged up a flight of metal stairs to her doorstep.
After a series of unsuccessful tries, she finally managed to fit her key into the lock. Then, she fished in her pocket for her wand for several moments and waved it with a flourish. Green sparks leapt from the doorframe.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Disarming charm," she mumbled.
Draco opened the door and helped her through and into the living room.
Her apartment was messy. Well, that was an understatement. It looked like a hurricane had blown through a library. Books were strewn all over the carpet, open to pages with bits of napkin and in one case toast marking pages. A bottle of wine was open on the coffee table.
The couch was covered in cat hair, and two felines approached. One of which he was sure had Kneazle blood. It gave him a haughty glare, and he fought the urge to retreat.
Instead, he helped her onto the couch and stepped back.
She looked up at him earnestly. "Do you ever wish you could go back and do it all again? Hogwarts? Your twenties? All of it?"
He smiled sadly but didn't answer her question. "Goodnight, Granger."
"Goodnight, Malfoy."
AN: Thanks everyone who followed me over here. Sorry about the wonky upload!