A/N: So here's the chapter I promised. No Snape yet, but I just couldn't fit him here. Next chapter I promise a Snape cameo, hell, maybe I'll even involve him in the plot. Dunno yet. Anyway, here it is. Hermione finds out and Draco gets a little drunk. A bit of a gloomy chapter, but not half as bad as some of my stuff. Onward and toward!
Chapter 6
Hermione buried her face into Ron's shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. It was midnight of July 31st. She had just gotten the news from him. Unspeakables, holed up in their offices, rarely heard major announcements.
He would have been crying with her, but he had gotten rid of his tears about six hours before.
Being a high-up Ministry wizard--assistant to Ludo Bagman at the Department of Magical Games and Sports--he had found out nearly as immediately as those there. Now he just felt hollow, and patted Hermione's back rather automatonically as she sobbed.
She had been babbling incoherently for a few moments, but a few words caught his ear. "--all my fault, I gave him the resources--" He jerked away from her.
"You let him read your damn books?"
She looked up at him with tears streaming from her eyes. "He asked and I promised I'd do it--you can't blame me, he would have found out on his own..." She trailed, choked out a sob, went quiet. She changed the subject with tact unusual to someone who was mourning. "Can you believe... Draco Malfoy?"
"No." That about covered the whole of his belief on it. Ella Lindstrom, a good friend of his, claimed she saw it all. Someone must have gotten it wrong, because Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy hated one another. At least, last time he checked.
"I guess opposites attract." She smiled through the tears and it was twisted in its despair. Ron had to look away. "They would have been the best-looking couple at Hogwarts, certainly. Forget Cedric and Cho Chang."
"Hermione!" The very thought shocked Ron to the bone. "You thought Malfoy was.. handsome?"
"An annoying git but still a good-looking guy. Isn't that how it goes?" Hermione laughed quietly. She paused. "Ron?"
"Yes?"
"It doesn't seem right."
She retreated into his arms again. He hugged her close. "No, it doesn't. Only two left of the trio. It's not right."
She mumbled something into his chest. "What?" he said.
"It's his birthday," she repeated. "I have his present." She sniffed. "It's a scrapbook from Hogwarts. I started organizing pictures. I looked at it, and.." Hermione's voice broke. "Ron," she sobbed into his shirt.
"It's all right." He was the same way about ten hours earlier. He just didn't feel anymore. Come to think of it, that didn't feel right either.
Nothing, not the air, not the taste of things, not the feel of his shirt, nothing felt right anymore.
Nothing felt right since 12 hours earlier, when Harry Potter died.
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On the afternoon of July 31st, Draco Malfoy wandered Muggle London with his suitcase in hand. Experience, to him, demanded that it should have been raining. It wasn't. That burned all the more.
The sunshine poured from the sky like ambrosia. Families, couples, all sorts of happy people walked the streets. It made him want to be sick.
It made him want to be drunk.
He scanned both sides of the street for a bar. He'd do anything for a drink. His head began to throb; he rubbed his eyes rather hard. This was certainly not his best day.
A small child nearly ran directly into him. She looked up at him, shrugged and ran off laughing. Draco was not amused.
However, once he looked up again he saw the perfect bar for him; a pub named the Candlelight Inn. He didn't want to have to talk to anyone or bump into anyone he knew. He just wanted to drink himself into a state where he didn't have to think any longer.
That was why he had come into Muggle London; to be alone. Harry had taught him that non-magical did not equal filth. Harry had taught him a lot, both about the world and himself.
He went in. It was a sorry little pub, but they probably had alcohol and that was enough for him.
There were a fair amount of people there, but thankfully there was a section of abandoned bar stools. He sat there, as far away as he could from the teeming pool of drunks near the center of the bar.
The bartender looked away from the best customers she'd ever had and looked over at the solitary figure at the end of the bar. He was wearing some of the oddest clothing she'd ever seen; he looked like he was straight from the Middle Ages, wearing a cloak and all. It was odd. But he had an air of richness about him, and that was enough for her. Who cared that someone was crazy, if he was rich?
She went over to the solitary man and leaned over the bar. "Hello. Would you like somethin' to drink?"
He lifted his head. "A shot of Jack. Leave the bottle." She winced.
"Sure?"
He gave her a look. "It has not been a good two days. Just give me the alcohol." He sank back down on the bar. "Who are you to question my choices, anyway? There's enough people to do that."
She looked down at the strange stranger in sympathy. "I'm Sarah. Here, did your young lady throw you out? You look a bit depressed."
He smirked. "Not quite. Not my young lady, exactly." He looked up at her. "Now where's the damn alcohol?"
Sarah the bartender looked affronted. "Well, fine," she said. As she reached for the bottle and a glass, she asked, "If it weren't your young woman, what was it?"
"Well, first off it'd be my young man," he said offhand, hoping Muggles wouldn't take offense to the idea. He really didn't wasn't quite sure.
She set down the bottle and glass and stared at him for a split second. "Ah. I see." She hesitated, poured the Jack into the glass, then said without a moment's delay, "What did he do, then? Or was it someone else?"
Draco drank it down in one gulp, recovered, then said, his words vaguely slurred: "He died."
"Oh." Sarah the bartender blinked at him. "Well, I'm quite sorry. When was it?"
"He died noon, yesterday." He poured himself another shot. "Dunno when the funeral is. I probably won't be invited." He finished the shot. "It's a scandal. His friends and all, they hate me. He hated me too, at first. But then we fell in love and we had to keep it a secret.. well, it's complicated."
"Sounds like it," Sarah said. She was in a state of awe. She hadn't had a story this good walk in in quite a long time. "I'm willin' to listen if you want to tell."
He looked up at her. "Are you sure? It's quite depressing."
"Well, it's that or listen to these unintelligible idiots over here," she said. "You, at least, have an interesting story. Just don't get too drunk and I promise to listen, Mister.." she had been curious about his name originally, so decided to drop a not-so-tactful hint.
"North. Tom North." Draco was surprised he could think that fast. Especially on his third shot. He had always been extraordinarily smart. "My father threw me out. Actually I left, but he didn't stop me. I ruined his reputation, you see."
"Didn't like the boy?"
"No. Hated him, in fact. He was an old family enemy. We were born to hate one another. And yet.." He sighed, set down the shot glass. "I don't know. I suppose opposites attract?"
"Suppose so." She looked at him quite seriously. "Did your father find out?"
"Yes. Only after he died though. I suppose I went a bit overboard, got a bit dramatic, and sort of exposed our love quite openly.." He stared down at the bar. "But it wasn't fair. It really wasn't fair." He looked up at her. "Today would have been his birthday."
"Oh." He was definitely depressing her. As if it wasn't bad enough that he was in the pit of despair, he was dragging someone else down there. Splendid. "I'm sorry."
Without missing a beat, Draco said, "So am I." He filled the shot glass again and downed it. "But after all, 'love conquers all and hate conquers nothing', right?"
When he looked up at her, Sarah was staring vaguely at him. "Was that some philosopher or something? Plato? Socrates?"
Draco smiled an ironic smile. "Someone like that. I don't remember." Harry would have smiled his great smile at hearing that his statements born from a teenage sense of drama had been thought of as philosophy. It shoved a pang of angst between his ribs to think about it.
"So your young man was dying, you showed your love, he died and your father threw you out?"
Sarah shook her head. "I shouldn't have criticized you drinking such hard liquor. That is dreadful, especially over only a period of, what, twenty-four hours?"
"Yes. Nearly, anyway."
"Drink away, Tom North."
"That was what I was planning," Draco said. He picked up the bottle, contemplated, then set it back down. "But maybe I just needed to confess to someone. Hmm." He stared down at the shot glass. "Maybe I don't need to get drunk."
"Maybe." Sarah smiled at him. "Either way, this bottle's on me. Drink away, if you like."
Draco stared at her. Kindness bestowed by a stranger? That truly was a first to him. "Thank you. I wasn't sure how I was going to cover the cost anyway. I appreciate it."
"No problem." She smiled again. Draco found himself smiling back.
"I think I'll be fine," he said. For some reason, his burden was lightened. "Thank you for listening to me, Sarah."
"It's the better part of my job description: impromptu therapist." She laughed. "You're welcome, Tom North. I wish you luck."
"Thank you," he said again, then left.
Unbeknown to both of them, they did the exact same thing once the door closed. Each smiled and said, "Quite an odd person.. but nice."
Draco walked the streets, and the sunshine didn't bother him that much. The morbidity was faded, but the misery still taunted him.
He wasn't nearly done grieving. But he was part of the way there.
