Six Hours Previous

Nay come,

I will not again reproach you. Lie back

And let me love you a long time ere you go.

For you are sullen-hearted still, and lack

The will to love me. But even so

I will set a seal upon you from my lip,

Will set a guard of honour at each door,

Seal up each channel out of which might slip

Your love for me.

-Dh Lawrence "Seven Seals"

"Arguments are stupid, Hermione," Ron said, casting a glance around the scattered apartment. "And when did you let this place become such a sty?"

"Who's arguing?" she replied, face red. "No one's arguing, I know I'm not." She stopped, and flushed even more. She was certain that at that moment her face must have looked worse than it did when she was ten and fell asleep on the beach on holiday. One would think that her parents would have noticed their fair little English daughter offered up like a sacrifice to a sun god, sunblock completely washed off. She could still feel the burn sometimes, when it was warm and grit got in her sandals.

"Alright, so I'm arguing with you. And it is stupid, I know…" She kicked over a whicker basket. "All I'm looking for is a goddamn pen, one that actually works. Is that so much to ask?"

"Hermione, I'm sure there'll be a pen, or a quill, or something, somewhere tonight. You don't really need one now, do you? Can't we just go, it's almost nine, we'll be late!"

Her eyes widened, she had forgotten the time. The whole thing, the big deal party, the toast of the Wizarding world soiree, the reason she even needed the stupid pen.

"I can't go."

Ron paused, this was not the way Hermione normally freaked out. Hermione would panic, then regain calm in split moments. Hermione liked books more than people, avoided crowds, and detested small talk, but she suffered through it. Hermione had speeches written out ahead of time.

He softened. "Babe, you're going to write that speech while we're eating dinner, and it's going to be so brilliant, so eloquent, and so moving that it'll blow everyone away. And everyone will think, 'That Hermione Granger sure didn't change'. They're going to think you worked weeks on it. They're going to think that you wrote the damn thing before the final battle had even started." He smiled.

She laughed.

She was sitting across from Draco Malfoy. And he kept making eyes at her. Not really the romantic kind that she kind of wouldn't mind getting. It was stupid really, every time someone spoke about Muggle relations, or the heroics of the war, especially if they weren't there, he would glance at her and raise his eyebrow. It was okay, she got it. She agreed, they were stupid. They were pompous and talking out of their assses. She appreciated someone not giving in to the drama and self congratulatory nature of the evening. The lack of mourning for those who had passed.

But she had to wonder if she knew how dumb he looked. (Probably not) Or how other people were starting to look over at him too.

Lupin was next to speak. He made Hermione cry, only a little, while talking of his past friends who had died, all the people he had lost, and the freedoms they had gained. She could only see how old he was, though only in his forties. Still, he looked old, sounded old, walked old. It made her think, "We're getting old, too", as looked at Harry and Ron. Then she shook her head. That was a stupid thought. She was only nineteen after all, and had only been out of school for two years. But she had seen more death and destruction at nineteen than her parents would have ever imagined, even in their worse nightmares.

"You're up next." Malfoy whispered to her from across the table. He appraised her carefully. "You look nervous."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. She hadn't been nervous, not after seeing what the dinner was about. It was black tie, yes, and lots of very important people were there, but then again, at the head table, wasn't she one of them? So the nerves had receded, and she was embarrassed by her panicking with Ron.

As the applause rolled out for Lupin, she clutched her speech in her hand and tensed her body, preparing to rise. But it wasn't her name she heard next, instead she heard Ron's name being announced, Ron's short biography being read to more applause.

It didn't really make sense, and yes, she was more than a bit confused. She thought maybe they were placing Ron ahead of her, but that didn't really pan out on further reflection. The Wizarding World was, along with other deficiencies, more than a little sexist, and even if Hermione had done more than Ron in the final battle (though she never thought in terms like that, not at all not with her best friends), she doubted they would have put her over Ron to be the first to speak before Harry.

She looked at Draco and this time he had both eyebrows raised at her. And for a minute she wanted to cry. She wanted to just get up and kick the shit out of the chair she was sitting on because after all the crap she had gone through in that war, after eight years of being in this world it seemed like if it wasn't one thing it was another. Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood, she had worked so hard, put so much effort and hope behind the eradication of one stupid word, which symbolized one stupid and pointless and senseless prejudice, and it had just been replaced by 'girl'. And it wasn't like she even wanted to speak for these people, she didn't really care about some stupid "official remembrance" of a war, the second anniversary of a horrible, brutal, and freeing day, the day Voldemort died. Because everyday she had a remembrance for it, it had only been two years for god's sake. Every minute she woke up to see her own face in the mirror, to realize that she was alive, to see her best friends alive, to be walking next to Draco Malfoy down a street in Diagon Alley and it wasn't because he was chasing after her to whisper snide comments about her shoes, or her hair, or her blood, it was because they were friends. And every time she ate at the Weasley's and saw the seat where Percy used to be, where he hadn't been for four years, the last two because he was dead, in the ground dead, and she didn't think Molly would ever be the same, she remembered.

She wanted to get up and leave at that moment, because she was horrified to realize that she was about to cry. The tears of frustration and anger were pricking away in the corner of her eyes, and she didn't want to do that in front of everyone. Because she knew that if she started she wouldn't stop, wouldn't be able to pass it off as a reaction to whatever Ron was saying. So she steadied herself, took a drink of water, and when Ron's speech was over and everyone got up to applaud Harry as he took the stage, Hermione used the moment to sneak out the door.

She leaned up against the wall, telling herself that it was stupid to get this upset over something, but really, knowing that it wasn't that stupid. She was perfectly justified. And all she wanted was stiff drink, a good cry, and to get out of that stupid dress.

The door she came out of creaked open, and she kept her eyes closed tightly. She didn't want to deal with anyone at the moment, certainly not the fake sympathies from half the people inside that room, who had no idea what the war was even like, why it hurt so much to pretend she hadn't even been there.

A cool hand touched her shoulder and slipped down her arm. She opened one eye to see the expected gray eyes peering back at her. She had recognized his touch, he had girly hands, soft and thin, She secretly scorned his pansy hands often.

"You look so pissed right now, Granger. I'm a little turned on."

"Is that why you're groping me?" she returned, shrugging off his touch. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"Getting some air, antagonizing you…You know, whatever," he answered.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Even if she was in the weird sort of position at the time being where she could admit being physically attracted to the asshole standing before her, and maybe even a little emotionally attached, she still sometimes wanted to strangle him. He was beyond annoying, and rude, and patronizing.

"You aren't crying now, are you?" Draco grabbed her chin and examined her face. "Your eyes look like they're about to explode from the pressure." He let go of her chin and slapped her lightly, two times, on the cheek. "You're a mess, and I'm sorry Granger, but that just won't do."

Hermione bristled at his words. "Well, excuse me, Malfoy, if I happen to care what happens to me. If I have a little pride." As the words left her mouth she regretted them, because that was precisely the kind of thing that could set him off, and if she wasn't lucky (or maybe if she was lucky, depending on how she chose to see it) their little hallway interlude would over momentarily.

Draco should his head slowly, and gave short barking sort of laugh. "Harsh words, Granger."

He grabbed her arm, and dragged her towards the door.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Malfoy?" Hermione growled, trying to shake her arm out of his grip.

He turned slightly and rolled his eyes. "I'm taking you out Granger, we're going to get disgustingly pissed together, and then I'm going to take you back to your flat where we'll have sloppy, unfulfilling, horrible drunk sex up against your stove."

She stared at him, shocked as he continued to pull her out the door, but she didn't protest, didn't even think about her purse that was inside on the table, or how it would look for the two of them to disappear off together, or the possibility of what he just said actually coming to light.

"Alright there, Granger," was the last thing Malfoy threw her way, and with another roll of the eyes, he grabbed her to him and disapparated.

Dislaimer: I do not own these characters, terms, etc. Obviously this is not for money.