Chapter Five: A Dangerous Instance of Alcohol Poisoning

It really wasn't Draco Malfoy's fault that he was driven to drink. Malfoys were supposed to remain in complete control of their bodies, after all. But when the entire world is against you, it's a little difficult not to seek comfort in a bottle of firewhiskey. He wasn't nearly drunk enough thanks to Crabbe, Goyle, and various other housemates helping themselves to his alcohol cabinet.

Their private holiday party had left the dorm room in utter ruin. Luckily, the group of intoxicated Slytherins had gone off to crash some Ravenclaw gathering, so he didn't have to kill them all immediately. Malfoy had been forced to mix the dregs found at the bottoms of the various bottles strewn across the floor into some absolutely horrendous potion. Firewhiskey, Death Eater Scotch, and who knows what else burned a trail down his throat but curled pleasantly around in his stomach. A soft, warm shiver of alcohol filled his system and he took another healthy gulp from his bottle of swill.

Malfoy angrily kicked a spare robe of Goyle's into the fireplace and watched it burn with an angry scowl. He was sick of continually living in the filth his roommates created. Not even an army of house elves could keep up with those two pigs. He was furious that they had spent the entire day celebrating, making an obscene mess, and having an all around brilliant time, while he'd been holed up in the Room of Requirement.

Casting an engorgement charm on their brains wouldn't bother them since there wasn't anything there to begin with. But being idiots had freed them from any responsibilities. They got to go on living their carefree lives, trashing his room, and drinking his booze. Whereas, Malfoy got to sit on his bed, which was covered in ashes from cigarettes and blunts, alone, and drinking a beverage that should be outlawed. He threw one of Crabbe's soiled robes in the fire for good measure.

He was acting like a child, but couldn't bring himself to care. Everything that was good in his life had taken a back seat to a cause that, honestly, he had started to question. It was all fun and games, acting like a big man making threats to shriveled shopkeepers and gloating to impress pretty girls. But as the deadline approached the amusement and pride he'd felt started to dry up. The subtle threats made regarding his family began to surface in his memory. Playing Quidditch, drinking with his friends, hell, even going to class felt like distant memories.

Being locked up in that damn room was starting to drive him crazy.

With bottle in hand, Malfoy approached the full length mirror next to his bed. He could hardly stand to look at himself. He'd gotten over his cold a long time ago, just as Madame Pomfrey had predicted, but he looked worse than he ever had before. Once the picture of elegance and poise, a near replica of his father, he wasn't even a shadow of his former self. His school robes looked no better than his roommates, shirt un-tucked and stained, and pants wrinkled. His pale face had grown ashen and hollow; his eyes were sunken and rimmed with dark circles. He couldn't help but scoff at himself for looking even worse than Granger had after Turgida Luminis and Rufus Punctum.

Granger.

He hadn't hardly seen, let alone touched her, since the incident in the library. That had been nearly two months ago. After the Katie Bell fiasco and a tiny breakthrough with the cabinet, Malfoy had to step up his work. Dumbledore may be the craziest wizard on the planet, but he wasn't stupid. Malfoy couldn't deny that he was far from it. Granger, along with Quidditch, was a distraction that he'd had to let fall by the wayside.

Luckily, it had been easy. She'd avoided him like the plague since the library. He'd told himself this was a good thing. She'd been invading his brain with her Mudblood impurities. But everything he told himself and the loyalty he tried to feel towards his cause didn't stop the dreams he had, when he wasn't so tired he didn't remember his dreams, involving her. Dreams that would usually end in an early morning erection and a quick, hidden wank.

He had tried to write it all off as general sexual frustration. Interactions with the opposite sex had started to take a nosedive around Halloween. Too much work and not enough energy didn't leave much time for sexual escapades. Pansy still offered her services, knowing he was too tired for much else and hoping to secure a future involving Malfoy Manor.

While he'd accepted a few times in the beginning, because it offered something close to companionship, he grew tired of it and her. Besides, Pansy was screwing Nott on the side. Just because he was busy didn't mean he didn't keep up with the inner-workings of his house. He didn't blame her entirely. He knew Pansy was a very sexually active girl. And he certainly wasn't monogamous so why should she be held to such standards. They'd never promised each other anything. Of course, that didn't keep him from transfiguring her dinner into a live squid.

There had been a couple unfulfilling shags with Daphne Greengrass on all fours in the Quidditch changing room. But Malfoy suspected the smell of leather soap had more to do with his climax than her shaven twat. That and she had dark curly hair.

Plenty of pureblood wizards have a kink for Mudbloods, it wasn't that odd. Really.

-----

Cormac McLaggen was her date to the Christmas party. Cormac Freaking McLaggen. A Mandrake's cry held more appeal than listening to another second of his incessant bragging. Hermione wished for a moment that she played Quidditch so she could blame a bludger to the head for this horrible lapse in judgment. Then she could make a graceful exit out of the hell she currently occupied. She'd never felt so foolish, not only in agreeing to accompany Cormac, but for the way she behaved in front of Ron. It had been a ridiculous spectacle, announcing to the entire house her plans for the Slug Club party. She was acting no better than Lavender. Hermione tried to backtrack and find the exact moment that she had traded in all of her perfectly good common sense for the unstable jealousy and resentment of a self-absorbed teenage girl.

It occurred to her that it was a matter of self-preservation. It served to throw the dog off the scent, in the case of Lavender. Her roommate had become quite erratic over the course of the semester, convinced that Hermione was out to steal Ron from her. Granted, Lavender's insecurities weren't only directed at her. Even Parvati had fallen victim to Lavender's rage more than once. Lavender, however, saved the scathing remarks regarding her best friend for the dorm room. There she would lay into Parvati about her hair, makeup, and short skirt all aiming at drawing Ron's attention. Despite Parvati's insistence that it was simply not true, Lavender watched her with just as critical an eye as she did Hermione and any other girl to ever cross Ron's path.

Lavender was simply more vocal about her objections regarding Hermione. Hermione knew she was the biggest, and easiest target. Having been Ron's friend for the past five years did create the illusion that Hermione was a threat. But in all reality, Hermione was trying her very best to distance herself from Ron. The efforts were apparently working as Lavender had, for the most part, retracted her claws.

But no matter how much space she put between herself and Ron by eating alone and studying elsewhere, nothing seemed to help. Hermione's heart ached everytime she saw Ron and Lavender wrapped around each other in the Common Room. And it damn near broke in half when they would sneak up to the boy's dormitory.

Like a moron she had actually thought making him jealous would be the answer. Go to the Christmas Party with they guy he can't stand, that no one can stand. Yeah, that had been a brilliant idea. One of the best Hermione ever had. It was juvenile and stupid and, big surprise, didn't work. Sure, Ron had been angry but he hadn't broken up with Lavender. If anything, Hermione had just driven him further away.

So, Hermione took her punishment like a man and listened dutifully as Cormac continued to list his numerous qualities.

She kind of wanted to Avada Kedavra herself at the moment.

This was, she had to admit, a step up from Malfoy. How could she have ever thought an affair with Draco Malfoy was a good idea? Her brain must have gone on vacation for a few weeks. She'd tried to wipe the entire series of events involving Draco Malfoy from her mind. It wasn't good to dwell on (horrible) past mistakes.

Hermione knew she had a physical attraction to Malfoy. He was mean, conceited, and dangerous. He had always been the pale, evil child she despised. Any girl in her right mind would steer clear of the quagmire that was Draco Malfoy. It was all so horribly cliché: falling for the bad boy. She didn't even like him. But, Hermione had apparently become a raving lunatic air-headed whore, so she couldn't get her mind off him.

He was so unlike Ron and Harry, the two boys, the two people, she had ever been closest too. She'd slowly fallen in love with Ron over the course of their time at Hogwarts. Though he could drive her to madness at times, she adored his all-too-Gryffindor pride and courage. She admired how he could wear his heart on his sleeve, sometimes with troublesome consequences, but would always recover. Hermione didn't know how or when it happened, but she found his goofy smile undeniable.

Lavender wasn't at fault for the mess of their relationship. It wasn't fair to blame the girl for something Ron had wanted, something he'd gone looking for. Ron had strong emotions, anger and vengeance often playing a leading role. Hermione assumed at this point that all interactions with Ron would end in heartache. Together they were just too much. Too much strength, too much will power, too much stubbornness.

Perhaps it was doomed from the beginning. Perhaps Hermione had lost hope after that first kiss between him and Lavender and never even realized it.

Perhaps that's why she'd sought out someone so entirely not-Ron.

Cormac asked her if she wanted some more punch, and a sob shook Hermione's body as she was pulled out of her thoughts. She nodded, lips quivering, which Cormac didn't notice as he turned to find the refreshments table. Suddenly the room became entirely too small with entirely too many people. Everyone was chatting and laughing, clinking glasses and holding hands. Hermione had to get out of there. She grabbed Melinda Bobbin's date's bottle of smuggled butterbeer on her way out, much to his dismay, and took a healthy gulp.

The fresh air of the hallway offered Hermione a well needed respite. The cool stone of the wall soothed her burning cheeks as she lay heavily against it. She held the slightly warm bottle, for it had been snuck in under his robes, to her forehead and then took another sip. Knowing she had to clean herself up, Hermione headed towards the nearest washroom. The sounds of the party slowly drifted away as she distanced herself from the merriment.

After another substantial taste of the butterbeer Hermione wished she could have grabbed something stronger. Not that she made a habit of drinking; butterbeer was just so damn sweet. It's hard to drink away your sorrows when you are worried about your teeth falling out of your head. That's just how you think when you grow up with two dentists.

That's when the figure of Draco Malfoy appeared around the corner. Really, was the universe trying to punish her? Let's relive all of Hermione Granger's mistakes in the next half hour, it'll be too much fun. Another drink.

"Granger," he said simply as he approached her, large clear bottle in tote. Hermione watched him closely, knowing they had left things awkward and unfinished that day in the library and wanting to close the door on that section of her life. Lock it, barricade it, and move on.

"Malfoy," she replied with equally cool tones. As he drew closer she couldn't help but gape in mild shock. This was the first time she had seen Malfoy close up for ages; she now saw that Malfoy had dark shadows under his eyes and a distinctly grayish tinge to his skin.

In the distance she heard glass shattering against the floor, tinkling away across the stone. Shards from her bottle lay with Malfoy's, forgotten. Because he had her in his arms and was pressing his lips, his entire body, against hers. And wasn't that what really mattered?

-----

Granger's lips tasted like toffee. They were sweet and sticky and warm. And her hair smelled like holly, if holly even had a scent. Malfoy couldn't remember. He just knew that the silky mass of curls under his palm smelled of holidays and family and laughter. He missed his old life, the privileged child of a prominent man. A life where if he had the whim he could go find out what holly smelled like.

She was everything he wanted, and everything he hated. She represented all of the silly little parts of life he thought he could go with out: frivolous things like chatting by the fire, strolling aimlessly around the grounds, kissing a pretty girl with inviting lips. She was everything he could no longer have, that he would never have.

Hermione Granger was friends and love and freedom and he hated her for it.

He kissed her with all the anger and frustration that had been building up for months. His lips bore down on her; his tongue delved into the warm chamber of her mouth, plundering the lingering traces of Butterbeer. He pushed and he grabbed. He shoved everything that had been building up in his body for months out into that kiss. Soon he'd have power and respect with no need for trivial matter. A hand wrapped itself in her mass of hair, tugging and pulling. Another held onto her ass, pulling her groin against his in time with his tongue. He would be triumphant over fools and Mudbloods like her and her friends. He shouldn't, he wouldn't, be jealous.

He grabbed her legs and wrapped them around his waist, settling against the amazing heat of her center. But for all the rage he poured out through his mouth, she simply held his shoulders gently and parted her lips slightly. He hated how good she was. But when she squeaked in pain as he squeezed her legs too hard, pinching her flesh, he froze. His hands flew from her and he scrambled away.

She opened her eyes and stared at him, and he knew he saw pity. And tears were falling down his cheeks. He spared a moment to consider if perhaps he'd been spending too much time with Myrtle, then turned to leave, ashamed. A light touch on his shoulder, her hand, stopped him. With all his might he wished he could just backhand her and walk away. It's what he should have done. But he let her step towards him, eyes brimming with confusion and empathy, and lift a hand to his cheek. The soft pad of her thumb smoothed away a tear and she didn't say anything. He thanked Merlin for the silence.

Hermione lifted herself to her toes and placed a delicate, ghost of a kiss on his lips.

He didn't need what she symbolized. He didn't want what she offered. She would learn her place and he'd forget that he ever wanted to hug her and cry against her neck.

Draco cupped her cheeks and lowered his lips to hers.

The kiss was velvet and warmth. Lips brushing lips; tongues sliding softly in time together. The tears dried but he could feel himself shaking, his hands trembling against the sides of her face. Draco shook with the loss of all the fury and hurt as it emptied out of him. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, filling him with her scent and giving him comfort in her warm embrace.

Their mouths drifted apart, sighs on their lips. Silence and questions filled the air around them. Draco smoothed his hands down the soft length of her hair, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to call the aching, hollow feeling in his chest. Hermione's eyes drifted shut for a moment before she turned to run. He could only watch silently as her footsteps echoed down the hallway, sick with himself for reasons he no longer understood.

-----

Hermione sprinted with all her might down the corridor. She tripped and stumbled, drunk from Malfoy's kisses. Drunk from the feeling of him holding her so tightly, so carefully. Yet she persevered, trying to put as much distance between herself and what had happened.

What had happened? She let him kiss her. It was all him. His fault, all his fault. Once she was in his arms she was hardly in a position of turning him down. She should have, but she just didn't want to. Men (Ron) weren't exactly knocking her door down. The plan, as convoluted as it was in her mind, was to give her body over and preserve her soul in some nice corner of her mind, playing chess with her conscience. She'd satisfy her baser desires and move on. And if he kept quiet throughout the whole thing, all the better.

Then he'd cried. The evil, manipulative bastard had cried. Okay, so it wasn't exactly a waterfall, but still. And for once they weren't of the artificially produced variety. His already sunken eyes were rimmed in red, tears stained his hollowed cheeks. He'd just looked so sad, so pathetic. And she'd felt sorry for him. When she should have laughed in his face and taken some pictures for posterity, she'd wanted to comfort him.

What the hell was that about? It hadn't turned out so bad though. That kiss, in all its simplicity, was the best she'd ever had. There wasn't much to compare it to: a kiss done on a dare in third grade, a series of practically forced Viktor kisses, a very wet one from a drunken Seamus some point during fifth year, and most recently one with Cormac that involved him trying to eat her face. What a selection.

Somehow Harry caught sight of her when she reentered the party to grab her robe. An easy escape would have been too much to ask for. She searched for some sort of excuse, but her mind was sluggish and uncooperative. A large portion of her brain power was directed towards playing the Malfoy Kiss over and over and over again in her head.

"Oh I've just escaped – I mean, I've just left Cormac," Hermione said when her IQ made a triumphant return. "Under the mistletoe."

"Serves you right for coming with him," he told her severely. Hermione knew she deserved the guilt trip, but wasn't about to correct her friend. Actually Harry, I was just snogging Draco Malfoy out in the hallway. Wouldn't you prefer to yell at me about that? She felt horrible enough about it as it was. So, when she saw Cormac making his way over she fled the scene.

Christmas came and went without any further troubles for Hermione. Malfoy dropped Arithmancy and rarely showed up to other classes. His seat in the Great Hall remained empty for the majority of the meals. Hermione thought herself safe. At least until they passed each other while she was making rounds one night.

She'd closed the doors to the Astronomy Tower stairwell after having checked it for late night rendezvous only to find Malfoy frozen in place not five feet away. Each stood there blinking stupidly for what seemed an eternity. She waited for the snide remark to surface, knowing it was coming.

It was never clear to her who made the first move, but suddenly they were pulled into a searing kiss. They were all hot mouths and questing hands and it just felt so good. Hermione was sick of feeling lonely, sick of being ignored and ridiculed. She was sick of everything that filled her days. So, she filled her nights with Malfoy.

It wasn't on purpose. She never went looking for him. He would find her while she was doing rounds. It didn't matter that she was horribly disappointed when he wouldn't appear some nights. They would come together in silence. They never said a word, they just fell into each others company. None of it was on purpose. Kissing, it was only kissing. Hermione never let it go farther than that. Though, sometimes his hands would sneak up between her legs or her fingers with dip into his pants. That was an accident, totally not on purpose. Definitely not on purpose. But for Hermione, the kissing was enough. It gave her someone to be close to, but never too close, and it was nice even if it was Malfoy.

Then she figured out who the girl with the scales was.

-----

It was hard to keep up with Snape as they ran full tilt across the grounds. All Malfoy could see was Dumbledore's lifeless body being blown away by a green light emanating from Snape's wand. The one wizard who had offered him a new path was gone. His world was becoming infinitely smaller as time progressed. His life had always been drawn out for him, but now it was abundantly clear out precise it actually was. It was stifling.

"Don't come near me," Hermione had said with her wand pointed directly at his heart. He'd laughed and rolled his eyes and stepped forward. The Death Eater's were due to make their arrival the next day and he was really in the mood for something pleasant. But Hermione had taken a step back, her face carved into a hard frown.

"Change of heart then, Granger?" Malfoy quipped, increasingly uneasy of the hatred glowing in her eyes.

"You're a scum-sucking maggot and I want nothing more to do with you," she replied icily.

"Hermione," he smiled amiably, shocking himself with the use of her first name. "What is this?"

"How dare you call me that!" She stood an angry step forward, her gaze burning into his eyes. "You awful, stupid little child! Go play with Voldemort and get out of my life."

"What are you talking about?" he felt himself take a wary step back.

"You know perfectly well, you ferret," she scowled. "Enjoy your little war games while you can, Malfoy. Because Voldemort will lose, you will lose." And she turned to leave.

"Wait," he couldn't stand how pathetic he sounded.

"Don't," she growled as she looked over her shoulder. "I hate you."

He'd let her walk away. He told himself he would get back at her. She would see just how powerful he was and would have to eat her words. She deserved being left to the Death Eaters. All he had to do was kill Dumbledore to complete his mission, to please the Dark Lord, and to show her exactly how wrong she was.

He'd failed spectacularly. He'd come so far and he'd failed. He was supposed to kill and he couldn't. It was his job and he hadn't wanted it. He didn't want anything to do with it. There was no walking away now, he was committed. This was his life for better or worse.

As he Apparrated away with Snape he realized that Hermione Granger had been right. Whether or not Voldemort was successful, she was right. He would fail. He would lose.

Draco Malfoy was going to die.

fin.

This chapter contained two nearly direct quotes from HBP, pages 317 and 321 (American Edition).