**Trigger warning** : Suicidal thoughts

The weeks passed far too quickly without anyone noticing. Hermione hardly spoke to anyone. She tried in every way possible to avoid Malfoy's eyes, even to avoid his presence.

Soon, the soothing colors of summer turned to the warm hues of autumn, leaving the throne to October. Orange leaves tumbled from the trees, creating a rain of dead leaves. The wind was getting cooler and cooler, and all students were forced to wear their scarves.

Hermione left her room and headed for the bathroom. She entered and was surprised to see Draco with a towel wrapped around him, leaving him shirtless, brushing his teeth. God, those muscles! Hermione thought, blushing immediately.

She stood there, waiting for him to finish. She hadn't expected to run into him : all her efforts over the past few weeks were coming to naught! She had calculated their respective routines to make sure that she would be around him as little as possible. The train episode had added an extra layer of discomfort that neither of them were willing to face, so they had each preferred to avoid each other.

"Oh, please, make yourself at home," he said, inviting her with a shake of his head. "And you might want to shut your mouth, Granger, you'll swallow a fly."

"Uh... I'd like to take a shower, Malfoy. You usually take it earlier."

"Am I dreaming, or do you know my fucking toilet hours? Good Lord, Granger, welcome to the fan club!"

Hermione sighed loudly, already impatient. "Look, I didn't want to run into you this morning. I just want to take a shower, give me a break."

"Well then, wash up, even if it doesn't make much difference!" he sneered, coming out of the bathroom.

Hermione did not reply. He was right. No matter how many times everyone told her she was pretty, she didn't believe it. Not anymore. She wasn't blind, she knew she looked sick. She felt saddened by this and let the warm, soothing water of the shower ease her mind. She knew her mentality was toxic and self-destructive, but who could blame her if no one else knew? No, only she had the right to judge her appearance, it certainly wouldn't be Malfoy who would blame her for anything!

When she was done, she went outside with a brighter mind, got dressed and saw Draco pouring himself coffee at the living room table. She wanted to retort somehow, but didn't want to hear him back.

"You're right, Draco. You're always right."

"What are you babbling about? And why did I hear my name?"

As she had decided before, she didn't answer him. She knew it drove him crazy when she didn't talk much, but anyway, he had noticed in the last few weeks that their exchanges were almost non-existent! What did he expect? To start again this game of cat and mouse that had lasted for over six years. She simply poured herself some coffee in silence.

Draco looked at her strangely. His partner hardly spoke anymore, it wasn't like her. He liked to shut her up all these years. The Hermione he had known was gone, replaced by a pale shell.

"Well, Granger, just fucking say something!"

She noisily put down her cup. Quick as a flash, she answered impatiently, "I always knew it wouldn't make a difference when I washed up, you've been telling me that for years. Enough, okay? Even if I KNOW, don't you dare tell me again!"

She didn't say anything more. Draco was stunned. He felt that he had really offended her this time, that this time, it was different. He looked at her, and felt that strange bloody pang of guilt in his stomach, again. Was Draco Malfoy really starting to feel those weak feelings that his father had always taught him to suppress?

"Oh and shut your mouth, you're going to swallow a fly!" added Hermione, getting up.

She slammed the door. It was on her way to class that the idea, both terrifying and enticing, first crossed her mind. What if I could put an end to all this? She shook her head, deciding not to pay it any more attention, even though the thought was now stored comfortably in a corner of her mind, ready to resurface.

Draco, still surprised, didn't even have time to react or add anything. He could hardly pinpoint the discomfort he was feeling, it was as if someone had just denied him the truth. And yet, Granger had just proven him right. Very quickly, as he thought about it, the answer came to him. Granger had just contradicted what he was really thinking, because he hadn't been honest really. He had told her that her washing up wouldn't make a difference, when he knew and obviously admitted that Granger was attractive. A very beautiful woman even. But that, he could never tell her, it was easier to just throw remarks around. But by saying he was right, she had just argued against what he really thought, that she was beautiful. It was very strange. He knew that girls often had insecurities, he had a lot to say about the incessant monologues of his former girlfriends who detailed everything that needed to change about them. But with a pure and simple beauty like Granger, who had nothing exceptional or extraordinary, it was hard to say that anyone would like to change anything about her. Even if her hair was flatter, even if she was taller, even if her teeth were a little less long, even if her boobs would be bigger, she wouldn't be her anymore. Hermione Granger, the beautiful know-it-all he took great pleasure in pissing the hell off.

Damn it Draco, you've been thinking about Granger for four minutes. Snap out of it. Try to be more civil, maybe, but stop thinking too much about her looks...

In potions class later, Hermione was having a hard time focusing, which was unusal for her and for everyone who knew her. But she already knew Slughorn's lessons. She was lost in her mind, her cheek pressed against her palm. She imagined once again a knife going into her brother's stomach, or throat, or chest. Taking his life with a single sharp movement. What if she did the same? What if she found a knife, and did the same thing, to copy his death and join him, as a tribute? The idea was not even that far-fetched and exaggerated. When she walked through the corridors and looked at the castle, she no longer felt what she had felt for six years. She was not at home. Home was not a place. It was a feeling. It was a person.

And someone, a murderer, had taken that feeling away from her by taking her brother away. Her big brother. Her protector, her friend, her prankster. It was only to balance the universe to take away the sister as well.

Hermione no longer shuddered at the thought of taking her own life.

Draco, on the other hand, who was sharing the potion class with the Gryffindors, was scrutinizing Hermione. This morning, she had tied her hair up in a loose bun, with a few strands sticking out. What is fucking going on with her? She doesn't answer any questions, she doesn't raise her hand anymore, she doesn't even take notes..., Draco thought with a hint of curiosity that was beginning to nag at him more keenly.

He was starting to suspect that it might have had something to do with Potter and Weasel. They were acting differently towards her. He'd noticed. After being around them for six years, he knew the dynamics of the golden trio. But this year was different. Maybe after the Battle, the golden trio finally celebrated properly and drank one too many Butterbeers and they finally ended up in the same bed. All of them. At once. Maybe it had broken their unhealthy fucking friendship. No one could get that close to another without first getting into their bed.

But he was never, ever going to ask her which one she'd slept with, or maybe even both at the same time. The more he paid attention to the hypothesis, the more plausible it became. How else to explain the radical change he noticed in her? This indelible, omnipresent sadness? This absurd emptiness, which took away all the vitality he knew existed in her?

In the afternoon, Hermione spent time with Harry and Ron in the Gryffindor common room, while Ginny was in class. They were each scribbling down drafts of homework, but Hermione was the only one trying to fill in her blank notes. She told them about her morning with Draco.

"You should just ignore him," Harry advised her.

Hermione felt a pang of annoyance tugging at her. She looked up from her parchment and glared at her friend.

"Is that what you were doing with him, Harry?"

The dark haired Gryffindor swallowed and pursed his lips. Hermione was... snappy. He didn't want to upset her. He looked at Ron, and Ron shrugged his shoulders and eyebrows, silent.

Hermione sighed loudly and put her quill back in its inkwell. "I just want us to get along. That's not too much to ask."

Ron frowned. "Don't you think 'getting along' is a bit of an exaggeration, even for Malfoy?"

The lightning bolts that flashed from Hermione's amber eyes pierced her friend right through. "That's not too much to ask," she snarled. "I can't let myself be treated like dirt!"

Ron held up his palms in front of him in defence. Hermione had been in a snapping mood with them before, but not like this. He knew it was nothing personal. She was going through a difficult time. But he didn't know how to talk to her anymore, and he was sure it was the same for Harry.

"But Hermione," he continued cautiously, "it's Malfoy. It's always been like that, and it's normal…"

Hermione jumped up from her chair and picked up her things with lightning speed. The other Gryffindors fell silent as the Head Girl's voice echoed throughout the common room.

"And how is that normal, huh?" she exclaimed. "How is it normal to be treated like this? There's nothing bloody normal about it!"

She stormed off, furious at being misunderstood by her friends. No one could really put themselves in her shoes. This life was stupid. It was useless. How much longer could she stand it? How much longer could she endure the simple act of breathing, if the very act of breathing caused her so much pain? Harry and Ron and Ginny would miss her, but they had each other. As soon as she would disappear, the golden trio with a hole in it would greet Ginny and they would form a new trio. Hermione was removable and replaceable. And if she really wanted to spare her parents from suffering, she could always ask someone to erase their memory, to make her disappear from their memory so that they wouldn't have to survive another grief.

She returned to her dorm. To her surprise, Draco was already there. Damn, she thought. He was really the last person she wanted to see.

"Nice day, Hermione?" he asked, a fake smile stamped on his face.

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. He looked like a clown with that uncharacteristic expression. Had she just heard Draco Malfoy call her by her name?

She slowly turned her head and stared at him. "To what do I owe this sudden politeness?"

"Are you talking to me again?"

Hermione looked around, as if to check for a fellow student hiding in the flat with whom he was betting, or a bad prank that would come.

"Huh... are you okay, Malfoy?" she asked slowly.

"I'm fine. You?"

"Uh... I guess."

She was completely flabbergasted. Finally, she could probably get along with him this year. She didn't really want to talk to him anymore, but she figured she should at least return a courtesy, seeing that he was obviously making an effort to be civil.

She ventured, sighing, "How was your day, Draco?"

"Fairly good."

"All right, then. Um... that's good?"

A small embarrassed smile stretched across his mouth. It was so much calmer this way, with politeness! He had spent all morning imagining how things might go if he started talking to her as if they didn't hate each other. Besides, he knew other ways to annoy her besides insults. He could fulfill his responsibilities as Head Boy alongside her without having to actually insult her all the bloody time. Even if it wasn't the normality he had always known with her, perhaps they could make it their new normal. As long as nobody noticed them becoming friendly outside their apartment. Dear God, no.

"Well..." said Hermione, uncomfortable and suspicious of this new courtesy, "I'm exhausted like hell. I'm just gonna lie down, if you don't mind".

She sank into the sofa and closed her eyes. She was what, —happy? satisfied? — that Draco had finally managed to get along with her, but was very suspicious. Who would honestly trust a former Death Eater? Was he up to something? Had he made a bet with Blaise or Pansy? He was so charming when he smiled, too! When the hardness no longer tinged his features, he seemed almost... friendly. She did not understand this sudden change. She dozed off slowly, her head falling back on the armrest.

Draco, still sitting at the table doing his homework, looked up and saw that Hermione had fallen asleep. He looked at her. She was beautiful when she was sleeping. Her features were peaceful, almost angelic, her shields lowered. He could finally see, from a distance, her cheeks, as hollow as ever, and the dark circles that had not disappeared from her face. Had she fallen ill this summer? If she had, she probably wouldn't have returned to Hogwarts this year, would she?

An inner dialogue burst out of him as several feelings and ideas collided.

What's the matter with that girl?

She's a Mudblood! Where's your dignity?

What the fuck happened to her? I just want to know.

What's the story, you've got butterflies, your knees are shaking, you're going to pull on her ponytail to get her attention?

I just... want to help her. I just want to know what's going on. She looks so fucking unhappy. So sick.

Draco watched her sleep for a few more moments before locking himself in his room, his mind buzzing with uncertainty. Within the walls of his head, the same phrase bounced around like a malevolent echo. A son used and misguided. It hadn't even occurred to him that he might have given her a blanket.

Hermione woke up one morning with the pure conviction that today was her last day. She didn't know exactly how she was going to do it, but the thought of dying didn't scare her. If anything, it comforted her. It was fortunate that she had a room to herself. She couldn't risk Malfoy catching her; she was going to make sure no one found her before it was over.

She got up from the bed, feeling strangely at peace. She only had one day to deal with. Only one day to get through before she could finally rest. If she made the effort, she would be able to make the best of it and even spend some quality time with her friends one last time. She showered and grabbed a coffee without even running into Malfoy. Good.

When she arrived for her first class, she went straight to Harry and Ron. Both boys raised their eyebrows.

"You look... chipper," Ron remarked.

Hermione smirked and shrugged. "It's one of those days."

But Harry was watching her carefully. No one changed their mood so quickly, overnight. Not Hermione. When she was in pain, she felt her pain all the way through until there was nothing else to feel, and then she moved on. He promised himself he'd have a word with her to make sure she was all right. Perhaps tomorrow he would find the perfect time during their free period.

Hermione listened carefully to the class and took meticulous notes, taking care to answer questions. Her teachers were delighted to see her 'back'. At meals, she ate with appetite and took part in the conversations with her usual intelligent thoughts and comments.

One more evening, she thought. Just one more evening.

She didn't leave Harry, Ron and Ginny's side all evening, and made sure to touch them as much as possible. Touching their arms, slipping her arm around their shoulders, leaning her head against their shoulder, pushing gently, taking their hand for a few seconds.

They'll have each other when I'm gone, she repeated to herself to convince herself. Everything will be fine. They will be fine.

Hermione even agreed to play a game of chess with Ron and allowed herself to laugh out loud in a way she hadn't in months. She had forgotten how much Ron's facial expressions could crack her up. She spent the rest of the evening sitting next to Ginny, practicing braids and all sorts of other 'Muggle' hairstyles, chuckling at the redhead's comments.

It was a good day. A great last day.

By the time she left the Gryffindors' common room to return to her flat, she knew it was the last time she would see them. She had felt fine all day, but now her stomach was knotting painfully. She had to use all her strength not to shatter and confess everything. She knew that as soon as she would talk about it, they would try to convince her not to do it, and she would listen to them. But she didn't want to listen to them. Not this time.

Pushing back her emotions, she gave each of her friends a warm, gentle hug, holding them a little longer than she had intended. Harry rubbed her shoulder in a friendly way and when she pulled away from him, his emerald eyes locked with hers. Something was wrong. He absolutely had to talk to her tomorrow. She immediately avoided his gaze. Harry knew her too well. She couldn't afford to give herself away.

She left the common room, closing the portrait gently. She walked slowly towards her dorm, giving her full attention to the castle's decor. She knew what she was going to do, and when. She would go to her bed so Malfoy wouldn't suspect anything, and she would wait for him to fall asleep before leaving.

When she entered the portrait of her dorm, Draco was already there doing homework on the table.

"Plenty of free time, I see," he said without looking up from his parchment.

Only a few hours, Hermione thought to give herself courage.

"I needed to spend some time with my friends," she replied simply as she walked towards the living room.

She sat down in an armchair and opened a book. She wondered who McGonagall would select to replace her as Head Girl. After a moment when she thought it was time to go to bed, she got up and headed for her room.

What was the last thing she wanted to say to Malfoy?

She cleared her throat. "Malfoy?"

He looked up from his parchment but continued to write. He didn't like to be disturbed. She allowed herself to look at him for a few seconds, all the concentration and care he applied to his assignment and tried to hide a weak smile.

"Thank you for taking me to the infirmary on our first day," she said. "Good night."

She did not wait for his answer and rushed to her room. No, she wasn't going to bed. She would stay awake until she heard him go to bed himself and was sure he was asleep. She settled down on her bed and continued to read the book whose ending she already knew. Just as she knew hers.

Slowly her body slid a little more against the pillows and after barely half an hour, she fell asleep.

Samuel was walking along the street, whistling, on his way back from the Ministry of Magic. He had even brought back a present for his sister, Hermione.

Darkness fell, and soon it was night. Samuel crossed through an alley, but felt something behind his back. He sniffed and spat on the ground. He turned around and saw the silhouette of a cloaked man. He shrugged and continued on his way, worried nonetheless. A loud crack echoed through the alley walls. He was startled, and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Who's there!" he shouted. "Show yourself!"

He pulled out his wand and turned around. Nothing. As he spun back around, a man was facing him. The cloaked man slammed a fist into his face. Samuel fell backwards, his lip and nose bloody. He could see the silvery glint of a knife in the glare of the light. The blade plunged into his abdomen, ripping his belly open. The man, the killer, then slit his throat and stole all his belongings. He walked away, leaving Samuel in the street, bathed in a dark pool of blood.

Hermione was walking through town when she saw a man dressed in black running down the street. What was he doing? She turned to her right, down the alley they used as a shortcut. She saw a body lying on the ground, on his side, soaked in blood.

"Oh my god," she gasped.

She ran over. She thought she recognised the familiar hair and features despite the wounds on his face. She turned the body on his back, screaming as she recognised her brother. His chest was ripped open, his throat was shredded. His eyes were open, still showing a glint of surprise...

"NOOO!" screamed Hermione, waking up suddenly. "NO, SAMUEL, NO!"

She rose in panic from her bed, knocking her book over, and dashed out of her room. She started pounding her fists on the walls as she screamed, sobbing her brother's name. It was dark in the living room, a few embers still glowing in the hearth. It seemed to her that bloodstained darkness, if such a thing existed, surrounded and slashed at her from all sides. She was terrified, disgusted, and absolutely wrecked

Draco woke up with a jolt when he heard Granger screaming. Bloody hell! He got up quickly, ran out of his room and found her in the living room, pounding her fists on the walls. She was crying and screaming the same name. Samuel. Wasn't that her Mudblood cousin or something? Was she still asleep, in the middle of her nightmare? He had to snap her out of it, Lord, this crisis would hurt her! And she was fucking trashing the place!

He rushed to her, spun her around by the shoulders and took her in his arms. She struggled for a moment, still crying, but she calmed down. Draco held her tighter, wincing. This was not comfortable for him.

"It's just a dream," he muttered. "It's just a fucking dream, Grang— Hermione."

What the fuck, Draco! LET. GO. OF. GRANGER. What the hell is wrong with you?

"LET GO OF ME!" she screamed. "Let me go, let me go, let me go!"

Stronger than she was, he ignored her and dragged her to the sofa and made her sit down. He stopped himself from sitting next to her. Instead, he sat down in the armchair opposite her. What was he supposed to do in front of a crying woman? The last time he had seen someone crying with such pain was when Granger herself was being tortured by his aunt. He remained silent for a few minutes and awkwardly threw her a blanket in a poor attempt to comfort her and — or — shut her up. He felt ridiculous. He had taken her in his arms and now it was a gesture that she would fucking analyse and repeat to everyone. And the worst part was that he hadn't hugged a Slytherin princess who thought he was a god, no, he'd hugged Granger, a Mudblood.

Stop thinking of her with that word... And nope, I didn't fucking hug her, I restrained her.

Hermione, on the other hand, didn't care about crying in front of him like a fool. She had no strength left, she didn't want to bother struggling and running away from the Slytherin. She was miserable. She missed her brother so much, it made her sick. This was the first time she'd had a nightmare about his death. Every time a memory reminded her of him, she was filled with nostalgia and sorrow. She loved him so much, he was so good. Why die at 22? He was so young, too fucking young!

Hermione began to take deep breaths to calm her breathing.

"What happened, Granger?" he asked, a bit harshly.

She didn't answer him, and he sighed in annoyance. "Why were you acting like you were going to tear apart the whole dorm?"

No answer. He wanted to leap to his feet and leave the room, but a thought occurred to him and he cursed himself for what he was about to do.

"Fucking hell, Granger," he grumbled, "I can't do this without a drink. And I think you need one too."

He got up and headed for his room, grabbed a bottle of Firewhisky and two glasses from the kitchen. He came back and sat down opposite her, in the light of the flames, and put the alcohol on the table without serving her a glass. He poured the alcohol for himself and took a sip.

Hermione, still shaking, didn't think twice before reaching for the bottle to pour herself a glass, a little fuller than Draco's. She drank it in one gulp and Draco frowned.

"Bloody hell, Granger," he said.

He said nothing more as she poured herself a second drink. The outlines of her nightmare began to dissipate slightly into an unearthly haze. He decided to imitate her and served himself a second drink.

"I don't even share my booze with Zabini," he warned. "So keep your mouth shut about it."

"Don't worry, I'll take your secret to the grave," she retorted, the line flying out of her mouth with boldness and ease.

Anyone who said that alcohol made you chattier was right. The Lioness had a heavy heart, and the hole in her chest remained open, waiting for the right moment to get out of the dorm and accomplish what she had not forgotten. The simple notion of happiness no longer had the same meaning in her eyes. It was a myth, a facade, a pretense. No one was ever truly and completely happy.

She took a generous sip of her alcohol and almost coughed, but swallowed. She had already almost finished her second drink, while Draco was only sipping his second.

"No speech about breaking the rules?" he taunted, hoping to get her to talk.

"That's the least of my worries."

Draco sighed and finished his second drink. Alright, he thought. Here I come. "Granger, I have to ask."

She looked up at him, her eyes still wet.

"Did you and Potter... or Weasley… or both..." he began.

She frowned, confused. "…Did what?"

Draco shifted in his seat, feeling uneasy. "You know…"

"No, I don't."

The blonde wizard rolled his eyes. "After spending so much time with two boys, I'm guessing you followed one another into…" He let his sentence trailed off once again.

Hermione sighed loudly. "Into what, Malfoy? Where are you getting at?"

"The bedroom, Granger," he finally spat.

The brunette's eyes widened. "God, no! It was never like that! We're like siblings!"

Just imagining herself with Harry and Ron like that made her reach for the bottle a third time. The amber coloured alcohol flowed into her glass and she took a sip.

"It's not impossible," Draco grumbled. "Happens all the time."

"Not to us."

Draco decided to do the same again and poured himself a third glass. After his first sip, he slumped a little more in his seat, the glass on his knee, and shrugged.

"I would have thought you'd have finished with one of them at least," he admitted shamelessly.

Hermione chugged her third glass in one go, her throat burning, and let the alcohol warm her chest and cloud her thoughts. "Well, my story isn't over, is it? Everyone thought Ron and I were going to 'end up together'. But... I realized that he's just… too... nice."

Draco retorted at once. "Weasel's not too nice, he's too red!"

"Shut up, you're too blonde!"

He raised his glass as if toasting her. "I'm not too blonde, Granger, I'm perfect and you know it."

He even smirked. Hermione felt herself blush slightly but blamed the alcohol for this reaction.

"You drink like a fish, you know that?" he remarked after a moment.

"Tell me why I should care," she hissed, her tongue sharp. "Also, fishes don't drink. They absorb water through a weird thing called osmosis."

Draco laughed. She was... amusing him. "Touché."

"Anyway, anything we say now won't matter tomorrow." Her gaze wandered to the flames.

The Slytherin continued to examine her. "Granger, I'm a talented Occlumens. My mind can't forget anything, no matter how drunk I am. It's a protective mechanism."

He didn't know why he'd just told her that, but he shoved the question into the back of his mind. Hermione frowned, turning her empty glass between her fingers.

"But isn't that a curse? Remembering everything? You drink to forget. But why drink if you can't forget?"

"I drink because the alcohol is fucking good, that's why. Unlike you. Something you want to forget, Granger?"

The brunette's fingers tightened around her glass. She moistened her lips and wondered if she should pour herself a fourth glass. Shrugging, she decided to keep him as far away as possible from any clues he was trying to get from her.

"Better to be forgotten than to forget," she said.

Draco found this answer strange, but guessed that she probably meant her opinions or not drawing attention to herself, or some other bloody Gryffindorian value of the sort. When he opened his mouth, his tongue decided on its own what words would pass his lips, and Draco couldn't hold them back.

"I don't know if this is weird for you, all of this..." He gestured to the two of them, the alcohol and the drinks, "but it's weird for me. You think I like it? Insulting you, talking shit to you, all the time?"

"Malfoy—"

"Actually, yes, I like it. I liked it for a long time. Even now I still like it sometimes... But I'm growing fucking tired of it. With you it's been going on for a long time, and I enjoy making you angry."

"I noticed!" Hermione sneered bitterly, rolling her eyes.

"It's silly but I want to stop as much as I want to continue. I'm not a good fucking person, Granger, and I'll be bad again. I hope you know that. But I'm going to try to be... better, too."

I'm not ready for this, Hermione thought as she finally decided to pour herself a fourth drink. She took a first sip before answering.

"Funny that it takes you seven years and three drinks to realise that," she said.

Draco set his glass down noisily on the coffee table and rested his elbows against his knees, leaning intently towards the Gryffindor. A feeling of ease made him feel confident, more so than usual, and he felt like he could say anything.

"I haven't realize anything, Granger," he grumbled. "I'm a bad person, I will never truly change. But I'm just saying I'd like to try."

"Try what, exactly?" she rebuffed him, letting the ease of the alcohol take over her words. "Forgetting the image of me tortured on your floor?"

Silence fell between the two Heads, and for a moment only the crackling of flames was audible. Draco's saliva had suddenly turned to acid. He took a deep breath to control himself. She had just brought back the memory of her lying on the floor, screaming under her aunt's lustful shrieks.

"Among other things," he said coldly through his teeth.

She snorted sarcastically. "You may be a renowned Occlumens, but certain things can't be forgotten."

Draco let irritation tinge his tone. "Whatever, Granger! That's not what I was talking about! It's just that I can see that our rivalry doesn't bring you what it used to bring me. You've changed and I don't know what it is, but I think it would be sick to keep going at it. Fuck, Granger, I'm just trying to say that it pisses me off too! It pisses me off that I love myself so much, and consider myself better, it's hard to walk away from that when even the Dark Lord was applauding me. The Ministry cleared me, but—"

He fell silent and Hermione took a second sip, massaging her forehead with her fingertips. The darkness cast shadows over half of her partner's face. She could see his eyes glinting in the light of the flames.

"Why didn't you come to my trial?" he whispered against all odds. "Why did Potter and Weasley come, but not you?"

It wasn't what he had meant to ask, but the words, once again, had crossed his lips despite himself.

Hermione shook her head and whitened slightly. "No reason."

"You're lying."

The Slytherin's tone was harder and colder now. He only wanted the truth. It wasn't too much to ask...

"Just answer it, Granger."

Hermione's head was starting to spin, but she ignored the sensation. She shrugged. "I mean it, Draco. There's no specific reason. I was sick that day."

"Which is it?"

"What?"

"You were sick or there was no specific reason?"

Hermione blushed and gritted her teeth. "I was sick," she articulated between her clenched jaw.

She took another sip of her fourth drink. Draco felt his curiosity was slightly satisfied, but he still needed to know more. He had a feeling there was more to the story. So, she'd fallen ill? Maybe that was the only reason she looked like a corpse. He nearly told her but had the wisdom to bite his tongue.

Hermione fell silent and continued to sip her drink in silence. He had never spoken so sincerely to her before. She had faith in him, somehow. She knew that he could change if he really wanted to. But she wasn't going to be there to witness it. Draco had made mistakes, but the influence of his father and his Death Eater community gave him no chance to get on the right path from the start. Hell, he had nearly killed Dumbledore... She knew that Voldemort had exerted a dark attraction and that he had been an unfortunate puppet. Even when the Dark Lord was defeated, the habits and mindsets remained. It was so hard to forget everything Draco had done to her, and to simply forgive him, without even punishing him! And let alone her, how could she forgive everything he had done to her school? He'd let Death Eaters through the cabinet into the Room of Requirement, he'd put everyone in danger.

She wasn't sure she trusted him, the more she thought about it. Here they were sitting with each other in the middle of the night drinking and venting to one another.

What does it matter whether he changes or not anyway? she thought.

"You can change, Malfoy, you must simply want it bad enough," she whispered.

Silence filled the room. Draco stammered, confused, "I'm tired, Granger..."

Hermione looked into his grey eyes. She saw sincerity for once, not malice. She knew that alcohol made him talk, in fact the Firewhisky was the only reason they were in the same room at this hour, but now she was not thinking about her nightmare anymore. She guessed that this "tiredness" he was talking about was not a matter of sleep or lack of. It was a matter of his life, of how he felt.

"Do you ever wish you could go to bed and not wake up?" she asked quietly, innocently.

Draco thought for a few seconds about this question, which came out of nowhere, and shrugged.

"Yes, I think so," he admitted. "Sometimes."

The Lioness nodded, absorbing his honest answer. It was impossible for her to imagine them being friendly every day, smiling, all quarrels forgotten, just like now. Despite what the self-help books might say, sometimes wounds don't fade with time. They fucking don't. And seven years of hatred couldn't suddenly evaporate just because the man had an existential crisis. Maybe it was finally her turn to be a little selfish and use Malfoy as a punching bag. She had so much anger inside her and it was so damn easy to take it out on the Slytherin. In any case, the next day she would not have to live with the consequences of what she did or said tonight. This truth alone helped to calm her down and numbed her with a soothing feeling. It would all be over by dawn.

"Malfoy, you're —"

"A bad person, yes, I know that and — "

"Let me bloody finish. You've said a lot of personal things... and I don't know why you've said them to me. Maybe it's the fact that we're in a dark room. Or it's certainly the alcohol. I don't know if you're looking for my approval, and I can't tell which lies affect me the most."

Draco, stunned, struck himself inwardly to bite back his sarcasm. "Why would I lie to you now?"

Hermione couldn't hold back her remark. "That's what snakes do."

She was right, he had to admit, but hearing it from her offended him. He was almost having a good time with the Mudblood, but she kept belittling him. But how could he tell her that she was actually not that horrible of a person, that she didn't need to approve of him? Was it even true? Was he seeking Hermione's approval, or his own?

Mudblood. Mudblood... his head kept repeating, like an alarm. She's a Mudblood.

He no longer understood himself. Even though he had never liked Hermione, he felt compelled to make her feel better, to guess what was going on in her complicated mind. Even though she was a Mudblood, Granger was still a young woman full of secrets and spunk, but something was hovering over her and he couldn't fucking put his finger on it.

"Granger, you should go to sleep…" he said casually, deciding to drop the subject.

They'd had enough to drink, and he could already imagine the hangover she'd have when she woke up. He stood up, but Hermione grabbed him by the wrist to stop him.

"Wait," she said, her voice a little hoarse.

This is it, she thought. She stood up too and let go of him before he could pull away himself. It was really now, at this very moment, that her last words to him would be spoken. Everyone remembers a person's last words after they are gone. And since Draco Malfoy was not a forgetting wizard, he would remember what she was going to say.

He looked at her, waiting patiently. Hermione swallowed her warm saliva. "Take care," she whispered.

The Slytherin remained blank. "Uh... okay. Good night, Granger."

She didn't answer and let him disappear behind his bedroom door. The brunette sat back on the sofa, staring at the nearly empty bottle. Strangely enough, they had said a lot of things to each other, and Hermione wondered what their conversations would have been like over the next few days if she had still been there.

She buried her face in her palms, now alone in the living room. She wanted to close her eyes, forget her whole life, obliviate her own face from her memory, and never open them again. She didn't care that she'd been drinking with Draco Malfoy, and even that he'd hugged her to stop her from trashing everything, or that he had confided in her, or all of that crap.

A faint smile tingled her lips as she realised that this had been the perfect last conversation with her partner.

He wouldn't miss her, but at least she had given him something to think about.

She counted the minutes in her head, and when she lost track, she stood up and slowly approached the Slytherin's door. She could hear his light snoring. Perfect. Silently, she slipped on her shoes, left her wand behind, and walked out of the dorm. Once in the hallway, she started to run, drawn by the scent of death reaching out to her with motherly arms.

"Grief is like sinking, like being buried. I am in water the tawny color of kicked-up dirt. Every breath is full of choking. There is nothing to hold on to, no sides, no way to claw myself up. There is nothing to do but let go."

Lauren Oliver