A/N: Trigger warning: physical abuse.

24 Minutes Chapter 2

Draco hadn't been able to get the girl—Hermione—out of his mind the entirety of the next two days. She hadn't been on the tube into Godric's Hollow the night prior or on the tube from the Hollow earlier that afternoon. He hadn't ever seen Hermione before that, so he knew it was absurd to expect her once more. Their times on the tube clearly didn't overlap and it was mere kismet they even rode at the same time that night.

It was Saturday, and Draco was busy as hell keeping and tending bar. Lucky for him, most college students that frequented Bliley's were all connoisseurs of cheap beer, so he didn't have to take too much time mixing complicated drinks. Most of what he'd learned in the bartending courses went to waste. It was nearing ten, his usual time to finish his shift, but they were far too busy for him to leave.

He was pouring stein after stein of cheap alcohol, pitchers and shots flowing like water. Draco's mind, lacking any real challenge, began to wander to Hermione once more. He'd done pretty well pushing her from his mind since he'd arrived at work. But, the closer he got to ten, the more he wondered if she would be on that tube. The sight of her rapturous, natural beauty, her pretty little form in that powder blue dress—the memory was driving him to madness, he was certain.

Mrs. Hollowell, a regular in the pub each evening from dinner to close, sat at the bar across from where Draco was wiping the wood surface with a damp cloth. "Wish these damn kids would find somewhere else to party," the crotchety old woman stated, tucking into her customary highball—her fifth of the night so far.

Draco eyed the group she was referring to, noting that, though they were speaking loudly, they weren't out of control. They seemed to be debating football and he was mildly interested in hearing their opinions. The two redheaded men seemed to favor Arsenal—Draco rolled his eyes—and the redheaded female favored Liverpool. The messy-haired, bespectacled bloke and a docile-looking chubbier boy argued for Manchester United. The pretty blonde sat alongside everyone airily and listened to their conversation. At least two of them had good taste.

A raven-haired bird, curvy and voluptuous, sauntered up to where he worked. He noticed she pulled her top down a little more as she stood there, exposing the pale tops of her breasts. Draco was a warm-blooded man, so he wasn't immune to her advancements. He leaned on the bar top and raised a flirtatious eyebrow at the girl. "What can I get for you, love?" he asked, hoping his voice was smooth as crushed velvet.

Perhaps this girl could take his mind off of Hermione—who was no more than a stranger—for a few hours after his shift. He desperately needed a distraction from his absurd thoughts. The raven-haired girl smiled demurely. "I'd like a gin and tonic. With lemon. And a pint of ale for my table."

"Right away," he told her, pulling out his personal favorite gin to mix her drink. "You live close by?" he asked her, noting her accent was more northern.

"Attending HCL," she replied, taking her drink when he'd finished.

"You're a little far from campus. Do you live closer to here?" he asked, trying to gauge exactly how far he'd have to walk to end up at her flat.

He walked around the bar, a pitcher of cheap ale and four glasses on a tray in his hands. "Actually," the girl smiled widely and touched his arm to slow him from reaching her awaiting friends, "I heard you worked here…I've seen you around campus a few times."

"Is that right?" he asked, walking forward to set the tray on the table and crossing his arms in front of him.

The girl looked at him hungrily. He raised a playful eyebrow. "What's your name, doll?"

"Astoria," she replied, definitely giving him the come-fuck-me eyes at this point.

"Draco," he said with a nod and a smile. "Drinks are on the house, Astoria."

He turned to go back behind the bar, feeling satisfied with himself, when the door to the pub opened. He felt a rush of unseasonably warm September air from the doorway and he raised his eyes to greet the pub's new patron. And he stopped in his tracks.

Hermione. In the flesh. Surely the powers that be were playing with his emotions at this time. He had just begun laying the foundation of what was surely going to be a memorable one-night stand to forget this girl, yet here she was, standing in his doorway. And she didn't look happy to see him. "Well. If it isn't the fist-fighting Cro-Magnon man," she quipped agitatedly.

"Hermione," he drawled lazily, feigning indifference. "Have a seat wherever you'd like. What will you have to drink?"

"Actually, my friends are already here," she pointed to the football-discussing bunch.

He gestured toward the table. "A drink? An empty glass to partake in one of their pitchers?"

"Just a glass, thank you," she replied, following him to the bar.

When he handed her the empty glass, her fingers brushed his and his eyes locked with hers for a brief moment. Definitely hazel, he noted. She took the glass and took off toward her friends, like her mere presence wasn't earth-shifting for Draco.

He leaned forward on the bar once more, relishing the quiet moment to collect himself. He felt as though his legs could barely hold him up. Draco watched as Hermione sat alongside one of the redheads, who promptly wrapped his arm around her and kissed her lips possessively. The other redheaded man rolled his eyes. "Get a room, you two!"

Hermione backed up, looking embarrassed and, Draco noticed, wholly unhappy. She sat on the edge of her chair, like someone who was uncomfortable in the presence of a small crowd of people. But she'd told him these were her friends, so her apprehension to being with the group confused him.

He watched as the redhead attempted affection and she eased away from his advancements. They must have been in the midst of a row. For the life of him, Draco could not imagine why anyone in their right mind would want to fight with such a celestial being.

He wiped the bar down once more, trying to appear busy as he studied her appearance. She was wearing peg-legged black trousers and a burgundy colored jumper, hanging loosely off one shoulder. She had a pair of heeled ankle boots in the same shade of burgundy. Her hair, that glorious mane, was pulled back into an artfully messy pile, curls framing her face prettily. Draco watched as Hermione gave her hooped earring a gentle tug—seemingly a nervous tick.

As he was solely focused on the subject of two-days-worth of his thoughts, he barely noticed that his distraction waltzed back up to him. "Draco," her voice, sweet as syrup, now made him nauseous.

His eyes snapped to hers and the raven-haired beauty looked slightly taken aback. "I was wondering what time you'd be getting off?"

Draco couldn't help but hear a hidden innuendo in her question. "Two-thirty," he replied, trying with all of his might not to look back toward Hermione, "Is that too late for you?"

Astoria shook her head. "Not at all. Here's my address," she told him and she slid a small corner of a paper napkin his direction.

He pocketed the paper quickly and gave her a wink. "Refill on that gin and tonic with lemon, love?"

She shook her head. "I think I'll head home. Two forty-five?" she confirmed.

He nodded. "I'll see you then."

Astoria gave him an award-winning smile and he watched her as she walked out. "The other lass is much more suited to you, dear," Mrs. Hollowell told him quietly.

Draco pursed his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Mrs. Hollowell only nodded knowingly and tapped her empty glass on the bar top. Draco made a fresh cocktail for her. "I'm cutting you off after this one, Sue."

She merely snorted and dove into her drink like a diver into the pool. He rolled his eyes and trained his focus back on her table, watching silently as he continued to pour drinks. Hermione excused herself from the table and went to the loo after a while. He looked over at the table and her beau seemed to have a surly, sour demeanor as he sipped his beer. After a long while, she still hadn't returned. The redhead stood and made his way toward the loos as well.

When they'd both been gone for a few minutes, Draco took his damp cloth and made his way to a recently cleared table with a clear shot of the bathrooms. He peered down the corridor and stopped his movements at the sight before him. The redhead had Hermione by the arm, painfully if her wincing was any indication. Draco began striding toward the couple just as the man shook her. She caught his eye from around the man's shoulder and gave him a subtle shake of the head. The redhead caught it and whipped around. "Don't you have a bar to keep?" he spat in Draco's direction, dropping Hermione's arm.

From behind the man, Hermione was shaking her head, her eyes wide and fearful. Draco was stuck between a rock and a hard place. If he defended her, she clearly believed retribution would be terrible. But if he didn't interfere, he would feel lousy that this beatific creature would continue to be treated in such a manner. Either way, she was the victim in the scenario. Her look was pleading and Draco bit the inside of his cheek. "I just needed to check on the bathrooms. Make sure they're suitable."

The redheaded man raised a ginger eyebrow and shoved past Draco, bumping his shoulder as he did. "Come along, Hermione."

She looked into Draco's face and shook her head once more. "Drop it," she whispered.

He leaned against the wall of the corridor and watched as the bastard and the beauty left. He wanted to absolutely pummel the man—make him bruised and tattered and beat him within an inch of his life. But her look, so fearful and broken, caused him to pause. She'd pleaded with him not to do anything. He listened to her wishes. So why did he feel so terrible?

He went back into the belly of the pub and made his way to his station, a couple of patrons already awaiting his arrival. The pub's owner, nearly three sheets to the wind himself, was mixing drinks. Draco watched as Hermione and the man bid their fellow friends adieu and began leaving the pub. When he passed, the redheaded man gave Draco a seething glare. "Freddie…can you cover me for the rest of the night?" he asked the owner.

Freddie Bliley looked at him, his eyes glassy with subtle inebriation. "Why?"

"I fear I may be getting ill," Draco told him distractedly.

Bliley waved him off and Draco nearly sprinted out of the pub. He looked both ways for the couple. He spotted them on the corner diagonal from where he stood. Traffic was heavier than it had any right to be at nearly midnight. They were waiting at a bus stop—why, Draco didn't know. He thought she lived in his neighborhood. Perhaps they'd head to the man's home.

They were clearly arguing. The man was gesturing wildly and animatedly. Hermione had her arms crossed, putting up a defiant fight. Just as the bus came around the far corner, ambled toward the young couple, Draco witnessed something that made his blood boil within his veins. The man lifted his hand and smacked Hermione clear across her face. She touched her cheek gingerly and looked around to see who had caught it. From across the street, her eyes briefly landed on Draco before the bus obscured his view.

He began dashing and dodging through traffic, weaving in and out of cars. Fuck it all to hell, he was beating that moron's head in. Draco heard a loud screech to his left and a car skid to a stop, being a short six inches from where he was walking. Draco slammed his hand on the bonnet and kept running. The bus began to move and he prayed she had somehow stayed behind. But, his luck for the evening had run dry—she was no longer on the corner. She'd boarded the bus with the man.

He had never felt a rage so unbridled, so raw, so fierce. Draco's hands were shaking and his nerves were singing. He slammed back into the pub and the group she'd been with had dissipated in his absence.

Draco climbed onto the Underground ten minutes later, intent on going home. Fuck going to fuck Astoria. He wasn't interested in that slag anyway. He had more pressing issues to ponder over. He was going to hunt that redheaded man down and kill him.

o-o-o