"Okay. Okay…"

Draco mumbled the words under his breath repeatedly as the events of the evening caught up with him. He paced back and forth outside the door of Apartment 13 where, just inside, he knew Hermione was sleeping soundly. Every few steps, he turned back to stare directly at that mocking number nailed into the only thing that kept him back from her. He was both thankful and resentful as he struggled with the internal battle over whether he should turn away, never to look upon it again, or to knock and hope.

Simon leant, arms crossed, against the neighbouring wall with one eyebrow raised as he watched one of his closest friends reason himself out of a problem. This had been going on for the last twenty minutes and none of his attempts to convince Draco to go to bed had yet been successful.

"FUCK." Draco yelled into the open space of the corridor, clutching his head in his hands.

A few moments later, at the disturbance in the early hours of Saturday morning, the door to Apartment 14 opened slowly to reveal their very disgruntled neighbour stood in her pajamas.

"Ahh shit, sorry Mrs. Newcombe. We'll just be along upstairs…" Simon flashed his signature kind smile and began to push Draco by his shoulders away from Hermione's front door. The blond's eyes remained fixed to that number 13 until it was out of sight as he climbed the stairs.

"Rough night," Simon whispered back to Mrs Newcombe through a nervous chuckle. Having witnessed the two night-terrors exit up the stairwell, the old woman shut her door and let them be with a disapproving shake of her head.

Draco did not say another word until Simon had securely closed the door to their loft apartment behind them.

"How could I let this happen?" Draco mumbled as he slumped down into the great tartan armchair in the centre of their shared living room.

The door to the fridge closed shut and, a second later, Simon passed a cool beer to Draco as he joined him on the sofa.

"Which part? The part where you kissed her or when you told her to stay away from you?"

"All of it. Just… Fuck! Just all of it." Draco answered.

He brought his lips to the cool bottle and drank the contents within a few gulps. By habit, he reached into his jeans pocket in search of his wand to vanish the bottle in his hand. Remembering himself, he let out a deep sigh and rose from his seat to deposit the empty bottle in the kitchen.

"Don't you think you should talk to her? Calmly, please." Simon called to him through the doorway to the kitchen where Draco stood, his arms folded across his chest.

Speaking to Granger is not a good idea, Draco thought. It would only end as terribly as tonight had done, and add to the already unbearable feeling of his control slipping away. The blond found that he seemed to feel this way exclusively after seeing the bushy-haired witch. She was just impossible, unrelenting, confusing as hell, and seemed to be following him. Because of course, she was. Granger had always made it her mission to interfere with his life and he'd been a fool to assume she would leave him alone now.

The same question kept turning over in his mind - why him? He was not like any of the people she chose to spend time with at school. Draco didn't think he possessed a kind bone in his body and her friends were all sickly sweet Gryffindor do-gooders. Just like her. He was the type to watch a friend struggle if it benefitted him. Or stand on the sidelines and do nothing whilst a schoolmate was tortured in his own home. That is who he is and it was far too late for that to change.

The adjustment to the muggle world had in no way been an easy one. In fact, the loss of his wizarding identity had been one of the most difficult things Draco had ever had to deal with. But with Simon, Al and Kean's patient support, he had felt like he was finally getting used to his new life. His work at the local pub was a good enough distraction from the memory of war and his inability to use magic without being too draining. Almost every other moment of his time was spent with the boys or in band practice. He had a routine, and he relied upon it.

Draco was stupid to think that he could have hidden away within his sentenced life. An eternity trapped, playing at a muggle existence, without the wonder of magic that made him who was, seemed like punishment enough.

Seeing Granger again for the first time in five years at the Ministry could not have been a coincidence. The timing was too outlandish for it to be natural. That day, the day on which his muggle life began, mixed with the confusion of seeing her was too good to be true. He should have known from the pitiful look in her eyes, as he was pulled through those courtroom doors, that it would not be the last time he would see her. Even had he known, he could not have foreseen the seeds of obsession that would take root in his mind.

She just looked so… lost. When he saw her all those weeks ago after the gig, struggling for breath from flirting with that muggle, something had sparked within him. He thought back, eyes scrunched tight, to the feeling of rage that emanated from her upon seeing him in that small club bathroom. His mind had yelled at him to run, to abandon his set and leave, as soon as she had turned to face him. He fixated on the image of her shirt messily falling from her shoulders, and the way her skirt hiked up so high, revealing the supple, soft flesh of her thighs.

His throat tightened at the thought. Draco attempted to banish the image of her, not willing to allow his mind to drift towards the events of earlier this evening. The way her lips felt as they moved willingly against his. Of how her body felt pushed up against his tightly. His breathing sped up and his heart rate increased rapidly at the memory of her tongue tangled with his own. Draco was not confident that he would be able to restrain himself should his forbidden thoughts continue. The stairs to the floor below were becoming more inviting by each passing moment spent lingering on Hermione Granger.

"Well? Do you think you can manage a polite conversation with Hermione?" Simon called from the main room. Draco was grateful for the distraction from his own wandering mind but the mention of her name sparked a fuse inside him. How on earth was he supposed to know what to do? If he met with her again, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from stealing a taste of her lips again. Even if he could, he'd likely panic at her ceaseless questioning and say something he'd regret when the hurt would show in her eyes.

"I don't know, Si!" Draco snapped. Embarrassment and shame flooded him. He always felt terrible when he yelled at, or around, Simon. This was the man who had given Draco some semblance of a life following the trial, but he could not help himself in that moment.

"What would you do about it, huh? If you want to talk to her so badly, you know where you can fucking find her," Draco spat.

Looking upon the man who always seemed to have the right answer - a trait Draco was increasingly envious of - he noticed the distinct cool and neutral expression registered upon Simon's face. Shame sunk deep within Draco's chest, curling tightly and wrapping around his heart, at the realisation - Simon was used to these outbursts. They had become normal, everyday occurrences like saying good morning, or asking about one's day. Since Granger had barged back into his life unannounced, these uncontrolled eruptions of emotion came thick and fast. His inability to cope with his unwarranted thoughts of her, and how he should act around her, flared up into bursts of anger. He could not stop thinking about how she'd been since the war, of what she wanted from him and, more recently, of the feeling of her skin on his. The deep shame and confusion churned continuously within him. Up and down. Up and down in his gut until he was sure he would vomit.

Draco tried to force himself to reconsider his tone, with little success, and began to regulate his breathing slowly.

"In and out, Draco. Good." Simon whispered across the room. Draco dismissed the faked look of concern etched all over Simon's face.

Why does he have to be just so good? I bet Granger has already noticed how perfect he always is. Here I am, freaking out, while he's cool as ice. Bet he reminds her of perfect Potter.

Draco pushed the thought from his mind, focusing on pulling air in and out of his lungs instead. Simon had always been good at this stuff. Always knew what to do, how to act, what to say. He knew he'd be grateful for eternity to the man for all he'd done, for all he continued to do. But Draco knew that some people in life are just bad and he was surely one of them for he had never possessed an ounce of the strength it took to care for and support another person.

It was much easier to push them away.

"How about this? We can invite her over here tomorrow night and get to know her." Simon proposed, taking a sip of his beer, appearing to Draco calm and casual. As if he had no problems in the world.

Somewhere inside Draco, he knew that couldn't possibly be true - no person was devoid of their own version of Dante's Inferno. A hole inside them of unknown depth, unknown quantity. A multi-ringed system of issues stemming from nature, nurture and everything in between. A darkness that might only be a millimeter thick in some people, existing just below the surface, could be so venomous in others. A darkness that has the potential to drag those closeby down with it.

Draco strongly suspected he was the latter.

Without another word, he left his friend in the silence of the main room of the apartment and closed himself away behind the door of his bedroom.

He wished he could use magic to lock the door and be left alone to sulk in peace. In Draco's haste to get away from their last apartment, he had overlooked the issue of whether the bedrooms in the loft suite had muggle locks. And he'd regretted it every day since moving in three months ago. He missed being able to silence his room and scream until his lungs gave out like he had during his time at Hogwarts. The need to do so after the three times he'd now seen Granger again had become desperate.

He started to strip himself of the clothes he had worn that evening, pulling his white t-shirt over his head first. Draco remembered vividly how the Gryffindor had dragged it up his body, softly running her fingers across his chest. A natural, sweet and almost intoxicating aroma scented the fabric and stopped him in his tracks momentarily. The intrusion of something so pure and gentle was like a salve for his soul. It brought a reddening to his cheeks as he bashfully brought the soft linen to his face, took in the smell of her and let his mind wander to places he could not explain away.

Perhaps he could ask her to visit him. Just drop by with an invitation to tea. He could propose that they could be friends after everything and develop shared interests. Maybe she would let him open up to her the way he had gotten used to with Simon. She could be, he reasoned, another person in his life if he so wanted. After all, she had been following him. Despite his attempts to block her out of his life, she had persisted. She had ensured to see him again and, as long as she had taken to do it, she had found a way.

Draco concluded, from within his Hermione-scented cocoon, that she would always find a way. The Brightest Witch, indeed. It had always been her, even in those days long passed, when Potter and Weasley had still been around.

Perhaps the choice had never fallen to him and he should just accept the state of things. Allow her whatever she wants. Give her the world just to let her stay beside him. Let her kiss him and run her little hands over his chest all she wanted, as long as she promised to never leave him.

He stayed like this, cloth pressed to his nose, until the remnants of her presence dissipated into the air and left him hollow, craving more of her.

How difficult could it be just to walk down those stairs and knock on her door? Perhaps that's what I need - to just talk to her and get some answers, he thought. Maybe now that he'd had a chance to contemplate the situation and come to terms with her living so close to him, they could learn to get used to each other. He could be civil as her neighbour at least, he supposed.

Draco pulled his t-shirt back over his head and pulled it down his body, preparing himself to leave his apartment. He had things to make up for, this evening just being the start, and there was no time like the present. He had to speak with her and he could do it without lashing out.

Simon was better off not knowing of his plan. He'd surely tell Draco that three o'clock in the morning was not the time to try and make amends for ten years worth of less-than-pleasant history. But in that moment, all he could think about was seeing her again.

He flipped through pages of a book impatiently to distract himself from thinking of her, while he waited for Simon to retire to bed for the evening. Knowing the singer, he'd follow Draco down to her apartment to try to stop him from making matters worse if he knew. And even from kissing her again if he found he couldn't hold himself back. But fuck Simon, he could watch them again if he wanted.

No. That would not do. Draco didn't want to scare her. Just to… Well, what did he want?

You want to be around her.

"I don't want her. Fuck off," he warned the voice floating around his mind.

You've missed her, you know you have. You looked for her too.

Draco dropped his head to the right, causing his neck to crack aggressively. The fight with the demons that had taken up a permanent residence within his head had become tiring. But the lies they spun were worth arguing with. He didn't want her. He couldn't, she's Hermione Granger.

She was the one who followed him. She was the one who begged for a kiss. He very nearly denied her and would have been successful if she had not confused him. He had moved away, done his part and left her. Like Weasley would have wanted. But no, she froze stiff at his refusal as if her hope of kissing him were the last thing keeping her heart pumping blood around her cold body. Never had a witch looked so broken at his rejection. As if her world had turned upside down. As if she would otherwise be inconsolable.

A part of him had crumbled too while watching her. Stood leant against the opposite wall, his eyes pierced her face as he had watched the utter despair and hopelessness that passed over her features. He had had to hold himself from running to her when the first tear had fallen from her murky eyes, and the disgrace at having caused it began a throbbing at his temple.

Draco closed his book and listened to the multiple voices filling up the lounge - Al and Kean, the guitarists, had finally returned home after the gig. He cursed internally that they should all still be out of their beds and blocking his path to Granger.

A little while longer, Malfoy, and then you can come and find me.

He sucked in a gasp and let out a low moan as her voice whispered in his ear. He had begun to hear her voice in his head more frequently in the last few months. When they started, Granger had tormented him and taunted him but tonight, her tone was different. Her soft whisper called to him in the dead of night like a promise. Or an invitation.

Draco's patience was growing thin and he started to pace up and down beside his bed. He shook his head over and over, trying to rid himself of her soft moans and the thought of her tender kisses. He was not supposed to think this way about her. He was not allowed to.

Suddenly a very different image flashed in front of his eyes. One that had haunted Draco since the day he'd been witness to it. In the years that had followed the Battle of Hogwarts, it had been the main subject of his nightmares and had followed him in his hiding from the Ministry. Draco held his head in his hands as he remembered watching blood as red as wine pour violently from Ron Weasley's mouth. It was an image he knew he would never forget.

A strange sensation had consumed Draco that day as he stood by and did nothing but watched as his school mate, and one time foe, succumbed to the blood boiler curse his own Father had created. Perhaps he should have been pleased. One less Weasley in the world was a good thing, right? That is what he had been taught after all.

Blood Traitors and Mud-bloods… they're a stain on this world, Draco.

"Father." Draco muttered softly to himself, not relenting in pacing his bedroom. His lips curved downwards in disgust. "Timing is impeccable as always."

He shook his head, desperately trying to rid himself of the memory of Ron Weasley's death. He remembered feeling nothing but numbness in that moment so many years before except guilt. Guilt for not stopping his family when he could. For standing and staring. Others may have attempted to save him or even return a curse at his attacker but Draco had merely held eye contact with Weasley while he died.

Granger was right, I am a coward, he thought.

Draco had stood across the Hogwarts courtyard as he watched Weasley stumble to his knees, hands clutched to his throat to stop the blood from seeping from his skin. It was only when he'd heard Granger's cry as she'd seen the horror unfolding before her that Draco had been shocked to alertness. For what reason he hadn't known, he had picked up his feet and started to run towards her. He remembered traversing falling rock and dodging flying curses across the battlefield to reach her. To do something if only to shield her eyes from the horror of losing someone she loved.

She had not needed to see that nor had she deserved to see it.

The memory met him once more, as he sat atop his bed in the dark room that ensnared him, of how close he had gotten to pulling her into his arms that day. He would have been so close to dragging her away from that bloody scene if it were not for the look on Weasley's face. He was only an arms distance away when he noticed Ron Weasley's final wish pass over his dying face.

A simple shake of his head, as best as he could achieve, and a slight flare to his nostrils.

Draco had understood exactly what that had meant. Keep away from her.

So he did. And for five years, he had kept his promise to the red-haired boy who haunted his waking moments.

It had preserved his sanity during those long days in hiding. To know that he had stayed away from Granger, as Weasley had wanted, was the only thing keeping the nerve-shattering guilt at bay. Draco had decided that day on the battlefield that Granger's fate would be to survive no matter the cost. She would learn to do it alone as he had to. And she would do it without his corruption infecting her. From holding her back from her dreams and accomplishments. From living a normal life, as best as she could, following the war.

To do that, she would have to do it alone. He owed Weasley that much. To let her find her own path. To not muddy up her life further by plaguing it with his own terrors.

To leave her be.

He just had not expected her to look so broken so many years following the Battle. As if her grief had not eased by an inch for her fallen friends. So devoid of happiness, he questioned for a moment whether she'd been at the mercy of the dementors. Granger had always been the type to surround herself with others. She fed off of helping them, he'd noticed at school. Always doing her friends' homework and getting herself involved in Potter's heroics.

Now, with all of them dead or mentally deranged in St. Mungos, Draco wondered just how far she had fallen into herself. How long had she been this shell, this husk, of a witch he had once admired? It reminded him of himself whilst on the run and the memory pained him. Draco thought about the many years after fleeing the battle when he hid with strangers in dank, dreary houses to escape the warrant for his arrest. War Criminal - the words flashed up on his closed eyelids and taunted him just as freshly as they had on the day his hiding began. He thought about how many times he was forced to jump international apparition borders when his home for the week was raided. By ministry officials looking for him and others like him. People who now belonged nowhere but on the run for eternity.

He had not suffered the monotony of loneliness for five long years to break his promise now.

His darkness would consume her, that he was sure of. And for once in his life, he could not be selfish.

Draco took in a large breath. He attempted to push down his craving for the taste of Granger's skin and the feel of her curls against his fingertips. He kicked off his shoes even before he heard the sound of two doors closing, signifying his friends returning to the peace of slumber. Visiting her this evening while she slept would not have been clever. Nor would Simon's suggestion of talking to her about what had happened between them. One more moment with her and he knew he would irreparably fracture that silent promise made long ago.

Now that she had gotten what she wanted, she could move on.

You think your lips made her feel something, Malfoy? You'd be so lucky. Always were an arrogant git-

Weasley was right. Come to think of it, she had not confirmed if their kiss had actually done anything in the way of reigniting the feeling within her as she had asked for. Most likely, it had not.

Regardless, she did not need Draco. She needed someone who knew her, loved her and deserved her. Someone warm and caring like Weasley had been. Or Potter, rest his soul.

And that could never be him.

He was not capable of it.

Breathing out a deep sigh at the self-inflicted disappointment of not walking down those stairs to see her, he proceeded to settle into bed. Draco pulled his sweat-drenched clothes from his body and dropped them to the floor in a heap.

He cracked open the skylight window above his bed to allow a soft breeze into the room. The chill of the air settled his thumping heart slowly and he looked up to the stars above.

He lay naked under the thin sheet that protected him from the elements for some time before he located his name-sake constellation. The stars had always been a source of comfort for Draco, even at school, and they served now as a distraction from his tempting thoughts.

He watched the night sky darken and sparkle with a thousand burning gems, so far off in the distance that no one, not even Lord Voldemort himself, could ever reach them.

It reminded him of his place within this tortured existence and how, despite his arrogant ancestors' desire to be as worthy of the name as those stars, he ultimately did not matter.

His problems did not matter, nor did his guilt.

The only thing of significance was that those twinkling lights up there always had the energy to go on.

And so would he. He just had to find a way to keep her away from him.

In his astral haze, he focussed upon creating a plan to do just that. It needed to be thorough - Granger was nothing if not persistent and he couldn't afford to make a mistake. He sat in bed and tossed and turned over the details. It had taken until the early hours to fuse into something that could work. This plan would work, he told himself over and over reassuringly. Granger-not-interfering permitted.

As the sounds of the new day began to eek through the open window and the banging of his flatmate's morning routine filled the room on the other side of his door, Draco dressed and peeked his head around the doorframe.

He cleared his throat, making Al jump as he scoffed down his marmite-covered toast.

"Mate?" Draco croaked in a strained voice.

"Morning Blake. Piece of toast?" Alexei said in a thick Bulgarian accent, waving the toast up in the air towards Draco. His tone was far too joyous for so early in the morning.

"No, thanks. But I do need your help with something else."