Harry and Ron's Flat, London

Midday

Tuesday, December 24th, 1998

"We should go to your parents' house," Hermione said, sitting up and pulling the sheet with her to maintain her modesty. "We're meant to be there by now. Harry and Ginny left a half hour ago."

"We should stay in bed a bit longer," Ron contradicted, pulling her back down to him and pressing a long kiss to her lips. "In fact, we should just stay in bed for the rest of your Christmas Break."

Hermione laughed placing her palms on his chest to push herself back up. "We've hardly left the bed since I've arrived. Now, I promised your mother that we'd be there for Christmas Eve and Day and I don't want to be a flaky daughter-in-law before it's even my official title." She rolled out of his embrace with the sheet wrapped tight around her body, aware of her fiancé's eyes on her form. "I'm going to have a shower and you're not going to follow me in. You can check on all the presents while I'm getting ready."

"You're so bossy," Ron sighed, propping his head up on his hand and staring at her with his brilliant blue eyes. "But I guess I love it."

She grinned at him, dropping the sheet on her way into the bathroom and restraining a laugh at the groan it elicited from her fiancé. They had spent almost the entirety of the last four days in bed, moving only for food and the occasional bathroom break. There had been little conversation, just quiet murmurs late at night. From the lack of disturbances from Harry and Ginny, Hermione assumed that they had been occupied in a similar manner.

Hermione washed the grime off her, shampooing her hair and brushing out all the knots which had formed very carefully. She opted to let it dry naturally, into its usual mess of curls atop her head which she knew Ron adored, and put on a small amount of makeup, excited to see the family she would soon truly be a part of. She had missed the Weasley clan terribly after they had adopted her so fully as a daughter, particularly following her parents Obliviation. In turn, she had helped them through the hard times they had faced after The War, after Fred's death.

"You're such a tease," Ron complained when she left the steamy bathroom clad only in a towel which barely left her decent. She sent him into the bathroom with orders to shower and make himself presentable for their visit to The Burrow for Christmas, picking out a red sweater dress for herself for the occasion. A thick pair of woollen tights and a large black coat ensured she wouldn't freeze to death on the visit. She packed two overnight bags whilst he bathed, having decided that they would spend the night in Ron's old room rather than having to travel back from their apartment the next morning.

"Ready?" Her fiancé was out of the shower and dressed in jeans and an old Weasley sweater, R emblazoned upon it in large gold lettering. She nodded and shrunk their overnight bags down, keeping them safely in her handbag as the couple apparated to The Burrow together, hands linked.

Snow had been falling steadily around the property, thick blankets of it settled across the crooked roof of the house, the grounds covered in a fresh layer. Flakes caught in Hermione's hair, settled on Ron's shoulders as they hunched against the cold and walked past the wards. Molly waved at them from a window, though Hermione was certain they would be chastised for their tardiness when they made it to the warm house.

The front door unlocked, the couple walked into the living room where the entire Weasley family was gathered. Harry had challenged Bill to a game of Wizard's Chess, both men being advised by their significant others as Percy and his girlfriend, Audrey, watched on. Molly was banging around in the kitchen, pots and pans clattering from the other room, and Hermione could hear her having a light conversation with Arthur about what placemats to use for lunch. Her heart ached as she found George sitting in the corner, removed from everyone else, staring out into the garden as though he were looking for someone, waiting for a guest's late arrival.

"You two are late," Molly said, returning to the living room, hands on her hips. "Let me look at you, Hermione." The elder witch held her at arm's length, surveying her through pursed lips. "You're looking a bit skinny, but it's nothing a few meals here won't fix." With that, the two embraced, Hermione breathing in the smell of home, freshly baked bread and soap which clung to Molly's skin.

"It's so good to see you, Molly," Hermione smiled when they pulled back, reaching into her bag and pulling out the shrunken overnight cases. She instructed Ron to take the bags up to his old room after his mother had returned to the kitchen. She shared a smile with the rest of the guests but opted to sit with George instead of participating in the ruckus they were creating. "Hey, George."

His dark eyes flickered over to her, not a trace of the humour which had once shone so brightly in them. "Hi," he said, looking back to the snow covered garden. She hadn't anticipated any further conversation, content to sit in his silence as Ron returned and joined Harry's side in the chess game, yelling instructions at the already confused pieces. All she wanted was for George to know that she was there, willing to listen if he needed it, waiting for him to open up and finally talk to someone more than six months after Fred's death.

"Don't you want to sit with the others?" George's voice surprised her after five minutes of reminiscing. "I'm not really up for conversation."

"I'm not in the mood to talk right now," she said, smiling lightly at him. "But when you are up for conversation, I'll always be willing to listen. Whatever you want to talk about, I'll listen."

Hermione saw his eyes go watery, a stray tear or two leak out the corner of his eyes. He looked back out the window, cheeks pink with embarrassment, turning to her when he had collected himself. "I'll keep that in mind, Hermione," he said, giving her the first smile she had seen on his face since Fred's death.

Molly chose that moment to call everyone for lunch, an elaborate spread of sandwiches and soups. Hermione helped George to his feet, walking with a hand on the small of his back into the kitchen. She watched in silence throughout the meal as he participated slightly in the conversation, the first major interaction he'd had with anyone for over half a year.

Malfoy Manor

5:00PM

Tuesday, December 24th, 1998

Draco lay on his bed, legs crossed at the ankle and head resting on interwoven hands, staring up at the canopy of his bed. With just one week until her elaborate party, his mother was running around like a headless hippogriff, ordering the hired help around to make sure the place was perfect. No one was allowed near the East Wing of the house, where she had oriented the entire affair to take place. Draco had spent the last few days avoiding his parents like the plague, his father furious at the expenses his mother was spending on the upcoming evening, his mother likely to put him to work scrubbing the floors the Muggle way should he cross her path.

They hadn't even interacted at meals, Draco taking his supper in his bedroom and waking up too late to have breakfast with his parents. But they had long celebrated a Christmas Eve tradition of a drawn out dinner, starting at six o'clock sharp every year. He had wanted to avoid the debacle but his mother had sent a house elf over to remind him just a few minutes earlier, making sure he was aware that it was a formal occasion and that he was to wear some of his best dress robes.

He sighed, realising that if he was to arrive at the dining room on time then he would have to start getting ready soon, rolling from his bed and planting his feet firmly on the hardwood floors. Draco soothed himself beneath the beating water of his shower, ignoring it's too-hot temperature scalding his skin. He returned to his room, towel slung around his hips, and found an elf had laid out his mother's favourite suit for him. A slim fit and light grey in colour, his mother would rave that it precisely matched the shade of his eyes.

Draco combed his hair back neatly in front of the mirror and straightened his suit coat. With the laces of his shoes tied and wand tucked safely into the breast pocket of his dinner jacket, he went on his way to the dining room, eyes roaming over the redecorations his mother had made. Whilst the estate had once been such a cold place, stone walls and floors and icier than the Hogwarts dungeons at midnight on December, it was now full of warm tones. It didn't feel like the house he had grown up in, but instead it felt like a home. The dining room, once a display room for cursed objects and a place full of death and torture during the Dark Lord's stay, now had pale walls and dark wood floors, vases of fresh flowers scattered around the room with family portraits stuck to the walls.

"Draco, dear." His mother rose from her seat at his arrival and swept over to kiss his cheek and embrace him lightly before taking a step back and resting her palm on the front of his suit. "I do love that colour, darling. It really brings out your eyes." She smoothed the jacket down and patted his cheek once. "Come now, dinner is almost ready."

"Son," Lucius said, nodding at Draco as he took a seat to his sire's left, his mother opposite. "You've hardly been out of your room since you returned home."

"My apologies," Draco said, pouring out goblets of wine for everyone present at the table. "I've been working on my assignments. Seventh year is proving to be a very busy time for me, even over the holiday period."

"As long as you're able to attend your mother's dinner next week, you're free to spend as much time as you wish in your room," Lucius said stiffly and Draco knew his father was aware that he had actually spent the time in his room as a means of staying away from the senior Malfoy. There was still a great deal of tension in the house, Draco unable to forgive his father for forcing their family into such horrendous circumstances. "I'm sure all this work will pay off with top marks in your N.E.W.T exams."

"Speaking of your schoolwork, Draco," Narcissa said as their first course – escargot cooked in a white wine sauce with a small bowl of garlic butter sauce – was served. "How is your Potions work with Miss Granger coming along?"

"It's going well, Mother," Draco said, curious about his mother's motives. In the past, she had never extended invitations to his other partners in class nor shown any particular interest in his schoolwork. "I wasn't aware it concerned you so much."

"Darling, I'm just wondering how you're getting along at school, if you're making friends." Narcissa waved her hands about airily as she spoke.

"And wondering if I can befriend Hermione and use her to boost our social status back up, no doubt," Draco snapped, preparing himself to leave the dining room. Lucius sent him a warning look, a silent order to behave. He glared at his sire but returned to his appetiser, looking up at his mother for answers.

"Perhaps I have other motives, dear, but I am truly concerned about you. Our entire family has been ostracised by the events of the last few years and I'm concerned that, without the beneficial backing of someone like Miss Granger, we will continue to remain lepers," Narcissa explained, unfazed by her son's snarky comment. "Will she be attending my little event next week?"

"Mother, I think that the fact she was tortured and nearly killed in our house might have put her off returning," Draco said, pushing his plate away. "So no, she won't be attending your event and boosting your position in the social pages of Witch Weekly as the reformed wife of a Death Eater."

"Draco." It was Lucius' turn to speak. "You will not talk to your mother like that. She has done nothing wrong and she doesn't deserve your foul attitude."

"I'm simply trying to give our family some chance of redeeming itself," Narcissa spoke shrilly, effectively silencing both her husband and her son's argument. "If she doesn't want to attend, that is perfectly fine, but I don't wish to disrupt our Christmas Eve dinner with yet another argument. I'm trying to do what is best for the Malfoy name."

Draco glared at his father who was still sitting stiffly, hand clenched around the handle of his wand. "I apologise, Mother. Such an outburst won't happen again," he said, turning to look at his mother, the witch trying to calm herself. "Let's enjoy the rest of our meal, shall we?"

The Burrow

8:30AM

Wednesday, December 25th, 1998

"Ron, your mother's been calling us down for the last ten minutes," Hermione whispered into her fiancé's ear, crouched beside the bed. She had woken a half hour prior and was already showered and ready for the day, dressed in faded jeans and a crimson sweater. Ron had slept on after she had roused herself but Molly's tone was growing impatient and she had heard the other guests in the house going downstairs earlier. "Get up, Ronald."

"You sound like my mother," Ron grumbled, eyelids fluttering open. "Tell her I'll be down in ten minutes."

"You get five minutes," she admonished, turning to leave. "And don't you dare go back to sleep or I might end up having to hex you out of bed." She missed his reply as she plodded down the stairs, stretching. Sounds of sleepy conversation drifted up to her, sentences fading behind yawns as she joined the lethargic family. Molly and Harry seemed to be the only two with any energy, the older witch fussing over everyone with cups of tea and Harry buzzing with nervous energy, just minutes away from proposing to his girlfriend.

Hermione had helped him figure out precisely how to orchestrate the proposal, hiding the small velvet box under the pile of other gifts bundled beneath the tree. They had placed it in a position that would ensure it was the last present to be picked up, hidden beneath a floppy set of dress robes Hermione had bought for her future mother-in-law. Their idea was that Ginny would get so worked up at the lack of presents from her boyfriend, only to find the ring at the very end. Harry was fearful of being humiliated in front of her family if Ginny was to reject him, but Hermione had taken a long time to assure him that she would accept so readily he would wonder why he had ever been concerned.

"S'alright, I'm here," Ron said, yawning as he came down the stairs and taking a seat next to Hermione on a sofa, tossing an arm around her shoulder. "Merry Christmas, everyone."

"Now for the good bit," Bill said and grinned wolfishly. "Presents!"

Everyone laughed and moved a little bit closer to the tree, searching for their gifts. Hermione unwrapped a lovely dress gifted to her from Harry and Ginny, Molly's usual knitted sweater and several books from the other Weasley children. Ron offered her his present in humble brown wrapping paper, a delicate gold frame with a picture of her, Ron and Harry back from their first year enclosed. She could hardly believe they looked so young and carefree, the image bringing tears to her eyes.

"What are those?" Harry asked her, pointing to two neatly wrapped gifts close to the base of the tree. Both were addressed to her though she had noticed neither when she had planted Ginny's gift the night before. "They're for you, Hermione." He reached forward and pulled them out, handing to her.

She frowned at the presents, unsure of what they could be or who they were from. One was wrapped in dark green paper with a simple silver ribbon tied around it, the other in more ostentatious glittery paper. She opened the glittery gift first and found a small jewellery box in it. She ignored Ron's question of who would be sending her such a nice present and opened the box, eyes widening at what looked to be a very expensive watch. A small note sat on top, written in a familiar scrawl:

Merry Christmas, Hermione. I hope this isn't too much.

Love, Theo

It certainly was too much in her eyes, particularly compared to the elegant quill and box of Honeydukes chocolates she had gifted to him, but the watch was too lovely not to wear. It glittered with every movement of the box, a timepiece more elaborate than Hermione would ever have bought for herself. Ron caught sight of the note and bristled at the sender, it taking a calming hand on his arm from Harry to soothe him.

"What about the other one?" Ginny asked, pushing the less audacious gift towards her.

Hermione found a small card with the initials DM printed on it in Draco's elaborate script and she made certain to hide this note from her fiancé, knowing a gift from a Malfoy would certainly send him into a rage. "Oh," she said quietly as the paper fell away from the present, a large and very ancient book. "It can't be," she continued, more to herself than anyone else and opened up the front cover. "It is."

"What is it?" Ron asked, having calmed himself down. "Who's it from?"

"Daphne Greengrass," Hermione said the first safe name which came to her head, the answer seeming to satisfy Ron who went back to filtering through his own gifts. "It's the first edition of Hogwarts: A History. It's impossibly rare and I've never been able to find a copy, not even at the school library."

"You got me a broom?" Ron's voice distracted her from the book which she placed down carefully, making sure she would remember to thank Draco from the bottom of her heart the next time they ran into each other. Her fiancé pulled her close for a long kiss though he could hardly take his hands off the Firebolt 360 she had spent a fortune on for his present, insisting that they had a Quidditch match after breakfast despite the snow that was falling.

"You didn't get me anything!" Ginny screeched at her boyfriend, attracting the attention of everyone in the room. Harry looked over his seething girlfriend's shoulder at Hermione who was trying not to laugh as she grabbed the angry redhead, turning her to face the tree and the small velvet box which had just been revealed as Molly took up her last gift.

"Merry Christmas?" Harry said, nudging the suddenly frozen witch towards his gift. The room was silent as Ginny reached down to pick it up, her face lighting up when the box opened and the ring was revealed. "Marry me?"

Ginny dropped the box to the floor with a clatter, ring already on her finger as she flung herself into Harry's arms, knocking him back and kissing him passionately in front of her whole family. "You complete arse," she said when they had finished, a few of her siblings blushing at the intimate interaction as she beat a fist against his chest. "I thought you were going to ruin my Christmas."

"I'm going to take that kiss a yes," Harry grinned at her and she nodded, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. Hermione swelled with happiness at the sight of two of her best friends finally getting engaged, something they had all been anticipating for years. Congratulations bounced off the walls of the room, Molly tearing up and squeezing Harry so tightly Hermione thought his eyes might burst out of his head.

"I'm exhausted," Hermione said, leaning her head against Ron's chest with a sigh. She tilted her head slightly to press her lips against his clothed torso, inhaling deeply through her nose and surrounding herself with a smell that was so very Ron. Full of sugar and peppermint and something slightly heady, salt that still clung to his skin from the intense Quidditch match that had followed breakfast. He had whooped with glee at the speed of his broom, swept her into his arms after his team had won and kissed her until she was dizzy. "It's so nice just to relax."

"School must be so tough," Ron commented and she could almost taste the sarcasm in the air. His fingers paused the pattern they had been tracing along her spine, dotting up and down as they lay in the privacy of his bedroom in the apartment he shared with Harry.

"You don't think being back at Hogwarts is hard?" Hermione sat up, turning around to face him, propped on an elbow. Her brow furrowed.

"It's a lot harder in the real world," Ron said, mirroring her position so they were facing. "I'm dealing with shop openings, trying to hold down the books, publicity, advertising. My problems are a little bit bigger than your little Transfiguration essay, Hermione."

"My little Transfiguration essay?" She stood up in a flash, hands on her hips, feeling her heartbeat quicken as she prepared herself for the oncoming row. When they weren't in bed, all they seemed to do was fight. The fact that their relationship was based on such a rocky foundation niggled at the back of Hermione's mind whenever another argument occured. "Are my problems are so unimportant to you? Seventh year isn't exactly a walk in the park."

Ron's face flamed as red as his hair. "Of course your problems are important to me, Hermione, but I don't think they begin to compare with what I have to deal with." His voice was steadily rising. "I just don't see why you even have to go back to school after The War. You could have gotten any job you wanted!"

"Pardon me for not wanting the rest of my life handed to me on a platter." Hermione said. "I actually wanted to work for something."

"I didn't take the job in the joke shop just for a laugh, Hermione. I took it so I could help my brother, and I took the Auror position because I wouldn't be able to get anything else after sacrificing this time to help George."

Hermione winced at his tone. "I know, Ron," she said quietly, trying to soothe the situation. "I know you're doing this to help your brother and I know you deserve the position as Auror. I shouldn't have said anything, but I just wanted to work for it even if you didn't get the opportunity to. You're helping George, and after everything you've been through, after everything you've lost, and you deserve everything that's given to you."

He blinked at her, eyes damp. "Fred's dead," he said, as if he hadn't truly realised it before that point. Hermione's heart stuttered; the topic of his brother's death was something they had locked away after the funeral, a subject they refused to broach, the wound still too raw. "He's never coming back." Ron sat back onto the bed, doona fluffing up around him with the soft thump.

Hermione's cheeks paled and she took a seat next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. The anger in the air evaporated as quickly as it had arrived, melancholy taking its place. "I know, Ron," she said, rubbing small circles on his back. "I know. I miss him, too." She tilted her head, pressed her lips against his temple.

"It's not the same, though, is it? You missing him," Ron said, ignoring the salt water tracks on his face. "He was my brother."

"He was like my brother, too, Ron." She couldn't keep the hurt out of her voice. She had loved Fred the same way she loved the rest of the Weasley family and just thinking about him made her ache.

"But you didn't lose anyone like I lost him." Ron was beginning to bristle again and Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. "I lost my brother. He's dead and he's never coming back and you don't know what that's like."

"Oh," Hermione said, feeling as though someone had hit her in the stomach, all of the air in her lungs rushing out in a gasp. Her arm fell away from Ron's shoulders and into her lap. "I lost my parents, Ron." Involuntary tears burnt at her eyes.

"But they're still alive." The pain in Ron's eyes cut her to her very soul but she couldn't ignore his ignorance, his refusal to believe that she was hurting, too. "You can still see them."

"I can't, Ron. I can't go to the other side of the world just on a whim, and even if I did, they wouldn't remember me." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "They don't even know I exist."

"It still isn't the same, Hermione," Ron said, eyes dark, brooding. "Not by a long shot. You don't know what it's like to lose someone the way I lost Fred, the way I'm losing George, too."

"You honestly believe that I don't know what it's like to lose someone? That losing my parents isn't the same as you losing your brother? I'm never going to see them again. They're never coming back." She kept her tone quiet but her voice gained the shrill quality Ron would usually quail under.

Ron just shook his head. He was so adamant that his suffering and his loss was greater that Hermione ached, tears freely flowing down her cheeks, smudging her makeup, salt water clinging to her lips.

"I can't believe this," she said, snatching her wand up from the bedside table. "I just can't."

Her fiancé looked up at her as she twirled on the spot, disappearing from the room with a harsh crack.

Theo was looking into the amber liquid of his Christmas dinner when a loud crack echoed in his ears. Curly hair and a tear stained face swum in his vision, a welcome sight against the drear of the Leaky Cauldron which had long since emptied for the evening.

"Hermione?"

The head of his Gryffindor friend whipped around to face him completely, her mouth forming a small 'O' as she realised who it was. Then, in an unexpected movement, she tossed herself into his arms and wrapped her own around his neck, face buried into his shoulder. He moved his hands to her back hesitantly, rubbing in soothing circles, though his body betrayed his friendly gesture at her close proximity. Theo inhaled deeply, breathing in her scent of honey and roses, letting the fragrance settle and find a home in his bones.

She detached herself slowly, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry," she repeated over and over again, retreating to the other side of the booth he was sitting in and taking a seat, face turned to the patchwork upholstery, sleave still smudging at her eyes. "I must look like a mess."

She did look like a mess, streaks of black on the tops of her cheeks, hair flyaway and still crackling with the energy Theo associated with arguments. Her cheeks were still pink and her eyes red and glossy from her tears, but he found her wide, sad eyes to be appealing. They made her look younger, innocent. They were the only thing that remained as she fixed herself up, checking her reflection in a darkened window and smudging away the mess with her thumb.

"What are you drinking?" she asked, looking at the glass in his hand.

"Firewhiskey," he said, pushing it over to her, recognising the look in her eyes. It was a look he had possessed for most of his childhood, a desperate need to forget and lose yourself in whatever way possible. As a teenager, he had turned to alcohol, but as a young boy, he had retreated to the safety of his imagination when his father was on one of his rampages. "Take it. I'll order another round."

He could see her wince as she swallowed the remains of his drink in a single gulp, exhaling loudly as it burnt down her throat and set her stomach alight. He was tempted to order her a more girly drink, something with a strawberry flavour he knew she liked but the look on her face and the deadening appearance of her eyes made him stick with the stronger poison, carrying their glasses over to the table. She finished half of her second drink in another large gulp, only restraining herself after he gave her a stern look.

"You going to tell me what happened?" he asked, sipping slowly at his own drink. Hermione looked up at him through her eyelashes, a few of them still damp from her earlier outburst, and bit her lip. He felt his stomach flip. She ignored his intense stare and finished her drink and nodded at him.

"We had a fight," she said, reaching over to twirl the engagement ring on her finger. "And no, I don't want to talk about it. I want another drink." He opened his mouth to protest, snapping it shut when she added: "And if you don't get it for me, I'm still coherent enough that Tom will serve me."

With a reluctant sigh, Theo motioned for the bartender to bring over another glass of Firewhiskey, the wizened barkeep clearing away their dirtied glasses. He was pleased when Hermione took longer on this drink, swirling it around in the glass before taking the same measured sips he did. Neither spoke, just listened to the crackle of the fireplace, the quiet thud of their glasses landing against the table top.

There was a fourth and a fifth round of drinks before Theo noticed how intoxicated Hermione was, her short, lean stature not quite up to the drinking he was used to. She was incredibly flushed and kept opening her mouth as if to babble nonsensically at him, shutting it after a few moments. Their prolonged silence continued for a few more moments before, much to his absolute horror, she burst into tears again. He had never been one for tears, more a love them and leave them type, running as fast as his legs could take him when his witches burst into fits of sadness. But this wasn't just any witch. This was the witch that made his stomach do somersaults, the one witch he was determined to have.

Their positioning, him on one side of the booth and her on the opposite side, didn't allow him to comfort her properly, so he stood and nudged her over until there was enough room for both. The barkeep looked over at the outburst and shook his head, mumbling something about overemotional ninnies as he wiped down the bar. Theo placed an arm around her shoulder and rubbed her upper arm, never having been one to comfort girls when they cried. He had always found an excuse to leave as soon as the tears started flowing, but he supposed he didn't have much choice.

"Granger? Hermione?"

She looked up at him, tears still rolling down her cheeks. Despite the tears and the sadness which so obviously enveloped her, the Firewhiskey had worked its magic on Theo's head. Its influence was all he needed to lean his head down slightly, eyes searching her face to see any sign she would back away as his lips moved closer to hers. He closed the gap, eyes shutting at the same time.

Theo restrained a grin when she kissed back firmly. Her lips tasted like strawberries and, in such close proximity to her, the smell of honey and roses was only amplified. His hands found their way to her hair, tangling themselves in the wild curls, holding her face in place as he kissed her with all the passion skill he could muster after six glasses of Firewhiskey. He had begun to thoroughly enjoy himself, previously so overwhelmed that she hadn't slapped him silly or hexed his bollocks off, just as she pulled back.

Hermione's back pressed against the wall of the bar, breathing heavy. "I can't," she said, more tears leaking from her eyes. "I'm sorry. I just can't. I don't think of you like…I need to go." He moved out of her way so she was able to clamber out of the booth, swaying on her feet when she stood. "I'm so sorry," were her last words before she made a less than graceful turn, vanishing as quickly as she had arrived.

Hermione's throat seemed to close up as she landed on Ron's living room floor with a thud, ripping her stockings as she grazed her knees with a skid. She barely stumbled to her feet and fell into the kitchen, head positioned over the sink, before her stomach rejected the Firewhiskey she had consumed at the inn, spilling against the chrome surface, burning twice as much on the way back up. With it, she spat out any traces of Theo, trying to get the taste of his lips off her tongue. It took four glasses of water before she had erased all hints of him, tears racing down her cheeks.

She managed to make it back to the living room and fall onto a sofa before dizziness struck her, side effects of the alcohol hitting her with the force of ten Bludgers. She could hardly stand to think of what she had done as she pulled a blanket over her body, head resting on a pile of holey cushions. There was nothing that could excuse her actions, the thoughts of what she had just done lulling her into a restless sleep.

Hermione woke to a damp cloth on her forehead, thick curls tucked off her neck. She could barely open her eyes without a vicious assault on her senses though the red tinge to the room announced the curtains were closed, someone's attempt at being merciful. Her mouth was dry and the thought of movement sent her stomach flipping.

"Hey." Ron was sitting at her side and he moved forward to flip the cloth over as she woke.

She swallowed deeply. "Hi," she said, throat burning. He seemed to realise what was wrong, passing her a glass of water and a small vial of Hangover Cure. She almost wanted to keep the pain in her head and the violence in her stomach, a reminder of her actions the night before, a self-inflicted consequence. Hermione felt her heart begin to fragment as she realised what she had to do. "I'm so sorry, Ron. I did something bad last night."

Even through the discolouration in the room, she could see his face lose an ounce of colour, his Adam's apple bob. "What did you do, Hermione?"

A few tears leaked out the corners of her eyes and she hated that she had become such an emotional wreck, that she let this happen so often now. "I kissed someone. Theodore Nott. I was drunk and angry and so sad and he kissed me and I thought it was you," she blurted out. "I didn't want to and I regret it and I'm so sorry but you need to know."

She expected him to shatter the glass against the wall, go into a rage, storm off and leave her broken on his living room couch. But instead, Ron closed his eyes and rested his forehead against a closed fist for an instance and she was struck by his maturity. She wondered when he had grown up and why she had missed it. "This was never going to work, was it?" he said, looking back at her, eyes wet. "You at school, me working. We only ever fight when we see each other, anyway."

"Ron-," she began, voice cracking, but he held up a hand to stop her.

"I'm not angry, Hermione," he continued. "I'm tired and I want you to be happy. But I don't think I'm going to make you happy. Not right now, anyway." She tried to stifle her sob as he moved closer still, cupping her cheek in his hand. "We'll take a break. We both need to sort ourselves out. It was a bad idea getting into this so soon. Maybe in another six months or a year or a decade, we'll figure it all out. We'll come back to each other. But this isn't going to work if we're both unhappy."

"Oh, Ron," she said, ignoring the dull drumming in her head which was fast fading away as she sat up and hugged him. "I love you, Ron, and I always will. You'll always be my best friend, you know that, right?"

"Of course I do, Hermione." He held her tight for a moment and her heart snapped clean down the middle when he kissed her temple as they broke apart. "I love you, too."