May 2nd

When the anniversary of her best friend's murder arrived, Hermione had no reason to get out of the sinfully comfortable bed she had come to love in Draco's guest bedroom. The wizard hadn't returned to the flat since he stormed out in the middle of breakfast. She wasn't sure what his problem was. Maybe it was the same problem she always had when the echoes of the past began to creep in to her present. Sometimes it was easier to run than it was to face them head-on.

In another life, she would've felt compelled to report the man for his statement about the world turning to shit. It wasn't good for morale to have Death Eaters making claims like his where others could hear. She wasn't ashamed to admit that she'd reported many of her comrades for similar behavior over the years when she was still so enmeshed in the insanity of the Dark Lord's regime. Discontent could spread like wildfire if left unchecked. It was the responsibility of every member of the Dark Lord's followers to keep dissension from growing. Once she was outside of the inner workings of the regime, she could see how harmful policies like those actually were. If no one was allowed to express an opinion that didn't fall in line with the official line of the regime, how were they ever expected to see what the actual problems were? No society was perfect, no matter how hard they tried to convince the citizens theirs was. But, removed from the place of honor and responsibility she used to hold, she couldn't fault the man for stating his opinion.

She didn't know what time it was when she finally forced herself out of bed. It didn't really matter. To give herself something to do in a bid to keep her mind off of the more depressing thoughts plaguing her, Hermione took advantage of Draco's absence to use his bathtub again. She didn't believe that he would have a problem with her using it, but she still felt awkward being in there. Like she was intruding on his sacred space. But, she was no fool about to let the luxurious bathtub stay empty.

The water took a long time to cool down. She assumed it had something to do with the magic associated with the tub. Antonin had a number of enchantments on their decadent bathtub to make the act of bathing much more pleasurable. Many times while she was shivering in the cold while on the run she would think about what it felt like to slip underneath the bubbles in the great marble bath. It was always so warm. Only the very real problem of her too-energetic husband enjoying joining her in the bath kept the experience from being too perfect. She could stay in there for hours if he didn't bother her. Where the man got his energy at his age was beyond his wife's comprehension. It seemed unnatural.

Thinking about Antonin ruined any hope of further relaxation in Draco's bath. Hermione rose out of the water, wrapped herself in a fluffy dressing gown that smelled strongly of her host, and exited the room. Stealing the man's dressing gown wasn't the most appropriate of moves, but she couldn't be arsed to care once she felt how soft and warm it was. Besides, it wasn't likely that he was going to come home anytime soon to lament its loss. The anniversary celebrations were likely to continue on until morning. It would look suspicious if he wasn't there for every single moment.

She searched the cupboards in the kitchen for something to eat even though her appetite hadn't made itself a nuisance yet. It was simply something for her to do, something to pass the time. Nothing looked good. She started to close the cupboards empty-handed until her eyes landed on a full bottle of fire whiskey shoved to the back. Not surprisingly, Draco had excellent taste in liquor. Deciding that this was the kind of day in which a glass was not necessary to drink the fire whiskey, Hermione carried only the bottle to the deep, comfortable sofa in front of the enchanted fireplace.

It was nighttime. Only an hour or two away from midnight and the end of the dreaded day. She knew it wouldn't take her long to get completely pissed enough to forget why she hated that day so much. One deep swig of the liquid warmed her chest and her belly. A deep relaxation began in her limbs. Maybe if she found her way to the bottom of the bottle she would be able to forget this terrible day.

So many years had passed since she watched her best friend Harry be struck down in the middle of the Great Hall by the Dark Lord. An entire lifetime, really. She certainly had trouble remembering what life was like before she was dragged out of the room where she had had so many meals in school and thrown into the broom cupboard that would be her home for days, possibly weeks. She was never sure how much time actually passed. She'd existed in a constant state of shock for a long time. Even then she wasn't sure how long it was before she started feeling normal again.

The bottle was still three quarters of the way full when the front door opened. Startled by the abrupt entrance of her host dressed in his finest dress robes, Hermione almost dropped the fire whiskey she was dragging to her lips. To disappear before the fireworks were over was a grievous lack of etiquette. If he had an enemy watching him leave, he could potentially be in a great deal of trouble. Draco's tired eyes fell on his guest seated on his couch in his dressing gown drinking his whiskey. In an instant, he was smirking. Pulling his outer robes off and letting them drop in a heap on the floor, he made his way directly to where she was seated. Not needing an invitation as it was both his house and his liquor, Draco sat down next to Hermione and reached for the bottle. She gladly handed it over.

"Have a pleasant evening?"

A scoff and a deep gulp of the whiskey was his response to her ridiculous question. She knew the answer without him even saying a word. When his third swallow was making its way to his stomach, he handed the bottle back over.

"Absolutely bloody awful evening, as you can imagine. Even Weasel didn't seem his usual cheery self. Actually asked me if I knew anything about you."

Hermione was startled by his admission. Why would Ron care anything about where she was? They hadn't exactly been good friends for more than half their lives. Once they were off being trained by their respective Death Eater mentors, they never had much use for the other. Of course they would politely smile and conduct inane conversations whenever they were forced to occupy the same space, but they most certainly were not friends. Knowing that he would ask Draco Malfoy about her, of all the people in the world, was suspicious.

"And why would he ask you if you knew where I was? Have you been telling people that you do?"

She longed to curse the smirk off of his lips. If she trusted herself to cloak her magic properly while emotional, she might have tried. But, that was exactly how Aberforth Dumbledore got captured. For someone who spent most of her life trying to be as emotionless as possible, she still had a great deal to learn. He removed the bottle from her grip and took another deep gulp. Clearly, he hadn't been joking when he said he'd had a terrible evening.

"Of course I haven't, Hermione. Give me some credit please."

"Why would he care?"

"I'm assuming the solemnity of the anniversary was getting to him. It was his first celebration without you with him. Perhaps he misses you."

Hermione rolled her eyes and ripped the bottle out of his hands. She wasn't nearly drunk enough to have a conversation about whether or not Ron actually missed her. It was a preposterous notion, only said by Draco to get a rise out of her. They had nothing in common anymore, no reason to even speak. Ron had gone his way, married, and had his own family. He worked in his own department in the Ministry. Their paths only crossed when they were paraded in front of the regime by the Dark Lord. She would prefer to keep it that way.

"I can't believe it's been twenty years."

The statement tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop herself. There was no reason to give it a voice. They both knew how long it had been since Harry was killed, how long since the Dark Lord was victorious. An entire generation had been born since that horrible day. A large portion of their population had not even been born yet when the war came to an end. At times it felt like twenty years passed in the blink of an eye, in others it felt like centuries ago.

"Neither can I."

They continued to pass the bottle back and forth between each other in silence. Unsure what to say, they said nothing. It was better that way. Less opportunity for sentimental babble that they would regret later. The fire whiskey was almost completely gone when the obnoxious mantel clock began to chime the midnight hour. Hermione wanted nothing more than to just slip under the covers of her borrowed bed and sleep. Remaining with the wizard on the sofa in front of the fireplace was too depressing. Her thoughts kept traveling to the past. She wanted to be anywhere else.

Rising to her feet wasn't as easy as she'd hoped after the large amount of the liquor she'd consumed. With the exception of the night that Draco tracked her down in Aberdeen, she hadn't been so intoxicated in a long time. She was out of practice. On her third try, she was able to stand. She turned to wish her host a good night. To her surprise, Draco reached for her hand. When he held it in his grasp, he refused to release his hold. Startled, she only tried once to remove it before realizing he wasn't just going to let her walk away so easily.

"Don't go just yet."

There was a pleading in his tone that she didn't expect. A vulnerability in it that she would've never dreamed she would hear. All it took was a gentle tug on her arm and she was seated back next to him. With the sound of the chimes still ringing through the flat, Draco covered Hermione's lips with his. She didn't push him away.