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Chapter 2:

Hermione was numb.

"Ms. Granger, is this an official break up with Mr. Weasley?"

"Hermione, how do you react to Ron's proposal?"

"Miss Granger, are you going to go after him?"

"Hermione, how do you respond to Ron Weasley calling you a bitch?"

Hermione snapped back to reality. She walked back into her apartment building, closed the door, and collapsed against it, sobbing.

oooooooooooooo

Neville Longbottom sat down at the table and unfolded the Daily Prophet. "POST-WAR POWER COUPLE OVER!" it read. Neville read on. He read about Ron's romantic and impromptu proposal to Hermione and her breakdown. He smirked as he read on, "The young Miss Granger's eye twitched as she yanked her hands from the poor and affectionate Mr. Weasley's hands." Neville chuckled; the media really had it out for Hermione. Poor girl was probably crying over this front-page article this very moment. Dismissing the issue, Longbottom focused at the matters at hand. He was leaving tomorrow, meaning a new Order Member would come to fill his place. Harry had owled him Thursday night to let him know that Hermione would arrive at noon on Sunday. It was Saturday afternoon and Neville wondered if Hermione would show. Surely Harry knew what was going on right? Worry seeped into his gut as he wondered whether he would be spending another week with the active and charming Mr. Malfoy.

Neville climbed the stairs up to Malfoy's room with a plate of steaming food. Malfoy barely left his room anymore. Just to get his food, drink, and a bathroom break if needed. Neville wondered why Malfoy was even at Grimmauld Place. When he had asked Harry a week ago, he had answered that the Order wanted to keep Malfoy for 'further observation' but Neville could tell Harry was hiding something. He had decided not to push Harry; he knew he was still under a lot of stress and pressure. There was some sort of reason for everything Harry did.

But Longbottom could not help but feel bad for Malfoy. He was awaiting trial, which would surely put him in Azkaban for the rest of his life, spending that time in a house with all his enemies from school. No one liked him and rarely spoke to him. The man must be miserable, Neville thought. He might have been miserable, but he still deserved it. Malfoy was the reason why Dumbledore was dead; the reason why Voldemort had taken over Hogwarts. Malfoy was the reason that he and his classmates had suffered their last year at Hogwarts. It could have been a happy one, but instead it was filled with beatings and bruises. However, without Malfoy, Neville would have never developed the courage he did in that last year of Hogwarts. Neville was a war hero now!

He arrived at the door and knocked softly, "Malfoy, its Neville. I have food and I need to talk to you." He stood there patiently hearing shuffling around the room. The door opened and a very pale and exhausted Malfoy stood in the doorframe in his black boxers and a worn t-shirt. Neville eyed the tall blonde. He looked terrible. He had lost colour and was practically transparent except for the dark purple bags underneath his grey eyes. His eyes were unseeing and unadjusted to the light, as though the young wizard had just awoken. His white blonde hair was dishevelled and not combed back as Longbottom was used to. Neville wondered if Malfoy ever got like this at school; had his roommates seen him like this? He was snapped out of his thoughts when the ghostly man in front of him spoke.

"Yes, Longbottom?" Malfoy finally answered with a hidden sarcastic tone. Draco showed no emotion at all. He stood tall in the doorway, looking at Longbottom, face hard as stone.

"Well, I brought you food," Neville stuttered, he had never really gotten over his schoolboy fear of Draco Malfoy, "and I want to tell you that a week has gone by, and I'll be leaving tomorrow. Hermione Granger will be here for the next week." He watched as a smirk crept across Malfoy's pale face.

"Ahh, my darling friend Granger, how is she these days?" He asked with a chuckle. Neville noted that this had been the first time he had seen the young Malfoy display any type of emotion whatsoever.

"You can ask her yourself when she arrives tomorrow at noon," Neville answered as he handed Malfoy his food tray. Malfoy accepted it and receded into his dark room once more. The door shut with a small click, and Neville turned and descended the stairs

back to the kitchen.

ooooooooooo

Ron sat at the Burrow's kitchen table as his plump mother busied herself around him. He was livid. He had of course told his mother what had happened as soon as he had arrived to the Burrow, and had now just read the article in the Daily Prophet. He skimmed the article once more, picking at the fragile edge of the grey newspaper.

"Stop that Ronald" his mother chastised. He leaned back in his chair as she placed a steaming plate of delicious food in front of him and sat directly adjacent to him, "Ronald, are you sure you didn't overreact? I just know that she loves you!"

"Obviously not, Mum! She left me in front of all those reporters, HUMILIATED ME! Do you know how long I had planned that?" he answered getting more and more angry by the second. The truth was that Ron actually had not planned any of it, and the entire proposal had been completely spur of the moment. The only reason he'd actually done it was because of the photographer's question and the small box in his pocket.

"Yes, Ronald, that's how most people see it. That's how the Prophet sees it," she said pointing to the picture of Hermione pulling her hands out of Ron's, "But had you ever thought about her, about how this article would affect her, about how your proposal would affect her?" she gave him a sorry look as his cheeks and ears started to redden, "Ronald, I love you very much, but you are in a relationship now. With a wonderful and strong woman may I remind you! A relationship is not a one way street, it goes both ways."

"But I do think about her Mum, all the time! All I want to do is make her happy!" he looked down at his hands shyly, "But sometimes I'm not really sure what she wants anymore. She's changing, Mum. Right before my eyes."

Ron closed his eyes and tried to relax as he felt his mother reach across the table and squeeze his hand to comfort him. He thought back on he and Hermione's short 3-month relationship. But it had been so much longer than that, right? He had had 'more than best friend feelings' since third year, but had never done anything about them. It was not until seventh year that they reached a consensus that they both liked each other, but did not express it until the war. He smirked, Harry had known all along. He wondered what Harry would think of the Prophet article, what he would think of their break up. He was the main part of the Golden Trio; what if Hermione and Ron were never to speak again? Ron huffed; he was thinking about it too much. There was nothing he could do. She had said no to him to his face and to the media.

He changed his focus to look at the warm food in his plate. He really did love being home. His mother was by far the best cook in all of England. He swallowed his worries as he started to gulp down his mum's cooking. She always knew how to make him feel better.

oooooooooooo

Hermione sighed. She looked at herself in the steamy bathroom mirror. A shower had been just what she had needed. After the drama of Friday night and repercussions of Saturday morning, Hermione was spent. Friday had been a blur, and she would have still been down in the apartment building foyer if her old neighbour, had not picked her sloppy, crying arse off the floor and taken her back to her own door. Hermione had fallen asleep on her couch, crying herself into a fitful sleep. Saturday, she had woken up on the floor. As the memories of the night before flooded into her head she started to cry once more. She sat up, silent tears streaking her face, and started to scream. She briefly stopped to assure her old, caring neighbour that nothing was wrong, but quickly resumed as she read the front-page headline of the Daily Prophet. "Damn him! Damn the media!" She screamed. She shouted and stomped around her flat for what seemed hours. She had never been so mad in her life. How dare he disgrace her name! How dare he insult and humiliate her like that! Eventually, her shouts and screams transformed in stifled sobs as she nursed a bottle of white wine. Sufficiently drunk, Hermione had fallen sleep on her couch. Waking up this morning, she had taken a long, hot shower in effort to release all her stress and tension. And here she stood, looking at herself, puffy and red-eyed in the mirror, hair matted around her delicate neck.

God, the witch thought, I really am a mess. She sighed again as she started to cry once more. Why had Ron done that to her? He surely knew she would never have done that in front of the media! She hoped that her best friend turned boyfriend knew her better than that! Hermione was angry. She was angry with Ron for surprising her like that. She was especially angry at the papers and photographers, who instigated Ronald's madness. They could be so crazy and demanding. Of course, they knew Ron's love for attention, and thrived and manipulated it. But Hermione was angriest with herself for letting this petty drama get to her. She was bigger than this. She had handled the stress of the war, and now look at her!

She wiped her tears and got dressed. She pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and light pink jumper, and slid into her shoes. She arranged the clothes on her bed as she prepared for her week in Grimmauld Place. She figured that this would be more of a vacation with no need to dress up for any reason, so she pulled out her old and comfortable clothes, leaving her new chic ones behind. Books to go along with her were piled high on her nightstand; she figured she could read all of them in a week. She walked into her bathroom, gathering her toiletries. She looked in the mirror once more, casting a drying and smoothing charm over her soft, golden hair. She had begun to take better care of her hair since fourth year, and it had gotten tamer as the years passed. It still got frizzy sometimes, but it was usually long and smooth. Her almond eyes were blotchy and red, but there was no charm to get rid of those. She sniffled as she performed the simple extendable charm on her small bag, and started to pack in her clothes, books, and toiletries. Moving out of her bedroom and towards the fireplace, she grabbed her small, light bag, and stepped into the fireplace.

"12 Grimmauld Place" she said clearly as the green flames swallowed her.

oooooooooooo

Draco Malfoy gazed out of the window in his room – it was bleak and overcast. He watched the Muggles walking around outside in their summer jackets, talking animatedly. He desperately longed to be outside, to feel the sun warming his cheeks and the wind rustling his hair. He wished he could fly again, feeling his stomach drop as he swooped down. He watched as the family walked past the window, children running out in front of their parents cheering and laughing. Malfoy frowned. With his trial and imminent conviction approaching, chances for a family were slim to none.

Draco wondered what he would be like with a family. Would he be like his father? Would he be strict and firm like Lucius was? Would he beat his children as he had been by the older Malfoy? What kind of husband would he be? Would he be kind, gentle, and caring or would he be detached and absent? Draco closed his eyes, suppressing the memories of countless Crucios he had watched and endured. He hoped not. But he would never have the opportunity. He was going to rot in Azkaban.

The young blonde sighed. He was probably going to be the youngest prisoner in Azkaban history at the tender age of 18. Why had he been so stupid as to follow his father and the Dark Lord and receive the mark? None of his friends had gotten it, and had stayed away from the Dark Lord and his allure as long as they could. Of course, at the time he had felt dangerous, unique, and powerful. Why had Draco been so goddamned thickheaded? His father's ideas and those of the Dark Lord had clearly not helped him. What was a Mudblood? A half-blood? A Squib? Were they really that different? What the fuck did blood have to do with it anyway? He now questioned what was right. He didn't know who he was anymore. The youngest Malfoy sighed once more and lay back on his bed closing his eyes in thought.

ooooooooooo

Neville sat once again at the kitchen table at 12 Grimmauld Place. It was 11:58. His bag was packed, Malfoy knew he was leaving; he just sat waiting for Hermione to step through the fireplace. As though he had done wandless magic, the fireplace started to rumble and Hermione stepped out, brushing ash off herself.

"Neville! It's so good to see you! How are you doing?" She said happily, smiling at him. Longbottom noticed her eyes were red and swollen, even though she was standing, grinning right in front of him. Clearly her weekend had not been the best.

"I'm good Hermione. Just keeping up with work and the Order as usual. Off to visit Grandmother for a few days before going back to the Ministry." He replied. He slowly approached Hermione, "But I should really be asking you how you're doing."

Hermione grimaced. Why did everyone have to read the bloody Daily Prophet? "I'm alright, I'm managing. I guess I'm just very confused right now." She felt as though she was about to cry when Neville scooped her up into a big bear hug. She melted into him releasing the sob she had been keeping in since he had mentioned her weekend. His arms tightened around her slight frame. Neville had always found Hermione attractive, but had always been afraid to mention it to her. Since their fourth year, all of Gryffindor knew that Ron and Hermione would be together. Perhaps now that Hermione and Ron had ended their relationship, he had a chance. But no, he would be there to support Hermione in her time of need, nothing more.

"It's alright 'Mione. It'll pass, and I'm here for you, you know that" He rubbed Hermione's back, trying to comfort the now crying witch. He released her slowly, still grasping her shoulders. "I really need to go. But Malfoy is upstairs in Regulus' old room. He only emerges for food, water, and hygiene so please don't worry about him 'Mione. Your old room is all ready for you." He squeezed her shoulders once and let go, grabbing his things and heading towards the large fireplace.

"Thanks Neville. That really means a lot. Have a wonderful time visiting your Grandmother. Please send her my love." Hermione smiled at him as she wiped her tears away from her face. He smiled back and turned, disappearing into the fireplace. Hermione moved towards the table and sat down, letting her head fall into her hands.

"Get a hold of yourself woman!" she muttered.

oooooooooooo

When Draco woke up again, it was dark outside. His stomach grumbled. He looked at his watch and smirked. 7 PM. Granger was here. He got out of bed put on a loose jumper over his chequered pyjama bottoms. He slowly turned the handle to his door and stepped outside of his room. He looked both ways, as though a broom was about to whiz by. He quietly descended to the stairs and peeked into the kitchen. Hermione Granger sat at the kitchen table, eyes closed rubbing her temples. Draco watched her from the doorframe. The line between her eyebrows was creased and she softly bit her lower lip. Her eyes were puffy and red, and bags were starting to form under them. Her cheeks were blotched with tears. She seemed distressed to him. He smirked – an easy target.

He gazed to the pile of Daily Prophets in the corner of the kitchen; he recognized her face on the front cover. Draco Malfoy's smirk widened. "Granger, my old pal," he said still smirking from the doorway. She snapped out of her trance to look at him. "It's been a few months hasn't it Granger?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Malfoy, I'm really not in the mood to deal with you right now." She answered leaning back in her chair to look at him.

"Why Granger? Weasel-bee got your knickers in a twist?" He asked glancing down at the front page of the Daily Prophet in his hand. Hermione gulped quite visibly as if she were trying to swallow down the insults and anger she was about to lash at him. Malfoy smirked, knowing he had hit a nerve. "What is it Granger? He dump you for someone else…or do you have your sights on Potter now?"

"SHUT UP MALFOY!" she screamed, standing up so abruptly that her chair fell backwards onto the kitchen floor with a smack, "You know nothing about what's been happening between Ronald and I. You have NO business asking me about it." She shouted, making an effort to control herself. Her nostrils were flaring and she was growing redder by the second. Malfoy knew exactly how to push her; how to make her explode.

"Well then, tell me what it is, witch! From what I read, I hear you dumped Weasel quite publicly. I may just have to read on to find out!" he looked down at the paper, seeming extremely fascinated by the article about her relationship blunder. Malfoy had little time to react before Hermione launched herself at him, jumping clear across the table and tackling him to the floor.

"DO NOT read that trash! It's a load of bullshit, what else do you expect." She exclaimed, ripping the paper from his hands.

"Granger, I think I get it now." He paused for emphasis. This was going to sink her, "You dumped Weasley in front of the media so that you could set your sights on someone better…someone purer…like myself." He looked up at Hermione, straddling his lounging form, and smirked, "I thought you would be able to restrain yourself for at least a few days."

That did it. Hermione slapped him hard. He exhaled out of his nose, putting the stinging pain behind him; he wanted to cherish this moment. She pushed herself off of him, and towered over his lying figure. "I would NEVER touch you EVER! The fact that you even suggest such a thing makes me want to VOMIT!" she was screaming now, "And you even have the INKLING of thought that I would EVER leave Ronald for YOU, you are seriously mistaken and should probably just Avada yourself right now. I may even do it for you!" She distanced herself from him, as if she may actually pull out her wand and kill him. "I didn't want to break up with him, he did it all wrong! I just couldn't answer his question in front of cameras." She continued, her voice softening a bit.

"What question Granger, did he ask you to comb your hair?" he fired back.

"No you IMBECILE, he asked me to marry him. And I couldn't answer, I just sat there like a bumbling idiot." She trailed off as she slid into her chair and let her head fall into her hands. She looked down for a long while. Draco just sat on the floor watching her, not making a sound. He got up from the floor and circled the kitchen table. Was she crying? She let out a stifled sob, and Draco jumped at the opportunity.

"Are you CRYING Granger?" he laughed at her. "Are you really CRYING over Weasel-King?" he stood up and started to laugh harder. "I can't believe this! Mudblood Granger is crying!"

"NO SHIT I'M CRYING YOU ARSE!" she screamed, looking up at him with a pained and angry face. Tears streamed down her red and hot cheeks. "I may have just ruined the best thing I've had my enter life…and for good." Draco immediately felt sorry for her. Not only did she think that Weasley was the best thing that had happened to her, but she also was crying because she thought she had lost him. He could visibly see the pain and grief in her face as she cried openly in front of him. She directed her gaze at him once more, she said, "And call me Mudblood one more time and you'll be in Azkaban with your father." Malfoy's muscled clenched. That was not happening. He would rather die than go there with or without a conviction. He would rather live with Mudblood Granger than go to Azkaban!

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure on how to respond, "Uhhh…right. Sorry and erm..I'll leave now. Goodnight." He finished awkwardly and walked out of the room. Hermione sat there confused, not knowing what to think of Malfoy's weird apology. He's just covering his arse, thought Hermione. She wiped her eyes and looked down at the Daily Prophet she still grasped in her hand, the picture of her pulling her hands out of Ron's replaying over and over.

She grabbed a small piece of parchment and quill from her bag and sat at the table once more. She stared at the parchment for a long time. After sitting idly in thought for about 15 minutes, she picked up the quill and started to write,"

"Dear Ronald,"