Gods…why was this happening to him? This was surely the universe's way of mocking him. There could be no other explanation. Life could be a right prat sometimes.

Draco turned to the counter. He pulled out a hand-rolled joint, hoping that whatever high he could find would make him forget the night's events. This was precisely why he had moved to Muggle London, why he had dyed his hair to a light brown, why he had done everything in his power to avoid her. It hadn't been enough.

As he strove to reach the high that he so desperately wanted, so desperately needed, his gaze fell upon the counter that he was standing by. The book – it was still there. It would surely be missed, but how soon? Draco reached for the book and put it in the pocket of his jacket. He turned to the bartender.

"What's my bill?"

"No charge for you, sir," the young woman giggled. "It's on the house."

On any other night, Draco would have taken advantage of the fact that this girl was very obviously making advances towards him, but for now, he needed to read the book. Maybe, just maybe, there would be some insights as to what had broken down Hermione Granger – and he was praying that he didn't already know the answer.

Draco entered his flat. He sat down on the well-worn mattress, deliberately avoiding the stains from the activities of the night before. For some reason, these stains appalled him now more than the previous night. Pulling out the book, he opened to the first page and settled down to read the journal of Hermione Granger.

Day One

The war is coming. I can feel it in the air. I can see it in the eyes of everyone around me. The most telltale sign of it, though, is the radical transformation that Harry has undergone. I never would have expected this from him, of all people. He puts on a brave front, but I know that he's afraid. No one understands how scared Harry is, except maybe Draco Malfoy.

Draco frowned. Even now, years later, he still didn't like to be compared to his former rival. Focus, Draco, he reminded himself. He turned his attention back to the open book.

I know Draco is afraid. I also know that he is a Death Eater, but I doubt that it's by choice. His father, who lords over the Malfoy household, and therefore, over Draco, has decided, and so it must be. I can't even imagine what it must be like to be so vulnerable, even in your own home. Thank the gods that Draco has his mother.

Draco knew that Hermione was right. If Draco hadn't had his mother, he probably would have ended up in Azkaban. He probably would have ended up like his father, a sadistic murderer.

It breaks my heart to see him feel so broken. If only there was a way to comfort him…

He had been broken. He was still broken, but not nearly as bad as Hermione.

I wish I could help, but alas, my time is focused on destroying horcruxes. Speaking of which, I need to get back to my research. I will write more at another time.

Draco couldn't help smiling sadly. This was the quintessential Hermione. He lay down and stared at the ceiling. For a long time, that was all that he did. Finally, as he turned over to sleep, he whispered a question.

"Why?"

It was the beginning of his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and all Draco was doing to celebrate was staring at Hermione Granger. By the gods, she had blossomed. What had happened to the bookworm who was frizzy-haired and buck-toothed? He turned to Blaise, who was gawking at the Weaselette. She was pretty enough, he supposed, but Granger…he felt a little shiver go down his spine. Granger was beyond gorgeous. The only thing that was still somewhat irritating about her was the fact that she seemed to live for the Weasel's every word. It was no secret that she harbored feelings for him, but she didn't seem to realize that Ron was throwing himself at Lavender Brown. He had even caught them in one of the compartments of the Hogwarts Express, Weasley's pants down and Brown's skirt up. Honestly, the Weasel had about as much sense as a teaspoon did – none. Draco didn't even realize that he was glaring at the red-headed bastard until he heard his name being called by Nott.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy!"

A Sonorus charm echoed through the Great Hall. Draco flinched, then instantly felt irritated as everyone in the room turned and stared. He couldn't help but notice, though, that Granger was unfazed. Clearly having all of those near death experiences with Potty and the Weasel had made her oblivious to things like this. For some reason, this irritated him even more. Was Granger forgetting that he, Draco bloody Malfoy, was the Slytherin Sex God? He was used to having women fawn over him, not ignore him! Who did Hermione Granger think she was? Why couldn't she fawn over him?

A smile crept across Draco's face as he came up with a very Slytherin plan. It would get him away from the stares, but more importantly, it would get Granger to realize who the boss was.

Draco got up and motioned to Crabbe and Goyle to follow him. As soon as they got to the Gryffindor table, they made as if they were going to walk by. All of a sudden, though, Draco turned to Ron Weasley, who was suddenly looking a little more pale than usual.

"Well, hello, Potty, Bookworm, Ronald."

Granger finally looked up from that damned book. What was it? Was that Hogwarts: A History? Really? Draco brought his attention back to the more pressing matter; more specifically, someone pressing their something into someone else's something!

"Ronald Weasley, you know, I think I saw you somewhere as I was walking down the corridor of the Hogwarts Express," Draco mused. The Weasel's face went redder than his ginger hair. Oh, Draco was delighted. He didn't know that it was even possible for that to happen. And then, snapping his fingers, he acted as if he finally recalled exactly where it was that he had seen Ron.

"Ah, yes," Draco said with a malicious grin in his eyes. "It was when you were in the rear compartment, standing between Lavender Brown's legs."

The reaction of the Golden Trio was everything that he had ever hoped for. Weasley went as pale as the Bloody Baron. Potter, who was sitting between Weasley and Granger, instantly dove under the table, which was a smart move on his part, because if he hadn't, he would have been on the receiving end of Granger's right hook. Without realizing it, Draco rubbed his hand against his cheek. He knew exactly what being punched by Granger felt like.

"You utter PRAT!" Granger screamed. "How dare you?! After what you told me at the Burrow…how could you do this to me?" Weasley looked hurt, confused, and angry.

"What do you mean, how could I do this to you?!" the Weasel hissed. "You didn't seem to have any problem with turning me away when I told you that I loved you!"

"I did not turn you away!" Granger shrieked. "I told you that it was too dangerous to have a relationship right now! I told you that I loved you, too! Don't you ever twist my words like that again!"

Granger got up and stormed away, just as Draco had predicted. What he hadn't predicted, though, was the fact that Granger would be brushing tears away. He stopped smirking. He could hear his mother scolding him now.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," she would say. "No matter how great your disdain or hatred for a woman, you must never make her cry. Likewise, we must never gloat about the hurt that others have caused a woman." That had been her exact response to him when he had owled her to gloat over the fact that Hermione was heartbroken over Buckbeak's impending execution.

Draco sighed, starting off to the location that he knew Hermione Granger would be. As Crabbe and Goyle moved to follow him, Draco held up his hand.

"I've got to go make some…arrangements," Draco told them, faking a smirk. "You head to the common room. I'll meet you there."

His tone made it clear that there would be no arguments. As Crabbe and Goyle headed off to the common room, Draco couldn't help but feel a hint of worry. For some odd reason, he was hoping he hadn't crushed Granger like he had originally intended to.

The memory left as quickly as it had come. Draco felt a tear at the corner of his eyelid. Brushing it away angrily, he stood up and walked over to his cabinet to search for some rum. He sat back down on the mattress and splashed some rum into a decanter. As he finally reached the state of euphoria that he had been searching for all night, his thoughts drifted off to a certain witch and the pain of the past, present, and future, wondering if he had indeed reached the state that Hermione Granger was in right now.