Inertia

Weeks had passed since Ron's abrupt departure. Hermione had picked herself up from the floor and numbly wandered to their bedroom to find it devoid of his belongings. Clothes usually thrown about the room were missing, along with his special pillow by the headboard. Inhaling slowly, Hermione almost believed that she couldn't even smell the man, but alas, his scent lingered. Oranges and soil. She shuffled over to the bed and sank into its warmth, wrapping the overly-fluffy comforter around her shoulders. It had been a gift from Ginny last Christmas since their old comforter had fallen victim to Crookshanks' claws one too many times. And now Ron has joined Crookshanks in another life.

Hermione couldn't help feeling morbid, but she knew that Ron hadn't passed away as Crookshanks had. A part of her wished it were true so she could deny the past few hours of her life and pretend that Ron was merely away on business, but that wasn't the case. Ron's job as an Auror had him leave on business on occasion, but he never went to the extreme of taking his pillow with him. That simple fact alone was how she knew that Ron was really gone. This time he wasn't coming back smelling of the neighbor's perfume or with a badly-bandaged wound from a curse that had nearly killed him. No, this time Ronald had taken off for good, and even though Hermione's eyes were swollen from her previous tears, somehow a few more droplets managed to sneak past.

The shelves of Flourish and Blotts always looked polished as though they were built yesterday, despite decades of witches and wizards roughly handing their books and forgetting the structure that supported their intended object. The solidity of the shelves was a comfort to Hermione, as they withstood even the hardships of the war, unlike a large portion of Diagon Alley. Not everything is built to last, she mused, the corners of her lips turning downwards at yet another reminder of her broken relationship with Ron. With a heavy sigh, she turned away from the stacks and stacks of books and was headed to the door when the shopkeeper called out to her.

"Hermione, dear! Could you help me for a moment?"

The woman froze as her name was called across the crowded shop. People ranging from toddlers to the elderly were crammed into the bookstore, all working on expanding their book collection during the annual sale before the school term started. Surely, someone she knew was going to enter and cast upon her the looks of pity she had grown so accustomed to the past few weeks. It was enough to make Hermione shudder, but the shopkeeper hardly noticed from across the room.

"Come along, dear! I'll pay you for your efforts, you know!"

Hermione's legs were like led as she dragged herself to the back room where the shop owner was scribbling notes down. "I really should be going, Brenda; I have to finish packing, and—"

"Nonsense!" the woman crooned, magically hovering her pen and paper in the air as she moved to her desk to retrieve something. "This should only take a moment or two! I can put the money you earn on your store credit!"

A bubble of guilt formed in Hermione's chest. She was always against Brenda putting money on her store credit, but the glint in the woman's eyes was both determined and unwavering. It was more than a little unsettling.

Brenda scurried over to Hermione with a large stack of books in her arms, seeming overpowered by the weight of them. Why she hadn't levitated them was beyond Hermione, but she humored the tiny woman as best she could.

"Now," Brenda huffed, forcing the books into Hermione's outstretched arms. "I'll need you to put these on the shelves; we've had a lot of customers for first year spell books, so we're having to pull them from the back every so often." Smiling, Brenda ran a hand through her pixie cut and motioned for Hermione to exit the room. "C'mon, now! I know that you know where they go! This is practically your second home," she added with an encouraging wink.

Color rose to Hermione's cheeks, but Brenda guided her out the door by the small of her back. The door slammed closed behind her, and Hermione stared at the throng of people, unwilling to brush against any of them. Human contact was something she tried to avoid these days.

Pursing her lips, she looked for a table to place the books on so that she could leave the store in a sprint, but every flat surface in the shop had the latest edition of Hogwarts, A History on display. I'll have to remember to pick that up sometime, Hermione briefly mused before someone bumped into her side. The top five books of her stack flew to the floor like magnets to a refrigerator. The perpetrator of the incident hadn't bothered apologizing to Hermione, let alone acknowledge her presence.

With a sharp look at the young man to her left, Hermione struggled to pull out her wand, more books loudly falling to the floor in the process. Soon enough, however, Hermione had the entire stack hovering the in the air behind her as she barreled through the crowd, muttering her apologies as she went.

She had almost finished stacking the books into the shelves (they hadn't been in alphabetical order from the chaos of people cramming incorrect books and shoving them back onto the shelf) when a voice caught her attention.

"Could you hand me one of those 'Standard Book of Spells,' Miss?"

Curiosity prickled under Hermione's skin as she took a copy of the book and held it to her chest. The voice was one she could never forget. "And what do you need with this book, may I ask?"

The man's tone turned reproachful as he replied, "That's hardly any of your business, is it?"

Whipping around, Hermione glowered at the tall blonde. "Of course it is my business! You're a defiler of texts! Why should I give you a perfectly clean, crisp book when you're just going to destroy it?!"

Scowling, Draco Malfoy reached across Hermione's shoulder and pulled the book from its shelf, adding it to the small stack at his hip. "I'm not the one destroying things these days, Granger."

Hermione stared at his long, delicate fingers as they curled around the books at his hip possessively. As if he has any right to books after what he did with them in school! She clearly remembered him ripping out pages for some idiotic note for Pansy Parkinson, the action always setting the Gryfindor's teeth on edge. With a low, unladylike growl, she sidestepped away from Draco (they had been in close proximity due to the mass of people in the store) and marched out of the store, faintly smelling peppermint as she passed the man. I need a drink.

The coming hours were spent in the Leaky Cauldron as Hermione sipped her beverage in silence. The liquid burned her throat, but it was a welcome feeling as of late. She was glowering in her corner of the room, watching friends laugh and couples snog in the low light. Her thoughts slowly drifted from the pile of paperwork she needed to finish at the office to a certain redhead working at the Auror department until a memory from earlier that day surfaced.

"I'm not the one destroying things, Granger."

What does he know about anything? Hermione mentally spat, her anger igniting and continuously burning on her previous despair. She drummed her fingertips against the coarse tabletop, chewing on the inside of her cheek in thought. Does the entire wizarding world know of my… separation? Blinking, her eyes scanned the room to see if anyone was watching her. At the bar, a seedy-looking gentleman in desperate need of a shave offered a crooked smile, but Hermione turned her nose up and took to staring at one of the floating candles illuminating the room.

"A fierce glare like that will surely cause the candle to explode."

Nearly jumping out of her skin, Hermione jerked her head away from the burning wick to the man sliding into the chair across from her. He made himself comfortable, clasping his fingers together and placing them on the table. If looks could kill, Draco Malfoy would have been six feet under by now.

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "If you're going to maim someone, let it be the barbarian undressing you with his eyes."

Hermione raised a delicate eyebrow and glanced at the man from the bar. He winked when he caught Hermione's eye, causing the woman to shiver uncomfortably. "Unfortunately, I'm not equipped to handle myself in that regard," she said bitterly, paraphrasing something Ron had once told her.

Pursing his lips, Draco leaned across the table closer to Hermione. "If I had wanted shoddy company, I would have sat alone." His grey eyes seemed to smolder, causing Hermione to shiver again.

"I was perfectly fine on my own, thank you very much. I didn't ask for you to accompany me," she replied, leaning across the table as well. Did he just call himself shoddy company?

Draco broke their gaze as he returned to a more proper sitting position. "Are you sure about that, Hermione?" he asked, stretching his legs out beside the table. "I know a lonely soul when I see one, and you are..." Pausing, he gave the woman a once-over. "Miserable." He waved his hand for someone to take his order, and as soon as the waitress had returned with his usual drink, he leveled Hermione with a sobering stare. "You may not particularly enjoy my company, but I'm a fair dozen marks better than 'Mr. X-Ray Vision' over there."

Hermione felt nailed to the spot. She couldn't fathom why Draco Malfoy of all people would willingly sit with her as she drank her sorrows away. Maybe he enjoyed watching her in a disarray? At the office, the pair worked in the same department – The Department of Magical Law Enforcement – and Draco had never seen her so out of sorts, she surmised. "Why?" she whispered, picking at a chip in the surface of the table. "Why bother? Why not let 'Mr. Sleaze' over there strut over here and take me home?" Hermione could feel Draco's heavy sigh moreso than hear it.

"Your depressing aura is insufferable at work."

My depressing aura is insufferable at work? The idea of Draco's concern for anyone other than himself seemed so far-fetched now that Hermione couldn't stop from laughing rather loudly. A few people threw her irritated looks, but she quieted down after a moment. "Look at the mighty Draco! Affected by something so common as a woman's broken heart!" Her eyes danced with humor. "But this begs the question, how is it you know of my misfortune? I haven't heard of Rita Skeeter catching wind of the dastardly tale of the Weasley divorce just yet." She was saying more than she normally would have due to the alcohol, but for some reason she didn't care as much as she would have any other day of the year. You've always been such a lightweight, Hermione.

Draco's expression softened and his stony eyes briefly flickered around the room. "You may want to simmer down. I'm sure the Prophet would love a front cover edition with the two of us seated together in the midst of your divorce." His eyebrow twitched as he noticed that Hermione was ordering her fourth drink instead of listening. "Maybe you'd better go home, Hermione."

Smiling warmly at Draco, Hermione almost purred. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, Draco."

The pair has continued conversation for about an hour before leaving the pub. Somehow Hermione had convinced Draco that she needed assistance going home; she wasn't fit to apparate, and she refused to tell him her address for apparition or the floo network. The pair was left walking the streets of Muggle London, and by the time they reached Hermione's rental home, it was one o'clock in the morning. Draco opened her door and practically dragged her inside, turning on the lights with a flick of his wand. "Where's the bedroom?" he asked sternly, forcing Hermione to stand upright. The woman's face flushed at his apparent forwardness, but Draco cut her off.

"Not for that," he groaned, running a hand down his face. "You need to get into bed before you pass out."

Hermione pouted like a schoolgirl. "I won't pass out. I'm fine right where I am." As if to emphasize how sober she was, she removed Draco's arm around her waist and took a few wobbly steps. "See? I'm perfectly capable on my own."

Draco easily caught up to her and held her steady. "Somehow, I doubt that." Gently leading her towards the off-white couch in the sitting room, Draco forced the woman to sit. "I'll get you a glass of water for the morning—" Without warning, Hermione tugged on the sleeve of Draco's button up shirt, forcing the man to hold himself up with the backrest of the furniture or else topple onto the woman. Apparently he wasn't as steady as he had thought. Frowning, he removed Hermione's hand – so much smaller than his own, he noticed – when she sat up straighter and leaned closer to his face. Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise as she lightly touched his cheek with her palm, the warmth from the connection inviting him closer. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, and yet it was over in an instant. Hermione grasped the back of Draco's neck with her free hand, the alcohol on her breath mingling with his own as she paused a mere centimeter from his lips. Her eyes focused on his own, a bit of mischief swirling in their depths.

He knew it was wrong. He knew that it was the alcohol talking and not anything else.

But that wasn't enough to stop him from roughly crashing his lips into hers, a low growl humming in his chest. For a moment, the only thing on their minds was the skin-on-skin contact, and soon more than simply shirt buttons came undone. The connection was broken the moment Hermione's alcohol consumption took over, however, causing her to black out in the heat of the moment. In a daze, Draco blinked furiously to try and clear the lustful fog in his mind, and within seconds, he was standing again, his half-opened shirt crinkled at the collar. Clearing his throat, the man ran a hand through his hair and cautioned a glance at the unconscious woman on the couch. She was still sitting upright, but her mouth was slightly open, and soon a light snore interrupted the silence.

Draco took a moment to collect himself, the cool air of the room feeling a bit harsh in comparison to the warmth from before. With slight hesitation, he lifted the sleeping woman and carried her to the bedroom, pulling back the covers and placing her on the bed easily. She looked at peace for the first time in a few weeks, despite the dark circles under her eyes. It was almost enough to make Draco smile, were he to allow himself to be affected by this.

He sat beside her and pulled the covers up to her chin. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was an intruder in the bedroom and considered leaving, but he figured he could stay for a while. At least until the sun rose. Remembering his decision to obtain a glass of water, he shuffled to the kitchen and back relatively quickly.

After setting a glass of water on the bedside table, he removed his socks and shoes and sat on the other side of the bed against the headboard, staring at the opposite wall. The sorrow of the room seemed to ricochet off the walls and stab him in the chest; there wasn't a speck of happiness in the room, and the picture frames turned down didn't help lighten the atmosphere. Hermione was in mourning, and he had taken advantage of that. Right? Closing his eyes, Draco mulled the thought over for a while before shoving any thoughts riddled with emotion to the back of his mind. He didn't want to analyze the situation, so he summed it up to poor decisions while under the influence. Deep thought is best when there isn't a woman sleeping beside you.

The sun rose quickly that morning with blinding, golden light, much to Hermione's chagrin. Its rays peeked through her curtains as though they were teasing her – reminding her that she had drank too much last night. Last night? Cracking her eyes open, Hermione refused to move her body. Her memory of the previous night was fuzzy, as though she were trying to tune into a static-filled TV channel. She drifted in and out of sleep for a few minutes, but a shout forced her into consciousness.

"What the bloody hell is HE doing here?!"

Groaning, Hermione forced her eyes open and stared unseeingly at the voice she knew all too well. "What, Ronald?" The man looked absolutely furious, and Hermione was the perfect image of innocent confusion.

"You well know what I'm talking about, bitch," Ron hissed, not looking at her but at something to her left.

Hermione's brows furrowed as she turned to find a shock of blonde hair beside her. She froze, seeing the man's half-lidded eyes focused on her. It seems as though he hadn't fully woken yet, but Ron's voice was enough to rouse him. "Weasley. Not exactly what I was yearning to see this morning," he drawled, taking his time with sitting up. Draco popped his neck, suddenly fully awake as Ron pulled out his wand. "There's no need for that," he said sternly, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and kicking his shoes on. "It's not as though this is your home now, is it?"

Ron's gaze had switched from Draco to Hermione, a look of complete betrayal on his face. "Just because I said I wanted a divorce does NOT mean that you can go screw Draco bloody Malfoy!" His skin was splotched from his anger, the look rather unbecoming on him.

Hermione's head was splitting, and she held a hand to her forehead, her eyes shut tightly. "Will you stop yelling for two seconds? I'm just as confused as you are!"

Standing, Draco walked towards the doorway, a smirk on his face as Ron recoiled from him. "I'll see you at work, Hermione," he said lightly, throwing her a casual wave as he left the room.

Ron looked as though he was about to explode, but instead of saying anything, he snatched Hermione's wedding ring from the dresser and shoved it into his pocket. "You never deserved this," he seethed, his voice raw. He apparated away at that moment, but Hermione could still feel his wrathful gaze upon her. What happened last night? Hermione asked herself, a silent flow of tears falling for the hundredth time that week. She was confused more than ever, and the hangover wasn't helping in the slightest. Her tears stopped within a few minutes, and she pushed herself to her feet, shuffling towards the kitchen to find a potion for hangovers. Surely she had one in the pantry…

A figure by the fireplace caught her attention, and she whipped her head towards it too quickly. "Ooooh," she moaned, leaning against the wall for support. "What are you still doing here, Malfoy?" Draco's eyes held something Hermione couldn't place, and for a moment she was fearful.

"Last night," the man said slowly, grabbing a handful of floo powder as he spoke. "You said that you had quit your job at the Ministry. Is that true?"

Blinking, Hermione took a moment to process the words. "Y-yes," she replied, not making the connection as to why he cared to know.

"I suppose I won't be seeing you at work, then," he said softly, throwing the powder into the fireplace. He stepped into the green flames and was gone with a crack.

Hermione slid against the wall until she sat on the floor, holding her head in her hands. This isn't how my life is supposed to play out. This isn't me.

Unfortunately, Hermione wasn't too sure she knew who she was anymore.

Author's Note:

Hello! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I don't plan on switching locations as much in the coming chapters, so the page breaks should be less frequent. You may be confused about the actions of this chapter, but I assure you... It will ALL be explained! This is NOT going to be a romance right now (I hate when romance builds quickly from the beginning), but this event is important for the future! It'll all be explained in good time~ Have no fear~ :)
I'll stop having author's notes soon (maybe next chapter) so I don't annoy you all~ ;)

Thanks for reading!