Disclaimer: I do not own any of J.K Rowling's characters, nor am I making any money off of this story. Seriously, look at the shit I have to eat everyday.

A/N: Thank you Alice Wednesday, I Fell Into Yesterday, Gaara's Plaything, LoganLover8128 and Anon for your kind reviews. This chapter was harder for me to write, as I used my own memory for Hermione's. So go gentle on me, please.

April

Hermione:

Afterwards, her mornings took on a new pattern. She began to wake earlier so that she was showered and dressed before Madge had even started breakfast. At first she tried to help cook, but found that her fingers were too stubborn and twice as unwilling. Madge made up for it by memorizing Hermione's favorite combinations. She was a woman of routine and Madge knew it. The eggs or the porridge, the cereal or the toast slid down her throat still hot and it burned slightly, but she never minded because then came the main reason she woke up in the morning. After she had helped clean up-because she could do that, at least- she would slip on her shoes and maybe even a sweater over whatever shirt she was wearing and run out the door.

It had taken getting used to. She had always had Harry or Ron to do things with and as she grew older the list expanded. Ginny, Luna, Neville, Seamus, Fred, George and even Percy wasn't too much of a git all the time. She had developed many acquaintances through work as well. There was Jake, for one, the cute brunette who Ron was always so jealous of. He had always been up for coffee at break and sometimes left wards down at his flat so she could pop in when needed. She had never been so alone before, and by choice for that matter. She was burrowing inside of herself, and she was scared she wouldn't come back out.

Eventually, though, the world expanded for her. She had no ties, not even Madge had any responsibility over her. She came home for meals out of courtesy more than necessity. As the days passed she found herself walking more, one time being overcome by a swell of gratitude that Madge had introduced this wonder to her.

She couldn't get enough of Ireland. There was so much she needed from the place and it had more than enough to give. However, March slipped into April and she received the first letter sent since she left at the beginning of March over breakfast. She peered at the parchment over a bowl of porridge. The owl had hooted and clicked its beak affectionately at her until she smoothed her fingers over its feathers. It brushed its wing against her shoulder and flew out through the window before she could guess whom it was from. She had a fairly good idea though, and decided to finish eating before she dared to unroll it.

Hermione,

How could you leave without a goodbye? How could you not think that I-we-wouldn't need you as much as you pretended to need us? At first I thought you were just ill when you didn't contact any of us, but then your landlord said he hadn't seen you around for weeks-weeks! Maybe our friendship wasn't what I thought it was. Maybe it's better you're gone. I don't even know where you are.

Ron misses you.

Harry.

Draco:

He avoided love because he was being forced into it. But strangely enough, it did not mean he was unhappy. Not after awhile anyway. Draco had always been alone, even when surrounded by people. By forcing himself to be without, he realized that this was what he had always needed.

He found solace in teaching himself how to cook. There was a rhythm to his life when his hands were moving.

But what he loved most about Ireland, was the nonentity that he had become. He walked, because he could do nothing else, and the people swarmed around him. They shoved into him and only briefly apologized before continuing to walk. No one stammered out, "S-s-sorry, Mr. Malfoy", or bent to kiss his feet.

He loved the crowded places most; the markets and the tourist traps. When he was alone he saw visions of the hag and her long curling fingers. Nights became the worst and he began to search for a pub to reside in.

The one he found smelled familiar. He couldn't place it so he ordered a drink instead; vodka, because it looked like water and he felt less guilty about drinking it. One wasn't enough. Two only made him a little dizzy. Three isn't too bad, and he gulped it down until: Four-he was sliding off the chair and suddenly he knew what he smelled. Desperation…self-loathing and disgust. For himself, for the people around him who couldn't face their problems either.

He was having trouble walking out the door but his feet slipped smoothly, as if he were walking on air. He sank to his knees though he hadn't prayed in his life. A rotten smell hit his nose and he took comfort in the fact that he was in an alley littered with trash because it felt like home and the smell overpowered the one pouring from his skin.

Who could ever love me like this?

And then the answer, more clearly than anything he had ever heard in his life:

No one.

Hermione:

She didn't know why she was standing so still. She didn't know why she was letting the blood drip down her leg in an almost musical manner. How she came to this place in her life where even shaving upset her, she couldn't fathom but she did know that she wanted it to stop.

She wanted her life to be happy again, and for things between her and Ron to not have been as horrible as they were. She wanted to push someone and have them hold on instead of let themselves fall back.

A tissue made it's way between her fingers and she gently sopped up the blood and then put a plaster on. She was still naked, and felt very exposed in the chilly bathroom. But she couldn't move. Remembering the last time she had let herself crumble, she decided to be somewhere different this time. She only made it to the hallway before another memory hit her like a brick and her head hit the floor, remembering…always remembering.

"I'm starving."

Hermione put the paper down and sighed.

"You're always starving."

Ron shrugged and stood, stretching a little. She never liked his happy trail, especially when it was rubbing against her stomach. Now it was exposed and the dusk sun coming in through the window gave it a fiery color.

"Want to go get something to eat?"

She picked the paper back up and pretended to scan it vigorously.

"Not particularly."

"Hermione."

She looked up. He was staring at her, almost seeming to sense another episode coming along.

"Well goodness, Ron. I didn't know it was such a crime to not be hungry. But, oh please, don't let me stop you from eating."

He grabbed the paper from her hands.

"Stop it, Hermione. I just want to spend a little time with you."

"We can spend time together here."

"In a flat with no food?"

"Order out then."

His fingers drummed on his knee. He was trying to find a loophole. He shouldn't try. She was only getting more irritated.

"Hey!" She looked up and saw him standing behind her, looking down and smiling. "Why don't we go and try that new Korean place you're always saying you want to go to."

She shrugged and let her mouth turn down an inch. She wished he would leave her to the paper. She did so much better on her own.

"Well you said you wanted to go just this morning. At lunch, remember?"

"I don't feel like putting my shoes on."

"I'll put them on for you."

"No."

"Ok." He started to move towards the bedroom and it was this pathetic retreat-this groveling and giving up like a dog with its tail between its legs- that finally got to her.

"What do you feel like then?"

His back stiffened. Ron never wanted to fight. Not in the beginning.

"I'm not that hungry. Why don't you go and look at the menu's and choose?"

She got up, the paper slapping down angrily on the table. Ron winced but turned back towards her.

"You feel like Chinese?" she asked.

"Whatever. Or, er, no. I don't know if I want Chinese."

"Have we ordered from this Thai place before?" she held up a blue and white menu, waving it in his face.

He looked briefly at it and nodded.

"Yup. That's the one where…you said the Pad Thai tasted like vagina."

She reared back and ran through her memories.

"That wasn't this place, Ronald…and, I did not say that it tasted like vagina. I said, 'this Pad Thai tastes like Poon Thai.' So just pick a menu, Ron."

"Fuck it, Chinese it is. Chinese ok with you?"

"Fine."

"Well what would you rather have then, Hermione?" He was exasperated. She was pushing him too far, once again.

"I just said that Chinese was fine."

"Alright." He looked at the menu. "So we'll get the beef and broccoli with white rice only, and General Tso's. And uhm…Low Mein?" He was kissing up. Lo Mein was her favorite. He didn't even like it. Said they used too much peanut oil.

"Anything." She had picked the paper up again and wasn't paying much attention.

"No, too much peanut oil."

She snorted in the folds of black and white.

"How about a shrimp dish? You love shrimp."

"Ronald, whatever." (Shut up…)

"Well you're not helping me, 'Mione."

"Just pick two dishes!"

"Yeah, alright." He picked up the phone to order. It irritated him that Muggle's needed to use phones still. "I'll just get the egg plant like I wanted." He dialed the number and she heard it ring.

"Well I guess I'll just have some of the chicken, then."

The man on the other line asked what he could get for them and Ron just hung up.

"'Mione, I am not ordering an egg plant just for myself!"

"It's called leftovers, Ronald." She said sourly.

"Eggplant. Sucks. The. Next. Day."

"Fuck this." She put the paper down again. "Let's go to the Korean place!"

Ron smiled a bitter, angry smile.

"I don't feel like going out now."

"Well I don't want takeout. Come on." She whispered. She didn't want to fight anymore. She decided, maybe too late, that she didn't want to sleep alone this time.

Ron had sat on the couch however and put his feet up on the coffee table.

"No, I'm all settled in now."

She stood up and walked over to Ron.

"Come on…" she knocked his feet off the table and kneeled before him. "Please…"

He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around him. Her hands rested on his shoulders. He smiled and kissed her lightly. She allowed it. She allowed the closeness.

"Go get my coat." He spoke into her hair.

Draco:

Draco saw her again April 8th. She was sitting on a bench and eating out of a Styrofoam box. The plastic fork shoveled food to her small pink lips and he could see her swallow with no relish. He was holding a similar Styrofoam box, which led him to believe that she was eating from the place he was. A small stand in the market offered fresh food, cooked by a large man named Alfred. He was a Muggle but his food was delicious. Every day, for two weeks, Draco came to Alfred at lunch and sat on the dock, watching the sea gulls and smelling the fish. He had hated that smell almost a month ago, but now looked foreword to it seeping in his clothes, lingering for hours afterwards. It was the one time a day where he didn't feel like he was pressured. He had never seen her here before now though and it threw him off. It took three minutes to make the decision to walk over. His steps were slow, and he could hear the hesitation on the pavement.

"Is anybody sitting here?"

Her head snapped up. Her face went through all of the notions of recognizing him; shock, disbelief, and acceptance. Then confusion, as she remembered his previous question.

"No…"

And then he sat down. She was familiar-hated, but familiar. And somehow, in the lights of Ireland, she was new to him. She looked tired, sad and…old. She couldn't be old though. She was maybe twenty-one.

He opened his box and the aroma of chicken and rice hit his nose. He looked over and noticed her legs were crossed tightly, her can of Ginger Ale raised to her lips. She took a sip and he looked down at his food again. He picked up his own can and studied it. It said Ginger Buzz in white letters.

"You ever heard of this brand of Ginger Ale?" he asked, out of nowhere.

At this point she was eating again but stopped with her fork in the air. She put the fork down and glanced over at the can.

"No, I haven't."

She resumed eating, but slower as if expecting his next question.

"It probably cost two dollars to make a case of it in Japan."

And where had that come from? Why did he think she would care? He didn't even care.

"Uh. Exactly." She shook her head and took another bite. Was that…curry she was eating?

He coughed.

"You know, it's me…Draco."

She turned to look at him slowly. She nodded her head slightly and gave him a bemused expression.

"Hey, Malfoy."

She saluted him with her fork. He felt as uncomfortable as he had the last time they met. While she turned slightly the other way, trying to get him to leave most likely, he took the chance to glance into her box. She was eating Alfred's special- fried rice with curry, and some vegetables on the side.

He cleared his throat and looked at her. She turned again, this time appearing a bit impatient. He didn't know what to say so he looked at her food again.

"You know…I…Alfred…" She raised an eyebrow. "He puts that little salad on the side of the chicken and the rice?"

"Yeah." She pointed at hers.

"Well I started…he…you can get, instead of the fried rice…he'll put the chicken on the bed of salad for you. So you can get a salad with grilled chicken…and…three fifty…" He looked the other way.

"Great. Good to know."

"You know, you can continue to get the fried rice if you want. I just…if you're interested in something a little more healthy…"

She scooped a big bite on her fork and stuffed it in, making a tiny face at him.

"Or he can uh…just make a salad for you."

"Watching my figure for me, are you?"

"Oh, no…fuck…"

He had been away from people for too long. He had forgotten how much he loathed her smart remarks.

"I'm surprised there is room for food in that mouth of yours, Granger. What with those two boulders you call teeth blocking the entrance."

She nodded, smiling, clearly biting her tongue. She would eat and leave him, was what she would do.

"So then, asshole…How come you aren't eating a salad?"

He looked at her seriously.

"Ah, good question. Glad you asked. You see…I'm in training."

"Training…yeah, I can really see you've bulked up over the years."

"Aren't you even going to ask what I'm in training for before you insult me, Granger?"

"No."

"A rice eating competition."

"Oh, good luck!" She closed her box.

"It is you, isn't it?"

"Hmm?" she stood.

"You're Granger…aren't you?"

"Hermione, actually." She threw the rest of her food again and drained her can of the remaining soda.

"I was just joking about the rice…and the salad."

"I figured, Malfoy."

"Yeah, because…you know, the rice and chicken is pretty healthy as well."

She looked at him one last time.

"Thanks for the tip."

Hermione:

What had made her go to the market was unclear. Hunger, mostly; boredom as well. She had spent the beginning of her day in the Killarney Park, finishing Wuthering Heights. She had never taken this long to finish a book before, and it surprised her how much she liked that. The story seemed more drawn out that way, as if the characters were taking their time telling her the story.

But after she finished she couldn't linger. She was restless, shaken from her memory the other day. So she apparated a few miles from the market and then walked, not thinking about anything but the roads ahead of her. And when she had finally sat, ready to eat and relax, Malfoy had walked over and her whole body vibrated with anger. It didn't even make sense that he was here. How was it even possible that he had decided to be here, when she was as well?

He talked to her about…salads, and healthy choices. About off brands of Ginger Ale, as if things like that even mattered to her anymore. And when she left, she had heard him shift on the bench, as if he were moving to where she had previously been sitting. The thought made her…confused. Not happy, not sad, not angry…just confused.

And later that night, after she had stumbled into her room and fallen into her bed without even peeling off her clothes, she was reminded of that first time she had even met Malfoy and of the time he had called her Mudblood…and when she was being tortured six years later in front of him and he did nothing.

She began to fall, slowly, into a dreamless and powerful sleep.