The Harry Potter universe and its characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. By using them below, I am in no way claiming them as my own.

'What do you mean, Voldemort's secret weapon?' Hermione repeated, confused. Draco pulled the flask out again, topping up both empty glasses. He handed her glass up to her. 'The elder wand was the secret weapon.'

'Do you honestly think he'd have just one?' Draco rolled his eyes and downed the second glass, then poured another. 'He was paranoid in a major way about Potter, after the killing curse backfired the first time round.' He stared at the flask, weighing up the cons of having a fourth drink. Hermione made no move on her firewhiskey, but cupped the warm glass against her injured palm.

'But Voldemort's dead now. He's been dead for over a decade.'

'That doesn't change the curse you released.' Hermione's face fell.

'Harry...' she mumbled, thinking of her old friend. He was probably in the cottage in Alnwick with Ginny, blissfully unaware of what was happening 300 miles away.

'It was created by my father. The glass held the spirit of a demon, who could earn his release by killing Harry and aiding Voldemort's ascent to power.'

'Demons don't exist,' Hermione frowned, narrowing her eyes at him. Is this some kind of joke he's playing on me?

'You think you know everything,' Draco growled, opting to fill his glass with firewhiskey once more. He downed it in two mouthfuls. 'You have no clue of the evil which is out there, right under your feet. What were you doing in there?' He demanded.

Hermione blushed and gulped down her own firewhiskey, avoiding his eyes. He could read her like a book.

'You wanted to find something juicy to write about, didn't you?' He chucked his glass into the flames where it smashed against the brick chimney-back. Draco pushed himself up into a standing position, staring at her. 'Do you realise what your stupidity has done?'

She pushed herself up from the chair to face him, equally angry.

'My stupidity!? Whose stupid idea was it to keep that thing down there?'

'You broke the lock!' He pointed a finger into her chest, pushing her back slightly. She batted his hand away.

'You invited me here!'

'You're the one who agreed to the invitation!'

'Like I had a choice!?'

The pair glared at one another, neither one willing to back down.

'You...' Malfoy started, accusingly. Hermione scowled, her hands clenching into fists.

'Filthy mudblood? Just you dare, Malfoy. I'll kick your arse!'

He moved forward and she tensed. His hands moved up to cup her face and he forced his lips onto hers, the kiss passionate and angry. Hermione succumbed, her arms wrapping themselves around his waist, channelling her frustration back at him. The pair fell to the floor, the embrace gaining in intensity. Draco tried to move away from her mouth but she pulled him back, one of her legs wrapping around his to hold him in position. One hand began to search her back, looking for a way to unzip the dress. They tipped sideways, rolling so Hermione was forced to the top, straddling his hips. She pulled away and looked down at him, gasping for air. The once-neat plait was now a mess, strands of curly hair falling over her face. Draco looked up at her, panting, his hands skirting the top of her thighs.

She climbed from him, her hands fumbling to neaten her hair then picked up the flask of firewhiskey from the hearth. Draco pushed himself up into a sitting position, watching her. His head felt hazy and his skin warm where she had touched him. 'That firewhiskey's potent stuff,' he offered. She avoided his gaze, embarrassed about how they'd acted, and instead stared into the flames.

'Will Harry be OK?' She asked weakly. The mention of his once-nemesis was enough to kill Malfoy's buzz.

'I don't know. This was all set up years ago.' He pushed himself up from the carpet and sat on the edge of his desk, straightening his clothes. Her eyes shot to him.

'Do you have any floo powder?'

'Why?'

The entrance of Hermione and Draco into her kitchen was not something Ginny had been expecting. The pair had looked dishevelled and dirty, but Ginny had to admit, she did like Hermione's new style. She smiled at her, pretending that Draco wasn't there.

Hermione hadn't visited the cottage in a long time. She felt horrible for her absence, but Ginny and Harry's home was a place of happiness that she didn't feel entitled to intrude upon. She'd had to overcome her misgivings to check on the couple, and be certain that Harry hadn't been murdered horribly by a demon she had supposedly released.

Ginny dried a wooden spoon on the edge of her apron. She looked very mumsy, wearing a duck-egg jumper with high-waisted jeans, her ginger hair pulled up into a ponytail. 'He's upstairs, sleeping,' she explained with a shrug. 'I'm not so happy about you bringing trash into my house, though.'

Draco was confused, until he realised the remark had been aimed at him. The firewhiskey was still being pumped around his veins and he was spoiling for a fight, but Hermione placed a hand against his arm to silence his retort.

'Can you go check on him?' She asked, desperate. Ginny pulled her apron off with a sigh.

'Are you not going to tell me what this is about?'

'I will,' she promised, 'just not right now.' Ginny rolled her eyes,

'Aha.' The young Weasley left the room, trudging up the stairs to check on her sleeping husband. Hermione narrowed her eyes at Draco.

'You should have stayed at your house.' He folded his arms, looking like a petulant child.

'This concerns me as much as it does you.'

Ginny reappeared in the doorway and shrugged at them. 'He's fine. Still out for the count.'

'And you're sure he's breathing?' Draco asked, lurching forward. Hermione caught his stumble and pulled him upright, but Ginny's suspicions had been raised. She glanced between the pair of them with a disapproving look.

'I don't know what you've gotten yourself into, Hermione, but I want him out of my house. Now.' Hermione grimaced,

'Of course, we'll get out of your hair, Ginny. I'm so sorry for bothering you...' she dragged Draco back towards the fireplace. He seemed less steady on his feet compared to when they'd left and sagged in her arms - that firewhiskey really was potent stuff.