Chapter 4: Brightest Witch of Their Age Breaks the Heart of The Lion

Hermione wasn't sure if she was on her third or fourth pint, but it didn't matter. She felt a little weightless, less constricted, and even thought she was still sitting in the damned monstrosity of a dress, she didn't feel like she was suffocating anymore.

She wondered vaguely how Harry had broken the news. If they'd cancelled everythin. If Molly wanted her head on a shiny, silver platter. Her name was going to be slandered by every witch and wizard in Britain come the morning. Hell, it might have been by now. She had no idea of the time, twilight stuck around for hours on summer days like today. Surely though, the papers were calling her the devil already.

Thank god Rita Skeeter was still tucked away in a glass jar on a shelf in her office, because the beetle of a woman would have a field day with this one.

Brightest Witch of Their Age Breaks the Heart of The Lion.

She could see it now. Tabloids would crucify her; people were going to hate her. Ron Weasley wasn't just Harry Potters best friend and War Hero anymore - he was a champion Quidditch player and had quite the following. He was in the running to captain the Chudley Cannons next and had been handpicked for the English team. He was only 25 and people loved him.

His fame had been half the reason it had been better to stay with him. They were a "darling couple" according to Witch Weekly. Successful, Smart, Beautiful; all things people wanted to see from them.

She had nothing left after this.

"Merlin, Granger you haven't drunk all of those have you?"

"Sod off, Malfoy." She answered automatically, without really registering what she was saying.

She gave a gasp and turned, her eyes landing on the last person she ever expected to see in the wizarding world again, let alone in the middle-of-nowhere, muggle England.

Draco Malfoy.

He barely looked like himself dressed in a cream cable knit sweater and blue denim jeans. It was a far cry from his black suited robes he'd worn during the war. His blonde hair was a little longer than it had been, falling forward toward his sharp cheekbones. She hardly recognised him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She snarled, straightening in her seat. She'd become slouched in the couple of hours she'd been at the bar but no one had asked her to move. No one had even really acknowledged her except the bartender, who had pushed a pint of water into her hands before he'd given her the requested third pint. That was why there were four glasses in front of her, she realised, but Malfoy thought she was an alcoholic.

"Me?" His brows rose as he looked her over, taking in the glasses again and her stupid dress. "I happen to live here… The better question is what are you doing here?"

Hermione frowned.

"You live here?" She asked incredulously. "As in, muggle England, Lakes District, here?" She dropped her voice and glanced around.

"Yes." He said easily, folding his arms across his chest. "I live in muggle England, lakes district, here."

"Bullshit."

"Such language, Granger."

"It's utter bullshit." She rolled her eyes. "I don't believe you. How the bloody hell did you find me?"

Malfoy gave a short, sharp laugh and pulled up the stool next to her.

"Find you?" He asked with a laugh before he raised his hand. "Tim?" He called and she realised he was addressing the barman.

"Derek, lad, good to see you." He was greeted with a broad smile. Hermione's mouth fell open. "Same as usual?"

"I'll have what the lady is having, actually." Malfoy replied with a slightly crooked smile. It was like seeing a dog try to walk on two legs or a cat try and speak. There was something vaguely off about the whole situation and she couldn't think of a single coherent thing to say.

Tim eyed her slightly before he pulled Malfoy a Guinness.

"d'You know this lass?" He asked as he placed the pint before him and Malfoy nodded.

"Old school friend." He explained, which baffled Hermione further. They had most certainly not been friends.

"Ah. I'll leave you to it." Tim nodded and disappeared to serve someone on the other end of the bar.

Hermione turned to him, her fists balled into the fabric of her dress.

"We most certainly were never friends." She sputtered and Malfoy nodded.

"I know."

"Then why did you lie?" She demanded and he shrugged.

"Couldn't exactly say I was a horrible twat to you, could I? Tim likes me. I like him. I don't want to ruin that." He replied easily, and once more she was speechless.

This couldn't be happening, she decided. She's stressed herself into a gods honest hallucination. She didn't know why, out of all people she knew, it was Draco Malfoy she was manifesting; but maybe it was her brain's way of punishing her.

"This… is… I'm hallucinating, aren't I?" She asked, more to herself than to him.

"No, but four pints? You might be a little drunk."

"I am not." She argued. "I've only had three… that one was water." She poked a finger at the almost clean glass. She cast a look to the bartender. "He made me drink it. Refused to give me anything else unless I drank it."

"Tim is a good man." Malfoy nodded.

"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" She demanded again, still not sure what to say. He took a drink and shrugged.

"I told you, Granger, I live here. I have a cottage up the lane a bit, on the outside of the village." He glanced down at her dress again. "I think you've got more explaining to do than me."

"I don't need to explain anything to you." She huffed, smoothing the skirts where she'd wrinkled the fabric.

She hated this dress. It wasn't what she'd wanted at all but when Jacques DuPont wanted to design your wedding dress you just cannot say no apparently… according to both Ginny and Fleur.

It was too tight in the waist and had sleeves that didn't cover her shoulders, made from fabric that moved like water but she had no idea how to move in it. She felt so out of place in it because it was so ostentatious; It was covered in a starlight charm, for merlins sake, so it glittered at every turn. It was just a lot of fuss, something Hermione was not.

"Are you getting married in the Lakes District?" He asked. "I haven't seen any red headed gits wandering around…"

"Sod off, Malfoy." She muttered again, shaking her head.

"According to Witch Weekly your wedding was going to be the affair of the year and was expected to have over a hundred people in attendance." He continued, resting his elbow on the bar to face her. "But I've seen no one new in the village except for you… so unless you're getting married alone -"

"I ran away, ok? Is that what you want to hear?" She asked hotly, gripping her glass tightly. She was feeling sick again. He knew about her wedding, knew there had been over 100 people on the guest list and that was a reminder she'd let them all down. She could feel the panic rising in her chest again and if she didn't make a move now she was going to vomit all over the pretty gown and maybe even over Malfoy as well.

As tempting as that thought was, she decided against it.

"Excuse me, I think I need to leave." She muttered, tipping her drink back to finish it. She somehow missed her mouth, pouring what little was left of the black ale down the sweetheart front of her bodice. She gasped and slammed the glass to the bartop before sliding off the stool.

"Granger, wait -"

She didn't stop as she headed for the door. A blast of cool, country air hit her as it opened and a tall, pretty woman stepped in.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," They apologised before stopping. "Derek?" She queried, head tilting to the side. Hermione realised too late that he was right behind her and this woman had called him Derek.

"Derek?" She asked. She'd assumed she'd misheard the barman earlier but now she wasn't so sure. "Who the hell is Derek?"

"Poppy." Malfoy said, obviously greeting the woman. "I… will be a moment if you just want to find us a table."

Hermione glanced at him, realising he had answered to Derek. Jesus fucking Christ, he had moved to the Lakes and had changed his fucking name.

Her head spun. This was too much for the day.

"I'm sorry, I need to get past." She said hurriedly to the woman named Poppy. Her skin erupted into gooseflesh in the chilly, evening air. The sun was almost gone now and the night as cool. She still hadn't decided where she was going but she picked a direction and attempted a straight line.

"Sorry, love, she's a school friend… I'll be back." She heard Malfoy say and she tried to pick up her pace. "Granger!" He called to her and his damned, long legs caught up to her within moments. "Granger, stop." He said, reaching out to take her arm.

She turned on him as his palm curled around her bicep, her palm connecting with his cheek.

"Don't you touch me." She hissed, her blood boiling that he'd dared to even try. Not after everything he'd put her through as a child… after what his family had done.

It was like the cool air had cleared some of her senses and she really remembered who he was. She hadn't seen him since his trial, a month after the war was declared over. He'd been thinner then, paler. A wreck, she remembered thinking, and it may have been the clinching reason that she'd agreed to take the stand with Harry to testify that Draco Malfoy shouldn't suffer for his elders' mistakes. She'd concisely argued that he had been too young to really know what he'd been doing, that the promise he'd made to kill Dumbledore had been under duress and that he'd failed anyway as it was Severus Snape who'd made the killing blow.

But he was still the boy who had tormented her for all her school years. Who'd called her a mudblood and a bucked-toothed know it all.

He was still the nephew of the woman who had tortured her during the war, physically and mentally scarring her for life.

Despite saving him, she was scared of him and she lashed out. Her palm connected with his cheek a second time before he caught it, long fingers wrapping around her wrist.

"Ouch, blood hell Granger what the fuck did I do?" he grunted, rubbing his face.

"I don't need this right now. Not from you. I just ruined my whole life… I don't need to hear whatever vile thing you have to say to me."

"Easy, Granger. I haven't said anything vile yet but I understand." He said as he held up his hands. "I just wanted to make sure you were ok?"

"Ok?" She hissed. "O.K? How the fuck can I be ok? I left my fiancé at the altar this afternoon. I have nowhere to fucking go and then I run into you of all people." She stepped toward him and he flinched back. "No, I'm not fucking ok but, no, I don't want your help."

She felt like she couldn't breathe again. Her lungs had all but stopped working and this merlin damned dress was doing its hardest to kill her. Her stomach rolled and she knew, without a doubt, she was about to be sick.

"Granger, I –"

And then she was.

All over Draco Malfoy's very nice, very expensive looking loafers.

"Merlins hell, Granger!" He gave a shout, jumping back; but the damage had been done. Three pints of Guiness and a pint of water were soaking through what looked to be quality leather. She blinked through tears until his vomit-covered shoes were just blurry blobs below her. She wasn't game to stand up straight when she felt so close to passing out.

"Just calm down, ok, before you give yourself a heart attack." His hand found her back and she didn't fight him. She couldn't move as blood roared in her head. "You're an absolute mess."

She didn't hear what he had to say next as she turned to the bush and vomited again.

She knew she was a mess and she had no one but herself to blame.

"Fuck this." He growled, arms circling her shoulders to drag her to standing. She only had a moment to realise he was holding her against his chest before she was snapped out of existence.

They reappeared in what appeared to be a cosy kitchen, which was good because the unexpected apparition meant she needed to vomit again.

"Over the sink… that's it…" Malfoy said, leaning her over the black iron sink. There was thankfully nothing left to come up but the cool water from the tap was nice against her cheek. She scooped a handful of it into her mouth rinsing and spitting a couple of times before she straightened, her knuckles white as she gripped the counter.

"Where are we?" She asked in a croaky voice, throat shredded from vomiting up nothing.

"My cottage." He replied, toeing off his shoes gingerly. He tossed them into a garbage bin, along with his socks and shook his head.

"Why are we here?" She asked, trying to make sense of everything.

"Because you don't have anywhere else to go and I couldn't exactly leave you on the street. You would have spilched yourself if you'd tried to go anywhere and there's nothing around here for miles." He explained succinctly enough.

Hermione leant against the cool marble counter and looked at him. He seemed genuine as he leaned around her and washed his hands. He didn't look at her as left, disappearing for a few moments before returning with some new shoes on his feet.

"Why do you even care?" She asked and he finally met her gaze.

"Just because I was a selfish prat when we were children, Granger, doesn't mean I'm still the same." He answered simply. "The war changed everyone, including those on the other side."

She frowned at his answer as his words struck a chord but he didn't let her speak as he reached for the door.

"I'll be back later on. You're welcome to any food you need. Bathroom is up the stairs and to the left. My room is the door over and bottom drawer should have some t-shirts and sweats if you want to get out of that awful dress." He looked her up and down again before he shook his head slightly.

"But… why?" Was all she could think of saying.

"Because this is the last place they'd expect you to be and it's much nicer than the pub."

He was gone before she could say anything, the door clicking closed on her bewilderment.

Draco Malfoy, school bully, certified Death Eater and the nephew of her tormentor, was offering her a safe place to lie low. She really must have lost her mind today, because there was no way this was really happening.