Chapter Twenty: Lost

In the Dungeons of Slytherin, Draco leaned precariously in his chair, feet resting on the top of the desk he rarely used. The drink in his hand had been finished and refilled so many times, he had lost count. His gaze, unfocused and blurry, drifted over the tiny vial of black liquid that sat on the far edge of his desk. Beside it lay a crumpled letter from Snape.

'You know what to do.'

Draco pushed the thought from his mind with another sip. Firewhiskey burned down his throat like Hermione's eyes - the kind of pain he'd gladly suffer time and time again. Another sip. She had looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time all week and in those three seconds when their eyes held, he felt alive. But then she turned away, and with her retreating wide-eyed gaze, she took with her the breath he had been holding. Again, the suffocating feeling of death, of regret, of jealousy, raged in his caged heart.

And Draco was cold once again. He drank.

The suffering blonde barely noticed when Blaise returned to their dorm, the awful Pansy Parkinson in tow. He took another sip. Maybe, if he kept drinking, they'd blur until they disappear.

"Drakey, were you ever going to tell me you and that bossy bint broke up?" Shrieked Pansy much too loud and much too tearful.

He continued to recline in his chair, refusing to give her the satisfaction of his full attention. "Fuck off, Pansy," he drawled. Another sip.

"What if I do something else instead?" the witch flirted, wrapping her cold, bony arms around his chest. "I could help you forget about her."

Draco shrugged her off but turned to face her. He noticed Blaise listening in, watching with a smirk. Blaise can fuck off too. "What do you think the drink is for?" he sneered.

"You know what they say, Drakey, the best way to get over someone is to get under somebody else." She was running her clammy hands up and down his arm now, causing his nose to crinkle.

Again, he shoved her off as he aggressively moved over to his bed on the other side of the room. "I'm not interested, Pansy. I don't need you. Please leave."

He didn't have the energy to send her away with any more articulate words. He was too drunk to be eloquent, but he wasn't drunk enough to want to have sex with Pansy. No, he wanted to be left alone with his thoughts about Hermione. He thought, if he drank enough, maybe he'll start to hallucinate and imagine she's there with him. Maybe, if he drinks enough, he'll pass out and won't wake up. Then, he wouldn't have to deal with the Dark Lord's task or his heartache. Wouldn't that solve everything?

He took a long drink from his cup, finishing it. Was that 9? Or 11? Draco took hold of the bottle on his bedside table, pouring himself another glass.

Pansy was still talking, but Draco had stopped listening to her a few minutes ago. When Draco pushed her off his bed and onto the floor forcefully and without apology, she finally got the picture and left.

But Blaise was still there, which he made known as soon as Pansy slammed the door shut. "So, you're over Granger, are you?" Draco didn't have to look to see the smirk on his face.

"Shut it, Blaise. I'm not in the mood."

"Are you ever in a good mood?" he joked. Draco scowled. "Draco, mate, it's an important question. Pansy won't be the only girl who wants to know–

"Fine!" Draco shouted, cutting him off. "I'm over Hermione. Is that what you want to hear?" It was a lie. Even in his drunken state, he knew it was far from true. But he was drunk and he wanted everyone to just leave him alone. Why wasn't anyone understanding that?

"Actually, that is what I wanted to hear."

The confidence in Blaise's voice set Draco on edge. "What do you mean?" asked Draco, confused at the sneaky smile on his roommates face.

"Well if you're over her, she's fair game, isn't she?" Blaise provoked.

"No," the blonde bit sharply.

Blaise smirked. "No, you're not over her?"

"No, she is certainly not fair game." The words came out of his mouth dripping venom. He took another long sip from his glass.

"Ahh, but she becomes fair game the moment you get over her. So, if you're over her like you claim to be, then the rest of us are free to take a turn," the dark-skinned boy twirled his wand around his finger smugly.

Blaise felt the glare being fired his way; Draco was fuming. "I will not warn you again, Zabini."

"You know, that party of Slughorn's is coming up. I thought I'd ask her to be my date."

For a drunk man, Draco moved across the room and invaded the Italian's space rather quickly. Draco stunk of alcohol, but his fist gathered Blaise's shirt with a powerful force, lifting the daring man's torso from the bed.

"You can't be serious," he threatened.

"Well, I was thinking maybe if I took her on an actual date, I could finally learn how she kisses in private."

Blaise took the series of punches without crying out once. When Draco released him after three good hits, he could feel a bruise around his eye beginning to swell and could taste the blood that trickled down from his nose and into his mouth. Or was it the split lip?

It didn't really matter.

This was what Draco needed. To let it out.

"I suppose you aren't over her then," Blaise observed with a pained, deep voice.

The blonde dragged himself back to his bed and took a seat, hanging his head in between his legs.

Blaise wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, coughing at the effort it took to breathe through his nose. "You know," he said, "it's okay to still want her. I know confronting that terrifies you. It terrifies every man. But you also need to realize that someone else is going to pursue her. She's going to move on eventually if you do nothing. She's going to go with someone else to the party. She's going to get another date to Slughorn's if you don't talk to her. And soon."

Draco set his empty glass down and ran his hands down his tired face. Without saying a word, Draco slipped into his shoes without tying them, and left the room.

By the time Ron had managed to carry Lavender to the common room, she was full-out crying. Sobbing, no, blubbering really, all over his shoulder. It was bloody disgusting if he was being honest. He hated the way she snotted all over him, leaving giant black streaks down his shirt as if she was proud of the fact that she could cry.

She was always crying.

Crying, or whining, or pouting, or shrieking, or judging, or trying to have sex with him.

Ron was thankful to see Parvati on one of the couches and led his girlfriend in that direction with the hopes that Parvati would share this one with him instead of leaving him to console Lavender on his own.

Lavender managed to sit down, transferring her head to the shoulder of her other roommate. Ron felt obligated to do something so he took to rubbing his hand up and down her back.

"I don't understand what I did wrong," she was saying through thick tears. "Who does she think she is? Shouting all of those mean things at me, in front of Won Won, too!"

Parvati gave Ron an imploring look over the top of Lavender's head, asking him to explain more as she hugged the sobbing blonde close. He shrugged, thoroughly unsure why Lavender was so upset and not caring nearly enough to try to figure it out.

Dramatics. Always dramatics, and he didn't have the energy to keep up.

Besides, this time, Lavender wasn't exactly faultless. She's being more daft than usual if she doesn't realize mentioning Malfoy was a terrible idea. To Ron, it was obvious that Hermione's current state of desperation, anger, and madness was somehow linked to her breakup with Malfoy.

Ron wondered if the snake did something new to upset her or if she was finally releasing week-old feelings that had been expounding in the confines of her mind. Either way, Ron wished she had taken some of that anger out on the prat instead; surely a few good hits would help her feel better?

True, Lavender had made it all worse with her dramatics and cruel words, but as far as Ron aw it, Hermione was in a state before they even showed up. He doubted the destruction of Lavender's bed really had anything to do with Lavender at all.

When Ron took to listening again, he frowned at what he heard. "It's not my fault Malfoy got tired of her! She's boring and bossy and so incredibly annoying with all of those books she carries around," ranted Lavender. "What did she expect? It's not like she's that good looking. She doesn't even bother to do her makeup or tame that hair of hers-

Ron was tuning her out again.

Frankly, he didn't quite agree with Lavender on this one. He thought Hermione was one of those people that just made you question the possibility of perfection.

She was simple in that she rarely made you wonder what she meant. She was mostly honest and the best combination of Gryffindor and good. She was a fiery kind of passionate and she wasn't soft. She was brilliant and hardworking and constantly working towards the next thing.

Lavender was wrong about many things. She must have also been blind. Hermione was beautiful. Unlike Lavender, she didn't need to bother with heavy makeup. She was beautiful without really trying.

"I don't deserve this!" Lavender continued to cry out, her voice sounding more and more high-pitched with every breath she took. "I hate living with that vile, rude, inconsiderate trollop!"

Dean and Seamus looked over at Lavender from their spot across the room. Seamus frowned at her words, his eyes narrowed in a glare.

"Shhhh," Ron implored, "maybe keep it down a bit?" He suggested as kindly as he could. "Other people are starting to stare."

She sobbed even louder now, shrieking at him. "I can't control the volume of my tears, Ronald!"

Sighing, Ron ran a hand through his curly hair. He hoped Lavender would calm down soon so he could go to sleep. This was all… too much.

He also wondered how Hermione was doing. He hoped Harry and Ginny were able to calm her down. Did they remember that camomile tea was her favorite?

"RON, I swear you're not even listening to me!" screeched Lavender in his ear as her head came to rest on his shoulder again, painting fresh black stains. Lavender's hands began tracing the outline of his pectoral muscles through his shirt.

The redhead sighed again. He gingerly took her hands in his, removing her from his body, and turning to look her straight in the tearful, blotchy eyes.

"Lavender, I can't do this anymore."

The words didn't seem to register in her ears, her expression remained relatively unchanged.

He tried again, "Lavender, I can't be your boyfriend anymore."

Rather than more tears, her face contorted with rage. The color of her cheeks reddened, and her eyebrows knitted together in a very unflattering shape. "What do you mean, Won-Won?" She attempted to move her hands from where they were held in his back to his torso, but he stood up instead.

"For the love of Merlin, please don't call me that. How many times do I have to ask you?" A thick sigh escaped his lips. He reached to run his hand through his hair again.

"Look, Lavender, you're a fine witch," he lied, "but I can't do it anymore. You're constantly whining and crying and I- I just- I won't do it anymore. I'm breaking up with you."

Just getting those words our felt like a major weight being lifted off of his shoulders. It had been fun at first, but everything got annoying rather quickly and dating her now felt like more of a chore than a pleasure.

"I don't understand, Won-Won," she cried. Reaching out towards him, her hands tried to bring him back to the couch, but he stepped out of reach in time. "I love you! And you love me, don't you?"

"Don't make this harder than it is, Lavender," Ron sighed, avoiding her questions. "I'm sorry," he promised, but he wasn't. He held his hands up like stop signs, preventing her from following him. "We just aren't as good together as we hoped."

Parvati began tracing circles on Lavender's back in an attempt to calm the once again blubbering witch down. When her eyes met Ron's though, she didn't look angry with him. Instead, her eyes seemed to ask how could you do this right now, instead of how could you do this at all?

"But Won Won–

"I'm sorry, it's done. Please," he begged. "I'm going to see if Seamus wants to play some Wizard's Chess, okay? Give me some space. Don't follow me."

Her cries and shrieks filled the common room for another twenty minutes, but Ron had gotten good at ignoring her. The noise didn't bother him at all.

Harry had come down from the Girls' dorms not long after Ron left lavender, but he headed straight for his own dormitory, not bothering to fill-Ron in on Hermione's state.

Why was he always so left out of everything? When would Hermione let him out of the dark? Should he apologize again?

"Your turn mate," Seamus noted with a gesture to the bishop he had just moved.

Ron was thankful for Wizard Chess. It was exactly the outlet he needed after such an eventful, dramatic day.

Draco didn't remember the walk up to Gryffindor Tower being so long and so…. cold… and so many stairs! Didn't he already pass by the painting of the skeleton? And wasn't the obnoxious knight painting on the third floor?

Salazar, this castle was so confusing.

Dressed in uncharacteristically wrinkled trousers and a white button up that flowed over his waistband, untucked, Draco slumped against the cold slate wall. After an hour of meandering through the castle, the Slytherin finally found himself in the corridor of Gryffindor Tower. He took a moment to steady himself, using the wall as support while he took deep breaths to calm his spinning mind.

The Fat Lady and her portrait were just around the corner and up one more flight of stairs. So close, yet Draco paused.

This spot reminded him of a kiss he was able to steal one evening when Ginny and Dean came around the corner. It had been a Saturday; they had spent the afternoon studying in the library. She smelled like books and she tasted like heaven and tea with two sugars, just the way he liked it.

She wanted to stop by her room to get her cloak– or rather the one she'd stolen from him on their first night– before going to work on the cabinet that evening.

Draco thought about that cloak. She still had it. He wondered if she still had it draped over her bedpost, or if she'd shoved it deep into her traveling chest. Maybe she'd burned it. Maybe she'd give it back to him when she saw him next.

Maybe she wants to keep it.

Overwhelmed with new hope, Draco pulled himself up the last flight of stairs, which placed him directly in front of The Fat Lady. Her lips were pursed in a thin line rather than the usual exuberant smile she usually wore when she saw him, but that small detail didn't phase the inebriated Malfoy Heir.

"I'm here to see Her- Hermione Granger," he hiccupped. That's when she noticed the clumsiness of his movements and his tie hanging crooked and loose around his neck.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger isn't available right now," the portrait explained calmly. She'd been listening to the girl's ridiculous shouts all evening. She was here, of course, but The Fat Lady was wise enough to know that Hermione wouldn't be up for speaking at the moment. Especially if she was right in her assumption that the shouting had been about the Slytherin boy.

"No, please, I have to see her," he begged.

"It's past curfew, Mr. Malfoy. Certainly whatever you need to say can wait until tomorrow."

"I'm already out of bed!" he protested with a raising voice. He waved his arms around so much they were beginning to throw him off balance.

"I'm afraid she isn't in the common room, I have no way to reach her."

He was growing more frantic, more angry with every rejection. He was pacing in front of the portrait, fists clenched but feet dragging. "What about last time? Can you send someone to get her?" he asked. He paused for a moment to look up at the painted witch, "Please?"

It was the "please" that had done it. That, and her knowledge of his persistence. He'd continue pestering her for hours until he passed out, and The Fat Lady didn't have time or patience for that.

"Mr. Weasley! MR. WEASLEY!" shouted a woman's voice from the other side of the common room. It was The Fat Lady all turned around in her painting, apparently searching for him.

Ron spelled his knight to take Seamus' queen, ignoring the noise. He'd had enough of over-emotional witches lately. When it wasn't Lavender, it was Hermione, when it wasn't Hermione, it was Ginny, when it wasn't Ginny, it was- The Fat Lady?

Merlin help him, who was it now?

With an eye roll and a huff Hermione would be proud of, Ron left Seamus with a nod and a mumbled: "I'll be right back."

"MR. WEASLEY! Oh, Mr. Weasley, thank goodness you heard me," The Fat Lady began. "Someone is here to see Miss. Granger… and they won't take no for an answer."

"Who is it?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"It's Mr. Malfoy," she confessed, chest falling.

He's got some nerve, thought Ron.

The redhead forced the portrait hole open with such force, The Fat Lady was squawking loudly in her frame. He stepped out of the passage with incredible aggression, his wand up and ready, pointing directly into the ferret's nose.

"You've got thirty seconds to explain why you're here, Malfoy, before I hex that pointy nose of yours right off that sniveling face."

Malfoy's eyes went wide momentarily, but that characteristic arrogance returned all too quickly, causing Ron's grip on his wand to tighten.

"What kind of joke is that portrait lady playing at?" he asked, a scowl making the gaunt lines of his face look sharper, harsher, and angrier.

"Malfoy, I fucking swear–

At the Gryffindor's half step toward him, Malfoy decided to answer honestly, though his superior, confident tone remained. "I'm here to talk to Hermione." The way he puffed out his chest when he said her name made Ron's face redden.

"Why?"

"I have to ask her about the party next week. I wasn't sure if we were still going together."

Ron could see Draco's confidence deflating, his eyes slowly glazing over. Ron's knuckles became white as sheets as he gripped his wand viciously, jabbing it into the asshole's chest hard enough to make him sway.

Drunk. Bastard.

The Gryffindor took a deep breath in an attempt to soothe his suddenly overwhelming fury. "You want to know… if you're still... attending Slughorn's party together?" It came out as a choke, unbelieving, and the prat thought it would be a good idea to flash that bloody smirk.

The prat was so damn wrong.

Ron had thought about it loads of times over the past few years: after he called Hermione a Mudblood in Second Year, then third year when he'd blown the Buckbeak incident all out of proportion – but Hermione had taken the chance before he could – fourth year when he hexed Hermione's teeth, and just last year when he was boasting about on the Inquisitorial Squad.

Ron had contemplated punching the ferret many, many times before.

Tonight, the Gryffindor had finally reached his breaking point.

The force of Ron's left fist sent the pale boy to the floor with a thump. His nose was undoubtedly broken, and the skin below his right eye would surely bruise in ugly shades of purple and blue. Ron watched, breath heavy from adrenaline, as Malfoy nursed his wounds with clumsy hands that covered his face.

"Some nerve you have, Malfoy, showing up here, pissed out of your fucking mind, asking for Hermione," Ron spat years of pent-up anger in those words, but the image of Hermione crying, going crazy at whatever shit this bastard pulled haunted Ron's thoughts and drove his fury.

"She cried over you. She cried for days. She's still crying!" Malfoy's eyes were shut tight, his hands still covering his pale, bruising, bleeding face. "Did you know that, Malfoy? Did you know that she hasn't been able to step foot in her room all week because your things were displayed all around and she couldn't face it? Gryffindor's brave and clever girl is hiding, cowardly, a trait she's picked up from you, I expect.

"She's miserable, but she doesn't want anyone else to know it. But I can tell," Ron shouted, eyes angry and finger pointing proudly to his own chest. "Harry and I are her best friends, we can see through her fake smiles and the way she pours herself into schoolwork whenever she's emotionally suffering."

Ron looked over Draco's body, but the blonde just lay there, face covered, eyes scrunched, submissive for once in his goddamn life. Ron couldn't tell what the other boy was thinking- if he was thinking at all. Part of him hoped he'd punched him so hard that Malfoy had been knocked unconscious.

The Gryffindor dropped his voice into a low snarl. "She barely sleeps, she skips meals, she throws tantrums like a four-year-old… I don't know what you told her, Malfoy, but I hope you're happy knowing that you broke Gryffindor's unbreakable girl. So, to answer your question: no. I don't think Hermione will be needing you to escort her to the party. I can assure you that there are plenty of blokes who would love to take her, ones that don't make her cry herself to sleep."

The portrait hole clicked shut signaling the Gryffindor's departure, and everything was silent. After a moment, Draco lowered his hands from his face, palms drenched in blood. Even from her odd angle, The Fat Lady could see the glistening of tears running down his face; one after the other. Drip. Drip. Drop onto his white button-up. Blood and tears mixed as he brought himself to a shaky standing position, then he turned with great effort to descend the stairs.

The Slytherin Prince, drunk, dizzy, and defeated, staggered his way to the dungeons. Back in his own room, roommates all asleep, he let sleep take over what little control of his body he'd had left.

When he awoke, Draco only remembered the exact shade of amber Hermione's eyes flashed when she looked at him across the Great Hall. He remembered the bitter feeling of jealousy following his conversation with Blaise. He remembered the skeletons in the painting next to the second moving staircase. But he didn't remember ever reaching Gryffindor Tower. His memory stopped just moments before when he'd thought about that kiss, and when he woke, he thought he could taste her tongue with perfect tea and sugar. But quickly, the taste faded, an illusion, as did the memory, now melting and blue.

Firewhiskey will do that to you. Or is that heartbreak?

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A/N: Happy... Tuesday? What is this madness? Yessss, I'm giving you an extra chapter this week. I was itching to get Draco's rough night out alongside Hermione's. I'm also wanting to get back to scenes with them together! They're both in dark places of insanity without each other. Next chapter is Slughorn's party and it should spark some major feels. Stay tuned!

Questions: Should Hermione find out Ron punched Draco? What do you think of Ron breaking up with Lavender? What character does your heart hurt for most right now?

Big Beta Love for Rachelletwin2 for her generous help with this story. BTR would not be what it is without her!

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Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.

Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise