"I can't write back to him! It'll only make everything worse!" Hermione bemoans, falling back onto the sofa with a groan.

Ginny rolls her eyes. "You can write back and you will. You know how he is; Ronald won't stop unless he's scolded, so do what Hermione does best and scold him!" Not letting her friend settle into despair, Ginny drags Hermione up from the sofa and to the kitchen. "Grab her something to write with," she calls back to Harry.

Dashing for the drawer in the kitchen that he knows holds what he needs, Harry pulls out a pen and a few pieces of paper. Ginny snatches them from his hands, slapping them down onto the kitchen table in front of a seated Hermione.

"Now write," Ginny demands, leaving no room for argument. "You'll feel better once you've finished. Besides, I'm not letting you up from this table until your owl is out the window."

"Ginny, please! I can't do this-"

Ginny jabs her finger at the paper. "Write. Now," she growls.

Hermione has years of experience of listening when Ginny uses that tone, so she sighs and uncaps her pen. Her hand only shakes a little when she starts writing.

Ronald Weasley,

You didn't think I could let your letters go without reply, did you? If you did, you are even more of a fool than I was when I fell for you.

I figured that since you already started by calling me names, and my friends are encouraging it, I might as well return the favor. You, Ronald Billius Weasley, are a filthy, no-good, low-life, cheating scumbag who was too much of a coward to break up with me like a normal person might. Instead, you opted to letting me find you with another woman on our wedding day. Never before have I met someone as awful as you, other than Voldemort himself. Truthfully, I'd rather face him again than see you.

Also, because you seem to have some inclination that I kept the wedding day incident a secret for you, I just wanted to inform you of the truth. I did it for my self, and myself only. You and your image played no part in my decision to keep it quiet.

But I'm not the only one who knows now. Due to your own stupidity and your desire to send the letters, Harry and Ginny both know what you've done. Don't doubt me when I say that they despise you more now than they ever did before. How does it feel to have lost everyone who had once loved you simply because you couldn't stop being a prick? I can't imagine it feels too good.

Do us all a favor and disappear again. You're causing more harm than good to your own family by being back here. Leave them, and me, alone and run back to whatever woman you're shagging this week.

Hermione Granger.

It's cathartic, spitting out all those vile words that she's kept pent up inside for so long. A weight feels like it's been lifted from her chest. She hadn't intended to write all of that, but once she'd started, all her rage and pain and sadness had poured out. She's glad she did it, though, because she feels like she can breath easier for it.

Even still, writing had brought up so much she had wanted to keep locked up. It takes a lot to keep from outwardly reacting to the emotions flooding through her, but she prays she manages it.

"Feeling better, Hermione?" Ginny asks, folding up the letter without reading it and tying it to Hermione's owl. The owl swoops out through the open window and Harry closes it afterwards.

Hermione nods and attempts to smile, then she sighs and shakes her head. It still doesn't feel like an adequate response, and she had promised to share with them, so she says, "I'm feeling better than I had been, but it still...hurts, I suppose." She heaves herself up from the chair and goes about busying herself with tea.

There is a silence behind her before Ginny shuffles and announces, "get dressed, we're going out."

Her words bring Harry to attention and he turns to look at Ginny. "We are?" His brow rises but a sharp jab in the ribs has him exclaiming, "I mean, we are!"

"I most certainly am not going out," Hermione immediately protests. "I can't leave Malfoy behind. That's irresponsible and rude." She crosses her arms and rounds on her friends.

"You've left him several times already, and for more than a day at a time," Ginny argues. "I'm sure a few hours won't hurt anything."

"But I don't really want to do this!"

"No complaining. Go upstairs and get ready. You're going out with us, Hermione, so you might as well just make it easy for yourself and for me." Eyes narrowed threateningly, Ginny shoves Hermione towards the stairs and watches her all the way up. Only when the door has closed behind Hermione does she turn on her fiance. "Thanks for the help, love," she snaps, spitting the endearment like an insult.

Harry shrugs and grins at Ginny. "You seemed to have it well handled, dear."

~~~~~

Draco is laying in bed later that evening when a tapping on the window startles him from his near-slumber. He rolls out of bed, grumbling all the while, and allows the bird to fly in. The grey-brown barred owl perches on his left shoulder and hoots softly, brushing his cheek with its beak. It gets a smile from him and he gently pets its downy-soft feathers while extracting the letter.

After being fed a treat, the owl flaps away. Draco unrolls the parchment and begins to read.

Draco,

I am not writing for pleasure this time. This letter is purely business.

Something about what you explained to me on Christmas struck me as odd. Never before have you had difficulty proclaiming your affection for the ones you desire, not even when you were a child. It was this that made me seek out possible answers.

My first thought, of course, was to ask your father his opinion on the matter. I know I said to stay out of contact with him, but this seemed important. Now, I am glad I decided to pay him a visit.

What had originally been a meeting to share ideas on the cause of your troubles quickly turned into something quite terrible. You see...

With each word he reads from there on, Draco's dread seems to double. When he finally finishes, the letter slips from his grasp and he sinks onto the bed with a groan.

Of course he'd do something like this, Draco thinks, anything that would cause me misery would bring him joy. I never imagined he'd take it this far, though. Then again, he always needed to have a finger in every aspect of my life. But this goes above and beyond what he's done in the past. I've got no chance of telling Hermione anything.

Heart wrenching painfully, he presses his palm flat against his chest and grimaces. He'd always imagined this feeling was only in fairy-tales, or stories swapped between love-sick children. This, though, this tremendous ache like splintering glass? There is no way to deny what it is.

Heartbreak, and it hurts like hell.

Draco gives himself a small shake and stands up, heading downstairs in search of something to distract him from the letter. He can't have his mind lingering on it for too long, and doesn't want to focus on why his chest feels so awful.

Just as he's reached the bottom step, the front door creaks open, and he darts into a nearby closet. He knows Hermione had left a while ago and is due back at some point tonight, but he's learned to be suspicious of any foreign bodies entering the house.

From his hiding place, he watches as three figures enter, two of them half-carrying the stumbling and giggling third. The lights are all off, so he can't quite make out who they are, but by the sounds the third person is making, he can tell it's Hermione. Tension seeps from his body, reassured now that it's not an intruder.

"Hush, Hermione," Potter snickers. "You might wake Malfoy. Do you really want him to see you like this?"

There is a soft gasp and then a loud shushing that can only come from Hermione. "Don't wake up Draco, H-hic-Harry," Hermione hisses, then bursts into a fit of laughter that nearly sends all three of them sprawling to the floor.

"I knew we shouldn't have taken her to a pub," Weaslette sighs. "I know she's a lightweight, and she drank more than you and I combined!" Hermione hushes them again and Weaslette goes on in a whisper, "that's the last time I let you pick where we go."

Weaslette and Potter bicker nonsensically in the way that only couples can, too quiet for Draco to hear, until Hermione interrupts them. "Can we go to bed?" Hermione yawns.

Draco has to force down a chuckle, then reprimands himself. I can't think like that anymore! It'll only hurt her and me in the long run.

Shaking away his thoughts, he tunes back into the conversation.

"Let's get you upstairs," Weaslette says. The pair lead Hermione up to her room. There is a few moments of silence, followed by the telltale pop of them disapparating out. Draco's about to leave the closet when, not even ten seconds after their departure, Hermione comes bouncing down the stairs. He watches through the crack as she marches right up to the closet and then she's pulling it open and dragging him out.

"Found you!" Hermione giggles, taking him to the kitchen. Too shocked by the situation, Draco does nothing to fight her. "You shouldn't hide in the dark. You might trip on something," she tells him. Her tone is akin to a mother scolding her child, if a bit slurred. That, of course, lasts a solid thirty seconds after she finishes speaking. Then Hermione bursts into laughter and lets him go.

Draco peers at her, catching the way her eyes don't quite focus and her legs seem to wobble a bit. "Maybe you should head upstairs, Hermione," he says.

Hermione shakes her head wildly and nearly nosedives to the floor had she not draped her top-half on the counter. It sends her into another fit of giggles that only adds to his concern.

"Really, Hermione. You've had too much to drink. You can hardly stand," Draco insists. "As much as I should be enjoying watching the golden girl act so careless, it's actually more worrying than enjoying." He holds out his hand to steady her when she stands up straight.

"I'm hungry," she comments suddenly, ignoring his words completely. "Make me something, please?"

He pauses, thrown by the request, before nodding slowly. "I suppose I could," he replies, unsure. Her smile lights up the room and he can't help but grin back. "What would you like?"

"Pancakes!" she cries, throwing her arms up like she just won a gold medal in those Olympics she talks so much about. Draco stares at her, brow arched, then doubles over and clutches his stomach as peals of laughter spill out. He decides right then that, despite his concern for her safety, he likes drunk Hermione. She's much less serious and far more like an over-eager child than sober Hermione ever is with him.

"Alright, I think I can manage those. You just sit down and I'll make them for you," he agrees after he's calmed down. Hermione nods and plops down at the kitchen table, quietly humming to herself and wiggling in her seat. He works around the kitchen, focused on preparing the batter and getting the pan heated properly. He nearly misses when she stops humming and starts speaking.

"I know he can hear me at night when I'm crying. I know he can, but he doesn't care," she mutters.

Draco turns and peers back at her. She isn't smiling anymore. Her features are marred by a frown and her misty eyes seem to see right through Draco, like he isn't even there.

"Why do you think he hates me so much? I never did anything to make him hate me in the past, besides just existing, I guess," Hermione continues, her brow furrowed and a small crease forming on her forehead. She lays her head down on her arms then and goes right back to humming, though the tune isn't as cheerful as it had been.

It takes him a beat to realize that the person she was talking about is him. With that realization, the spatula in his hand clatters to the floor, splattering melted butter, and he nearly follows it.

She believes he despises her. She actually thinks he doesn't care for her at all and that her cries at night aren't like knives to the chest. He knows that any other time, she would never admit this, but the alcohol has dulled her senses and lowered her walls. Draco almost wishes he had sent her to bed rather than letting her stay up, but he thinks he'd rather have heard this than not.

In this moment, more than any other time, he wants to tell her the truth. He wants to shout it from to rooftops so the entire world can hear it. He can't though. He has to watch her suffer because of his own father, and isn't that just a sick twist of fate? How much Lucius controls his life, even locked away.

But there's a way he can get around Lucius. Two steps up from enemies but a step down from being together. It isn't what he wants, but he can't have that--can never have that with Hermione now--so he'll settle on this.

They can be friends. At least as friends he could comfort her, as long as he kept well away from any thoughts of love. If they were friends, he could still be close to her, protect her and watch over her. He couldn't ever allow himself to try to confess the truth. Friends, though, he can do. After all, he's always been excellent at hiding how he really feels, so this time should be no different.

"Hermione," Draco whispers, stepping over the spatula and walking closer to her. "Hermione, I'm so sorry. Could you ever forgive me?" he pleads. When she doesn't lift her head or so much as shift in acknowledgement of his words, he gently prods her. "Hermione?" Draco bends down closer.

There are soft snores slipping past her lips.

Chuckling quietly, Draco turns and flicks off the stove. He considers for only a moment before carefully scooping her up and carrying her up to her room. She only snuffles and whines at the movement before burying her head in his chest and falling back into a deeper slumber. Draco very carefully does not think about the warmth emanating from her and seeming to fill him up.

After tucking her into bed, he slowly exits so as not to create too much noise and switches off the light. Despite wanting to not disturb her, he murmurs, "goodnight, Hermione. See you in the morning."

Hermione rolls over and burrows under her pillows, pulling the blanket up over her head. Draco watches her a moment, assuring that she would stay in bed this time, before closing the door on his slumbering witch.

Yes, being friends would be easy. He can do this with no problem.