A/N: Oh look! Another new story. I swear I intend to finish all of my works in progress one of these days. This plot bunny has been hopping around my brain for about a week now and wouldn't stop until I started putting metaphorical pen to paper.

I have three chapters written and a few more ideas in my head. I have no idea how long this story will be. It could be five chapters or fifteen or even fifty. I'm aiming for at least 4k words per chapter. It's unedited and un-betaed, so be nice if you catch any major mistakes.

If you can guess the book (or series) that is referenced in this chapter, I might offer the promise of a Draco/Hermione one-shot on the prompt of your choice.

As always, I am a poor, public school employee who just likes to play around in the world JK Rowling created.

On with the show!

….

I'm not entirely certain how I ended up in this particular pub, but they serve a decent scotch, so I suppose it's alright. I swirl the amber colored liquid around in the rocks glass with the intent on taking another sip when I feel a presence behind me. With everything that happened during the war, I stiffen and knock back the remainder of my scotch in one motion fully expecting that whoever is behind me knows who I am and is about to punch my lights out. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

"Are you alright?" The voice of a concerned sounding female comes from behind my left ear. Well, that was a waste of my scotch.

I shrug my shoulders and issue a non-committal grunt as I motion to the bartender for a refill of the scotch. I don't even want to think about my tab right now.

The woman slips onto the barstool next to me and I catch a glimpse of tanned skin and long, straight hair the color of caramel.

As the bartender passes me my next glass of scotch, clearing away the empty one, the woman beside me orders a vodka tonic in a voice that for some reason, makes me feel better. The lilting sound of her honeyed tones in a smooth alto feels like home, though I have no reason to associate her in the manner. Given that she is more than likely a muggle, the probability of me seeing her (or hearing her voice) ever again is slim to none.

She simply sits in silence beside me as I wallow in my own pity. I'm halfway through my glass of scotch before she says anything.

"You don't have to talk to me, but I'm here if you need someone to listen," she says, and I see her lift her glass to her lips. I turn my head slightly and see that she's brought a book… to a pub. Who does that?

I watch as she traces the rim of her glass with a tastefully manicured nail while her other hand turns a page of the book. I catch the author's name at the top of one of the pages and decide to say something. Hopefully it doesn't come out too slurred, I'm not even entirely certain how much I've had to drink.

"Which one are you reading?"

She holds the novel up for me to see the cover. A little boy is holding up a glowing blue orb towards a man who doesn't look much older than me while a much older man with a long beard in the background stands with his arms aloft.

"Book 3." I can hear the smile in her voice when she says which book she is on, but I keep my eyes downcast. I don't need her to look into my eyes and see everything that is wrong with my world. Once glance and she would instantly know, I'm certain of it.

"Have you read the entire series?"

"Many times," she says, marking the page with a bookmark she had apparently pulled out of the text sometime earlier. "I just needed a good adventure to lose myself in, you know?"

I nod, still unsure why I'm making small talk with this muggle woman. Maybe it's the warmth in her voice or perhaps it's the fact that I'm desperate for someone to confide in given the circumstances of the past twenty-four hours in which my life went to utter shite.

"Have you read it?" She asks and I see her lift her glass upwards again, presumably to take another drink.

"I've read the author's entire works." Honestly, they were my first introduction to muggle literature. I snuck out of the manor one day and went to a muggle bookshop where I purchased my first book written by a non-wizard, and it just happened to be about magic, though they were called sorcerers, not wizards, and there were no wands, simply the will and the word. It was what motivated me to practice wandless magic more, if I'm being completely honest.

"Do you have a favorite?" She asks, leaning forward to rest her chin in her hand as she draws a finger around the rim of her glass. I can make out the curve of her cheek in my peripheral vision, but I generally keep my eyes down. I probably look like I'm peering into my scotch like my life depended on it.

We continue to discuss the series, comparing characters from the various works and the similarities between the story lines for several minutes. Her laugh is like a balm for my fractured soul when I tell her who my favorite character is (of course he is the most cunning of the bunch) while hers is a brilliant scholar who is misunderstood due to his outward appearance.

"Thank you." I say, finally getting the courage to look at her. Of course, she's stunning. Her caramel colored hair is parted on the side and extends down to her elbows. Her eyes are a few shades darker than the scotch in my glass with flecks of gold throughout and the way she smiles at me carries all the way up to those amber colored orbs. I'm nearly certain I could get lost in them for days.

"For what?" she asks and I can tell she knows my mood has vastly improved from the state she found me in.

"For turning my day around." I say, "it's been a rough twenty-four hours." I want to confide in her but I know I'll need to be careful. Muggles aren't supposed to know about our world, after all.

She inclines her head and smiles at me. It's another warm, kind smile that you would give someone you might be friends with. "I'm still here if you'd like to talk about it."

My eyes drift back down into my nearly empty glass of scotch. How do you explain to someone that your father disowned you for refusing to marry a perfectly adequate witch? How do you explain to someone that your father kicked you out with your wand, the clothes on your back, and the money in your wallet? I'm not even certain I have access to my vault at Gringotts. The worst thing is not knowing how to explain to someone that your mother, who you thought loved you above all else, supported your father's decision.

"I…" I try to speak but I'm struggling with my words. I'm honestly not certain if it's due to however much scotch I've managed to consume or the gravity of my situation. Probably my situation, I don't feel nearly as drunk as I did when Aphrodite herself with her subtle floral perfume sat down beside me and ordered a vodka tonic.

"I guess the short of it is that I was kicked out by my folks." There. I said it. I admitted to myself and to this nameless muggle woman that I no longer have a home. Hell, I'm probably no longer even considered a Malfoy, at least not by the two people who were supposed to love me above all others. No, money and power are more important when you're a Malfoy, despite the claim that family is their top priority.

We protect our own, he always said. Big, fat lie that was. They're probably dancing sideways in the library where I left them trying to make another heir because their only son didn't want to marry a witch he didn't love.

Haven't I sacrificed enough? I shouldn't have to sacrifice love too.

"Oh, Draco," she croons as she rests one of those perfectly manicured hands on my shoulder. Her touch is apparently the exact thing I've been trying to find at the bottom of a barrel of scotch since everything happened. I instantly feel better as I feel her hand gently rub my altogether too tense shoulder.

"Do you have somewhere to stay?" She asks and I barely make out the words through the euphoria that is this muggle woman rubbing my shoulder.

"I'll work something out." I manage to mutter.

Wait. I never told this woman my name. How did she know who I was? I would swear on a signed, first edition of Hogwarts a History that she wasn't a witch. She was in a pub in the heart of muggle London with a muggle book wearing muggle clothing. She drank muggle liquor and is probably even wearing muggle perfume.

Oh fuck. She's probably a muggleborn in which case she probably hates me for the role I and my now not-family played in the war a few years back. Backing up again, she's been nothing but nice to me.

She knows my name. Do I know her? I turn my head again and look up at her, being careful to truly observe her features and compare them with anyone I may know. If her hair would curly she would look an awful lot like…

"I have a spare bedroom if you need a place to crash."

I'm fairly certain I look at her as though she's grown a second head. I see it now. Everything makes sense. The planets align. I take that back, nothing makes sense.

I sputter out her surname because I can't begin to even think about calling her by her first name "Granger?"

Her laughter feels my ears and I suddenly feel very strange for thinking what a beautiful sound it was not moments ago. "Really, Draco? We've been chatting for at least a half hour and you just now notice?"

I know my eyes narrow and the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. "You look nothing like yourself." Well, that was a thoroughly idiotic thing to say. She looks exactly like herself, only much more elegant… and hot damn is she gorgeous.

Fuck. I'm attracted to Granger. When did my life get this weird? I'm not sure if I should be blaming my father or the scotch at this point.

She just shrugs her shoulders and takes a sip of her vodka tonic, which I notice is primarily ice at this point. "My date went south." She laughs again and I'm smitten. I silently pray to myself that there isn't some kind of ridiculous grin on my face but I can't be entirely certain because I can't really feel my face thanks to the scotch.

"It's normally jumpers and jeans," she says as she motions to her hair, "and you know, the curls. This was all Ginny's doing. She was convinced he was the one, if you know what I mean."

I forget for a moment who exactly is sitting in front of me and I blurt out, "Well, he sounds like an idiot, you look fantastic."

She blushes. She fucking blushes and I think it's forever seared into my brain. Then I remember it's Granger. Best friend of Harry Potter. Insufferable Know-it-All. Gryffindor's Princess. The Brains of the Golden Trip. War Hero. That last bit is probably the most important because I'm fairly certain that without her, I would be permanently prostrated before a madman without a nose.

I touch my nose. Probably the last time she touched me before she put her hand on my shoulder tonight was to punch me in the face. I deserved it. Looking back on myself, I would've punched thirteen-year-old me in the face too, and maybe in a few other choice places for how much of a git I was.

"Thanks, Draco." I hear her mutter and I'm brought back into the present, away from my thoughts. I notice she's been using my first name, which I find odd. She's always been Granger and I've always been Malfoy.

I remember her offer and I still can't fathom how we got to this point. Again, we are in Muggle London. Granger looks like a runway model. My parents have just disowned me and she's offering to let me crash in her spare bedroom. My life has already turned upside down, so I may as well keep it spinning on its axis before it decides to change that as well.

"Why are you offering to help me?" I ask, probably a bit too skeptically.

She reaches out and places her hand atop mine. Given that it's the middle of winter, I would expect it to be freezing, but it's warm and soft. "I know what it's like to be orphaned and left to fend for yourself."

I remember reading something in the Prophet not long after the war ended where the story of how Granger oblivated her parents and sent them to Australia was told. To my knowledge, they are still there, completely oblivious to her existence. That much be significantly more awful that my situation. Her parents loved her and she sent them away so they would be safe. I thought mine loved me, but they turned their backs as soon as I did something they didn't approve of.

I almost mutter, "Malfoy's don't take charity" but I stop myself before the words cross my lips. I'm not a Malfoy anymore, unless my parents decide to relent, but I don't see that happening. Why they can't just make business deals without involving their children being tied to one another for eternity?

Instead, I probably put my foot in my mouth again when I ask her, "But don't you hate me, like everyone else?" It's true, I am not well liked by the wizarding community because of my role in Dumbledore's death.

She shakes her head and gives my hand a gentle squeeze. I can almost imagine how her curls would bounce instead of the straight hair she's got right now. I imagine it would be rather mesmerizing. "Not particularly. I learned how important forgiveness was to the healing process."

"Oh." Not only does she not think I'm the scum of the earth, she's actually forgiven me. I realize at that moment I've never apologized to her for all of the nasty things I said to her, not to mention everything else that happened during the war.

"Granger, I…" She stops me by holding up her hand. I kind of wish she would put it back on top of my hand.

"You don't have to apologize, Draco. I meant what I said, I forgive you." She draws in a breath and gets that look of determination on her face that I remember from school. She looks much more like herself right now than she has all evening. I can't say it detracts from her loveliness.

"Now, my offer still stands. If you need a place to crash, even if it's just for a night, I have a spare bedroom."

I honestly don't have anywhere else to go. There's not enough in my wallet for a decent hotel room, especially after I pay this bar tab and I don't know yet if I still have access to my personal vault. After I left yesterday, I wandered around London and have been in this pub for the past several hours. I'm probably in desperate need of a shower and a shave, but I don't even have any clean clothes. When I said they kicked me out with the clothes on my back, I meant it in the most literal sense.

I swallow my pride and force myself to look at her. She looks nothing but sincere. "Are you sure you wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all. I don't live very far, either. I'm not sure you're in a fit state to apparate."

We pay our respective tabs and I thumb through the money in my wallet. I can probably buy myself a few items of clothing, but I won't be able to get much. My head starts swimming when I start thinking about everything I might need to survive. Now I know exactly why my father did this. It was just another ploy to bend me to his will.

I shrug on my coat as my companion wraps herself in her own. I hold the door for her to pass through before stepping out into the cold, winter air. The sun has set and the sky is dark, but the stars at visible because of the cloud cover. I've always enjoyed looking at the stars. One half of my family is named after them, but I think they would bring little comfort tonight.

I shove my hands in the pockets of my coat as I walk beside the one woman I never thought I would see again. We walk in relative silence, listening the ambient sounds of the night coupled with the crunch of our shoes in the shallow layer of quickly hardening snow.

"What happened?" she asks, finally breaking the silence as we turn another corner and start down a street of small, but trim town homes. Many of them are a non-descript brown but there are several which have potted plants near the entry way or front doors painted in various colors.

"I finally stood up to my father." I say. It's ultimately the truth. I catch her inquisitive look out of the corner of my eye and elaborate further. "There was a marriage contract coupled with a business deal."

I look over at her and her amber colored eyes have grown about three sizes larger than normal. It's clear she didn't know that those types of arrangements still exist in our world. I hate to tell her, but pureblood mania is still alive and well, especially with the older generation. It doesn't take a Dark Lord for hate to continue to fester, even if it is over something as silly as blood.

"I refused the contract and was told in no uncertain terms that if I didn't accept it, I would no longer be welcome in my own home and I would be completely cut off. Father will probably wait a month or two for me to "come to my senses" as he put it before he completely disinherits me, but it's what is coming."

I languidly kick a discarded snowball aside, though it has turned to ice by this point. It lands with a thud against the stoop of one of the homes.

"Anyone who goes against their preconceived notions is cast out. I finally do something for me and am promptly informed that I don't hold that family's interests closely enough that therefore am no longer part of the family."

I glance over at the witch at my side once more. She's biting her bottom lip and appears lost in her thoughts. I wonder what she thinks of my story. Poor little rich boy, what does he know about misery? Well, he's about to learn a whole hell of a lot. How do people live without mountains of galleons in their vaults? I suppose I'm going to find out. I'm certain I'll be eating vast amounts of humble pie over the next year.

"Would it be impertinent of me to ask why you didn't want to sign the contract?" She asks and I'm honestly a little floored. I would have expected her to launch into a tirade about the injustice of my being disowned or even a soliloquy of how awful my family is, but instead she asks for a reason why I didn't go along with it.

I've already told her more than I should have tonight, I might as well tell her the truth. "I wasn't in love."

"Oh." I hear her breathe and I know she probably has some sort of poetic ideal in her head now. Love, rainbows, unicorns – all of that swill girls are taught before they're even out of their nappies. I consider myself a realist. I know that finding love can be easy – especially if you meet the one as they say, but staying in love takes a lot of work.

"She was a perfectly acceptable witch. Beautiful, accomplished, charming… but I didn't love her. Maybe I could have in time, but I wasn't willing to commit myself to someone for life on a maybe."

"Marriage is so different here than in the muggle world." She says as we turn another corner. I start wondering if we've already passed her home because it feels like we've been walking for hours. That could also be the alcohol in my system talking.

I doubt she even knows the half of it. "Divorce is exceedingly rare in our world." I comment with a shrug of my shoulders. "If I'm going to be bound to someone for the rest of my days, I want to be certain that she's the one."

She stops in front of on the brown bricked homes with a bright blue door, though there are no plants outside on the stoop. "I think that's admirable, Draco."

"Thanks, Granger." I say, still unable to bring myself to use her first name. She doesn't seem offended in the least, for which I am grateful.

She motions to the home before us. "This is it." She says as she walks up the step and draws a key somewhere out of her bag. "It isn't much, but it's home." There's something sad about the way she says the word home and I know that she probably thinks of her parents whenever she says that world. Even though we're a few years out from the end of the war, she must still miss them terribly. I wonder if the spell was unable to be reversed or if she was unable to locate them in Australia.

I keep my mouth shut as we enter her home. It's tidy and sparsely decorated but there's a distinct warmth about it. Mismatched pillows sit on a sofa and a loveseat while a wingback chair in a faded blue is positioned near the hearth. There are a few picture frames here and there in the small space while three books are stacked up on an end table. Gauzy curtains in a blue color hang alongside the windows and I can imagine the natural light that filters in during the day.

"There's not much downstairs – mainly the sitting room and the kitchen. There are three bedrooms upstairs as well as the loo." She sheds her coat and hangs it on a rack near the door and for the first time I notice she's wearing a cocktail dress in a deep indigo. Right. She had a date before she managed to stumble across me.

"It's nice, Granger." I say. On the one hand, it's nice to know that I at least have somewhere to sleep, but on the other hand, I'm in Granger's house. Despite the fact that she says she's forgiven me, I still feel the distinct need to prove myself.

She walks towards a set of stairs I see across the sitting room. "I'm sure you're tired after everything you've been through, let me show you to the guest room."

We ascend the stairs to the top floor and she opens a door down a short hallway. "This is the loo. I have a few things in there that don't smell like flowers for when Harry or Ron stay over."

Up until this moment I had completely forgotten about the remaining two thirds of the Gilded Trifecta. I shudder to think what they would do if they knew I was here. Potter and I were always at odds and I can't say I ever found Weasley to be pleasant. I peer into the bathroom and see that it's simple, much like the rest of the house. All of the fixtures are an off-white color while the cabinetry is a darker wood.

We continue down the short hallway and she opens another door. The room is small, but there is a bed, which takes up the majority of the space, looks comfortable and is covered in a simple blue duvet. There is a chest of drawers near one wall and a door that leads to what I can only assume is a small closet.

She draws her eyes over me and I can tell that she's thinking again before she walks over the chest of drawers and pulls out a simple cotton t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants. She places the folded clothes on top of the bed. "I hope those will fit. They're Harry's, but I doubt he'll mind if you borrow them."

He'll probably burn them if he knows I've been in the same room with them, let alone wore them. I keep my thoughts to myself and thank the witch for her hospitality instead. "Thank you, Granger. I'm truly in your debt."

She shrugs her shoulders and gives me a kind smile. "I'll be down the hall if you need anything."

She leaves the room, her dress flouncing as she walks. I hear her footsteps stop and notice she releases a sigh before I can't hear her walking anymore. She must have taken off her shoes, Pansy used to complain about her heels all of the time, but she refused to take them off.

Thinking of Pansy makes me I wish I could have crashed with one of my friends, but life has a funny way of things sometimes. Theo is on assignment over in the United States doing something for the auror department while Blaise went to Italy for the holidays. Pansy is still living at home while finishing up her healer training. Knowing that my mother and hers are best friends means that there is no way they would open their home up to me. Perhaps I could stay with Theo and his boyfriend once he returns to England.

I grab the small bundle of clothes she's left out for me and make my way to the bathroom. I fiddle with the knobs until I can get the water to an acceptable temperature before I let the steam overwhelm my senses. I give myself a few moments to relax before scrubbing myself raw. If I'm going to start over, I might as well be clean for it. When I get out of the shower, I dry myself with a towel and slip into the clothing she laid out for me. The shirt is a little snug and the pants are just a bit too long, but they're not too uncomfortable.

I cast a quick cleaning charm over my clothes, but I know they'll need to be properly laundered sooner than later.

When I make my way back into the small bedroom, I see a vial of what I assume to be a sobering potion on the bedside table and a hastily scrawled note on a scrap of parchment.

Take it one day a time. We can make a plan to get you on your feet tomorrow.

I knock back the potion, grimacing at the sour taste of it before my head truly starts to clear. Sinking down into the bed, I look around the small space and sigh. I'm have no idea how to move forward. The easiest solution would be to go crawling back to my father, marry the witch in question, and be the perfect little Malfoy heir that everyone expects me to be. That wouldn't make me happy. Right now, the only thing I truly want is to find some measure of happiness in my bleak existence.

I extinguish the lights with a wandless spell before my hands fold behind my head as I lay back onto the pillows.

One day at a time?

Here's hoping that tomorrow looks a little brighter than today.

….

AN: Please let me know what you think!