feel the chemicals

Burn in my bloodstream

Fading out again

I feel the chemicals

Burn in my bloodstream."

- Ed Sheeran 'Bloodstream'.

If you'd have told Hermione Granger yesterday that she'd be here, five years after leaving Hogwarts then she'd have called you a liar.

If you'd have told Hermione Granger yesterday that she'd be here, intoxicated and in the current predicament that she was in, then she'd have laughed in your face and probably berated you afterwards.

As it currently stood, however; she was a believer.

The fog in her memory tried to trace back to the exact moment it had changed tonight.

Was it the fifth fire whiskey or ...? She couldn't be sure. She just remembered being annoyed with her application for the further protection of Werewolves rights being rejected by the Wizongamet, and this had made her need a drink.

She'd started off with Ginny and Fleur, graciously consoling her in The Leaky Cauldron and knocking back Green Giants – a slimy concoction of peppermint Rum and pineapple extract. That all stopped however when Fleur had decided she could stand her surroundings no longer and begged Ginny to go, sniffing the air and looking down her nose.

Hermione would have protested but Fleur had a point – the place was a dive. She only came to the establishment because the drinks were cheap and no one paid her any attention. She could be Hermione in that place ... not have to play her part of being the perfect Princess of the Golden Trio.

They'd said their goodbyes and Hermione had insisted she would finish her drink and head home – but she had no intention of actually following her words through. It was a Friday night; she had been professionally and socially rejected ... she was going to have a drink and forget herself until tomorrow.

Tomorrow she could pick up her pieces.

As she had sat on a stool at the bar, she checked out her surroundings. Turning to her left and her right she could see that the bar was actually quite full, with the nooks and crannies being crowded as Witches and Wizards hid themselves away for private chats and drinks.

Hermione snorted into her Green Giant as she watched a Witch to the right of her brazenly coming on to the a rather tall chap who was waiting to be served at the bar.

Hermione would never be so brazen. It had taken her years just to pluck up the courage to kiss Ron. Walking up to someone and laying it on them seemed unfathomable. She only wished she could be that confident.

Ron.

There was another twist in the tale. Yes, they were still dating. Yes, they were still squabbling and bickering ... no, she didn't feel like he supported her when it came to her job and therefore, she hadn't asked him out with her tonight as he just wouldn't understand her dismay.

He had always told her she was passionate. But didn't understand about her passion for her job. They had never seen eye to eye on things like that, even in school. Hermione had compared it to his passion for Quidditch ... he had scoffed and told her it was not the same in the slightest.

Hermione knocked back the dregs at the bottom of her glass and tried to stand up graciously.

She made her way to the bathroom and studied her flushed cheeks in the mirror. Alcohol always did make her cheeks blush. She patted her hair down and brought the ringlets over her shoulders. It was a good she was wearing no jacket due to rise in her body temperature because of the alcohol. She undid the top two buttons of her white blouse.

After putting some water onto the back of her neck she stepped outside the bathroom again and made her way back to her barstool, fully intending to ungraciously down a few more drinks before heading onwards.

The stool was occupied.

By Draco Malfoy.

For the love of God.

Hermione walked over; fists clenched defensively as she geared herself up for some sort of backlash to asking him to move from her chair.

Although at the same time, if she was being rational then she knew that there would be no snide remarks or comments to be defensive about. Malfoy hadn't spoken to her in anything other than a polite and civilised manner for years.

She was aware it was just a natural defence mechanism she would always have against him after years of taunts and insults.

She approached and coughed quietly, attempting to get his attention. He was too busy with the girl next to him, in low conversation and engaging her fully.

Hermione didn't even want the stool anymore; she just wanted her bag from under the stool so she could get out of his way.

"Excuse me." She croaked from behind him and she saw him turn around to her.

Malfoy frowned, obviously annoyed at being interrupted before he realised who she was and the frown disappeared. He nodded at her uncertainly but gave her a small smile of acceptance. "Granger? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The girl by his side was looking at her now too.

No. Scowling. She was most definitely scowling at her.

Hermione ignored it. She felt the heat in her cheeks glow a little more as they were both observing her.

"Really sorry to interrupt." She started "You're sat on my bag."

Malfoy looked down to where she was pointing. He then jumped off the school and apologised to her for sitting in her seat.

Hermione argued that it was fine and that she was just leaving, but Malfoy told her he was better off standing anyway and pushed the seat towards her.

Now what did she do?

Refuse the seat and therefore make it look like she was offended by his offer and in turn offend him? Or did she sit down on the seat and therefore have to awkwardly sit by them as they carried on their conversation whilst she perched on the end like a third wheel?

What a conundrum.

She sat down. Luckily the bartender caught her eye and hastily made up another Green Giant for her to inhale. At least the alcohol would make her feel less awkward if they stayed by her for longer than necessary.

She heard the girl – Astoria, if she could remember her rightly, from school – ask Malfoy if he wanted to find a seat out of the way somewhere. She saw him look around out of the corner of her eye before telling his date that there were no other spaces available.

Hermione's drink turned up. She saw Malfoy's eyebrows raise in mockery as he turned to look at the drink being put in front of her.

"Good God, Granger." He said sarcastically. "Do you call that rat poison a drink?"

Hermione looked up at him and glared. "It gets the job done."

His other eyebrow raised to join his first. "Bad day at the office?"

She huffed. "I'm sure you've heard." She lifted the drink to her lips. "Everyone else has."

She saw him frown. He shook his head and then picked up his own glass and Hermione saw Astoria eyeing Malfoy with contempt. It was always bad etiquette to talk to one girl whilst on a date with another, wasn't it?

Hermione nearly snorted.

Whatever Astoria was thinking, she really needed to not think it. Even the thought of a girl getting jealous because Malfoy was talking to her – of all people – was highly laughable. Surely Astoria knew their past history?

She fiddled with the handle on her glass as she heard the thrum of chatter in the pub. She tried to hone in on other conversations instead of the couple next to her. Astoria seemed to be saying something in a very quiet yet threatening voice. Malfoy wasn't rising to her by the sounds of it.

"It's just Granger..." she heard him say quietly, almost a whisper. "You know it's just polite-"

Hermione felt her blood boil.

Of Course. She was just Granger, wasn't she? Just the same dowdy, fuzzy haired, A-Sexual being from Hogwarts. Why should any girl find her a threat? Man didn't look at her that way.

Except for Ron.

Ron did. When he could be bothered.

She heard a commotion next to her and Astoria was telling Malfoy she wanted to go. Malfoy was telling her he'd just ordered two more drinks and he didn't want to waste them. Hermione heard Astoria huff and give Malfoy an unheard ultimatum.

The next thing she knew, Astoria was walking away from the bar, telling Malfoy she'd call him next week, before giving Hermione a look that could kill and leaving through the creaking wooden doors.

Hermione frowned and chanced a glance at Malfoy.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye as he faced the bar and shook his head. "Don't ask." Was all he said.

The barman brought two fire whiskey's over and sat the in front of Malfoy. Hermione was just finishing the last of her drink when she saw his hand push one of his glasses towards her place at the bar.

He was giving her a drink.

Hermione looked up at him as he looked towards her with a half-smile. He lifted his glass as if to make a toast, before saying "To happy relationships." And taking a gulp of his drink.

They sat in a strange, comfortable silence for about ten minutes. Hermione took sips of the drink he had offered her and it was causing a warm, tingly sensation to stick at the back of her throat. Fire whiskey wasn't her normal choice of alcohol, but it wasn't too bad.

If she held her nose and tried not to Bork, that is.

Malfoy had noticed out of the corner of his eye and started to chuckle. "What's the matter, Granger? Can't drink with the big boys?" his eyes were full of mirth. She had always noticed that about his eyes. They showed off his emotions so easily. She'd seen the hatred in them so much over the years that seeing anything else was just ... strange.

This was all very strange. She needed to go now and –

"How's Weasley?" he asked her and stood turned towards her at the bar now, giving her his full attention. "Haven't seen him or Potter around too much lately ... still attempting to become Auror's I take it?"

Hermione nodded and took another sip from her glass. "They're away a lot on training exercises so they write when they can."

She glanced at him momentarily as she saw him taking his black trench coat off, slip a small tube from the pocket and place it in his pants pocket, before folding the coat until it was small enough to fit under her stool. He was now just in his 3-piece suit attire – grey waistcoat, tie and pants with a white shirt fitted to his frame. Shirt sleeves folded up to his forearms. He always did look immaculate and tonight was no acceptation. Even his hair wasn't out of place – short back and sides but the top of his pushed to the side and backwards. It was rather Muggle-like, if she was honest.

She wanted to ask.

She wanted to know why Astoria had kicked up such a fuss and left. Malfoy was usually notorious for keeping his relationships under wraps and private. But it was obviously none of her business.

"I barely see anyone while I'm down in Alchemy." Malfoy continued, almost talking to her as if she were an old acquaintance. "Oddly, it's not a place where one gets to socialise with many people."

That was right, Draco Malfoy had gone into Alchemy as a hobby. Weirdly, she knew from school that he had a small interest in it. She'd heard on the grapevine that he had always been fairly competent with the subject at Hogwarts. It only made sense that Malfoy would do something he was good at.

"I wouldn't say the department for the Care of Magical Creatures is the social forte for conversation, either." Hermione answered him with a laugh. "I think I am the youngest team member by about fifty years ..."

He chuckled again, low in his throat. "well ... at least Weasley doesn't need to worry about you being swept off your feet by another bloke."

Hermione nearly choked on her drink.

"Unless I'm being swept off my feet by Gregory Passit's zimmer-frame, I think it is highly unlikely." She giggled to herself and finished off her drink, feeling the liquid burn her oesophagus as it travelled down.

She went to stand but Malfoy was ordering another two fire-whiskey's before she could protest. Just one more ... she would go after just one more ...

"It's still early Granger, we might as well drink to our sorrows together." He told her as he downed his drink in two gulps and then beckoned for the barman to bring him the whole bottle instead.

Shit.

She'd planned on many things happening tonight; she hadn't banked on getting drunk with Draco Malfoy. Never in a million years would she have banked on that.

And that was the unfathomable predicament she found herself in currently.

He took the bottle from the bartender and then looked back at her. "Come on Granger, there's a little booth free in the corner over there." He nodded in the direction behind her. "Let's go and sink this bottle and talk about the old days."

She didn't know what to do.

Did she follow? Or did she leave? Tell him that although she appreciated the offer, that she had to get home ...

To what?

There was nothing there except Crookshanks, who barely acknowledged her at the best of times.

And what was this anyway?

His sudden interest in her life and wanting to speak to her like they were long lost pals ... what was he up to?

That piqued her interest. What exactly was he up to? Was he after information or was this some sort of blackmail or bribe?

He seemed to pick up on her vibe, because he smirked. "No animosity here, Granger." He told her, holding up his hands defensively. "I'm just not ready to head home yet, and I don't think you are, either."

Well ... that was true.

She found herself following him over to the quiet little booth near the back wall. She kept telling herself she would drink one more. One more and that was it, she'd say her polite goodbyes and go home.

After one more.

Just. One. More.