She was just looking for a bit of romance. How hard could that possibly be to find? Harder than originally thought, apparently. It was the night before Valentine's Day and two months of dating Seamus had left Hermione standing outside a pub in Diagon Alley, tipsier than she would ever admit.

He had sent her his patronus hours ago telling her he couldn't make it.

Short. Bittersweet. No explanation necessary. Message received: 'No time for you just now, ta.'

"Men," she had proclaimed to the guy behind the bar after one too many, but not quite enough "are quite useless." She was sure she had produced more profound thoughts in her time, but this seemed as accurate as she could muster in her state.

A wary glance was her only reply.

Short. Disinterested. No explanation necessary. Message received: 'You've had enough. Time to go.'

It was starting to snow now. It was doing wonders for her thought processes. Seamus was boring anyway. She was doing him a favor really by keeping this up until after Valentine's Day but if he was going to spare her the intellectually stunted conversation she had been braced for, that was just fine. Of course it was. Because he had been doing her a favor too hadn't he? Mutually beneficial and all that?

She'd always been independent. She would just eat some chocolate with Crookshanks tomorrow. No big deal. She was a master at being alone. She was an island. She didn't need any stranded seafarers landing on her only to die or waste away later.

And this island was sinking. Rapidly. Or was that an earthquake?

"Ow!" she muttered, trying to wrap her mind around just how gravity had gotten the better of her this time. She thought she had bested this foe by the time she was seven. Confused, cold, and now in a bit of pain thanks to falling on her arse, Hermione looked for answers. She was always good at that. Then she saw the true enemy. Ice.

Short. Slippery. No explanation necessary. Message received: 'Not coordinated enough to walk, think, and see at the same time? Not coordinated enough to apparate.'

"Right then." And with all the grace of a newborn baby deer learning to walk, she stood and flung her arm out, wand in hand.

Had the Knight Bus always been so purple? Or loud? Or tall? It was like that deeply disturbing American kids' show dinosaur. It was definitely going to eat her.

"Alright there, Miss Granger? Where can we take you tonight?"

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Hermione shot for normal and not I've-become-extremely-close-to-Firewhiskey-in-the-past-couple-of-hours.

"Just take me to the British Museum in muggle London, Stan. I can walk from there." Surely this was not expecting too much. If she wasn't totally sober by the time they got there anyway, she could just walk the rest off. And with that she carefully placed one foot in front of the other aiming for one of the open beds at the back of the bus.

"Well, well" came a familiar drawl.

Short. Too familiar. No explanation necessary. Message received: 'Initiate self-destruct sequence.'

She'd have rolled her eyes if it wouldn't have landed her on her arse again. He had always been a pain there, but physically having to deal with it after he was gone was not something she was prepared to put herself through.

"Malfoy."

"Granger." Wandering eyes. Found-a-weakness smirk. Wait for it. "Have you been drinking? How very naughty. I thought Finnigan was going for the sober rebound look this year."

"Slumming it Malfoy? What are you doing on the Knight Bus? Golden chariot broken down?"

"It's silver if you must know. And maybe I'm getting to know the mind of the common man. Or l'm letting everyone else explore the eternal question of 'What would it be like if Merlin was amongst us?' Take your pick."

That did it. Eyes right up to the ceiling. Gravity-2, Hermione-0. Luckily the bed reaching process was done and the landing quite comfortable.

Too comfortable. Was someone touching her? Was that an arm around her shoulders?

"Why Granger, I didn't know you still cared. But you don't have to throw yourself at me."

Abort. Abort. Abort.

Splinching was better than this. It had to be.

"Remove your arm or I'll do it for you." Good. Threatening was normal. Unlike the warm tingling sensation she was currently feeling.

"No, I don't think I will. We should have a chat. It's been too long." Wicked smile. Not quite threatening but full of meaning. Definitely predatory.

"It's been three days." Eye roll. Gravity can't get you if you're already seated. Even if you are seated on a bed next to a paragon of dastardly things.

"Yes well, distance makes the heart grow fonder and all that rot. Now tell me, where's the Irish wonder? Trouble in paradise? Did he finally realize your heart beats only for me?" Innocent look. Tightened grip. Not good.

"My relationship with Seamus is not up for discussion. I'm not the one who ended a three year relationship because of commitment issues only to stalk their ex-girlfriend at work for the next six months for absolutely no reason. So why can't you just let me go?"

She felt something wet on her face. There was something horribly wrong here. Hopefully it was terminal, because surely there was no coming back after that last statement. This must be the dark side of drinking Ron and Harry were always going on about.

"I'll never be able to let you go." An intense look. Hand cupping face. Thumb brushing away tears. Trouble.

"You already did." She jerked her head away and avoided his gaze. She was glad to see her self-preservation skills were still somewhat intact.

"British Museum for you Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger."

Surely she had imagined the Mr. Malfoy bit of that statement. Even if that did say something unsettling about her subconscious.

"Thanks Stan." Not the best last words, she would admit. She always thought the last thing she said before her death would reflect on her intelligence. Apparently not, because she was sure her demise was imminent. And why was he leading her by the elbow? She'd rather remain eaten by the dinosaur.

"How much did you drink exactly? I've never seen you so unbalanced?"

"I can walk on my own, Malfoy. I don't live far from here as you know." In control. That's what she was. "What are you even doing here?" Cold tone. Colder than the English winter. She still had it.

"Hermione." Searching look. Worry. Fear. Pain. Pleading. Too much. Too much. Too much.

She wasn't going to help him. If he had something to say he would have to do it on his own. And it better be good.

"I came to see you, okay? It's like I can't not see you. You're like my own personal vocabulary, and without you I can't understand anything. I'm an idiot and I'm sorry."

"Is that all?" Those might be a few tears. He never did say much about his emotions. But she would take being his vocabulary. She did love words.

"I'll just keep trying if you don't take me back. You know I will." A threat to mask love. How very Draco.

"What attempt is this anyway? Fifty? I thought you were supposed to be cunning?" She sniffed and tried not to show him he had finally won. She probably failed, taking in the hope that was starting to shine on his face.

"Granger." A growl. She did so like when he growled. And a smile. She liked that even better. Now if she could find enough balance to kiss him, she could let him know things were going to be okay again. Just a small one would do.

Short. Sweet. No explanation necessary. Message sent: 'I've missed you and I still love you, you giant lucky prat.'

Disclaimer: I am not, in any way, affiliated with JKR or her associated companies and businesses. All publicly recognisable characters, setting, etc belong to JKR. The original characters and plots of stories are the property of their respective owners.

AN: I wrote this for the Valentine's Challenge over at DramioneDrabble and it's my first venture into writing dramione, so I hope everyone enjoys this :)