Chapter Two

Once again, all belongs to JKR. I also want to profusely thank my beta, AmyLouise!

Chapter Two

Ron was snoring loudly when Hermione finally trudged in the door. Unfortunately, all of the calm she had managed on her walk home evaporated within

seconds. Glancing around the room, she realized there was barely even a place to put her handbag!

An empty firewhiskey bottle, today's Daily Prophet (splattered with some sort of sauce), dirty socks, a package that just mere hours ago had contained

thirty cookies, a half-eaten bag of salt and vinegar potato chips, and a remote covered in grease littered the floor, and the potion Ginny had made for

her insomnia was splattered all over the wall. That's it! She grabbed the first thing she saw, which happened to be a book, and hurled it at

Ron's crotch.

"What the FUCK?!" Ron snarled, jumping awkwardly to his feet and whipping his head around to find the culprit. He stumbled over his pile of garbage,

barely able to see straight, and hurled a curse at his complete nutter of a wife. Luckily, he hadn't thought to use his wand. Hermione, however, had

hers out of her purse before he even saw her, and she was pointing it straight at his chest.

"Get. out. of. my. HOUSE!"

"Your house?!" he spluttered, taking away some of the intended effect. "Why don't you get out of my house?!"

"I don't know, Ron. Maybe because this house is more mine than yours after you've let me pay all the bills for months!"

"Not that bullshit again! Jesus, Hermione, I told you what it was like working with George! The git was either sulking or slamming things around

every day, and we were running a joke shop!" Somewhere under the alcoholic haze, he knew she had a point, but he wasn't quite ready to concede. The

bloody bitch had nearly taken his balls off!

"Ron, don't even start down that road. That was months ago, and you haven't even applied anywhere else. How many times do we have to have this

fight? All I do is clean up after you, watch you eat, and listen to you gripe. I supported you when you walked out of that shop, but it's like you

never walked any further. I can't live like this anymore!"

Ron sagged on the couch, cradling his pounding head in his hands. He had known things couldn't go on like this but hadn't had the guts to do anything

about it. He kept thinking he would wake up one morning ready to snap out of it, but it just hadn't happened. How long could he keep justifying

stealing Hermione's life away? Maybe it was time to come clean. He took a deep breath and slurred, "Hermione, we have to talk."

"No shit!"

"No, I mean, I need to talk." He took another deep breath to steady himself. This was going to be ugly. He slugged another shot of

firewhiskey before looking up into her irritated expression, which, oddly, gave him a bit of resolve.

"I've been using you, Hermione. I'm a selfish asshole, and I know there is nothing I can say," he blurted, looking back at his knees as he saw her

turning to stone.

Hermione was frozen to the plush beige carpet, feeling an empty dread begin to creep through her body. Using her?

"Um, maybe you should sit down or something." He saw Hermione float to the armchair in a daze and sit gingerly, making him lose his nerve for a split

second, and he almost decided to chicken out and blame the firewhiskey for what he'd said so far. Even drunk, though, he knew he had to get this over

with sometime. Finally, he just continued and hoped for the best.

"When the war was over, the pain of losing Fred nearly killed me. I had to find a way to survive. You were the closest friend I had, and I knew you

loved me, so I chose you." He looked up carefully, expecting to see steam coming out of her ears, but she just stared straight ahead as though she

wasn't hearing a word. Oh, shit... shit. This was definitely worse than a hundred screaming Hermiones, but that just told him what a complete

asshole he'd really been for keeping on this long. He had to finish.

"At first, I tried to convince myself that I wanted our friendship to become more, but deep down I knew I just needed you, and you would leave

if I didn't love you back. All this time I've tried to make myself feel something, I really have. I just can't." He lifted his eyes slightly,

flinching at the dizziness, but she wasn't moving. When was she going to start giving him a beating, for Christ's sake? He had no idea what to do

with a hurt Hermione instead of an angry one.

Hermione was a statue for what seemed like hours, but tears finally started rolling down her cheeks. Ron never loved me? He never loved me? She just shook her head slowly, trying to believe it. Trying to believe that she hadn't just wasted over a year of her life with

someone who merely needed her to take care of him.

How could she have been so stupid? Suddenly she felt a burning rage roiling in her blood, seeping through her veins. All she could think to do was

scream, but nothing would even come out. Abruptly, she felt sick and had to run to the bathroom.

After she had thrown up every possible molecule of food in her body, she just slumped to the floor. She curled up, hugging her knees, and stared at

the ironically cheerful yellow walls for what seemed like hours. She just breathed.

A while later when she came back out, Ron was gone.

XXXXX

The next morning, she hit the pub early. It was Saturday, and she couldn't sit in that house. Too much thinking. She hadn't really expected him to

leave...

"Bit early to be getting sloshed, Granger."

No. I can't do this right now.

She turned to face the object of her hottest hatred. "Look, Malfoy, I'm not in the mood, okay?"

He lifted his hands in surrender and said, "Easy there, Raging Bull. I was merely greeting you like the polite gentleman I am. What the hell is the

matter with you?"

Normally, Hermione just would have told him to fuck off, but there was something different in his eyes today. Was it fear...pain? Somehow she knew he

was suffering, too. "I, uh, well... Ron left me last night." She lowered her eyes, not wanting to see if he was sadistically gleeful to see her hurt.

His reply was more than a little shocking.

"Er... I'm sorry, Granger." He couldn't believe he wasn't finding some nasty retort about the Weasel weaseling out of his slippery marriage, but he just

didn't have it in him with the weight he was carrying, and she looked so pathetic he really did feel sorry for her. For a second, anyway. Not that

Granger's troubles were his problem...

"I think this might just be worthy of the front page of the Prophet...Draco Malfoy just apologized to a filthy Muggleborn friend of the despicable

Potter!"

"Never mind, Granger. I have a meeting anyway." Cursing himself for appearing too nice, he proceeded to walk across Madame Rosmerta's and sit at a

table for two.

Hermione wondered what he was doing and then chastised herself for caring. When she left the pub an hour later, she saw Malfoy heatedly arguing with

some man she didn't recognize. She was pretty sure she wouldn't want to recognize him, either.

XXXXX

"How can you have no idea who is behind this? It's been nearly ten hours! Shall we just wait and see if they send her home in a nice

package with an apology?"

"Mr. Malfoy, I'm sure we both want your mother safe, but you must see reason. You cannot possibly expect these people to be found easily, and it is

highly likely that they will contact us first. We need to calm down and spend our time coming up with some sort of strategy and a list of possible

suspects. Even though you and your mother have been cleared of any charges from the war, there are still those who do not believe you and could be

seeking revenge. Do you know which victims were your father's?"

Draco sighed and rushed his hand through his hair. This was too much. He had just assumed that someone was after money, but what if they did want

revenge? He glanced back up at the rather large dark-eyed man before him, whose thick black brows were creased with intensity. Charles Pendington had

been the Malfoy's investigative connection at the Ministry since Draco had been small. He maintained a position in the Magical Evidence department

there, but he had attended to any personal investigations for the Malfoys on the side. Draco trusted him implicitly.

"Charles, I can't believe there is a motive other than money. Why would someone send me a picture if they weren't going to follow it with demands?"

"I'm not sure, but my fear is that they are trying to lure you so they can be rid of any remaining Malfoys at once."

"Shit. Why couldn't they have taken Pansy? Hardly anyone knows we've split, and I could have happily left her for dead."

"Wait. If hardly anyone knows, then why wasn't she taken? Why would someone not think she was the most important person in your life? Who all knows

about the separation? Our list should start there."

"Well, there's her family, of course." Draco strained to think if he had spoken to anyone about her at all. He didn't think he had. "I can't think

of anyone else."

"So, we check out her father to start with, and we go from there. Meanwhile, let's hope someone comes to us."

As Draco walked out of the pub, his mind was racing in a million directions. One thing he knew was that he'd be hitting the library tonight to try and

figure out what substance was surrounding her, and although he tried to clamp it down, he found himself ever so slightly hoping that a certain very

irritating know-it-all might happen to be there.