The Void

A/N: To all of you who heard Taylor Swift's The Black Dog and thought, 'That's so Dramione!'

Song lyrics aren't mine, obv.

Trigger warning: cursing, sex mention, mention of death.

I pledged...

And I still mean it.

Old habits die screaming.

Hermione Granger stared at the map of London she'd charmed.

It was toxic.

Extremely unhealthy.

Completely and utterly irresponsible.

She should destroy the thing before it jeopardised everything. The Order. Harry. Ron. The cause. Her hand trembled as she held it over the open flame of the candle.

'Do it, Granger.' His voice chases a delicious shiver down her spine, something she instantly resented. 'I want you to.'

With an angry snarl, she pulled the parchment to safety and tossed it across the room. Tears formed in her eyes as she whispered how much she hated him, like a priest begging for salvation.

''Mione? You okay?'

Startled, Hermione grabbed for her wand before the voice of Ron Weasley fully registered.

'Yeah,' Hermione mumbled. 'Sorry.'

She could hear from the way the floorboards at Grimmauld Place creaked under his weight that he was hovering. He had probably been on his way to comfort Ginny, and Hermione wished he would just go on his way. It was hard enough to kick an addiction without being judged for it at the same time.

She'd been trying to get her head straight for a couple of weeks now, but the phantom smell of his ridiculously expensive perfume kept tickling her nose. Hermione didn't turn around to greet the boy she'd once thought herself in love with. She wasn't in the mood to pretend.

Hermione Granger was so tired of pretending she was fine.

The floorboards creaked, accompanied by a deep, almost resentful sigh, but Hermione didn't drop her shoulders until she heard Ron's footsteps fade away. Harry had brought Ginny here after the last confrontation with the Death Eaters. The failed mission had cost them Dean, and Ginny was in shambles.

The tears Hermione herself had been biting back released at the thought of Dean's smile, frozen on his face from when the green curse had struck him.

'Bloody Malfoy,' she snarled. She hadn't seen him during the battle that followed, but it was still far easier to blame it all on him, anyway. Hermione got up from her chair and snatched the slightly browned parchment up from the creaky floorboards.

'Reparo,' she whispered and flicked her wand. Hermione didn't need to verbalise the spell anymore-she hadn't needed to for years-but she found that the sound and old routine of spellwork calmed her.

Unbidden her eyes travelled back to his name in the pub where they'd used Muggle whiskey to chase the War from their minds. Where he'd pushed her against the wall of the alley besides the pub. Where she'd snarled at him like a feral cat.

'The fuck.' She smacked her hand against his shoulder and when the impact against the expensive fabric didn't lessen his hold on her, she tried pulling herself free. She'd expected him to hiss something about Mudblood stench or the possibility of her infecting him with her inferiority. Nothing of the sort occurred though. So far, he'd been quite... pleasant. A bit vacant perhaps, but who could really blame him?