Draco Malfoy pursed his lips unconsciously as he removed the livid covers off his bed. There sat, patiently, the two bottles of russet brandy. He stared at them with the cobalt eyes of Ronald Weasley which slipped to the huge wall-clock on his beige walls. Half-past seven and no sign of Hermione. But for the escapade he was going to undertake, her arrival was not perfectly something to wait for. He had to get going fast.

Draco placed the tip of his hawthorn wand on the cork of the carafe as it uncorked and the seal bounced upwards and fell into his palms. The job started now.

He marched to the kitchen, fetched a pewter tankard from one of the closets and took it to his cubbyhole. Then, very deftly, he poured the contents neatly from the decanter to the tankard until the last drop of Brandy plunged into a pool of similar droplets in the tankard. He sighed. Step two was still pending. His hand slithered into the pockets of his BlackBerry as he retrieved the dusty canister of an akin, muddy brew. He unbolted the teensy bottle of polyjuice and emptied it into the tall bottle of Brandy. He then stole down to the refrigerator, ripped the label off the half-empty bottle of Brandy and stuffed both the bottles back. He smiled at himself as he made his way back to the room. Howsoever, it was soon replaced with a scowl. What was he to do with the Brandy?

...............................***.................................

Hermione manifested into her central hall. Her braided hair was loose on her shoulders now, and exhaustion reflected off her plain, smooth face. She collapsed onto the couch.

"Ron, I'm back." She announced, only to be greeted with no response. A frown perturbed the stiffness of her brows.

"Ron, are you here? I am back." Still nothing.

She stood up, and trudged to his room. Anxiety defined her face. His room was slightly dishevelled, which astounded her, for Ron couldn't manage to live without creating an entire mess. Yet, he wasn't there.

"Ron-"A necktie flung round her neck and tugged her into the bathroom.

Hermione coughed slightly and peeked into the wild, aqua eyes of the man who didn't, to the least, appear to be her boyfriend. His blazer was slung on his shoulders, his shirt was briefly unbuttoned, revealing his toned abs and there was a wildfire blazing in his eyes. Ronald Weasley definitely didn't have such a pile of ardour in his heart. Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Hullo-Her-my-oh-knee." Ron aka Draco was at a distance of less than an inch from her. "Isn't that what you said to that Norse oaf, what was his name?" Ron enveloped his lower lip in thought, but a scintilla soon sparked in his orbs.

"Viktor Krum, wasn't it? In our-our-frost-fourth year, it seems." Ron's lips quivered in disgust. "I honestly wonder how come you always lay your hands on never-do-well nincompoops." Hermione gawked at him with her eyes enlarged in bewilderment. Ron considered it too.

"With the possible exception of-uhm-me, of course. The most trust-worthy companion of Harry Potter. The great-"The distance evaporated as he advanced toward her. Sarcasm dripped from his statements.

"Ronald Weasley." His voice resonated pain and disagreement. His eyes burnt with pain and his grin vaporised into a vanquished, vicious torque of his face.

Howsoever, Hermione did not back by even a millimetre. She stood as still as a statue as astonishment cemented on her face. It was only broken when a fresh scent of fermented fruits swam into her nasal duct that she exclaimed

"Ron, you are drunk."
"Exactly!" Ron pointed at her and grinned. "You-you see Hermione, when people like Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter make a life-depending decision, a change, it becomes a trend, a revolution. And what about the others, eh? We are seen as drunkards."

Hermione melted as she studied Ron's expressions. They didn't remind her of him, but of something she had seen before. Something related to a broken ego, or maybe, a broken nose. She gazed at him inquisitively.

"For example?"

"You know it, don't you? Kingsley Shacklebolt would have expounded to you the entire process of the torment of The Malfoys."

"How do you know-"

"My dad was responsible for the capturing. He said he didn't even k-know whether Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were alive or not."

Hermione carefully selected her words, "They are alive, Ron." Ron glanced at her. "Not hale, not healthy, not hearty. But they are alive. And I think that is all that matters."

For a moment, time stood still. Only the deep breathing of two souls could be heard.

"Yes, that is perhaps all."

Ron eyed her cautiously; his eyes cascaded to the nougaty, white skin of her neck. The gold bracelet of the time-turner was visible midst the nest of her shoddy hair. Howsoever, he immediately withdrew his glance. One piece of good news was enough for the day.

Hermione had believed that she succeeded in reading Ron better than anyone else. However, what he had just done and said made him the most complex mechanism she had ever encountered. He had hated Draco Malfoy and his kin throughout his life, and now, he was being the worrywart of them? At times, she felt that she didn't know him at all.

Ron sighed. His inebriated legs struggled to funnel out of the bathroom, their pomp and splendour still intact. However, spirit or not, his body was still that of Ron Weasley. Clumsiness was in-born in him. His hand collided with the shower's gears, and sprinklers of lukewarm water showered onto them. Water drenched Draco and Hermione. Droplets trickled down their noses onto their lips. The distance between them vanished. Baby blue and warm brown hues blended together. Silence diffused through the bathroom.

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