A/N: This Dramoine fic will take place after DH but is not Epilogue compliant.

Ten points to anyone who can guess where I got the title of this fic! Hint: it's a song.

Disclaimer: The only thing that's mine is the plot. Everything else belongs to JKR, and you know it.

Hermione Granger was, aside from one or two issues, remarkably content with her current state of affairs.

After Voldemort had been defeated, the wizarding world had settled into what felt like a permanent state of peace (though she was sure it wouldn't remain that way forever, because the world didn't work like that). The Death Eaters had all been rounded up and either imprisoned or put under strict regulations, and there had only been minor problems with the lot altogether. Shacklebolt, as the new Minister of Magic, took a no-nonsense approach to leftover baddies – keep in line or get in jail (if you weren't already). Harry and Ron had joined him in the Auror department, and were very persnickety about who got leniency and who went straight to jail without collecting any mercy.

Hermione had helped them out for awhile, but once things quieted down she had started to look into other options. The Ministry had ended up paying her (as well as Ron and Harry) a large sum of money for her part in the war, including compensation for damages caused by the brief-but-no-less-scarring persecution of muggleborns. Hermione, being Hermione, had used her newly acquired small fortune to open a chain of wizarding book stores with locations in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and scattered throughout Muggle England (muggles thought these were Wiccan-type novelty stores – in fact, a decent amount of profits were gained from muggles curious to read about old witch trials and new-age rubbish).

Harry and Ron had wanted Hermione to live near them (Ron was staying with his parents while Harry and Ginny – who had married about a year after the war – had a house a few miles away), but she had felt a nagging need to live independently. Things with Ron were going nowhere fast, and Hermione felt some space could be just what they needed to get back on track. Ron was waffling about the whole idea of being in a committed relationship with her, and Hermione thought maybe the idea of her being gone would bring him to his senses.

Having reassured her friends that with apparition there was no need for them to be so weird about her not living nearby, Hermione had gotten a modest flat in London. Crookshanks in arms, Hermione had arrived at her new place with a newfound sense of liberation. After having such an intense, war-fueled adolescence, Hermione wanted nothing more than to live a quiet, peaceful life for a few years.

Owning a chain of bookstores turned out to be surprisingly uninvolved. Not being satisfied with signing papers for various orders and signing rent checks, Hermione had bought out a small space in the heart of London and opened a muggle bookstore. She owned and managed this small shop and thought of it as her baby, often staying long after she was done working to read for hours on end, not wanting to leave. She only had three employees (it was a small shop), and their favorite non-work related activity was teasing their boss about her constant presence in the shop.

Hermione stayed in the shop for extended lengths of times for a few reasons. First, she desperately loved to read. Second, she found her shop to be a very cozy place to read. Third, she had set herself a personal goal to read through every book in the store. And the last reason – the main reason, actually – was her desire to keep the wizarding world at a distance (but not going so far as to leave it altogether) for awhile, and reading muggle books in a muggle bookstore in the company of muggle employees and muggle customers in muggle London was the most appealing way to do so.

The shop was exactly where Hermione was currently headed. She wasn't supposed to work this particular evening, but as per usual, she was showing up to read and help close up anyway. Her assistant manager, Chelsea, got nervous when she had the closing shift – she was hopelessly paranoid about the freaks and weirdos who came out at night – so Hermione always made it a point to pop in and keep her company. Hermione, who always had her wand handy, had few qualms about being in the city late at night.

"Evening, Chelsea," Hermione chirped as she entered the shop. Chelsea, ever the spaz, dropped the books she was in the process of stocking.

"Good God, Hermione! I told you not to do that!" Chelsea replied, picking her books up.

"You know I don't mean to. It's not my fault if everything scares you."

"Yeah, well…yeah."

Hermione shook her head in exasperation.

"Hey, Hermione? Can you come here for a second?" Chelsea asked nervously, lowering her voice a little.

"Is something wrong?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not sure. There's just…there's been this guy hanging around the back row acting kind of fidgety…he's been there for like twenty minutes now, and it's kind of freaking me out," Chelsea whispered, nodding her head toward the back of the store.

Hermione chanced a glance through a bookshelf to see a young man standing at the back window. He looked a bit seedy – his blond hair was shaggy and unwashed, and his clothes looked like they hadn't seen a laundromat in recent memory.

"I think he's on drugs," Chelsea whispered in her ear.

"I'll just keep an eye on him," Hermione answered, feeling anxious. She didn't like the idea of anything shady going on in her store.

"Alright."

Hermione took the books Chelsea had been restocking. "I'll take care of the rest of these, if you'd feel more comfortable behind the register." The words were barely out of Hermione's mouth before Chelsea was off towards the front counter.

Chelsea had barely sat down on the stool behind the counter when the door jingled open and a rather unsavory looking man walked in.

"Good evening," he said, flashing Hermione a winning smile that might have been charming if his teeth weren't so yellowed.

"Hello, can I help you?" Hermione asked politely.

"Just browsing today, thanks."

He strode off nonchalantly down the first row of shelves. Hermione wandered over to the counter, where Chelsea looked even more nervous than she already had.

"Hermione, I think he's a drug dealer," she whispered.

"Just because he's not up-to-date on toothpaste doesn't automatically make him a drug dealer, Chelsea," Hermione chided, though she was thinking along the same lines.

"Should I call the police?"

"Don't be silly, we don't even know if those two know each other."

"Well, they're certainly chatting like they know each other."

Hermione looked over her shoulder and, sure enough, the two men were speaking in hushed tones.

"Well, I'll just go back and check it out."

"Again, should I call the cops?"

"Okay, if you hear me raise my voice in fury, then you should probably call the police," Hermione muttered, putting down all the books in her arms but one, which she intended to stock (out of place) on the back shelf. As soon as Chelsea's back was turned, Hermione slipped her wand out of the wand-pocket she'd magically sewn into the leg of her oh-so-conveniently loose fitting jeans and silently cast a charm on the front door that locked it only from the inside. Quickly securing her wand back in place, Hermione made her way towards the men in the back.

Walking up the next to last aisle of shelves (there were only four), Hermione discreetly peered through the shelf.

And, there, right before her very eyes, the man that had just walked into the store pulled a baggie of what were unmistakably drugs out of his pocket as the blond man pulled some bills out of his own pocket.

"Stop it right there!" Hermione yelled, storming around the corner and brandishing the book in what she hoped was a menacing manner. "I will NOT have any drug deals going on in MY store! And if you think you are walking out of here you have another thing-"

Hermione paused in the middle of her screaming, for she had just gotten a good look at the blond man.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy was involved in a drug deal. In her bookstore. In her muggle bookstore.

For his part, he looked just as shocked as she did.

Hermione snapped out of her state of shock when she realized the drug dealer moving towards her, his lip curled in a snarl as he drew back his fist. Hermione dodged his punch and pulled out her wand, manging to wack him in the shoulder with her book before he knocked out of her hands. She dodged the foot he kicked out at her, shrieking as he regrouped and shoved her roughly into a bookshelf. Dodging another punch, Hermione kicked him hard enough in the stomach to give her enough room to extend her arm and raise her wand arm, but he was quicker and aimed a new punch at her stomach, this time making contact. Hermione screamed as pain exploded throughout her abdomen and clutched her stomach, but just managed to duck under yet another blow and finally got enough distance to raise her wand again and blast him across the room with a spell. Barely registering Chelsea hysterically screaming into the telephone, Hermione immediately Confunded the dealer.

Breathing heavily, Hermione lowered her wand cast a quick healing charm on her aching torso, immediately feeling the pain leave her body.

"Hermione! Hermione! Are you okay? The police are on the way!" Chelsea shrieked from the front of the store. Hermione barely registered what she'd said, because she was now too busy staring at Draco Malfoy.

He hadn't moved at all during the struggle, except to step out of the way as the dealer was blasted across the room. He was currently staring right back at Hermione, looking utterly confused.

"Granger?"

Hermione sucked in a breath. Well, it was definitely him (she had vainly hoped for a second it was just an eerie doppelganger). The only people who ever addressed her by her last name had been at Hogwarts, and there were no Draco Malfoy look-a-likes at Hogwarts. And Draco Malfoy looked awful.

His hair was terribly unkempt, his (Muggle!) clothes were even worse, and his eyes were incredibly bloodshot. His expression was what was the most startling – there was a distinct weariness in his eyes, and his once aristocratic features were now gaunt and even paler than they used to be, if that were even possible.

Hermione heard the sirens approaching. Suddenly feeling rather panicked, she glanced nervously over her shoulder, then at the dealer who was sitting on the floor looking perplexed and drooling a little, and then back at Malfoy, who had stopped looking confused and started looking frightened as the sirens approached.

"No – oh shit!" He cursed, his hands flying up to wring his hair and face twisting in horrorified anguish. He was clearly a little strung out, and combined with the look of utter defeat on his face, Hermione felt a sudden wave of pity for her former classmate rush over her.

"Go out the back door in the room behind the counter," she whispered. She didn't really understand why, but Malfoy's look of despair had stirred in her an inexplicable urge to protect him.

"What?"

"Just go," she whispered urgently as the sirens got even closer. "Now, Malfoy!"

He gaped at her for another moment before turning and running without another question. Hermione heard Chelsea shriek again as he ran behind the counter towards escape. Knowing what she was about to do was terribly wrong, she turned her wand on the dealer again.

"Obliviate!" She whispered, erasing his memory of her letting Malfoy get away.

The sirens were right outside the door. Desperately hoping Chelsea hadn't seen any of her wand usage, Hermione threw a last disgusted look at the dealer (who was completely out of it at this point) and walked back to the front, silently removing the charm on the front door and slipped her wand back into her jeans just as the police rushed in.

Hermione's mind was racing as the police questioned her. She went through her version of the events – the suspicious behavior, seeing the drugs, struggling with the dealer – with what she hoped was a sincere mix of calm professionalism, shakiness from the fight, and disbelief at what kind of messed up person held a drug deal in a bookstore. She, of course, tweaked the end of the events, telling the police she'd managed to keep the dealer in the store but hadn't been able to stop the buyer from fleeing.

She'd been very pleased with herself for being able to hold it together and lie convincingly through her teeth to officers of the law (though she did feel a significant amount of guilt while doing so). She also felt a nice sense of satisfaction when she noticed her Confundus charm had finally worn off the dealer, who shot her a look full of rage as the police dragged him out of the store in handcuffs.

Fortunately, Chelsea hadn't witnessed any of Hermione's magic. She told the police she'd been hiding under the counter the entire time, which hadn't surprised Hermione in the least. Hermione was definitely going to stop giving her night shifts.

Hermione had decided not to lie when describing the appearance of the escaped buyer, feeling like there were enough blond young men in London that Malfoy was probably safe from being picked up on the street. Unless, that is, he was stupid enough to buy drugs in a public shop again.

After the police were done, Hermione and Chelsea closed the store. Feeling horrible that someone as perpetually nervous as Chelsea had had to go through that ordeal, Hermione walked her to her car and gladly accepted a ride back to her flat. It had been a trying night, after all.

She barely slept that night. Not only was it disturbing that there had been an actual drug deal in her bookstore (a bookstore!), it was also highly distressing to come face to face with Draco Malfoy.

Why, in the name of Merlin, was Draco Malfoy doing drugs? And why did he appear to be living as Muggle?

It all very mind-boggling.

Hermione didn't feel bad about letting him go, though. She knew he'd been through a terrible ordeal during the war, and it had clearly led him to a life of self-destruction. Hermione still didn't have any fondness for him, but she had taken pity on him after the war. He had been put to a horrible use by Voldemort, and it had clearly taken a toll on his sanity. She couldn't even guess what he was doing with his life now. He was probably off at some crack house, for all she knew, trying to erase the memory of seeing a girl he'd spent seven years of his life loathing.

Hermione got out of bed at six, having gotten a meager two hours of sleep. She was supposed to open the shop today anyway, and she would need time to down a few cups of coffee and shower before being there at eight.

She felt like a zombie as she walked through the streets of London. There were already a large amount of people bustling off to work, so Hermione didn't see the person sitting on the curb outside of her shop until she was nearly at the door. In fact, she only noticed when the person suddenly addressed her as she was pulling out the keys to unlock the doors.

"Granger, can I talk to you?"

A/N: Good? Bad? Let me know in a review!

As a forewarning, I cannot promise fast updates. I never can, and that's no different with this fic. I do my writing almost exclusively at night, and that's only if my muses haven't retreated and taken my inspiration with them. I have found recently that writing fics at night helps me focus on my course work during the day (don't ask me how that works because it baffles me to), so I seem to be able to get updates out pretty fast recently. But still, no promises.