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Hermione and Draco were having a drink at the Leaky Cauldron while Harry and Ron were on an Auror mission. Draco was watching Hermione with a careful eye. Unlike usual, she was downing glass after glass of firewhisky.
“You all right there, Hermione?” Draco asked. She didn’t reply. Hermione’s hand gripped tightly around a glass of whisky, her head buried in the bend of her elbow and beneath her curly mane of hair.
“…sh I c’ hate…” Hermione mumbled, her voice muffled.
“Pardon?” Hermione’s head shot up in annoyance.
“I wish I could hate you, Draco,” she slurred. Draco brushed away the strands of hair that was stuck to the corner of her mouth with a smooth motion and tucked the lock of hair that was in front of her face behind her ear.
“You did,” he commented, referring to their years at Hogwarts.
“No,” Hermione said quietly. Draco raised a brow in question. “Harry did, but I never have.”
“I resented you for being so bigoted and hateful, but I have never once,” she continued, “hated you.” Draco didn’t reply.
“You’ve had enough to drink for one night, Hermione,” Draco said gently. He tried to take her glass away and stand her up, but his efforts were fruitless.
“No,” Hermione said, holding up a finger, gesturing for Draco to wait. “You’re going to listen, Draco.” He sighed and sat back down in his seat.
“I’ve been holding it in for so long, it hurts,” she whispered, “right here.” Hermione patted at her chest, and only stopped when a tear fell from her eye.
“You have Harry – and I wish the best for you two. Harry’s my best friend, and with the shite he got from his relatives, he only deserves someone who’ll love him with all their heart.” Hermione looked up at Draco with a sad smile. “And I know you do, and I know Harry loves you the same way.
“And I have a fantastic boyfriend myself that I love with all my heart, but,” she choked, “I can’t help but feel something else, something I shouldn’t, for you.” Hermione began to cry harder, face blotchy red and slick with tears.
“And I feel so bad, because Ron doesn’t deserve this; he deserves someone that’ll look at him and him alone.” Hermione wiped her hands with the sleeve of her shirt. “He’s been through so much – we all have – and he deserves someone’s undivided love for rest of his life, but I feel so terrible that I’m not doing that for him.
“And Harry,” Hermione cried. “I’m a terrible best friend – he only deserves the best, but –” She broke down in a loud sob, and it took her a while to recover.
“But I still can’t help loving you,” she whispered hoarsely.
After not saying anything for a while, Draco said, “Do you want to forget it all? Erase it? Your love for me?” Hermione sniffled and whipped her head up.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Please, please, Draco. I don’t – I hate – feeling terrible by being with my best friends because I can’t control my emotions – .” Hermione looked at him, eyes blown wide and pleading, and moved to sit by Draco.
Draco pulled her closer and pressed his lips to the top of her head, and Hermione gave out a ragged sigh. He pulled out his wand, and with a flick of his wrist, Hermione’s tense shoulders went limp and her broken breathing evened out. She was asleep.
Draco took a deep breath and whispered a simple spell:
Obliviate memoriam amoris.