Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. It all belongs to JK Rowling.

I've done some minor editing and cleaned up this story as of December 2015.

It had to stop. This dangerous game that they were playing had gone on for far too long. This would be it, this would be the last time she promised herself but as she stared at the smooth skin of his bare back, she knew that she was lying to herself. She couldn't just let go, couldn't just break it off like it didn't mean anything to her. Like he didn't mean anything to her.

It all started five months ago when she saw him at the Leaky Cauldron. She had recently completed her seventh year at Hogwarts and had almost immediately began auror training. It had been about a month into her training when she had the most awful day and going home to an empty flat wouldn't do her any good but neither would hanging out with Harry and the Weasleys at the Burrow. That was how she ended up at the Leaky Cauldron, ended up with him. She was just sitting there quietly drinking her firewhiskey when he came in. He ordered his drink and then sat down on the stool next to hers.

"Granger." he nodded at her.

"Malfoy." she returned.

After a few minutes, he spoke to her.

"So are you here alone?" he asked.

"Yes." she replied simply.

"Tough day?" he inquired.

"You could say so." she answered.

"Care to talk about it?" he offered.

"It was just a particularly bad day at training today, that's all. Why do you care anyway?" she asked bluntly.

"I don't." he said in a bored voice.

For the first time during their conversation, she took a really good look at him. He was still pale, his hair was still as blond as ever but his grey eyes looked flat and empty. He looked different somehow, not physically but something in his expression made him seen older—aged beyond his years. That was true for everyone who lived through the war, she supposed. War changes people, it changed her. She knew he must look at her and see the same look in her eyes that she saw in his. He was talking again and she stopped her train of thought.

"I don't care but I have nothing better to do and I'm curious. Tell me how you've been." he said easily.

She debated with herself whether to answer or not. She could and have someone to share her feelings with or just go home and sink into a depressed state. In the end she decided to answer him. It would do her good to talk to someone and let out all her pent up feelings. She had a feeling he would understand and not try talk to her about it or to tell her that it would be alright because in his own words, he simply didn't "care".

She told him that she felt lost and alone and that she didn't know what she was doing with herself.

"Ever since the war ended I don't feel like my self anymore." she admitted.

"I don't think any of us do." he replied.

"I know but still. I mean I know that I'm alive and I'm trying to live my life as best as I can but I don't feel any of it. It's like I'm just going through the motions of everyday life and I'm waiting for someone or something to bring me back, to make me feel alive again. To make me feel like I have something to look forward to instead of just waiting for everyday to end." she said sadly.

"This might surprise but I feel the exact same way about my life." he said, with apparent honesty.

"You do?' she asked, slightly surprised.

"Yes." he answered.

"How come? What brought it on?" she asked.

"You first." he said with a small smirk.